#her rage looms in her mind

[saccharinescorpion]

i keep thinking about this scene and particularly the quietly brilliant panel layout (from Kageki Shojo 11)

[orangeblossomsintheair]

GRIEF ASIDE (1/4) | MV33

summary : You fancied your fiancé, you realized with horror. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

wc : 13k

an : this took.. a while ☹️ anyway

For as long as you could remember, you had been engaged to Max Emilian, scion of House Verstappen.

On paper, it was a triumphant match, a union to secure your house's fortunes for generations. To be betrothed to the son of a duke was a dream most could only aspire to.

Yet, no one envied House Button’s lovely heiress.

Instead, the court pitied you.

Jos Verstappen, your future father-in-law and Duke of the North, was a name steeped in infamy. Known as the Butcher of the North, his reputation was as frigid and cruel as the land he ruled. Whispers of his war crimes haunted corridors, and songs of lament cursed his name in taverns.

To marry into such a legacy meant tying yourself to shadows you could never escape.

But duty had bound you to this path as tightly as the chill of the northern wind now clung to your skin.

Raised to bridge alliances and strengthen bonds, you had no illusions about the weight of your role.

Now, you stood before the towering iron gates of the Verstappen estate, carriage behind you, your wool cloak and one of your knight’s heavy coats offered little respite from the North’s unforgiving cold.

“Keep your chin up, my lady,” Lily murmured beside you, adjusting the trunk she carried, her voice nearly drowned by the howling wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the frost, and her attempts at reassurance felt as thin as your cloak.

You nodded mutely, clenching your chattering teeth. Complaining about her poor preparation, or your shared underestimation of the northern winter, would achieve little.

The gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.

The fortress-like walls loomed high, their grey stone stark against the snow-laden landscape. Narrow windows glinted like ice shards under the weak winter sun.

Smoke curled lazily from the distant stables, a muted sign of life in an otherwise bleak expanse.

“Cheerful place,” Lando muttered behind you, his voice dry. He pulled his hood lower, trying to shield his face from the biting wind.

“More like a tomb,” Oscar replied, tone low. His eyes scanned the walls warily, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Crossing the threshold of the estate, you were greeted by a cavernous main hall that carried little more warmth than the outdoors. Though a fire crackled at one end, its heat barely touched the far corners of the room.

The scent of pine mingled with the cold tang of iron, likely from the spiked chandelier that loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the floor.

“Presenting Lady (Y/N) of House Button,” the steward announced, his voice echoing up the vaulted ceilings.

The words washed over you, irrelevant compared to your struggle to stop trembling. The knight closest to you, Oscar, shifted closer, his presence a silent bulwark, but you scarcely noticed.

A figure descended the grand staircase, drawing your attention despite the icy haze clouding your mind.

Max Emilian Verstappen.

He moved with a grace that could only be borne from years of court presence, strides measured and deliberate yet still managing to not look stiff.

Pale hair neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise hard edges of his face. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy black coat lined with fur, swallowing what little light the room offered.

You had heard tales of him: a skilled warrior, an even better horseman, and a temper so fierce people began claiming the Verstappen rage was a hereditary trait.

His eyes fell on you then, surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and the unmistakable air of annoyance.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, his tone cold enough to make you flinch.

You stiffened, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.

Was that usually how the Northern Lords greeted their betrothed?

Max’s eyes roved over you, taking in your trembling form, pale cheeks, and the inadequate cloak clutched around your shoulders.

His frown deepened, and he turned sharply toward your knights, his expression hardening.

“Why in the seven hells is she dressed like this?” he demanded.

Sir Lando bristled but maintained his composure. “My lady insisted, Lord Verstappen, that we keep ourselves alive. We offered additional layers-”

“She’s half-frozen. Who cares if you're alive if your Lady is dead?” Max cut him off, already shrugging out of his own coat.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you were fine, but before you could utter a word, he was draping the fur-lined garment over your shoulders.

The residual warmth from his body enveloped you, burying you under the scent of pine and leather.

“Your stubbornness will kill you,” he muttered, crouching slightly to adjust the coat. His tone was still sharp, but his hands were steady and careful as they brushed over you.

You glanced at Lily, who hovered nearby, her eyes darting between you and Max. “Fetch tea,” Max ordered, voice brooking no argument.

She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take orders from a person who was decidedly not her Lady, but a sharp look from him sent her scurrying away.

Max turned back to you, his expression unreadable as his hand brushed over your elbow, guiding you forward. “Sit,” he gestured to the high-backed chair closest to the hearth.

You sank into the seat gratefully, abandoning the appearance of grace in lieu of the warmth of the fire and the heavy coat easing the worst of your shivers.

Max crouched before you, his face illuminated by the flickering light. “You were standing in the cold far too long,” he said, softer now as though talking to an injured bird.

“I didn’t realize…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Max’s lips quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. “Not even when you were shivering like a leaf?”

He leaned back, regarding you for a moment before adding, “The North will swallow you whole.”

His words should have stung, but you found it hard to be insulted for there was no malice in them, only a hint of amusement.

The tea arrived swiftly, Lily handing it to you with a pinched expression, steam curling from the delicate porcelain as if reluctant to break the stillness of the hall.

You wrapped your frozen fingers around the cup, savoring the way the heat kissed your skin, thawing the numbness in your fingers.

Max walked to stand a few paces away, matching your knight and maid's distance, watching you with a detached sort of interest, his arms still crossed over his chest.

The flickering firelight carved sharp angles along his face, illuminating the high cut of his cheekbones and the stern set of his jaw.

“You look better now.” His voice was quieter this time. “At least you have some color in you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a kindness or merely an observation, but you offered a polite nod regardless.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Max will do.”

The correction startled you. Men of his station, sons of dukes especially, rarely made such allowances. Betrothed or not.

“As you wish… Max.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished just as quickly.

“I imagine you have questions.”

Of course, you did.

Too many, and yet none seemed appropriate to ask.

You had spent years preparing for this union in theory, but now that you were standing on the threshold of it, the rehearsed words died in your throat.

“Only a few,” you said carefully.

He hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Then ask.”

You hesitated. “Your father… the Duke… is he here?”

Max’s expression cooled.

“No. My father is at the border fortresses, inspecting the garrisons. He will return before the winter feast to welcome you.”

Relief and dread tangled in your chest. It was a reprieve not to face Duke Jos immediately, but you knew it was temporary at best.

“And your father will be joining us soon enough as well, won’t he?” Max’s tone was unreadable, though something sharp glinted beneath it.

You nodded. “Yes. My father will come north after his duties are finished. To meet with the Duke and… formalize the engagement.”

The words felt heavy on your tongue. This visit wasn’t just a quiet retreat to adjust to your future home. It was a public commitment. Before long, the entire North would know you belonged to him.

You dreaded what that would do to your public image.

Max’s jaw tightened although his expression remained carefully distant. “Of course.”

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the cold stone hall.

“You’ll find the North is not like the South. Comfort is scarce, and the people scarcer. They will not warm to you easily.”

His words felt more like a warning than a courtesy.

“I don’t expect them to.”

That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting you to be one of those Southern ladies that demanded everyone to bend over backwards for their comfort.

His eyes flicked back to you, studying you in a way that made you want to shrink under his coat.

“Good.”

The fire cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks upward. Max tilted his head toward it, the flicker of light catching in his pale hair.

“You’ll need to adjust quickly. My father won’t tolerate weakness in his house.”

“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Max’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened.

“I won’t coddle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t. But the way he said it made your stomach twist.

Still, you straightened your spine. “I wouldn’t ask for that.”

A tense silence settled again, though this time, it felt more contemplative than cold.

Max’s gaze drifted from you to the door behind you.

“You must be tired from the journey. I’ll have your rooms prepared.”

“I thought we would stay in the west wing,” you said, recalling the arrangements made in the letters exchanged between your families.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“The west wing is being repaired. Storm damage. You’ll stay closer to the main hall until it’s finished.”

It was a small thing, perhaps, yet it unsettled you.

The west wing was meant to be yours. A space to adjust quietly, away from the imposing grandeur of the estate.

Now, you were being denied that distance.

But what could you do? Refuse? Argue?

“Very well,” you said softly.

Max nodded once then turned to the waiting steward.

“Have the rooms near the library prepared. And make sure the fires are lit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oscar and Lando approached then, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they stopped just shy of your side.

Their eyes darted toward you, assessing your posture, searching for some silent confirmation that you were unharmed.

You gave them a small nod, and the tension in Oscar’s broad shoulders seemed to ease, though Lando’s hand remained near the hilt of his sword, his body coiled like a spring.

Max’s sharp gaze swept over the two knights, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly calculating.

“Your people will stay nearby,” he said, his voice firm but unhurried. “Your maid is not to wander without escort. Your men may walk around but not too far from the fortress. I'd rather not deal with the politics of a Southern knight dying in my land.”

Lily bristled at the casual remark, her cheeks coloring with indignation. “We Southerners aren't as fragile as you seem to think,” she said sharply, her words cutting the silence like a knife.

“Lily,” Oscar said quietly, catching her arm before she could step forward. His grip was gentle but firm, head shaking in a silent plea for restraint.

Max didn’t even flinch at her outburst, his cool demeanor unwavering as his gaze flicked back to you.

“Your people are bold.” His tone was tinged with something akin to amusement. “Let’s hope they’re wise enough to temper it.”

“They’re loyal,” you replied evenly, meeting his eyes without faltering. “I wouldn’t have brought them otherwise.”

“Loyalty is admirable but it doesn’t mean much if it gets you killed.”

Lando shifted beside you, jaw tight. “With all due respect, my lord,” he began without much respect at all. “We’re more than capable of keeping her safe.”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Max’s gaze settled on Lando. “But I’ve seen capable men bleed out on these stones for lesser causes. My rules are for your protection as much as mine.”

Lando’s grip on his sword tightened, but Oscar’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“We’ll abide by your rules,” Oscar confirmed, voice calm.

“Good.” Max turned back to you. “Come. I’ll show you the library. You should know where it is if you’re to live here.”

The offer caught you off guard. The scion of House Verstappen switched conversations so casually he seemed to slap you with his casualness.

“The library?”

“You can’t spend all your time staring at the snow,” Max replied evenly, though there was a faint lilt to his words.

Was that… humor? It was hard to tell with him.

“Well..” You tugged your coat tighter. “It is very captivating snow.”

Max’s brow arched. “And yet, I think you’ll survive without it for an hour.”

You blinked, taken aback by the dry remark.

Was he… teasing you?

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, you rose from your chair, trailing behind as he turned and strode toward the door.

You glanced at your companions, giving them a small and, hopefully, reassuring smile before stepping forward to follow Max.

Max’s pace was long, purposeful, and you found yourself scrambling to keep up without looking breathless.

(You decidedly ignored Sir Lando's small snort of laughter.)

The manor was a labyrinth of cold stone and dim corridors, the walls lined with tapestries dulled by age.

Shadows flickered where sparse torches burned, giving the place a haunted sort of stillness.

You found it hard to ever imagine yourself calling this place home.

Max moved through the halls like someone who had been shaped by this place, his presence carved into the very bones of the estate.

His stride was confident, measured, purposeful.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider, a stranger, each step heavy on the cold stone floor.

Finally, Max stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, their wood darkened with age. He didn’t look back at you as he spoke, his voice low, but managing to carry through the quiet hall.

“Your men stay outside. Your maid may enter,” he said, the command clear.

Your knights exchanged a brief look.

Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly less than thrilled with the command. He let out a sigh, posture straightening with a resigned huff.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he moved to one side of the door, giving a theatrical bow as though he were playing a part in some grand performance.

Oscar shook his head but followed suit, taking his place at the other side, hands clasped with a more restrained expression.

Lando’s voice broke the silence, dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoy the library, my Lady. Try not to get too lost in there.”

You laughed, unable to contain yourself and bid them a silent goodbye.

Without another word, he pushed the doors open, the hinges groaning in protest, and led you and Lily inside.

The library was vast and dim, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched high into the shadows above.

Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light filtering through the narrow, arched windows, painting the room in shades of gold and gray.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling your senses.

“It’s beautiful…” you breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

“It is,” Max replied, stepping farther into the room. “And it’s yours to use as I allow while you’re here.”

You followed him in, your fingers brushing the spines of the books closest to you. They were thick and heavy, their titles embossed in faded gold.

“Are these… first editions?” you asked, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might awaken some slumbering beast.

“Many of them, yes,” Max said, his gaze sweeping the shelves as if cataloging them in his mind. “You’ll find original prints of histories, poetry, philosophy. Most of it quite rare. Some of the works were commissioned specifically for this collection.”

“Commissioned?” you echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. House Verstappen has always valued knowledge. There are some volumes here you won’t find anywhere else.”

You let your hand fall from the books and turned to face him. “You must spend a lot of time here then.”

“Not as much as I should,” he admitted, his tone crisp. “But I’m familiar with the layout. If you’re planning to lose yourself, I can point you in the right direction.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his phrasing. “Lose myself?”

“It happens.” He shrugged, glancing away.

You laughed softly. “Is that your way of warning me?”

“A mere suggestion,” he corrected, his lips twitching in what might have been the hint of a smile. “Start with the poetry under the windows. It’s a good place for… wandering minds.”

“Poetry under the windows,” you repeated the words under your breath, glancing toward the far end of the room where a faint glow spilled across the shelves. “Any other recommendations?”

“The histories on the east wall are worth your time.” He gestured briefly. “And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a collection of letters on the upper mezzanine. They’re in French, though.”

“I can manage French,” you said with a small smile.

His eyebrow arched faintly. “Good. Then you’ll also find some rather colorful accounts of court scandals tucked in the back corner. A few are probably embellished, but they’re entertaining nonetheless.”

Your laughter came easier this time. “Court scandals? I didn’t expect you to recommend something so… frivolous.”

“Frivolity has its place,” he said dryly. “Just don’t let the staff catch you reading them. They might talk.”

“Noted.” You attempted to suppress your grin.

For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the quiet weight of the library wrapping around you like a cloak. You turned back to the shelves, running your fingertips lightly over the spines once more.

“This is incredible,” you murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder at his lack of a response, catching a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Max seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. “You will be fetched come dinner time.”

The heavy doors of the library groaned shut behind him, leaving you and Lily in the cavernous stillness.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Lily let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “I thought he’d never leave,” she muttered, her voice pitched low but urgent.

You turned to her, startled by her tone. “Lily-”

“He’s impossible to read!” she interrupted, her hands gesturing animatedly as she paced a small circle near the door.

“One moment, he’s scowling like the world owes him something, and the next, he’s… he’s practically pointing you toward the best books for a cozy evening! What am I supposed to make of that?”

You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I don’t think it’s meant to be deciphered, Lily.”

“But it should be!” she shot back, stopping abruptly to face you. “You’re supposed to marry him. How are you supposed to live with someone who switches moods faster than the weather?”

“I don’t think he’s as unpredictable as you think,” you said cautiously, though you weren’t entirely convinced of your own words. “He’s… reserved.”

“Reserved?” Lily snorted. “He looks like he’s trying not to bite anyone’s head off half the time.” She softened slightly, adding, “Although, I’ll admit, it was nice of him to show you this place.”

Her eyes wandered around the library, her earlier frustration melting into a quieter awe. “It really is something, isn’t it?”

You nodded, letting your gaze sweep the towering shelves. “It is. I could lose hours in here.”

“Maybe you’ll have to,” Lily said, her tone lighter now. “If he’s not going to be forthcoming about himself, you might have to dig through the history books to figure him out. Perhaps you'll even find a diary of his.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think even the books might not have the answers to that mystery.”

Lily gave you a sly grin. “Well, if anyone can figure him out, my lady, it’s you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the shelves. “My betrothed's dour personality aside.. help me find that poetry section he mentioned.”

Lily smiled, stepping closer to follow you deeper into the quiet sanctuary of the library.

“Of course, my lady.”

—

Hours later, as the manor stirred for the evening meal, a servant was dispatched to your quarters. The boy found it strange that the two knights he'd heard his Lord's betrothed had come with weren't stationed by the door.

A sharp knock echoed once. Then again, louder, more insistent.

“My lady?”

Silence.

The servant hesitated, damp palms against the polished wood.

“My lady?” He said again, voice cracking. “My lady, may I come in?”

“...My lady, I'm coming in.”

Then, cautiously, he pushed the door open.

The room was untouched. The bed still perfectly made, the hearth’s fire reduced to flickering embers. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and a chill crept in where warmth should have lingered.

Panic tightened his throat.

He checked the adjoining rooms. The empty sitting area, the silent halls. Nowhere.

Not even your guards and maid were present.

Sweat gathered at his brow as he hurried through the winding corridors, heart hammering as he sought out Lord Verstappen.

He found Max standing near the great hall’s window, dusk spilling through the glass in muted gold.

“My lord,” the servant panted, voice tight. “She’s- she’s gone.”

Max turned slowly. “Gone?”

“I searched her chambers, the halls, the west wing-”

“And the library?” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting through the servant’s stammering explanation.

The servant faltered. “The… the library, my lord?”

“Yes,” Max said evenly, already striding toward the east corridor. “She’s there.”

The servant froze, his jaw slackening. “You… you allowed her inside?”

“Are you questioning me?” Max didn’t even glance back as he continued down the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.

“N-no, my lord!” the servant stammered, bowing reflexively. “But should I-”

“Stay where you are,” Max ordered. “I’ll handle this myself.”

Your two knights stood sentinel by the library doors when he approached, arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of boredom and indifference.

They barely acknowledged him, their attention elsewhere as the echo of his boots rang down the corridor.

Max didn’t slow his pace. “Is she still in there?”

Lando flicked a glance toward Oscar, then shrugged. “Yep. She's buried in a book or something,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, as if it were of little concern.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think to remind her of the time?”

Oscar raised a brow, voice dry. “A certain scion has, unfortunately, forbidden our entry, my lord.”

Max sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Lando was quick to interject with a smirk. “And it’s a lost cause trying to pry our Lady away from a good book. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

Max’s frustration bubbled over into a short, exasperated laugh as he pushed the heavy doors open.

And there you were.

Curled into a high-backed chair, utterly absorbed in the thick, ancient book resting open in your lap.

A few other volumes lay scattered around your feet, their spines cracked open, as if you’d moved through them in a frenzy of curiosity.

Max’s gaze lingered on the sight before him. On the way your head tilted slightly as you read, your brow furrowed in concentration.

His grip on the doorframe loosened, but his jaw remained tight.

“My lady.”

You glanced up, startled but then smiled when you saw him. “Oh, my- Max, What are you doing here again?”

Max’s brow arched slightly at your casual tone. His irritation wavered.

He knew you were about to say ‘my Lord’ again, knew it was a mere slip of the tongue, court etiquette taking over before personal sense.

But.. my Max. Yes, he supposed he was indeed yours.

He couldn't say that though so when he spoke, it was only a disinterested, “It’s dinner time.”

You blinked, glancing toward the tall windows where the light had shifted to deep amber.

“Already? I hadn’t even realized-” You glanced down at the book in your lap, reluctant to put it aside. “I haven’t even finished this chapter.”

His gaze dropped to the title in your hands. “Faust,” he noted, tucking the information away. “You read German?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… only at an elementary level.”

Max's eyebrow arched slightly. You were either a liar or terribly humble.

“Faust,” he repeated dryly. “Hardly a book for someone with only elementary German. Your skills are passable, at least.”

“Just enough to get by,” you admitted, more honest now, brushing invisible dust from your skirt as you stood.

Max offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation this time.

He noticed, though he said nothing about the change, afraid that if he voiced it out you'd withdraw again.

“You might find Faust more rewarding if you read it in context,” he remarked as you walked down the hall, your knights and maid following behind.

You glanced up at him, curious. “And what context would that be?”

“Understanding Goethe’s philosophical explorations, for one. Or at least recognizing the poetic structure in its original form.”

You tilted your head. “So now you’re saying my German isn’t good enough?”

“I’m saying it’s a pity to read something monumental in fragments,” he replied. “Not a criticism.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The corners of your lips quirked upward.

“Take it as you like.” He offered you a small shrug, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “Which German do you struggle with?”

“Official documents,” you admitted. “The kind that's full of overly formal phrasing and unnecessary flourish.”

Max hummed, thoughtful. Most official documents were indeed like that. “I could assist with that, should the need arise.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “You would?”

“If I find myself having time.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, brushing off your words. “And don't sit too close to the mezzanine shelves,” he added. “They’re unstable.”

Your brows rose. “Unstable?”

“I don’t need you buried beneath three hundred years of German history,” he said, his tone casual but his meaning clear.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’d miss me, then?”

“More likely, the servants would revolt,” he said, gesturing to the doors to the dining hall. “Dinner then, shall we?”

—

The dining hall was an expansive, imposing space, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows over the vast table.

Candles decorated much of the available surfaces in a surprisingly tasteful way.

Their flames flickered weakly, struggling to combat the cold that clung to the stone walls like it was a living, breathing thing.

The table stretched far ahead, but only two places were set.

Max took his seat at the head without so much as a glance in your direction, and you slid into the chair opposite him.

Lily quietly withdrew to prepare for your night routine while Lando and Oscar remained a fair distance away, leaving the two of you some privacy to discuss.

Servants moved efficiently, placing the first course on the table: roast venison, honeyed carrots, and freshly baked bread that had already begun to cool in the chill air.

The earlier conversation about books had petered out, leaving a quiet in its wake.

Max ate as though entirely alone, his focus on the meal before him.

You shifted in your seat, the faint scrape of your fork against the plate feeling almost intrusive.

"You know," you began tentatively, "for someone who seems to enjoy books, you’re surprisingly difficult to talk to about them."

Max’s knife paused mid-slice, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

There was no hostility in his gaze, but his expression was unreadable all the same. “Talking about books is rarely as rewarding as reading them.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to have a proper discussion about them.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if the idea amused him, though he didn’t smile. “Do you often accuse your dining companions of conversational ineptitude, or am I a special case?”

“That depends.” You tore off a piece of bread. “Are you going to prove me wrong?”

Max tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity, like someone turning over a puzzle piece in their mind.

“Very well.” He set his knife down carefully. “What would you like to discuss? Goethe? Schiller?”

“Bold of you to assume I am especially fond of German authors. Perhaps I just picked up Faust in the library on a whim.” You smiled. “But if you must know, I’ve been working through Balzac recently.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly, though still difficult to read. “Balzac? Ambitious. And how are you finding him?”

“Dense,” you admitted with a laugh. “Brilliant, but dense. Definitely not light reading.”

“Few worthwhile things are,” he replied, returning to his meal. “Though I’ve always found Balzac’s fascination with ambition rather… tiresome.”

“Really?” you asked, curious. “Why?”

He took a measured sip of wine before answering. “Because I’ve seen enough ambition in reality to find little appeal in it as fiction.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. A product of generations of ambition.”

His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.

There was a flicker of something, maybe hesitation, before he spoke. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You’re treading close to dangerous ground.”

“Am I?” you asked, though your tone was gentler now, almost teasing. “I thought we were just talking about books.”

Before he could respond, the servants re-entered, clearing the first course and placing the next before you.

The interruption softened the tension, and you let the moment breathe.

When the room was quiet again, you spoke, this time more cautiously. “Alright, then. Enough about me. What about you? What are you reading?”

Max’s fork paused mid-motion, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters,” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “How else am I supposed to judge your taste?”

For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of a smile. “If you must know, The Sorrows of Young Werther.”

You blinked, surprised. “Goethe’s most sentimental work? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Sentimentality has its uses,” he said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Even you might agree.”

“Are you suggesting I’m sentimental?” you arched a brow.

“I’m suggesting you’re curious,” he replied, his tone even. “Perhaps overly so.”

“Fair.” You conceded with a small laugh. “But I’m curious.. what draws you to it? The tragedy? The unrequited love?”

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before he answered.

“The futility,” he said quietly, lifting his wine glass. “Of longing for something you cannot have.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. When he didn’t elaborate, you picked up your own glass, letting the silence linger without pressing further.

“You have a rather bleak outlook, don’t you?” you asked finally, your voice softer now.

“Realistic,” he corrected, not unkindly, his gaze flicking back to yours. “Not everyone has the luxury of optimism.”

You frowned slightly, not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s not about luxury,” you said after a pause. “It’s about perspective.”

“Perspective is shaped by reality.” His eyes met yours, boring. “And reality is rarely kind.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time it felt less uneasy and more thoughtful.

As dinner wrapped up, Max glanced at your knights before settling on you, his tone lightening as he spoke. “I trust you can find your rooms?”

You nodded, standing from your chair. “Yes, I think so.”

“No late-night wandering, then?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Max’s lips twitched again, softer this time, as if he might actually be considering a smile. “Good. I’d hate to have to rescue you from some misstep in the dark.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I’d need rescuing?”

“Experience,” he said simply, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The air between you shifted slightly, the earlier sharpness fading into something more subdued.

You allowed yourself a small laugh, breaking the lingering tension. “I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”

“Is that so?” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His tone had softened, the sharp edges dulling to a quiet curiosity. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll trust you.”

“Trust,” you repeated, letting the word hang between you. “A bold move, considering we’ve only just met.”

Max regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something in his voice, quiet, measured, and entirely unexpected, that made you pause. The weight of the moment settled around you like the faint flicker of the candlelight, warm yet fragile.

“Well,” you said finally. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He rose from his seat with practiced ease, the flicker of warmth in his eyes quickly hidden behind his composed demeanor. “Goodnight, then.”

You watched him as he left the dining hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his footsteps fading into the vast, empty space.

For a moment, you sat in the quiet, your gaze lingering on the door where he had disappeared.

Finally, you stood, the faintest smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Max,” you murmured to the empty room.

—-

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of your room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and silver. The air carried a sharp chill, the promise of frost lingering just outside the thick panes of glass.

Everything was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of fabric as Lily moved about with quiet precision.

She bent over a polished wooden chair, her deft hands smoothing out the folds of the attire she’d chosen for you.

A cloak of deep crimson lay draped across her arm, its rich, heavy fabric catching the faint light. You stirred in your bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she worked.

“Good morning, Lily,” you murmured, sitting up and drawing the blankets closer against the morning chill.

Lily turned with a warm smile, setting the cloak on the bed beside you. “Good morning, my Lady. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, your fingers brushing the thick velvet of the cloak. You tilted your head, examining it with curiosity. “I don’t recall seeing this in my wardrobe before.”

“It was delivered just this morning,” Lily explained, her tone light but tinged with amusement. “A gift, I believe, from Lord Verstappen.”

Your brows lifted as you traced the intricate embroidery along the hem, tiny silver threads woven into delicate patterns. “From Lord Verstappen?”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “He must have assumed the worst given your attire yesterday.”

“It’s rather heavy,” you remarked, holding it up to feel its weight.

Lily gave you a knowing smile, her tone dry but affectionate. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’d rather you walk with less grace than freeze, my Lady.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you draped the cloak over your shoulders.

It was impossibly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones. “You’re not wrong. I suppose there’s no room for vanity when winter comes knocking.”

“None at all,” Lily agreed, moving to adjust the cloak, fastening the silver clasp at your throat. “Besides, the color suits you. Lord Verstappen has surprisingly good taste. I'd have assumed he’d just grab any old thing and force you into it.”

You raised a brow at the tone that laced her words, giving her a sidelong glance. “Flattery for him, Lily? Are you trying to curry favor? And here I thought you were quite ready to sock him just yesterday.”

She feigned innocence, stepping back with a twinkle in her eye. “Not at all, my Lady. But if he keeps sending gifts like this, I might just start.”

Your laughter filled the room, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. You were somewhat glad Lily saw him as redeemable after yesterday.

After all, she was usually a good judge of character.

As you stood, the cloak fell around you like a royal mantle, its weight grounding but comforting.

By the time you entered the dining hall, Max was already seated at the long table, a vision of composed efficiency.

His pale hair was still perfectly swept back, not a strand out of place, and a small stack of documents sat before him.

His pen moved steadily across the paper, his focus unbroken even as the golden morning light softened the sharpness of his features.

“Good morning, Max,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him, your tone deliberately chipper.

Max glanced up briefly, eyes meeting yours with the barest flicker of warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied, setting his pen down with the precision of a man who never did anything carelessly. “You’re up early.”

“It’s rather difficult to stay in bed when the frost feels like it's climbing up to sleep with you,” you said, grabbing a warm roll from the plate near you. “Do you have a deal with the weather to ensure I never sleep in?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit to nothing. But if the frost succeeds, perhaps I should reward it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” you said, tearing a piece of bread and slathering it with butter. “I’ve made my peace with it, though. I realized there was a charm to the winter once I got over the whole ‘freezing to death’ aspect.”

Max arched a brow, his eyes sparkling faintly with what you hoped was amusement. “A charm, you say? I wasn’t aware you were so poetic in the mornings.”

“Oh, I’m a veritable bard before breakfast,” you said. “In fact, I was just composing a sonnet about how frostbite builds character.”

He snorted softly as he reached for his tea, the sound barely audible, but it felt like a victory. “I’ll be sure to commission a copy of it for the library.”

You leaned back in your chair, feeling emboldened by his rare moment of humor

“Speaking of things worth writing about, I was thinking of spending some time in the garden today. It looks magical with the frost.”

Max paused, his teacup halfway to his lips, and gave you a look that bordered on incredulous. “The garden? In winter?”

“Yes, the garden,” you said, undeterred. “You do realize it’s still a garden, even when it’s cold?”

He set his cup down slowly, as if trying to process your words. “You are aware that nothing grows in the garden during winter, yes? Unless you count the weeds, which I doubt have much aesthetic appeal.”

“There are flowers that survive in winter,” you said with a pointed look.

He tilted his head, his expression blank. “Like what? Frozen dandelions?”

“Snowdrops, holly, winter jasmine,” you listed off, ticking them off on your fingers. “I saw some while passing by yesterday. Honestly, do you even know what’s in your own garden?”

Max leaned back slightly. “I delegate. Why bother when there are people who are willing to brave the frost to catalog it all for me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “How magnanimous of you.”

He inclined his head slightly, as though you’d paid him a genuine compliment. “It’s a skill.”

“You should come with me,” you said suddenly. “A little walk in the fresh air couldn’t hurt. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his teacup. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said finally, his tone carefully polite. “But my duties don’t often allow for such… luxuries.”

“Luxuries?” you raised a brow. “Surely even a Lord like yourself deserves a moment to himself.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, but it faded quickly. “Perhaps another time.”

You nodded, masking your disappointment with a practiced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”

“Distraction,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest hint of something warmer beneath the surface.

“Perhaps,” he said again, this time softer, almost to himself.

You glanced down, heat creeping up your cheeks, and busied yourself with your breakfast.

—-

The steady scratch of a quill against parchment filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.

Max leaned over his desk, eyes scanning the dense columns of reports.

The study was dim, the late afternoon light barely filtering through the heavy curtains. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Yet, for all his focus, his pen paused mid-sentence.

His thoughts drifted. Again.

To you.

He could see it vividly in his mind: the garden cloaked in frost, each branch thin and brittle beneath the weight of winter.

You would be there, wouldn’t you? Bundled in that wool cloak you favored, breath curling in the cold air as you traced the icy edges of dormant rose bushes.

You had mentioned it offhandedly this morning, your plan to spend the afternoon outside despite the chill.

Max let out a slow breath, frowning at the parchment before him.

The words blurred, meaningless.

It was ridiculous.

You were likely gone by now, the cold too sharp to endure for long.

Rationality urged him to stay, to finish the reports that demanded his attention.

Yet the thought persisted.

Why did it matter if you were still there?

It shouldn’t.

And yet.

The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood.

He didn’t bother with his coat. The cold would be a brief inconvenience.

His steps were measured as he left the study, though there was a certain tension in his stride, as if he was trying to convince himself this was a simple walk and nothing more.

The manor’s halls gave way to the biting air of winter, and Max inhaled sharply, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his sleeves.

The gravel path crunched beneath his boots as he crossed into the garden.

The world was quiet here. Still.

The pale sun sagged low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over frost-laced branches and brittle hedges. Even the air felt suspended, holding its breath.

He scanned the expanse, expecting, no, hoping, to see a flicker of movement among the barren trees.

Nothing.

Max’s jaw tightened.

Of course. You wouldn’t have waited. Hours had passed. Why would you linger in the cold for him? The thought was absurd.

He moved forward anyway, slow and deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back as if that could restrain the growing restlessness in his chest.

Each turn of the path yielded only more empty frost-covered stone.

Once.

Twice.

A third time around, and still nothing.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

He turned to leave.

Then, faintly, the sound of movement, a soft rustle of fabric.

His head snapped up.

And there you were.

Tucked into the curve of a stone bench, half-hidden by the skeletal branches of the hedgerow.

A book lay open in your lap, your gloved fingers idly turning the page.

Max stared.

You hadn’t left.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, something between relief and unease.

He didn’t speak, not immediately. For a moment, he simply watched you, the way your breath misted in the cold, how your hair caught the pale light.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come out here.

But now that he had, he found he didn’t want to leave.

Max exhaled quietly, letting the breath curl away into the cold.

He stood perfectly still, half-concealed by the bare limbs of the hedgerow, his figure blending into the stark winter landscape. The cold gnawed at him, a sharp wind threading through the thin fabric of his sleeves, but he didn’t move.

His breath escaped in thin, controlled streams of vapor, dissipating into the frigid air.

And still, his eyes remained fixed on you.

You sat quietly on the stone bench, bundled in the cloak he'd ordered a servant to bring to you last night come morning, its edges stiff with frost.

A book rested in your lap, your gloved fingers lazily tracing the brittle page edges as you turned them.

Every now and then, you paused, eyes lifting to watch the pale sun as it sagged toward the horizon, before returning to your reading.

Max’s hands tightened behind his back.

He shouldn’t be here.

There was no reason to be.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

He told himself it was coincidence, that his steps had simply led him here after hours of restless pacing in his study.

But even that excuse felt thin, crumbling under the weight of his own unease.

He exhaled slowly, the breath catching in the cold.

Why didn’t you go inside? The air was sharp and biting.

Anyone with sense would’ve retreated to the warmth of the manor by now. Yet you sat there still, as if waiting for something.

Or someone.

A ridiculous thought.

Max’s jaw tightened.

"You know," a dry voice cut through the stillness, "standing there staring is a bit creepy, my Lord.”

Max turned sharply, his cold glare snapping to the armored figure leaning casually against the frosted stone archway.

Oscar.

The knight stood with an infuriating air of nonchalance, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other shoved lazily into the crook of his elbow. His breath misted lazily in the cold air, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re out of line.” Max’s voice was flat, the warning unmistakable.

Oscar only raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Probably. But you’ve been standing long enough that I figured someone should say something.”

Max’s glare deepened.

Oscar tilted his head slightly toward the garden. “You could just speak to her, you know. I’m half certain she wouldn’t mind.”

“I have no intention of interrupting her,” Max said coolly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Oscar made a thoughtful noise, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “No, of course not. That’s why you’re skulking in the hedges instead of being a normal person and saying hello.”

Max’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You have duties. Attend to them.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I am attending to them. Protecting the lady, making sure her suitors aren’t lurking about. You know, the usual.”

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“Did she not mention this morning she hoped you’d join her out here?” the knight asked offhandedly, brushing frost off his shoulder. “But maybe I heard wrong. Could’ve been the wind.”

Max didn’t respond.

Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment before shrugging. “Well. Suit yourself.”

With that, he pushed off the archway and strode casually toward you, boots crunching against the frost-laden gravel.

Max didn’t move. His gaze followed Oscar with a cold, sharp focus, but his feet remained planted, weighed down by something heavier than pride.

Oscar’s figure grew smaller as he neared you.

And then, you looked up.

Your face softened in recognition, lips curving into a faint smile as your knight approached. Max’s chest tightened inexplicably.

“You’ve been out here a while, my lady,” Oscar remarked lightly, stopping beside the stone bench.

You laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the still air. “Longer than I meant to. Has it gotten that late already?”

“Late enough,” Oscar said, leaning slightly against the stone edge. “Cold enough too, I imagine.”

You exhaled, watching the breath curl away. “The cold’s not so bad.”

Oscar smirked. “If you say so. Though I passed Lord Max earlier. He was out here too.”

Your eyes lifted, blinking in quiet surprise. “Was he?”

Oscar hummed. “Looked like he was thinking about joining you. Or maybe just staring at you. Hard to tell with him.”

Your gaze flicked toward the distant paths, searching the empty garden.

Oscar watched you carefully. “Still might be lurking somewhere. Shadows seem to agree with him.”

You smiled faintly, but your eyes lingered on the hedgerows, thoughtful.

Oscar nudged a frost-coated pebble with his boot. “You know… if you wanted him here, you could just call him out. Maybe the shame will make his feet move.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow.

He smirked. “Just a thought, my Lady.”

Oscar pushed off the bench. “Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out much longer.”

As they turned to head back toward the manor, Max stood still, hidden beyond the hedges.

His hands clenched slowly at his sides.

And then, finally, he turned and walked away.

The frost crunched beneath his boots, louder than before.

—

The rest of the month at the Verstappen estate unfolded in slow, deliberate strokes, like the steady brush of winter wind against frosted glass.

The walls of cold formality between you and Max didn’t crumble overnight, but there were cracks now. Thin, hairline fractures where something softer threatened to seep through.

Max remained composed, distant, his every word and gesture measured. Yet every so often, something flickered.

A hesitation before he spoke. A glance that lingered longer than necessary.

Small, fleeting moments that barely seemed to matter, but they did. They built something fragile and new, fragile as frost on stone.

It started with the garden.

You had grown fond of the winter gardens. Quiet, stark, and untouched. The biting air sharpened your senses, and the stillness gave you space to breathe, something you often struggled to find within the Verstappen estate's cold, towering walls.

You were seated at the breakfast table one morning, fingers curled around your tea for warmth.

Your eyes traced the frost-laced hedgerows beyond the tall windows, lost in thought.

“I’ll accompany you today.”

The voice was quiet but certain, breaking through your reverie.

Your head snapped up.

Max stood across the room, a stack of documents in hand, his expression unreadable.

“…Pardon?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “To the gardens. I’ll walk with you.”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “You want to… walk. Outside. In the cold.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Yes.”

“You?”

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Frankly? Yes.” You set your teacup down carefully, studying him. “Don’t you have something far more important to do than trail after me like some-”

“I hardly think safeguarding my betrothed is beneath me,” he cut in smoothly, though something in his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

You raised a brow. “Safeguard me? Max, it’s a garden, not a battlefield.”

He didn’t answer, only held your gaze steadily.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, far be it from me to refuse the protection of a lord.”

Max inclined his head, as if the matter was settled.

—

The cold met you both immediately as you stepped into the garden.

You drew your coat tighter. Max, of course, didn’t seem to notice the cold at all.

His steps were measured, boots crunching against the frost-dusted path. He kept half a step ahead of you, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The silence stretched. And stretched.

Then, abruptly-

“Those are evergreens.”

You blinked.

“…Yes. They are.”

Max gave a small nod, as if confirming a fact. “They endure the winter well.”

"That is typically how evergreens work."

Silence.

You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface.

Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking forward again. "I thought it was worth mentioning."

"It was very insightful," you teased lightly.

His jaw tightened, though you noticed the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so suffocating now.

"I don’t…" he started, then stopped. His hands flexed behind his back. "I’m not particularly… good at this."

You tilted your head. "At walking?”

A sharp exhale, half a laugh, half frustration. "At this. Talking. Being-" he paused, as if the word itself burned. "-approachable."

You considered him for a moment. "You’re not as terrible as you think."

His eyes flicked to yours, uncertain.

"You just talk about trees a lot."

That earned a genuine huff of breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.

"I’ll… keep that in mind.”

—

Days slipped by like soft falling snow, quiet and unhurried. And so did the walks.

The first few outings had been brittle, every step and word sharp with awkwardness. But little by little, the stiffness began to melt.

It wasn’t anything grand, no sweeping gestures or sudden confessions, but something quieter. Subtle.

Max no longer fumbled for conversation, and you no longer waited for him to.

Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you didn’t. And somehow, the silences became easier.

There was comfort in it, like the steady crunch of frost beneath your boots or the way your breath curled in the cold air.

It started with small things.

One morning, as you walked past a thicket of frost-covered hedges, Max slowed his pace, watching you with a flicker of curiosity.

“You always stop here.”

You glanced at him, surprised he noticed. “It’s peaceful.”

His eyes followed yours to the bare branches dusted in white.

“Hm.” He made a low sound of acknowledgment, then fell quiet.

The next day, you noticed he lingered near that spot, as if waiting for you to pause first.

He didn’t say anything, but it was enough.

Another morning, you stumbled slightly on the uneven path, your boot catching on a patch of ice.

Before you could right yourself, a steady hand caught your elbow.

You blinked, looking up.

Max’s hand hovered there, his grip careful but sure.

His expression was unreadable, but his touch was steady.

“You should watch your step,” he murmured.

You stared at him for a beat too long.

“I was,” you said finally, a little breathless.

His hand dropped back to his side, and he turned away before you could see the faint pink creeping up his neck.

The next day, the path had been salted.

You never mentioned it. Neither did he.

But the air between you felt lighter.

Then, there was the matter of the scarf.

It was colder than usual that morning. Bitter wind snuck through the layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your skin.

Max noticed.

“You’re cold,” he said flatly.

You glanced at him, defensive. “It’s winter. Everyone’s cold.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, he unwound the dark wool scarf from his neck and held it out to you.

You blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

“You need it more than I do.”

You stared at the scarf, then at him. “Max, I’m not going to take your scarf. That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s practical,” he replied, tone perfectly serious.

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, is it? And what about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

His expression didn’t waver.

After a long pause, you sighed and took the scarf from his hands.

It was warm. Warmer than yours, and it smelled faintly of cedar and something crisp, like winter air.

You looped it around your neck, hiding a small smile.

“Happy now?”

Max gave a short nod. “Good.”

The next day, he wore a thicker coat.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But his gaze lingered on the scarf around your neck.

And that was enough.

The silences softened after that.

Some days, Max would walk slightly ahead, hands behind his back, eyes on the path.

Other days, he matched your stride, quiet but near.

Once, as you passed a row of brittle rose bushes, you paused, brushing your glove over the thorns.

Max stopped beside you.

“They won’t bloom again until spring.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“They’re still... nice to look at,” he admitted.

You glanced at him.

“That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.”

A slight shrug. “They’re resilient. Even now.”

You smiled, soft and secret.

Another day, you caught him watching you when you laughed at something small. A small squirrel darting through the snow, slipping and scrambling back up a tree.

Max didn’t laugh, but something flickered in his eyes.

Not amusement.

Something warmer.

He looked away when you caught him, but you didn’t tease him for it.

The walks stretched longer. The conversations grew softer.

There were no grand declarations, no sweeping changes.

Just the slow, steady thaw of winter.

And for now, that was enough.

—-

It happened on an ordinary day, so ordinary that you couldn’t have guessed it would stand out for any reason at all.

You were sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a file, your thoughts half on the task and half on the cup of tea cooling beside you.

You were aware of Max nearby, as you always seemed to be. The two of you had taken to spending your quiet moments together for some reason.

He was seated at the far corner, half-hidden behind a stack of papers, his focus presumably locked on his work.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you reached for your tea, your eyes lifting momentarily, that you noticed it. His gaze.

Max was staring at you.

It wasn’t a casual glance or a quick flicker of attention. His eyes were fixed, steady, like he was studying you without even realizing it.

There was something almost unreadable in his expression, his usual guarded demeanor softened by a hint of… curiosity? Thoughtfulness? You couldn’t quite place it.

For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Should you look away? Pretend you hadn’t noticed? Confront him?

The options raced through your mind in a tangle, but before you could decide, Max blinked, as though snapping out of a trance.

His gaze shifted back to the papers in front of him, his movements abrupt and uncharacteristically awkward.

He cleared his throat quietly, shuffling the documents with more focus than necessary.

You felt your cheeks warm, a faint heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t like Max to lose his composure, even slightly.

You wondered what he’d been thinking. Or if he’d even realized what he was doing.

“Everything alright?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch uncomfortably long. Your voice was casual, light, as though the moment hadn’t happened.

Max didn’t look up immediately, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, but there was a faint edge to it, something almost defensive.

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat longer. “You sure? You looked… distracted.”

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable again, but this time you thought you caught the faintest flicker of something.

Embarrassment, maybe, or irritation at being caught.

“I’m sure,” he said, his tone more even now.

“Alright,” you said lightly, turning back to your file with a small shrug. But your heart was still racing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what had just passed between you.

As the moments ticked by, you resisted the urge to glance at him again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his earlier stare.

—

The two of you found yourselves in the library again, a rare moment of calm amidst the usual chaos.

Max sat across from you, his attention drifting between the book in his hands and the room around him.

For once, he wasn’t buried in paperwork or fielding endless questions from others, and the quiet was almost comforting.

The soft rustle of turning pages and the muted hum of your own reading filled the air.

It was a stillness that wrapped around you both, unspoken but shared, a silence that felt like an unacknowledged truce.

Until the peace fractured.

A faint groan of wood sliced through the quiet, subtle at first but growing louder, sharper. You frowned, your eyes flicking upward from your book.

Max noticed the sound too, his head tilting slightly as his attention shifted.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the groaning intensified. “Stay here,” he muttered, already rising from his chair.

But before either of you could move further, the source of the noise revealed itself.

The tall shelf in the corner swayed unnaturally, its weight shifting in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Max-” you started, panic creeping into your voice.

And then it happened. The shelf gave way.

Books tumbled from its upper shelves like a cascade of water, filling the air with dull thuds and sharp cracks.

The massive structure pitched toward you, and you froze, your feet rooted in place.

“Move!” a voice yelled.

You barely registered the shout before a strong hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back with such force that your book flew from your grasp.

Your back slammed into something solid. Someone’s chest.

A deafening crash filled the room as the shelf slammed into the ground, its impact sending vibrations through the floor.

Books scattered in every direction, some sliding to a stop at your feet.

“Are you okay?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with panic. His hand still gripped your arm, his knuckles white from the effort.

You turned toward him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “I… I think so.”

His eyes darted over you, scanning for any sign of injury. “Did it hit you?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less urgent.

“No,” you managed. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”

Max exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left him.

He dropped his hand from your arm, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze stayed locked on you.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it was old..” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, still trying to steady your breathing. “You couldn’t have known it would fall like that.”

His brow furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “I should’ve checked it. What if-” He cut himself off, his jaw working as he looked away.

“It didn’t,” you said firmly. “You pulled me out of the way. That’s what matters.”

Max’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepened. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve-”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “Max, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t push the shelf. You didn’t make it fall.”

He met your gaze then, his eyes dark and filled with a storm of emotions. “But I could’ve stopped it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The raw guilt in his voice surprised you. It was rare to see Max shaken. You didn't even think it possible.

“You did stop it. At least for me,” you said softly.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he sighed and stepped toward the wreckage. “This is a mess,” he muttered, his tone shifting to something more clipped, controlled. “I’ll get someone to clean it up. You should go sit down. Get some air.”

You followed his gaze to the pile of broken wood and scattered books. The sight made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to speak. “I’ll help. I was here too.”

“No,” Max said quickly, holding up a hand. “You’ve had enough of a scare for one day. Just… take a break, alright?”

You hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

Max gave a short, almost reluctant nod in return. “Good. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him. He was already moving toward the debris, his focus shifting entirely to the mess. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of what could have happened for a while.

And so would you.

—-

The realization that you fancied Max struck with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.

You fancied your fiancé. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

The thought struck you like a bolt of lightning, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest as you paced back and forth across your room.

With each step, the walls of the room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the suffocating pressure of your own spiraling thoughts.

How had this happened? Why him? Of all people, why Max?

Stoic, distant Max, the man you barely even knew.

“It’s a trick of the mind. A reaction to circumstance,” you whispered, the words directed at your own reflection in the mirror.

Your face was pinched, your brow furrowed, and your eyes wide with a mixture of dread and something… else.

You rubbed at your temples, as though the act might banish the errant thoughts swirling in your mind.

“It’s admiration,” you said aloud, as if hearing the words would make them true. “Respect for his… demeanor. His resolve.”

You faltered, the image of Max flickering to life in your mind.

His measured gaze, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he was deep in thought.

The way his presence seemed to command the air around him.

Stop it.

“Lily!” you called out suddenly, your voice higher than you intended, panic rising sharply in your throat. “Lily, please, come here!”

The door creaked open, and Lily entered with her usual composed air, her eyes softening as soon as she took in the sight of your distress.

“My Lady, what’s wrong? You look...” she trailed off, hesitation in her tone as she glanced at you, clearly noting the unease written across your face.

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted quickly, pressing your palms to your temples in an effort to stave off the rising panic. “I’m losing my mind, Lily. I think... I think I have feelings for Max.”

Lily regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her eyebrow.

A hint of intrigue that you couldn’t quite place. She did not seem surprised.

“Max?” she asked, her voice calm, though the faintest hint of something stirred in her eyes. “As in, your betrothed, Lord Max Verstappen?”

“Yes! That Max!” you exclaimed, turning toward her with wide, frantic eyes, feeling the chaos inside you deepen with every word you spoke. “What other Max would I be talking about?!”

Lily paused for a moment, her eyes assessing you, the soft lines of her face betraying no judgment, only careful understanding.

Finally, she spoke, her tone even, but with an edge of something like amusement.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m glad it’s not hatred you’re feeling.”

You blinked, surprised at her response. “What?”

She gave you a small, wry smile, her hands folding gently in front of her. “I’m glad you don’t detest the man you’re engaged to. That’s a start, isn’t it? At least you’re not loathing him.”

You gaped at her, your mind still reeling from the gravity of your own emotions. “But this isn’t nothing, Lily! This isn’t just some passing fancy. I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he’s near, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s like- like he’s too close and I’m too far from myself.”

Lily’s gaze softened, but she did not rush to soothe you with easy words.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice measured but firm. “Feelings like these don’t appear overnight, My Lady. They don’t disappear either. But you’re right. You don’t know him very well yet. You’ve got time to work this out, slowly. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as a new wave of uncertainty washed over you.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Lily. What if I say something wrong? What if I act like a fool in front of him? What if... what if he doesn’t care at all?”

Lily stepped closer to you, her presence steady, constant.

“Then he doesn’t,” she said simply. “If he doesn’t care, then... then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, My Lady. But know this: no other woman is taking him from you. He’s already yours. That’s settled.”

Her words settled over you like a weight.

He was already yours.

There was no escaping the finality of it, the truth in her calm tone.

The idea that you didn’t need to chase after him, that he was already tied to you in ways you couldn’t control, both unsettled and reassured you.

“I’m not even sure I want him, though,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t even know what this is. What if I’m just... confused? What if it’s just... attachment? I mean, he’s always there, he’s my betrothed, but- he’s not-”

“Stop,” Lily’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts. “You don’t need to understand it all right now. You don’t need to be sure of your feelings just because you’ve realized them.”

You took a slow breath, your chest tight as you tried to keep your composure.

Her words were soothing in their simplicity, but they didn’t change your feelings. “I just... I don’t know what to do with all this. It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t keep up.”

You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.

Lily gave you a small, understanding smile, though it was tinged with a trace of amusement.

She didn’t speak for a moment, as though carefully weighing her response. “Then take it slow, my Lady. You’re allowed to feel all of this, in your own time. You don’t have to rush to make sense of it. No one’s going to force you to figure it out on anyone else’s schedule.”

A tiny sense of relief swept over you, but the knot in your stomach still refused to loosen.

You glanced at the door, as though the mere idea of being near Max would send everything crashing down again.

“So... you’re saying I can avoid him... for a while?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. “Avoid him?” she repeated, the edge of disbelief creeping into her voice. “My Lady, if I may-"

“But I can?” you pressed, cutting her off, eyes wide with urgency. “You said I could take my time, right? Well, avoiding him sounds like taking my time to me.”

Lily sighed, the sound long and heavy, as though you were testing her patience. “Yes, My Lady, your free will does indeed allow you to avoid him, if that’s truly what you wish.”

A spark of triumph flickered inside you.

“Perfect.” You stood straighter, a plan forming in your mind. “Call for Sir Lando and Sir Oscar.”

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you suspiciously. “What for, My Lady?”

You gave her an almost manic grin, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as your plan took shape. “They’re going to help me.”

“Help you... with avoiding your betrothed?” Lily asked slowly, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice. She crossed her arms, studying you with a bemused expression.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “They’ll help me stay away from him. They’ll distract him, tell him I’m busy with... other things.”

Lily opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes at you as if you had just suggested something ludicrous.

“My Lady,” she said, her voice dipping into a tone of mild reproach, “I must say, I don’t think that’s the most productive course of action.”

“Oh, please.” You threw your hands up dramatically. “I’m just trying to buy myself some time here. I can’t face him, not with these... feelings…whatever they are…bubbling up every time I even think about him. If I can just avoid him for a little while, I can breathe again.”

Lily shook her head, a small, resigned smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think this is the solution you’re looking for, My Lady. But if you insist on this... strategy, I can’t stop you.”

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the shift in her tone. “You can stop me, can’t you? You’re my lady’s maid. You’re supposed to stop me from making poor decisions.”

Lily raised an eyebrow right back at you. “I’m also supposed to help you navigate poor decisions, not prevent them entirely. And right now, this is just one of many decisions I’m going to let you make on your own.”

She paused, eyeing you carefully. “But just know, avoiding him isn’t going to give you the answers you need. It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

You smiled sweetly, still not convinced. “Sometimes, a little delay is exactly what I need. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. We’re betrothed, after all.”

“That you are,” Lily replied, her tone becoming slightly sharper. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be avoiding him. You’ve got time, but you also have a responsibility to work through your feelings. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

You glanced toward the door, already plotting the next phase of your plan. “I’ll figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m going to need some assistance.”

Lily sighed again, louder this time.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the door as though she were silently debating whether or not to humor you.

Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll fetch Sir Lando and Sir Oscar. But I’m warning you, My Lady, this avoidance strategy won’t last long.”

You grinned triumphantly as she turned to leave. “Thank you, Lily. You’re the best.”

As she stepped out of the room, you sank back into your chair, letting your mind wander to the next step of your plan.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but it felt better than facing Max and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside you.

For now, avoiding him was the only option that seemed remotely manageable.

When Lily returned with your knights, they each looked at you with varying degrees of confusion and amusement, but you gave them a firm, confident look.

This plan was going to work.

You could make it work.

“Alright,” you said, standing tall, as though the sheer gravity of your decision had transformed you into a seasoned military strategist. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to make sure Max never sees me again.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.

“Or at least… not for a while.”

Lando and Oscar exchanged a glance. Lando’s lips twitched upward, the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, while Oscar’s furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed his confusion.

“Right,” Lando said finally, leaning back and crossing his arms. His tone was equal parts incredulous and amused. “This ought to be good. What, exactly, do you want us to do, my Lady? This sounds like it’s going to be excellent for my boredom.”

Oscar’s expression tightened further. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, half to himself, his arms now folded.

You straightened your back, summoning all the confidence you could muster. “I am entirely serious. From this moment forward, I have suddenly become… extremely busy.”

Oscar blinked. “Busy,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes, busy,” you replied, the words tumbling out with an exaggerated air of importance. “So busy, in fact, that I won’t have a single moment to spare. And I need you two to help make sure that’s… believable.”

Lando arched an eyebrow, a grin now fully blossoming on his face. “Wait, let me get this straight. You want us to..what? Fabricate your life for a bit?”

“Exactly,” you said with a flourish of your hand, as though the absurdity of your request was irrelevant. “A little misdirection here, a well-timed excuse there. Between the two of you, I’m sure you can come up with something convincing.”

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “So, you’re asking us to keep Max, the man who has been running this house like a clock, distracted? To throw him off the scent entirely?”

“Precisely,” you said, lifting your chin.

Oscar looked less amused and more concerned, his practical nature coming to the forefront. “And what exactly is this plan supposed to achieve? You think if we keep him occupied for long enough, he’ll just… forget about you? You do realize who we’re talking about, right?”

“I don’t need him to forget,” you replied quickly, your voice rising slightly in pitch. “I just need him to be… preoccupied. Thoroughly distracted. He can’t be allowed to think about me, let alone come looking for me.”

Lando, who had been quietly observing, suddenly burst out laughing. “This is incredible. You’re trying to dodge the one man who could probably find you in his sleep.”

Oscar sighed again after a moment , clearly reluctant. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Excellent,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Now, let’s get to work.”

As Lando leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and Oscar reluctantly nodded his agreement, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Surely, this would work. How hard could it be to outmaneuver Max Emilian Verstappen?

You tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that you might have just made a very, very big mistake.

—-

Permanent tag list:

@papichulomacy

[nikovraskol]

crack baby ; four

wc ; 2114 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect, panic attacks

prologue, one, two, three, four, tbc..

The rain outside casted a shadow of gloom over the morose city, the rhythmic pat-pat-pat on the windows creating an uncomfortable backdrop to your inner thoughts. Your head was resting in your hands, fingers scrunching at the edge of your scalp, tangling your hair with such force it felt like your mind was being split in two.

The pain was nothing compared to the pounding of your heart, ricocheting so loud that you felt it in your shoulders, in your fingertips – in each cell of your body.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Those three words echoed in your mind like a beat rebounding off a drum, what is going on? This is–..

When you miraculously turned back in time, you naively believed it would be easy – you’d silently leave without fuss, everything would progress as it should and you’d live life away from the looming Manor they called home. 

So why, why does it feel like every time you try to leave, someone’s there holding their hand on your neck. Why? Why can’t you just leave? It was so easy before, you could leave the Manor, disappear for days on end and nobody would notice, now it feels like someone is always hovering around.

Every time you leave your room, every time you try – they’re there! Why? What caused this sudden shift? You didn’t do anything drastic. So why? What changed? You’d spent years of your pathetic life scrambling for any sort of attention. For them. What secret trick have you pulled to put yourself in their spotlight? And why now?!

“Fuck.” You grumble, crumpling into yourself pitifully. There is absolutely no light at the end of this stupid tunnel. One of those stupid circus clowns is always there to stand before the small glimmers of hopes that shine through, much like the sun through a window. They curtain the light, under the pretense of protecting you from the sun’s burns, but how can you live without the sun’s warmth?

The rain outside grew more intense as you spiral, a testimony to the raging shit-show inside you. There is– one option. An option you loathe to think about. Bothering her would be.. It’s not something you’d like. You’d promised yourself – all that time ago, that you would never look her in the eyes, that you’d never speak a word to her. For her sake, not your own.

It’d be selfish, you really, really shouldn’t. But still, as a precaution, you open up your night stand, reaching to the very, very bottom to pick out a letter. A letter with an address and a phone number. Just in case.

The rain doesn’t seem to be stopping, which is a shame – you’ve always hated the rain.

“What is wrong with you?” A voice calls out, and you just narrowly avoid screaming. You tilt your head with much effort, your eyes zeroing in on Damian. Of course, it’s like a fucking roster. You’re not even safe in your own room.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You respond curtly, resting your head in your hands once more. You can’t stand looking at him. You can’t stand him. You can’t stand his stupid expression, always so prideful. Always so above you. You hate him.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re a Wayne, stop being so… pathetic.” You let out a sharp laugh at his words. Again, a few years ago, those words would’ve filled you with immense joy – enough to power yourself through the loneliness that plagued your whole being. But you’re not that pathetic waste of space, ghosting through the Manor. You’re just [Name],

“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, not picking up your head as you sigh. The rain is heavy, you really hate rain. “I’ve always been pathetic, right?”

You can’t see Damian, but you feel the air in the room shift. It’s strange, everything feels surreal. You almost have half a nerve to–

“Why are you trying to leave?”

His voice sounds weird, he sounds concerned. That’s impossible, you’re speaking to Damian. The boy who’s refused to acknowledge you as his sibling, the one who made it very clear what he thought of you. You raise your head once more to meet his eyes. 

He looks young. Younger than you’ve ever seen him look. 

“Why does it matter to you, this is what you’ve always wanted right?” Your hands begin to tremble, why are you trembling? You’re not scared. You’re– You’re angry. The fearful knot in your stomach frays, anger burning the rope until it tightens around your organs like a springtrap. “You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, don’t try to take the high road now.” “[Name]--”

“I’ve spent my whole life, chasing like a fucking stray for something – anything. Now you wanna act concerned? I’m fucking sick of this. I’m sick of you– I’m sick of everything!” Words were spilling out before you could catch them, the raindrops on the window fueling your anger. The patting making your head fucking pound, you wanted to rip your filthy mind out – everything was loud, too loud.

“Calm down, you’re acting–” 

“Out of everyone in this house, I hate you the most.”

“Huh?” Damian’s voice was soft, quiet – barely audible over the relentless pounding of the rain.

“However much you might hate me, I hate you a hundred, no, a thousand times more.” 

You pushed past him, your anger exploding inside your very core. Your blood was rushing through your veins, squeezing until it threatened to blow. If you had half the mind to look back, you’d see the expression on his face.

The walls in the Manor had never felt so looming, so large. It felt like each painting was looking at you, mocking you. The eyes of the soulless characters locked on your form as you marched down the halls.

You had no destination, no goal, but you needed to get out. Each wall was closing in, the roof threatening to collapse – to swallow you whole, to crush you under it’s unforgiving weight. Would that be better? Would you be happier under the sweet mercy of death?

Well, you’re not willing to find out. You’re not that gone, yet.

You could barely register anything as you stormed out the Manor, you heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as you walked. 

The moment the cold rain hit your skin, you ran. Your legs moving before your brain could process it. The downpour soaked you. Your hair and clothes sticking to your body. You weren’t wearing a coat, you had some shitty shoes that you had on from earlier, your whole body felt like it was aflame.

And then you stopped. Your frustration wore off leaving only the ache in your body behind. Your lungs were being squeezed against your ribs, air clawing against the sensitive flesh leaving you breathless. Your legs were shaking, your bones too weak to hold you as you slump against a tree.

Your body hit the cold, wet ground below you. Your head falls on your knees as you cradle yourself. Curse Bruce for living in some fancy ass Manor, away from the rest of Gotham like some fancy jackass. Curse him for being a billionaire. From behind the tree you had slumped yourself on, you could hear some lingering paparazzi – eager for some sort of scoop.

It’d be funny if you jumped out and gave them a real scoop. But you’re too caught up in your own shit for any scandals.

“I really hate the rain.” You mumble, a warm raindrop falling from your eyes. Strange, isn’t rain supposed to be wet? Whatever. 

You felt pathetic. So, truly pathetic. You’d ran away like some brat having a tantrum. Whatever, it’s not like anyone would notice. Nobody ever noticed, that was how life was, how it’d always be. You were destined to be sidelined forever, and you’d finally grown fine with that. So why? 

Your ass was muddy, you were wet, cold, sad – this scenario felt oddly reminiscent, reminiscent of a time before all the neglect, before loneliness was your only companion.

“Your name is [Name]?” A deep voice asked, his tone kind, patient as he looked at you.

Rain stuck to your small form as you looked up at him, your supposed father. The man you’d seen on TV everyday, he was looking at you – his eyes full of kindness that felt unfamiliar. But–

“Where is my mom?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet – afraid. The blooming pain in your head seemed to dull under the rain’s touch, blood seeping down your forehead, dripping down your nose – mingling with the heavy precipitation. The lights from the blaring sirens were shadowed by the man before you, the man who was looking down at you with something akin to pity. 

The teddy bear in your hands was unsalvageable. Between the missing eye, limbs, and now the rain that had drenched it. It was a hard thrust away from falling apart, but it rested in your palms nonetheless. Your fingers curling into the flat, synthetic fur as though it were your only tether to reality.

He slowly kneeled down before you, reaching eye-to-eye before extending his hand. “My name is Bruce, I’ll take care of you and your mother, I promise.” He smiled, he looked so much more human now, he was no longer an untouchable figure, no longer would you have to touch the warm screen of your TV, quietly pleading for him to save you. He was looking at you now, and he’d never look away.

You took his hand.

“Fuck this.” You huff, standing up with way too much effort, your joints still aching because of your little escapade. You weren’t going to sit around and wait for him to hold your hand again, you weren’t going to have him sign anything or give you anything – why should you rely on him? He’s given you nothing. You owe him nothing.

Your wet hand instinctively goes to your pocket, taking out the card with the address. The heavy downpour immediately enveloped the laminated card. Your throat felt heavy immediately as you reread the words on it, soaking in each letter. Swallowing back your nausea, you begin running again – this time, with a purpose.

It was rare for Bruce to lose his composure, but as he stared into your empty room – he felt his control fraying. 

“You’re sure they’re not hiding somewhere else?” He managed to keep his voice calm, despite the pounding of his heart. His eyes scanned your room. So small, he really needs to upgrade it.

“No, Master Bruce, they.. can’t be found anywhere else.” Alfred said, his expression uncharacteristically tense as he stared at the black curls at the back of Bruce’s head. 

Bruce was beginning to feel a sense of dread come upon him.

When Damian came into his study, looking strangely panicked – that was strike one, the moment your name left the young boy’s mouth, Bruce was up and practically sprinting to your room. Strike two.

And strike three was the lack of you in your space. The lack of you in the Manor. He had everyone look around, check every nook and cranny, but you were nowhere to be found. He had told you not to go out without telling him. 

But it’s fine, he is the world’s greatest detective. No need to panic.

Taking a tentative step forward, Bruce took a moment to absorb your space, your personality. The posters on the walls, the trinkets littering your shelves, the small imperfections that discerned you.

And then his eyes fell upon it, your teddy bear. “I thought they threw this out.” Bruce mumbled, his eyes flashing to that rainy day when he had met your cold eyes, eyes too haunted to belong to a child. How could he let that child leave when he had promised to take care of you? You and your mother.

Alarm bells rang in his mind, distantly, he could hear Tim and Cass theorise your where-a-bouts. But–

“Alfred, do you remember where we sent her?” Bruce asked slowly, picking up the teddy bear gently – taking in the ruined toy, a testament to the child you were. To the child you are, his thumb running over the messy stitch marks, no doubt done by you. You had the money of Bruce Wayne at your disposal yet you insisted on keeping this trash? The reminder of your impoverished days? He couldn’t understand it, but then again, he’d never be able to understand you.

Not unless he had an actual conversation, as father and child.

“..Yes, I shall send you the details.” Alfred asked after a pause, his eyes strangely distant as he looked at the window, at the rain droplets racing down. “Please, Master Bruce, be swift.”

sorry for neglecting yall i was tryna make the book immersive ;3

dookie chapter because i am simultaniously studying for my health and social exam

tags; (asked to be added thru dms)

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @meepmoopbadabeepboop @buckturd @eloriis @xoxossam @verypersonaldazzel @froggy-voidd @shycreatorreview @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @devotedlyshamelessdetective @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @buckturd @eloriis @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

ill get around to adding everyone to the taglist .

[youraverageaemondsimp]

A brother's betrayal. // Aemond Targeryen x Aegon's Wife!Reader

Summary: You hear about your husband's injury and immediately rush over to visit him, you were devastated to see him in such a state, mere moments later, the cause of his injury steps in the room, his brother.

WARNINGS: dubious consent(?), choking, manhandling, rough sex, physical assault (nothing much, reader just slaps aemond), slight aegon x reader, season 2 spoilers, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v sex, TRAUMA, ANGST ANGST ANGST, dacryphilia, profanity, reader goes through the suffering of war, mentions of b&c but it happened to the reader, reader has a child with aemond and as well as aegon, mentions of childloss, manipulation, toxicity + not proofread

Could be read as part 2 of "A brother's duty." or alone!

WC: 3k

A/N: yeah idk why I wrote this, perhaps I wanted angst but yeah, like it's mentioned this can be read as a part 2 or stand alone! divider credits: @cafekitsune

You rushed to Aegon's chambers the moment you had heard of his injury, footsteps echoing through the halls loudly, you had received the news that he had gotten burnt badly on one of his sides.

The door to his chamber was wide open, and you entered hastily inside, only to find the maesters and Alicent already in the room, you could tell by her demeanour that she was greatly troubled, you went over to her side and gasped the moment you looked at Aegon. “Is he dead?” You ask, voice trembling with sorrow and Alicent shakes her head, “No.” She swallows.

“My dear, you should probably leave, you cannot be watching this all whilst also grieving…” Alicent trails off, not wanting to mention your son. You shook your head, trying to stay strong.

You were watching the maesters for a few moments, when you felt the presence enter the room, It was Aemond.

Aemond walked in quietly and rested his hands on the sides of the bed, he was looming over Aegon’s body with a menacing stature

He turned and stared at you.

And you swore you saw a glint of satisfaction on his expression.

You felt like throwing up.

You snapped your head away from his direction when you heard Aegon huffing for air, sniffling when you looked at the raw wounds, tears glazed your eyes, looking at your husband in such a state.

He wasn't able to breathe properly, taking sharp breaths for he couldn't inhale, there was a pit forming in your stomach as you stared further, the maesters treated his wounds, you felt helpless.

Aemond still hasn't left the room yet, watching you sob for his brother, he furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“Somebody would need to rule in his stead.” Aemond speaks and you were in disbelief, his brother is hurt badly and those are the first words he speaks? He doesn't even ask the maesters if his brother is alive.

Alicent glares at him, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Your grace, I advise you all leave the chamber, we are about to begin the second treatment, and it isn't pleasant on the eyes.” The maester informs you and you nod slowly, feeling devastated after seeing your husband in such a horrible position.

Alicent walks out first in a hurry, probably going to Ser criston cole to inquire about what happened.

But you knew.

Aemond was definitely involved with this.

You walk out slowly, Aemond following you out right behind you, you tried your best to ignore him and walk away, but bubbling rage simmered inside you, knowing that he was at fault for this.

Your wrist was grabbed harshly by Aemond before he pulled you into a small corridor and slammed you against the wall. The rage you tried to hold in so badly bursted out in flames. You slapped Aemond across the face.

He was shocked.

The shock was quickly replaced by anger as he grabs your neck, holding you against the wall and tightens his grip around your neck, you feel yourself getting light headed from losing air.

“It was you- wasn't it?” You choke out angrily and Aemond smirks, closing his grip further. Your mind began to spin, you clawed at his arm trying to get him to release you, yet it's all in vain.

“Why are you upset?” He genuinely questions and loosens his grip slightly, you look at him dumbfounded, in disbelief that he doesn't feel the weight of this situation right now.

“How can I not be?! You've tried to kill your own brother! My Lord husband! Your King!” You yell at him, and he shakes his head, “It was a mistake- he happened to get caught in the crossfire—”

“Oh save the excuses, Aemond.” You scoff and he immediately releases his hold on your neck, making you cough as you try to inhale air, whilst gently massaging the area he grabbed.

“You and I, we both know that there is no chance that you would happen to mistakenly burn him, you plotted it, all for what?” You ask, staring right into his eye. “For his throne? For the power? What have you achieved through this? You've lost a dragon, your stupid decision will cost us a great loss to us.” You try to feed him common sense, yet the expression on his face remains unchanged.

“I did this for the years of humiliation I had endured, I deserve this as compensation, don't you think?” He whispers menacingly and you feel shivers up your spine. “You want him to compensate with his life? Have you lost it?” You argue.

“I've lost everything I wanted to him.” He twists up an answer, “He isn't worthy of a dragon, yet sunfyre was hatched to him, he isn't worthy of the power, yet it was given to him, he isn't worthy of being a king, yet he is, he isn't worthy of you, yet he has you.” Aemond grits his teeth in anger.

“Everything I wanted was given to him. All because he was the first born, is it not unfair?” He looks you in the eyes. You look down, closing your eyes; taking deep breaths. “But he doesn't deserve such a punishment.” You mumble.

Aemond grabs your shoulders gently, his touch now more forgiving than previously, he hooks his index finger under your jaw and tilts your head to face him. His thumb softly caresses your check. “I did this for us.” He sighs and you shake your head. “You had admitted yourself that you do not love Aegon, so why does it bother you so much?” He pries.

“Because I care for him as his wife, he may not have been the best husband, yet he was understanding.” You begin “In fact, he was the reason why we were both able to discover each other.” You finish.

Aemond is reminded of the past you three had shared, an utmost act of depravity and desperation, you had been shared by the brothers with a mutual agreement, he had to admit, his brother was indeed the reason why he was able to finally have you.

“And he mourned in your stead at the loss of our son, even though he knew it wasn't his.” You grit your teeth, clenching them as grief overwhelms you at the thought of your son, who had been a victim of murder. “While you were fucking your whore.” You recalled.

You were angry with Aemond for a lot of reasons, how could he betray his own family? He had been absent the night your son was murdered, and he hasn't shown any emotion since then. “You are aware that I cannot mourn publicly for our son.” He reasoned but you scoffed, “What about in private? Have you ever told me that you felt sorry? Have you ever tried to comfort me? It was Aegon who reached out to me when I was grieving.” You cry out, all the pain you were holding in your heart pouring out.

“He must've been a great person to you, but he hasn't to me.” Aemond counters back, and you let out a heavy sigh, not wanting to argue anymore, this war has taken a toll on you.

It felt like you were talking to a wall, pushing off his hand and turning to leave, but you are immediately stopped by Aemond blocking your escape with his arm.

“It might not look like it, but I too am grieving for the loss of our son.” He whispers, “I want to destroy the ones who caused this, and Aegon being in the rule will not let it happen easily, he is an idiot.” He tries justifying his actions, but you only glare at him.

“So you will be succeeding in his stead?” You ask and he nods, “Jaehaerys, my son, Aegon's heir, is still alive.” You furrow your brows, “Unless.. Don't tell me you're planning to take that child away from me too? For your greediness?” You question and he shakes his head “He is a child, the council will decide who will be the best candidate.” He replies.

“I can't believe you, Aemond, I barely recognize the man you've become.” You weep, Aemond pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you into a hug, you do not hug him back.

“I sometimes wish that it was Jaehaerys who died instead of our son Rhaegar.” He mutters and you push away from the hug, looking at him with disgust. “You picked him, did you not?” Aemond hits the sore spot, reminding you of the incident in detail.

“They made me choose.” You breath heavily, body trembling as you recall the traumatic night, “And you chose to keep Jaehaerys.” He clenches his teeth in anger. “No.” You reply.

“What?” He questions.

“I chose Rhaegar to keep, but they were cruel and killed him instead.” Tears stream down your face, “I did not want to choose, I did not want to choose! I do not favour any of my sons above each other, I could barely escape with Jaehaerys in time.” You sniff, fists clenching as you recall the incident.

His eye widened at the revelation.

The main reason for him not mourning for Rhaegar was the anger he held towards you for choosing Jaehaerys over his son, yet he couldn't take it out on you as you were grieving too, but something about this provided him comfort.

He's sick in the head, he feels happy knowing you'd always choose him, his blood, his legacy.

He wipes your tears away, “I apologise, it was insensitive of me.” He wipes the tears off your cheek with the sleeve of his clothes, you couldn't help but stare at him.

He pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, giving you all the affection you need to calm down, kissing your forehead, rubbing your back, holding your hand in reassurance. You found it odd.

You bask in his momentary comfort for a bit before you hear footsteps and push him away, running off in the other direction towards the nursery, where your son Jaehaerys resided.

The council meeting ended with the conclusion that Aemond would be the prince regent.

Excited would be an understatement, he finally has the power he wanted.

They immediately begin to plan for the next step to take in the war.

The evening fell swiftly, Aegon had been treated to the best of the maesters ability, and you visited him on the eve, still not being able to stomach the sight. You had bought Jaehaerys in when the maesters had covered up all his wounds.

Jaehaerys rushed over to his father's side, “Mother, what has happened to father?” He asks you, wondering why his dad was in such a terrible state, “He got injured.” You reply, “Who hurt him?” He asks unknowingly, you bite your lip, and shake your head, “It is unknown, he got hurt in the war.” You tell him and he nods.

Aegon was taking in gasps of air, as he was not able to breathe normally, his eyes remained shut.

You and Jaehaerys both stayed in the chamber for a while, you watched in sorrow as Jaehaerys rambled on and on to his father about the things he did the time he was gone. You smiled when he leaned in close to whisper in his dad's ear, likely something he doesn't want you to know.

You wondered if Rhaegar would also be spending time with Aemond, if he wasn't—

You cut yourself off from the thoughts. Refusing to entertain them further, because you had to be strong.

“Jaehaerys, let's leave, your father probably needs rest, it's best not to bother him anymore.” You extend your hand out, Jaehaerys rushes over and grabs it with his tiny hand, before saying his goodbye to his father and leaving the chamber with you. You swore you heard him say your name but you brushed it off thinking that it was probably your mind.

The child's room was heavily guarded now, with more than four knights just looking after him. You felt safer but it did not undo the anxiety you still had.

You read Jaehaerys a bedtime story, to which he fell asleep quickly too, you kissed him on the forehead and left the room. You did not want to, but you had to.

Because the prince regent has called for you.

You rushed to his chambers.

“You called for me?” You waste no time, asking him upon entering and he nods, you felt his demeanour change completely, he seemed entirely different now. There was a vast contrast in his personality from the morning.

“I wanted to spend time with you.”

He could not be serious.

“Aemond, are you out of your mind-” He cuts you off, grabbing you by your hand and pulling you into a kiss. You wanted to resist, you wanted to push him away, but the minute his lips came in contact with yours, you melted.

It felt wrong.

It was wrong.

But something in the rhythm of his lips held a sweet melody that comforted you. You sighed heavily, your lips moving against his, reciprocating his feelings.

His hand snaked around your waist pulling you close against his body, flushing yours with his, he held your face tightly with his other hand, caressing your cheek while kissing you. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders for support.

He pulls away momentarily looking at you, searching for approval in your eyes but you pull him back into the kiss, indicating that you do want this.

He picks you up all of a sudden, you shriek in surprise grabbing tightly onto him to balance yourself, he takes you to his bed, laying you down and continuing to kiss you.

He pushes you further up the bed, you spread your legs to accommodate him as he continues to pepper your lips and cheeks with his kisses.

You flip around the position so that you're now on top, catching him by surprise, you climb onto his lap, straddling him before showering his neck with kisses. His hands busy themselves with undoing your dress, pulling at the strings that are holding the top part of your dress together.

You gasp for air, pulling from the kiss and looking him in the eye. He pushes a few stray strands away from your face, tucking them behind your ear, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip to collect the wetness that resided there.

“Gevie.” (beautiful) He whispers, staring at you in awe.

You hug him, laying on his chest, before finally breaking down, crying onto his shoulders, clinging onto his clothes. He caresses your head, comforting you.

He flips the position around again, now he's on top of you.

You lay there, staring at him with teary eyes, his tongue coming in contact with your cheek, licking up the droplet of tears, you felt butterflies in your gut. He kisses your eyes before he pulls back.

He sits back on his haunch, pushing your skirt up, bunching it up against your thighs before he pulls off the stockings you had on. Your thighs trembled when you felt his cool hand graze against them.

He threw them off the bed before he hooked his hands underneath your thigh, pulling you down as he went down underneath your skirt.

His lips caught your sensitive bud immediately, latching onto it for dear life. You grabbed his head out of instinct, hips lifting up slightly. You spread your legs wider, making it easier for him. His tongue swirled around your entrance before he swiped it up, latching onto your clit again.

He suckled onto it, the sensation drew you insane, you gasped for air, whining slightly as Aemond continued his ministrations.

You felt the familiar itchiness begin to bloom in your lower abdomen, you grind your face against his in desperation, wanting to feel the sweet feeling which you haven't felt for a while, and your wish comes true when your body convulses as the pleasure overtakes it.

You let out a loud moan of his name, making him groan in pleasure as well.

He lets you ride out your orgasm before he pulls apart, licking his lips, tasting your juices once again. He doesn't waste anymore time before undoing his breeches, pulling them halfway. His tip was leaking.

You waited in anticipation as Aemond positioned himself between your legs, pushing his cock into your cunt. You gripped the bedsheets when you felt the stretch. He hooked both of your legs onto his shoulders before he moved.

His movement showed desperation, his thrusts were hard and rough, he gripped your thighs harshly, leaving his nail bites onto your soft flesh. Your mind was spinning from the way he moved inside you, your body arched in pleasure.

He pushes your legs against your chest, hunching over as he moves faster, his tip kissed your sweet spot gently, He trembled moaning at the way your cunt clenched around his cock.

“Fuck fuck, you feel so fucking good.” He praises, his rhythm beginning falter, you blush at his words, clenching around him once again that drove him inside.

His cock penetrated your walls with utmost determination and precision to make you finish first before he did, your sweet spot was being poked over and over again, he understood that when you would gasp loudly.

The repeated disturbance caused a fire prickling in your stomach before you felt it suddenly go out, its smoke spreading all throughout your body, blinding you as you felt lightheaded.

“Oh fuck Aemond!” You threw your head back, hands clenching against the sheets tightly as the intense pleasure hit you hard.

He moaned loudly too, his cock spurted out his seed inside you, painting your walls with his essence. He collapsed on top of you immediately right after, his body giving up finally.

You both caught your breaths slowly, letting the feelings soak in, you felt a wet droplet on your shoulder trail down, and then another one, it began to continue like rain. You realised that Aemond was crying.

You held him closely, hugging him.

You did not say anything, letting him cry his feelings out of his body through the tears.

You both basked in the fleeting moment of comfort as you knew that nothing will ever go back to the way it was before.

Aemond knew too, he had become a monster in your eyes.

A monster you loved.

No,

A monster you still love.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[flowersforjude]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Cousin!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You could not leave him. Not when your very breath was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,433

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Arguing, Angry Jace, Desperate Jace, One curse word, Kind of hurt/comfort. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This was requested by @intheheartoftheking. I had a million different ideas for this, but the inspiration wasn’t there for any of them. So, I hope this is to your liking! Also, Varaxs is the name I gave the reader’s dragon! 

masterlist

Sea salt kisses your cheeks as the gentle roll of the tide rushes below you. The familiar scent of your dragon fluttered in the breeze as the Dragon Keepers brought your ivory mount out to you. Varaxs growled deeply, as if mimicking the waves that crashed against the inky cliffs of Dragonstone.

Chills danced up your spine as the cold seeped into your bones beneath your riding clothes. The weather wasn’t what had you so chilled, though.

Nervousness burns through your mind. Has your eyes darting from the dragon pit to the palace looming behind you. Every howl of the wind and every tumbling pebble falling from the rocks, kept you on high alert of discovery. There were more than enough troubles to keep your mind occupied, but should anyone catch you here before you could depart, your plan would be all for nothing. 

The Greens had sent an assassin to take Rhaenyra’s life in the dead of night. Ser Arryk was unsuccessful thanks to his brother’s valiant efforts, which cost him his life. But even if the Queen was unharmed, the usurper must still pay for the cowardly attempt on her life. 

Rhaenyra still hoped for peace, though, and such wishes had her stalling her hand. You, as her stepdaughter and loyal subject, could no longer rationalize doing nothing. 

And so, you were going to King’s Landing.  

You dare not give thought to what could befall you once you’re there. But if death or something worse awaited you, then it would have been worth it fighting for your queen. 

The wind seemed to pick up with his arrival. You didn’t notice until a loud cry of your name sounded over the currents. You spin around and see your betrothed, Jacaerys, dashing towards you. Trepidation and unease flowed through you as you caught sight of his vexed expression. You hadn’t told anyone of your plan, and you thought you had snuck away with no one noticing your absence. But of course, it was Jace who figured it out. 

He’s still in his princely attire, the Targaryen colors displayed proudly. The deep hues of black and red had always complimented him in the most alluring way. His boots kick up clouds of dust and sand as he comes to a stop in front of you. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his jaw clenched in irritation. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword like he always did, but the knuckles were white with the forceful hold he had on it. 

“Jacaerys.” You greet, meeting those serious, dark eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you could remember. 

“What are you doing?” He asks simply, but the sharpness of his voice made it clear this was no easy matter. His eyes burned into yours as he stood just inches from you. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” You questioned in return. Deciding to let him reveal what he knew before you told him the whole of your plan. 

He scoffs and swallows thickly. “I am not certain, but I am sure that it is something reckless and not something that my mother approved of.” 

Shifting your weight in the sand, you thought about how best to proceed. “I was anticipating no one finding out until I was already gone.”

“Did you think I would not notice your absence?” He asks incredulously, his brows rising in disbelief. 

You shrugged. “I hoped it would take you a little longer.” A leaden sigh leaves your lips while the restless waters below you rage on. The light reflecting off the water shines like a beacon around Jace, and you have to battle against the longing ache that spreads through your chest. 

“Someone needs to scout King’s Landing. Gather what information we can.” You explain praying to the seven that he’ll understand. 

His eyes widened as exasperation ignited in them. “Have you lost your mind?” He exclaims, shaking his head of dark curls. 

“Jace-” 

“No,” he insists. “You’re not going. You’re not going to fucking King’s Landing, where you very likely will be spotted.” His jaw is tight, and his eyes are just as troublesome as the waters crashing against the rocky shores of the island. 

“Someone has to do something!” You argue back, your raised voice causing Varaxs, waiting in the landing pit, to hiss with displeasure at your growing distress. 

“And if you are captured? Slain? What then?” He sneered, a sudden thickness lingering in his words. 

You lose yourself for a moment. Imagining all the horrors that could come upon you should anyone discover you even somewhat close to the capitol. Aemond held resentment towards you and your sisters for what occurred the night Luke took his eye. And Aegon was a mindless drunk, but no less cruel than his brother. But thinking of all their treachery just made you all the more determined to do everything in your power to see Rhaenyra on the throne. And Jace, good-hearted, compassionate Jace, as the heir.

“I have to do this, Jace. And if I meet my end, then it would be worth it to see Rhaenrya and you reclaim your birthright.”

Desperation colors his features, his sharp expression melting to one of concern and tenderness . Something that stokes the fires of your affection for him. 

“I forbid you.” He finally declares after a long moment of silence. 

“Forbid me?” Your own frustration at last rises to match his. “You are not my king yet. You’re not even my husband yet. So unless you intend to tie me up, I will be leaving now.” 

You turn on your heel to approach your mount. Fully planning on flying off to King’s Landing before his voice breaks. 

“You cannot leave me!” 

You halt in your place, your throat growing tight upon hearing the sheer panic coming from him. Your hands twitch at your sides as the wind dies down enough to allow you to hear the ragged breaths sounding from your betrothed. Hesitantly, not wanting to be met with his distraught expression, you turned back to face him. 

Raw desperation swam in his eyes. His lips, that had welcomed yours in so many devoting kisses, parted with pleading breaths. He closes the short distance between you; his hand captures yours before falling to rest against his heart. Heat flashes through you where your skin touches his. 

When he speaks, his words come out breathlessly. “It is no secret between us my devotion to you.” The strong fingers of his free hand, calloused from all his hours of training, fluttered over your cheek with a touch as light as goose down. “But even before our betrothal, you were my guiding light. In the wake of all the chaos, there was you.” His normally collected voice cracks. He clings to his hold on you as if terrified of you vanishing from his sight forever. “My entire heart craves only a fraction of yours. Even if only a piece of you loved me, that would be plenty, because that would mean at least a part of you was genuinely mine.”

“Jacaerys.” 

His gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I cannot live in a world where you do not exist,” he professed. The air had been stolen from your lungs upon hearing his words. You were no fool to Jace’s affection; you returned it tenfold. But never had he confessed such adoration to you. 

“I cannot just do nothing.” You whispered, knowing he could hear you. 

He was nodding along with your words. “We will destroy them,” he vowed. “But we will do it together. You cannot not be so careless with your life, Issa jorrāelagon.” 

You do not wish to be labeled as rash or reckless, but the Greens must face retribution. For all the agony they’ve caused. You wish only to help your family win back the heritage that was stolen from them. One day, sit by Jace’s side as he rules with all the kindness and strength you know him to possess.

But he was right. 

You look down at his hand, holding yours to his heart. It beat as fiercely as dragon wings in the sky. Each pulse hammered in each nail of faith you had in him. “Together?” You coaxed meeting his eyes again and seeing determination mingling with his sheer devotion. 

“You and I will take back my mother’s throne.” He pledged, pressing a reverent kiss to your brow. “And one day I will take you as my queen, and we will rule together just as we are meant to.”

This was shorter than I wanted it to be, but I'm just glad I was finally able to finish it!

Issa jorrāelagon; My love

[rafesplaymate]

Yes, daddy.

Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!Reader

⋆⁺‧₊☽ navigation. ⋆⁺‧₊☽ masterlist.

warnings: step / fauxcest. infidelity. manipulation / gaslighting. abusive behaviors. immoral though process. threats of abuse. choking / manhandling. mentions of smut. dark themes / adult content. suggestive themes. slight plot twist?

a/n: this was completely self indulgent. for the girls with daddy AND mommy issues. not apart of my ‘Off to the Races’ AU. Can be read as a stand alone.

⋆⁺‧₊☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊

She can’t stand it. Can’t stand her mom and most of all can’t stand the way he’s —her’s.

Rafe Cameron came into her life like a whirlwind. Leaving her completely dazed and her mind fuzzy the moment he stepped into her line of sight. He was just so strong, so domineering and had an energy about him that screamed; no matter how much he could harm you —he could keep you grounded and tamed all the same. And ever since then, he’s been all she thinks about. All she wants.

And unfortunately for her. He’s her mom’s husband. A spiteful, vindictive woman whose nasty attitude taints her physical beauty. She can’t help but constantly wonder how someone as out-of-touch and controlling as her was able to tie down the enigma that is Rafe Cameron —but she thanks her for bringing him into her life all the same. Even if it’s not the way she’s been dreaming about or what she wants.

Regardless, she’ll take it. Because the way he allows her to shut off her brain, to find solace and acceptance in his embrace —will forever mean everything. The way he defends her and protects her like his little exotic, rare —caged bird he wants to keep locked away and from the hands of harm. Harm that her mother constantly perpetuates onto her and constantly leaves her in a spiral of hopelessness and resentment.

But not him. No, never him. For once in her life she has someone who stands up to the looming presence that is her mother. Who shuts her up and puts her in her place. So use to the purposeful blind eyes of the rest of her family, so use to the constant repeated words of “suck it up.” It’s validating, it’s acceptance. It’s something that makes her feel less crazy and frees her from the shackles of constant manipulation and gaslighting from her mother.

And now, she stands on the other side of the wall from the home office —sniffling with tears streaked cheeks and a consistent impending fear settled deep in her gut. Rafe and her mother were going at each other’s throats. Verbal attacks and words of rage being thrown around as he defends her being and her mother debases it. Spewing rants of her being an ‘ungrateful brat’ and ‘fucking crazy.’ Her mom’s words of degradation nothing new to her; but it feels like knives stabbing all the same.

It’s when Rafe speaks with pure loathing and booms out one final, “get the fuck outta my house. Now!” Does she hear her mother, for once in her life, slightly realize the gravity of the situation and her perpetuated actions. Her voice breaking slightly and now calmer as she speaks out a, “you don’t meant that. Rafe, she’s my daughter. I have every right to treat her the way I’d like. I wouldn’t be so fucking angry with her all the time if she didn’t act the way she does.” Firmness and disdain laced within each word. The knives stabbing deeper into her daughter’s already fragile being. Hopelessness filling her up —once more.

But it’s the immediate scoff that comes from the one person who’s always sided with her; that makes the pain less unbearable. “Maybe take a look in the fucking mirror, instead of thinking your daughter is the problem here. She’s not, you are. And quite frankly, I’m sick of it. Everything about you —is revolting.” He speaks gruffly, steadiness and profound confidence laced in every truth he shoots back at her.

She listens to his work shoes scuffing across the floor as he steps closer to her mother, his tall frame bending to level his eye contact with hers. Pure disgust, and indignation pooling in his beautiful cobalt eyes as he intimidates her mother. The older woman shrinking slightly under his gaze, but her stubbornness refusing her to completely submit. Staring back into the eyes of the man she once thought was her’s, now slowly but surely become her daughter’s.

“I meant, what I said,” he spoke lowly. His voice confident and tone domineering as he cornered the threat on his little girl. His baby, his sweetheart, his everything. Determined to eliminate it. “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my house. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care what you do or what happens to you. All I know is I don’t want you in my fucking house or my fuckin’ life anymore.” He drawled with pure abhorrence. A snarl on his lip like a lion ready to devour and defend his cub.

He watches as the woman he once thought he loved, he once thought he wanted —completely fold in. The obstinance in her gaze now replaced with despondency —her heart cracking as it finally clicked that this wasn’t just another fight that would pass. Another trial she put her daughter through that would be forgiven. No. This was her getting reprimanded for all the harm she’s pushed onto her. And for once in her life, she’s left speechless. Her mouth opening to reply -much to Rafe’s dismay.

“No. I’m done listening to your bullshit. You heard what I said, I’m gonna give you 20 minutes to take any necessities and get the fuck out.” He snarled once more, pushing her further against the wall as her back hit it. Trapped like a prey in the lion’s den and realizing she was no longer the lioness she once believed herself to be.

When Rafe finally saw her submission, her giving up. It’s only then, did he crack a mocking smirk. The same smirk that attracted her to the man and her daughter too. Yet, this one wasn’t playful —no. It was Rafe’s display of asserting his dominance, asserting that he was the one who ran things and she was manipulated by his whim no matter how much of a ‘hot shit’ she thought herself to be.

“Don’t even think about taking any of the nice shit, either. I bought it, it’s mine. You can take whatever crap you came with, including yourself.” He told her once last time, holding her gaze with his own as his jaw ticked. Imploring her to understand the gravity of the situation, the honesty in his words. Standing straight up to his full height once more when he feels he got his point across and turning his back to the woman he once loved. A physical representation of him shutting her out —once and for all.

And it’s when Rafe exits his office, that he find his princess sniffling with wide, defeated eyes. Manicured hands fiddling together as her pretty, pedicure toes pressed deep into the ground while she fidgeted with herself. Her cheeks streaked with ruined makeup and her gorgeous eyes blood-shot, wispy faux lashes clumped with tears. A frown on her plump lips as her chest heaves and she looks at him with pure melancholy. It’s a sight that both fills Rafe with immense satisfaction but anger at who caused it. His baby bunny, who he would forever keep bound to him —regardless of her relationship to his wife.

His demeanor immediately softened, a mocking coo falling from his pink lips as his large hands reached out and grasped her smaller body against his. Both palms cupping her sticky, wet cheeks as he rubs his nose against hers softly. Watching as her clumped, faux lashes flutter shut and she whines. Falling into him once more and fisting her hands into his already crumpled button up. A fresh batch of tears making their trail down her flushed face as whines turn into pitiful sobs —clinging onto the only lifeline she knows.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he consoled —pressing soft kisses to her lips, tip of nose, forehead and then finally both cheeks. Face manipulated in his grip as she pushes herself deeper into him. It’s when he kisses her cheeks, that his chest burn again with his intoxicating desire for her. The taste of her salty tears against her lips satisfying the twisted darkness inside him. Lightly bringing the tip of his tongue out to lick a new drop that fell. Groaning when it hit his tongue; her despair a drug to him.

Yeah, sure Rafe hates the way her mom treats her. Manipulates her and leaves her daughter’s head constantly fuzzy with stress. But only because he feels that he’s the one who’s entitled to treating her that way. Not her mother, not her family, not her friends or any lovers he’ll ensure she never has. No. Only him. Because she was made just for him to destroy and he’ll be damned if anyone else does.

His baby who he wants to breakdown with her malleable compliance to him. Break her entirely into his sad, little doll that wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. His brainless little girl, who would let him exploit her to his heart desires. Manipulated at his whim, never anyone else’s. His prized possession he’ll keep locked away and submitted next to him while he breaks her down day by day into nothing but his devotee. Making sure she never misunderstands her place in life —to be his brainless, little fuckdoll. Forever and always.

“Don’t cry, hmm. At least not this way.” He taunts with a small chuckle. Watching as she looks deep into his darkened gaze. And the look in her pretty eyes is all the confirmation he needs to know her has her. Not matter what. Pure resignation and undiluted adoration filling the large pool of her iris’s. Her eye color disappearing with the enhancement of her pupils as she looks at him with something that a follower would look at the God they worshipped if he came to stand directly in front of them. He would be everything she’ll ever know.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He cooes sweetly, bringing his right arm to wrap around her back and his left hand to wrap harshly around her throat. Hearing her breathy gasps as her brows furrow and she lets him cut off her air supply. “The only reason you should be crying is because of me. Not your mom, not anyone else. Me. I want you to save those pretty little tears, you’re gonna need them when I show you how I can really make you cry.” His grip tightens, a wicked smile plastering along his features as he watches her eyes flutter shut and her small fist banging against him to let her breathe. He wants her to know that she only breathes because he allows it.

When Rafe sees her eyes flutter once more with a sign that she’s falling into unconsciousness —does he finally loosen his grip. Watching as her pretty lips widen and she gasp air deeply into her chest. Coughing and gathering herself until she’s back to. Her cries returning with a force as she sobs, letting him pull her into his chest and ruin his white button up with her tears. Swaying them side to side as she weeps into his chest. Deep, twisted triumph filling Rafe’s entire body as she does exactly what he wants. Kissing the top of her head and then nuzzling his cheek against it while her hands come to pull him closer to her and grip the back of his shirt. Hanging onto her lifeline.

It’s when they heard a loud thump, does Rafe’s head turn to the side to eye whatever caused it behind him. His wife standing there, her bag having dropped with a purposeful force on the floor as she takes in the scene in front of her. The twisted feeling in her gut and her resentment toward her daughter deepening as her deepest suspicions are confirmed. All those soft moments, all those borderline incestual touches and gazes. All those crossed boundaries —finally showing what they truly were in front of her.

Her gaze full of pure repugnance as she watches this twisted display of love. Her daughter gazing over her stepfather’s shoulder with a look that left her stunned. Her daughter’s manicured hand releasing his shirt and coming up to grip the back of his strong neck, standing on the tips of her manicured toes as she lifts herself to his level. Whining to him for his attention once more which he gladly grants after glaring at his wife. Pressing her lips to his with haste the moment he faces her as his tongue shoves deep into her mouth. His hand coming to grip the back of her head and keep her pressed right against him as he dominates her once more.

As he dominates her in front of her mother —and leaves no room for questioning at the new regime of Tannyhill. Imploring her again to know her place once and for all.

And it’s when they hear the front door slam shut, does Rafe disconnect their lips. A string of saliva keeping them together as she whines and seeks him out once more, his hand coming to grip her face to hold her back as he lets out a teasing scoff. Watching her eyes look back into his once more, no sign of anything but thoughts of him in her gaze.

“You know your place. And now she does too. Get your ass upstairs. Want you naked, face down in the sheets by the time I come up, princess. Go on.”

He sends her off with a harsh smack to her ass after her turns her around, shoving her forward and toward the staircase as her brain goes into autopilot and her body moves by the will of his words. One thing replaying in her mind over and over again.

Yes, daddy.

⋆⁺‧₊☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊ ☽⋆⁺‧₊

a/n: want him to use & abuse me so bad. I will be releasing my ‘Euphoria�� AU soon so if anyone would liked to be on the taglist please feel free to comment or message my inbox.

[zeroxxlhero]

Monster • Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, vampire! Caitlyn, hunter! Reader, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, blood play, biting, overstimulation, bondage, mentions of werewolf! Vi, use of a strap-on, vaginal penetration, praising, slight degradation, use of ‘good girl’

Pairings: Caitlyn Kiramman x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

After Vi’s run-in with the hunter, Caitlyn sets out on the journey to find such woman—her intentions to feast on you and suck your blood dry for even crossing into her territory. But things don’t seem to work out that way and she finds herself at the mercy of you just as Vi once was.

The moonlight gleamed off the worn gravestones, casting elongated shadows that seemed to dance with the wind. Caitlyn’s boots echoed softly against the soft earth as she paced slowly through the graveyard, her gaze fixed on the darkened path ahead. Her thoughts were tangled, the sharp edge of her focus consumed with the scent of the hunter girl—Vi’s former lover. The lingering traces of her scent had clawed at Caitlyn’s thoughts ever since Vi returned, and now, they twisted inside her chest like a knot of jealousy and rage.

Her sharp senses had picked it up, unmistakable and still hanging in the air. The hunter’s scent was everywhere—the mingling mix of wild, earthy musk, and something more intoxicating. Every time Caitlyn closed her eyes, it was there, consuming her thoughts. She couldn’t deny it any longer—the woman, the enigma, was a constant in her mind, and Caitlyn hated it. She hated the fact that she could smell her, could practically feel her presence even when she wasn’t around.

A growl rumbled deep in her chest as Caitlyn’s instincts stirred. Her blood boiled at the thought of this woman, the one who had entangled herself with Vi. Was she a threat? Was she trying to get between them? Caitlyn’s fangs slowly elongated, her eyes glowing with the first flicker of monstrous hunger. She could almost taste the power surge as her beastly instincts began to rise to the surface.

Her body moved with unnatural speed as she followed the scent, slipping into the shadows like a wraith. The graveyard seemed to stretch endlessly before her, but Caitlyn’s senses never wavered. The smell was getting stronger now, more concentrated. It wasn’t just a trace anymore. It was a trail.

The wind shifted and carried the scent to her more sharply, and in that moment, she realized she was close. Her eyes glinted with animalistic anticipation, and the predator within her stirred, pushing her forward as her body shifted—her mind now fully consumed by the need to hunt. There was no room for anything else. Just the scent. Just the urge to confront the hunter girl.

The cabin loomed in the distance, a soft yellow light glowing faintly in the window, a beacon in the thickening night. The scent was stronger now, and Caitlyn knew she had reached her destination. It was here, in this isolated place, where she would find her.

With barely a whisper of sound, Caitlyn glided toward the door, her form slipping between the shadows, unseen. She felt the surge of power in her limbs, her senses razor-sharp, as if every step taken had purpose. Her heart beat with a mixture of fury and a twisted kind of desire for retribution. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but she knew she had to confront this woman. She had to destroy the presence of her that lingered between her and Vi.

Inside the cabin, the air was thick and heavy. It smelled of wood, dust, and something faintly metallic—another trace of the hunter’s scent. Caitlyn crept through the darkness, her eyes flicking to every corner, every shadow, searching for her target. Every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet seemed to vibrate with the tension in the room.

Her anger was palpable, and yet, her patience was unnerving. She moved slowly, deliberately, letting the weight of the silence settle around her. There was no sign of the woman, though the scent still lingered in the air like a taunting whisper.

Caitlyn’s fangs gleamed in the dim light as her anger began to surface again. She had come here for a reason, and that reason was slipping away from her. Her eyes narrowed, and she tossed a stool violently across the room, the sound of splintering wood filling the cabin with a burst of frustration. The chair crashed into the wall, pieces flying across the floor.

She stood still for a moment, trying to gather herself. Her fists clenched, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Stay calm, she told herself. Stay focused. But then, another scent reached her. Faint, unfamiliar, and burning with a rancid sharpness. She froze, her nose twitching as the stench infiltrated her senses. She’d never smelled anything like it before—nothing that was so wrong.

The smell was sour and sickly, an overpowering chemical stench that clawed at her insides. Her stomach twisted as she followed the scent, almost involuntarily, toward a small cloth lying discarded near the hearth. Without thinking, she grabbed it, bringing it to her face.

The moment the cloth touched her nose, the burning sensation hit her like a blast of heat. Her eyes watered, her skin prickling in agony as her mind reeled. The putrid stench burned through her nostrils, the sensation sharp enough to make her gag. Her fangs snapped instinctively, and she threw the cloth away with force, her breath coming out in sharp, frustrated gasps.

“What the hell is that?” she hissed, her voice strained, as she wiped her nose furiously with the back of her hand. The sensation lingered, nauseating and strange, almost as if it were meant to incapacitate her, to stop her from using her powers. Was this a trap? She felt her chest tighten, the air feeling thicker in her lungs.

With a growl, Caitlyn turned to leave, her mind racing. She had to keep searching, had to find the woman. But just as she moved toward the door, she felt a sudden, overwhelming pressure settle over her chest, crushing her breath. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she fell to the floor with a heavy thud, her body unable to function. Her vision blurred as her head spun, disoriented and weak.

“W-What is happening?” she gasped, trying to push herself up, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. The air felt thick, pressing against her chest like an invisible weight. She strained, her body shaking, trying to summon her strength—but it was no use.

Then came the sound of soft clapping.

Caitlyn’s head snapped toward the doorway, her eyes wide with disbelief. You stood there, leaning casually against the frame, your smile almost kind, yet chilling in its sincerity. There was something deeply unsettling about your expression, something cold in your amusement. You took a few steps forward, your eyes gleaming with a quiet triumph.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Congratulations, Caitlyn. You fell for it so easily.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat, and she tried to move, to rush at you. But her legs couldn’t hold her. She collapsed, her body crumpling like a ragdoll onto the floor. Her teeth gritted together, frustration bubbling up, her mind screaming at her to fight.

“What did you do to me?” she demanded, her voice strained, weak.

You stepped closer, your expression shifting into something more predatory as you looked down at her. “Oh, it’s simple,” you replied coolly, “Just a little concoction I brewed—specifically for your kind. A sedative, really. Only a small dose is necessary, but you took in more than your share, didn’t you?” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “Your powers? Useless now. And I’d say you’ll be out for longer than I intended.”

Caitlyn’s vision flickered, her heart hammering in her chest, but she couldn’t fight it. Her head sagged to the floor, her limbs too heavy to move. The last thing she saw before her world went dark was your smirking face.

“Sleep well, Caitlyn,” you whispered softly as the shadows closed in around her. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

..

Caitlyn groggily stirred from the haze that clouded her mind, her body feeling like dead weight. Her chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths, each one feeling heavier than the last. She tried to move, but her limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and a deep pressure weighed down on her chest. Panic began to set in, and she tried to shake it off, blinking hard to clear her vision.

As her focus sharpened, the fog of sleep lifting, Caitlyn quickly became aware of the painful truth of her situation. Her hands were chained behind her back, the metal digging into her wrists, and around her neck was a cold, unyielding collar—its presence as constricting as the fear that coiled in her stomach. She tried to pull at the chains, her muscles straining with effort, but no matter how hard she tugged, they wouldn’t give. Her strength—her unnatural, monstrous strength—was completely gone. The weight of the sedative still held her down, and the familiar hum of her powers was nonexistent, leaving her frustrated, helpless.

“Dammit,” she muttered, a low growl forming in her chest as her fangs scraped against her lip. Her vision blurred again, but she pushed it back, glaring at the darkened room in defiance. She would get out of this. She had to.

Suddenly, the soft sound of running water interrupted her thoughts, and Caitlyn’s eyes flickered toward the bathroom door. Through her half-blurred vision, she saw you step into the room, drying your hands casually with a towel, completely at ease as if nothing had happened. The sight of you—of your smug expression—made Caitlyn’s blood boil. Her eyes locked onto yours, and a fire of rage sparked in her chest, driving her forward despite the chains that held her in place.

“Let me out!” Caitlyn growled, her voice laced with venom. She bared her fangs at you, trying to rise from the floor despite the heavy chains that kept her tethered to the ground. “If you don’t let me go right now, the Kirammans will hunt you down and rip you apart! You’ll wish you’d never crossed me, or Vi for that matter.”

You paused, glancing over at her with an almost amused smirk, your eyes glinting in the dim light of the cabin. “The Kirammans, huh?” you said, your tone mocking, laced with humor. “Let me guess, your father’s Tobias, right? A half-breed who’s not even considered a true vampire by your kind?” You shook your head, unfazed by her threats. “And your dear mother, Cassandra? From what I’ve heard, she’s little more than a passive beast, unskilled in any real combat. She might be a threat in her own way, but it’s easier to deal with her than it is to tie a knot.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched at the mention of her family. She hated hearing you talk about them in such a dismissive tone, as if they were beneath her. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you talked so casually about their deaths, as if it were nothing more than a simple inconvenience.

“You think I can’t kill you?” Caitlyn hissed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion and growing fury. “You think you can just walk away after what you’ve done? You have no idea who I am, or who my family is. They’ll track you down. They’ll feast on your bones.”

You chuckled darkly, stepping forward and running a finger through your hair, your eyes still glimmering with amusement. “Caitlyn,” you cooed, mocking the seriousness in her voice. “I’m not worried about your family. You may be powerful and quite influential but even then, it’s still not enough.”

Caitlyn’s stomach twisted with fury at your words. The rage in her eyes intensified, her fangs visible as she snapped her teeth, but she couldn’t move—not with the chains holding her in place, not with the lingering effects of the sedative weighing down her limbs.

“Shut up,” she snapped, her voice tinged with anger. “What the hell do you want with me?”

You tilted your head and flashed her a wicked smirk, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. “I’m guessing you have an idea, don’t you?” you asked, your voice a teasing drawl. “I’m the woman who was with Vi. She and I go way back.” You let out a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Vi’s still the same beast I remember. Still a creature of instinct, wild, untamed… and I enjoyed my time with her, believe me.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with a fury unlike any other, her breath quickening as her chest tightened. “You,” she growled, her teeth flashing like knives in the dark, “you think that means something? You think I give a damn about your time with her?”

Her anger bubbled over, the heat of it suffocating her rational thoughts. You knew exactly what to say to provoke her, to make her want to tear you apart. And somehow, that only made her want to fight more, even if her body wasn’t cooperating.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, her fangs gleaming in the low light, and her eyes flared with an intensity that burned like fire. She was desperate to lash out, but she was trapped—physically, emotionally, and now… mentally. You had her where you wanted her.

“So tell me,” you said, your voice still light and playful, “What are you going to do now? You’re just a pretty little vampire with no fangs, Caitlyn. What will you do when the Kirammans can’t save you?”

Caitlyn’s mouth was dry, and her chest tightened with a mixture of fury and helplessness. She knew what she wanted to say, but it didn’t matter. In the end, she was at your mercy. And right now, it felt like she had none.

Her jaw tightened, her fangs gleaming as she glared daggers at you. But there was something in her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty, of doubt. You had struck a nerve, and you knew it.

You sauntered closer to her, picking up a knife from the nearby table. The blade gleamed in the dim light as you turned it over in your hand, inspecting it casually. Caitlyn puffed out her chest, her glare unwavering as she spat, “If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with.”

You stopped in front of her, letting out a low laugh. “Kill you?” you said, tilting your head. “Oh, Caitlyn, I’m not here to kill you.”

With a deliberate motion, you pressed the edge of the blade against your arm, dragging it just enough to draw blood. A small bead of crimson welled up, sliding down your skin. Caitlyn’s nose twitched immediately, her sharp senses honing in on the scent. Her body stiffened, her breathing growing heavier as the intoxicating aroma of your blood filled the air.

Her composure began to crack. Her glowing eyes darted between your arm and your face, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. She tried to fight it, to keep control, but the hunger was too strong, too overwhelming. Her fangs ached, her entire body screaming for her to take what she needed.

“You want a taste, don’t you?” you asked, your voice smooth and teasing. You held your arm out slightly, just close enough to tempt her further. “If you behave, maybe I’ll let you have some.”

Caitlyn clenched her jaw, trying to summon the strength to resist, but her body betrayed her. Her chest heaved, her fangs lengthened, and her eyes were locked onto the blood dripping from your arm. The scent was overwhelming, consuming her thoughts and instincts.

“Screw yourself,” she hissed, though her voice wavered. “When I get out of these chains, I’ll tear you apart.”

You smirked, leaning in closer. “Oh, Vi said the same thing,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement. “But we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”

Caitlyn’s eyes burned with fury at the mention of Vi, but her focus was slipping. You raised your wrist to your lips, deliberately licking the blood that had pooled there. The scent grew stronger, more potent, and it sent Caitlyn over the edge. Her eyes darted between your wrist and your mouth, her beastly instincts taking over as her breathing grew more erratic.

You leaned in, your voice low and mocking. “Come on, Caitlyn. I know you want it. Stop fighting and just give in.”

Her resolve shattered. The hunger, the intoxicating pull of your blood, was too much. Caitlyn’s fangs glinted in the dim light as she lunged forward, sinking them into your arm with a growl. The moment her teeth pierced your skin, she was consumed by the rush. The warmth, the taste—it was euphoric, electrifying. Every drop of blood that filled her was like a drug, intoxicating her senses and drowning out everything else.

Her fangs buried deeper into your arm as she fed, her entire body trembling with the intensity of it. She was lost, completely consumed by the moment, her mind clouded with the pleasure of it. Nothing else mattered—not the chains, not the collar, not even you. All that existed was the blood, the power it gave her, and the hunger it satisfied.

You watched her with a wicked smile, your amusement only growing as she surrendered completely. “That’s it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over her labored breaths. “Good girl.”

The air in the cellar is thick, heavy with the scent of blood. Caitlyn’s fangs are deeply embedded in your arm, her body trembling with the power of the feed, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she drinks from you. Her hands, bound behind her, are flexing and straining in vain against the chains, and her eyes—glowing with hunger—are fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you allow her to drink, watching the way her body responds to the rush, to the sweetness of your blood, to the way it’s driving her wild. But then, as her greed deepens, you know it’s time to pull back. She’s already too far gone, teetering on the edge of losing herself entirely.

You take a deep breath, then grab her by the back of the head, trying to pull her away with a firm, swift motion.

Caitlyn’s body fights against you, but her desperation makes her stronger. Her growl is low and guttural, a desperate, animalistic sound that reverberates through the room. She tries to push forward, her fangs still embedded in your skin, but you press her back, your grip tight, controlling.

“Enough,” you hiss, your voice sharp as you try to force her away. Her hands claw behind her back uselessly, her body rigid with frustration, the hunger burning in her eyes.

But Caitlyn’s not done. She’s feral now, completely consumed by the desire, the need to feed, to drain you dry. She makes a guttural noise, barely human, as her head snaps forward, trying to latch deeper into your arm.

“Greedy little vampire,” you grimaced, grabbing her by the jaw with one hand, physically prying her mouth open, trying to remove her fangs from your flesh. The pressure of her bite is sharp, the sensation of her fangs digging into your skin maddening, but you don’t flinch. You can’t.

You wrenched your arm back suddenly, breaking the connection and taking a step out of Caitlyn’s reach. Her head snapped up, her glowing eyes wild and ravenous as she instinctively lunged forward, but the chains yanked her back. A growl rumbled low in her throat, guttural and animalistic, as she strained against her restraints, her fangs bared and dripping with crimson.

“Easy there,” you teased, holding up your arm just out of her reach, blood still oozing from the shallow wound. “You don’t want to get too greedy, now, do you?”

Caitlyn’s chest heaved, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she fought to regain control of herself. But she was too far gone, her mind overtaken by the intoxicating taste of your blood. Her lips parted, a desperate sound escaping her as she leaned forward, straining against the cuffs that held her in place. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to have more, to sink her fangs into you again and drain you dry.

“You’re pathetic,” you said, your tone dripping with mockery. “Look at you—completely feral. Is this the mighty Kiramman I’ve heard so much about? Or just a starving little beast who can’t control herself?”

She snarled at you, a wordless sound of fury and hunger, but there was no mistaking the desperation in her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, her body trembling as the scent of your blood still hung thick in the air. She lunged again, only for the chains to snap her back into place, her head bowing as she let out a frustrated growl.

“You really are hopeless,” you continued, stepping closer with an infuriating smirk on your lips. “So much for all that high-and-mighty vampire pride, huh? One little taste, and you’re already begging for more.”

“I’m not begging,” Caitlyn hissed, though her voice was hoarse, trembling with the effort of holding herself back. Her glowing eyes darted to your arm again, her fangs aching with the need to sink into flesh, but she grit her teeth, forcing herself to look away. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Oh, really?” You raised an eyebrow, your smirk deepening as you stepped even closer, letting the scent of your blood flood her senses again. She flinched, her head snapping back toward you despite herself, her body betraying the resolve she was trying so desperately to cling to. “Your body says otherwise.”

Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her fangs glinting as she glared up at you, but the wildness in her eyes betrayed her. She tried to speak, to retort, but the hunger clawing at her insides had stolen her voice. Her gaze flicked between your face and your arm, every breath she took pulling more of that intoxicating scent into her lungs.

You tilted your head, watching her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “It’s almost adorable,” you murmured, your voice soft but cutting. “You’re trying so hard to fight it. But you and I both know you’re losing.”

She snarled again, her body tensing as she fought against the chains, but it was clear she was at her limit. Her glowing eyes burned with rage and hunger, her lips pulling back in a feral sneer as she tried to snap at you despite the distance between you.

“See?” you said, stepping back with a laugh. “Completely feral.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her mind was consumed by the need, the hunger, the overwhelming scent of your blood that still lingered in the air. Her body trembled, her fangs bared as she stared at you like a predator stalking its prey, but the chains held her firmly in place.

“You really are something else, Kiramman,” you said, your voice laced with mockery as you finally turned away, heading toward the table to grab a rag to wipe the blood from your arm. “I think I might just keep you around a little longer. Watching you squirm like this is far too entertaining to give up just yet.”

Caitlyn strains against the cold metal of her restraints, her vampire strength useless against the unyielding chains. She glares up at you balefully, her crimson eyes glowing with barely suppressed rage. "Let me out!" She snarls, baring her fangs at you menacingly.

Her threats are empty, her fear pungent on the air. You smile at her, a slow, predatory curve of your lips. "I think what you mean to say," you murmur, crouching down to meet her eyes, "Is please. Please, may I have some blood?"

Caitlyn's eyes widen, a look of shock crossing her features. "Wh...what?"

You chuckle darkly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her face. "Come now, Caitlyn. We both know that's what you really want."

You lean in close, your lips brushing her ear as you whisper your next words. "To be fed, to be dominated, to be owned completely." Caitlyn shivers, a small, involuntary sound escaping her throat. She tries to pull away from you, but the chains binding her are unyielding.

"I don't...I won't..."Her protests are weak, her resistance crumbling under your hungry gaze.

"You will," you assure her, your voice a low purr of dominance. "Because I know how much you need it. How much you crave it." You trail your fingers down her neck, over the pounding pulse of her jugular.

"Your body knows what it wants, even if your mouth won't admit it."

You press a slow, deliberate kiss to her exposed throat, your tongue laving the pale skin. Caitlyn gasps, her head tipping back to bare more of herself to you. You can feel her trembling, the vibrations traveling up your lips to your bones.

"Pleasure," you murmur against her flesh. "That's all this is. Simple, primal pleasure." Your words, spoken low and seductive, are almost inaudible. But you know she can hear them, can feel them vibrating in her very soul.

You know she's close to breaking, to submitting to the desire you've kindled within her. "Just say the words, Caitlyn." Another kiss, another brush of lips and fang. "Beg for what you need."

Caitlyn's pride wars with her desperation, her need for sustenance battling with her stubborn will. She's been fighting you, struggling against your hold, determined not to give you the satisfaction of hearing her beg. But the longer you tease her, the weaker her resolve grows. Her body screams for what you're offering, craves the life-giving blood pumping through your veins.

"Please," she finally gasps, the word torn from her throat against her better judgement. "Please, I need..." she breaks off, swallowing hard. Her eyes, when they meet yours, are pools of scarlet desperation.

"I need you," she whispers, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "Please. I need your blood."

You smile, a slow, predatory curl of your lips. "That's it," you murmur approvingly, running your fingers through her hair. "Good girl." Caitlyn leans into your touch, her eyes slipping closed as she savors the praise.

You can feel her hunger beating at you, a physical ache in the space between you. But you ignore it for now, focused on her capitulation. Youtrail your fingers down to the chains, snapping your fingers sharply. "On your knees," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Caitlyn immediately complies, the metal of her restraints clinking as she drops to the floor before you. She gazes up at you adoringly, her head bowed submissively. "Now," you purr, "Open your mouth."

You release your throbbing clit from the tight rubber band, the action making you hiss as the cool air hits your sensitive flesh. The pleasure almost painfully intense after such prolonged stimulation. Caitlyn gazes up at you, her eyes hooded and dark with lust. "Please," she rasps, "I need to taste you."

Without waiting for permission, she dives forward, her hot mouth engulfing your aching sex. Your eyes roll back in your head at the first swipe of her tongue, a low moan tumbling from your lips as she devours you. Her mouth is magic on your skin, licking and suckling at your pussy as if she's starving for the taste of you. You can feel her fangs grazing your tender flesh and it only heightens your pleasure, the slight pain mixing with the ecstasy until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

Caitlyn moans against your core, the vibrations adding to your pleasure as she feasts on your juices. You thread your fingers through her hair, holding her close as you grind your hips against her face. "That's it," you pant, "Take what you need, my good little vampire slut." She whimpers at your filthy praise, doubling her efforts. Her tongue delves deep, lapping at your inner walls, before moving up to circle your throbbing clit. You're close, so close, your thighs starting to tremble with the force of your impending release.

"Don't stop,” you demand, your voice strained. "Don't you dare fucking stop," Caitlyn growls in response, the sound sending delicious vibrations through your core. She redoubles her efforts, alternating between suckling hard on your clit and plunging her tongue as deep inside you as she can reach.

Caitlyn sucks your clit into her mouth with single-minded greed, her tongue working feverishly over the bundle of nerves. You can feel her fangs grazing your sensitive flesh and it only serves to heighten your pleasure, sending electric thrills shooting up your spine. Her hunger is a living thing, palpable in the air around you, in the desperate way she's devouring your cunt like a woman starved.

You know she could take you, could bite down and fill her mouth with your essence, but she holds herself back. You can see her muscles trembling with the effort of restraint, hear her teeth grinding against each other as she fights her darker impulses. It's a testament to her obedience, her complete submission to your will. And it only serves to turn you on more, to push you higher.

Your orgasm crashes into you with the force of a tsunami, your back bowing as pleasure wracks through you in intense waves. You moan, a high, keening sound that echoes off the walls as your pussy clamps down hard. Your juices gush out to flood Caitlyn's greedy mouth, and she swallows every drop, not spilling a single precious bit of your essence. Through the haze of your climax, you can feel her pressing closer, her nose grinding into your clit as she prolongs your ecstasy. But she doesn't stop at one, doesn't give you a chance to come down from your high.

She continues to eat you through the aftershocks, her tongue dipping into your still-fluttering hole as if to catch any stray drops. You writhe against her, your hips bucking uncontrollably as she wrings every last tremor from your spent body.

Caitlyn snarls in frustration as you pull her mouth away from your aching core, her fangs bared in a feral grimace. She strains against the chains holding her hands behind her back, trying to buck her hips forward to regain the friction you denied her. But you keep a firm grip on her head, holding her in place as you watch her writhe beneath you.

"P-Please," she whines, her voice high and needy, "I need...I need more." You just smirk down at her, reveling in the desperation radiating from her body. You know you have her now, completely at your mercy. A simple no from you, and you could leave her aching and unsatisfied, her hunger a constant throb between her thighs.

But that's not what you want.

You kneel down, throwing Caitlyn's legs over your shoulders with a predatory growl. She gasps, her eyes widening as you settle between her thighs. Your hair brushes against the sensitive skin of her inner legs, making her shudder.

"Please," she begs, the word a broken moan, "Please, I can't stand it." You lean in, inhaling deeply, savoring the rich musk of her arousal.

"You beg so pretty," you murmur, your breath hot against her weeping slit, "But I don't think you've suffered enough yet." With a wicked grin, you run the flat of your tongue up her pussy, licking a slow stripe from her entrance to her throbbing clit. Caitlyn cries out, her hips jerking as if hit by lightning, but the chains hold her firmly in place.

You take your time, lapping at her folds like a cat lapping cream, coating your tongue in her sweet, tangy essence. Caitlyn thrashes beneath you, her body twisting and writhing as if trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure. But there is no escape, no respite from your relentless ministrations. You dip the tip of your tongue into her tight hole, fucking her with shallow strokes. She bucks against your face, trying to take you deeper, to drive herself onto your invading muscle. But you won't allow it. You keep the thrusts light, teasing, prolonging her torment.

You move higher, swirling your tongue around her clit in lazy circles that gradually tighten in spiral. Caitlyn keens, her voice ragged as she chants mindlessly, "Pleasepleasepleaseplease..." You can feel her start to throb against your lips, her climax hovering just out of reach.

You can feel her start to throb against your lips, her climax hovering just out of reach. With a wicked grin, you slowly plunge one finger into her tight, clinging heat. Caitlyn bucks wildly, a broken moan escaping her throat. "Fuck!" she gasps, her hips rocking frantically to try and take your teasing finger deeper.

You keep your touch light, pumping your finger in and out of her in excruciatingly shallow strokes. She's so close, trembling on the precipice of oblivion, but you hold her back by a thread, denying her the final push she needs. Leaning forward, you ghost your lips over her drenched folds, your warm breath making her muscles clench and flutter. "What do you want, Caitlyn?" you ask, your tone deceptively mild. "Do you want me back in your pussy?"

“Fuck, yes…!”

At her answer, you seal your lips around her clit and suck hard, piercing your tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, you curl your finger inside her, stroking along the rippling walls of her sheath in a come-hither motion. Caitlyn moans, her body going rigid as her orgasm slams into her like a freight train. Her back bows, every muscle in her body pulling taut with the force of her release.

You work her through it mercilessly, pumping your finger and flicking your tongue against her spasming flesh, coaxing every last tremor from her spent body. Only when the rippling of her walls starts to slow do you ease off, gentling your touches to bring her back down from the dizzying heights of ecstasy.

You kiss her, your tongues tangling languidly as you share her taste. She moans into your mouth, her kiss as desperate as a drowning woman seeking air. You pull back, trailing your lips over her cheekbone and down to her ear.

"You did so well, my vampire," you murmur, your voice a low, approving rumble. "So eager, so responsive." You nip at her earlobe before soothing the sting with your tongue. Caitlyn shivers, a full body tremble that makes your still-buried finger clench inside her.

"More," she begs, the word a breathless gasp against your skin. "Please, I need more."

"You want more blood, or you want more of me?" you ask, already knowing the answer. Your little vampire is insatiable, always greedy for more. Whether it's the crimson nectar of life pumping through your veins, or your body bringing her to heights of ecstasy she's never known, she craves both like a drug. And you're more than happy to oblige, to feed and fuck her until she's a boneless heap of satiation.

Caitlyn's choice is the same, her voice a wanton moan that hangs heavy on the air. "Both! God, please, I need it all. Need-you." Her desperate plea is like the sweetest music, stoking your own desires into a raging inferno. With a final, searing kiss, you rise and saunter over to the table, the chains of her restraints clinking with every step.

You take your time putting on the harness, adjusting the straps so the dildo stands proud and ready. The latex feels cool and clingy against your skin, a sensual contrast to the heat building in your core as you picture burying the thick cock deep in Caitlyn's waiting heat. You turn back to your vampire, your eyes glinting with predatory hunger as they rake over her bound form. The sight of her like this, chained and open and so utterly at your mercy, sends a fresh flood of arousal straight to your pussy, making the toy bob enticingly.

You stalk toward her slowly, savoring the way her eyes dilate and her tongue swipes over her bottom lip as you approach. Stopping just out of reach, you trail the tip of the dildo up the inside of her thigh, watching her muscles jump and twitch under your touch.

"I'm gonna fuck you," you purr, your words sending a shiver down Caitlyn's spine. "I'm gonna go so hard, so deep, you'll forget your own name." You punctuate your promise with a teasing swirl of the cock around her dripping pussy, coating the head in her slick arousal. Caitlyn whimpers, her hips canting forward in a desperate attempt to gain more friction. But you pull back at the last second, grinning at her frustrated growl.

"Beg for it," you demand, your voice a low, seductive rumble. "Beg me to ruin this needy pussy."

Caitlyn's pride wars with her lust, her stubbornness battling with the aching emptiness in her core. But you can see the exact moment when desire wins out, when she gives herself over completely to the need pulsing between her thighs.

"Please," she gasps, her voice ragged and rough. "Please, I need your cock. Need you to fill me up, fuck me full until I can't tell where you end and I begin. I need it so bad. I'm begging you. Fuck me. Ruin me." Her words are music to your ears, your little slut so far gone she's practically babbling.

With a predatory growl of approval, you line up the head of the dildo with her entrance and surge forward, sheathing yourself to the hilt in one hard thrust. Caitlyn howls, her back bowing as she's split open on the thick cock.

You set a punishing pace from the start, your hips snapping forward in hard, deep strokes that hit her cervix with every pass. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes off the walls, mingling with Caitlyn's wanton cries and desperate pleas for more. You can feel her tightening around you, her muscles clenching and fluttering as she nears her peak.

But you know she needs more to push her over the edge. Plunging your hand between her body, you find her clit, the engorged bundle of nerves slick with her arousal. You rub tight circles over it, feeling it throb beneath your fingers. "Fuck," you curse, your voice a low rasp as you continue your brutal pace.

You continue pistoning into Caitlyn, your pace relentless as you drive her towards the edge. Suddenly, you lean down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear as you coo teasingly, "You're so loud, Caitlyn. Are you this loud when it comes to you and Vi, your little werewolf girlfriend, fucking each other senseless in your bed?"

She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you, the mention of her lover both shameful and shamefully arousing.

You chuckle darkly, nipping at her earlobe. "Vampires and werewolves shouldn't be sharing the same bed, should they? And yet, there’s you two." You punctuate your words with a particularly brutal thrust, burying yourself to the hilt in her sopping cunt. "Or is it that you just can't help yourself, even after all this time? I know I certainly can't."

You can feel Caitlyn starting to tighten around you, her orgasm building at the base of her spine. But you hold her back, keeping your thrusts shallow and teasing even as the need to pound into her grows. Not until you've had your fill of tormenting her with memories of your lover. "Vi was so good," you croon, your lips brushing her cheekbone as you speak.

"So obedient, so eager to please." You press a line of biting kisses down the column of her throat, your teeth scraping lightly over her racing pulse. "She loved it when I fucked myself on her cock. Would moan so sweetly as I rode her hard and fast." Your thrusts speed up, mimicking the frenzied rhythm you used on your wolf. "But in the end, it was her who tapped out first. Even with all that lycan stamina, she couldn't last."

You grin wickedly as Caitlyn's pussy clench around your dildo, her body's response to your taunting words. "And if you and Vi just ever played nice," you purr, punctuating your words with a sharp snap of your hips, "I might just let you both fuck me as hard as you want, as often as you want."

You can almost picture it, the vampire and werewolf girlfriends rutting into you from either side, your body stretched and full and flying high on the dual pleasure. But that's a fantasy for another day. "But first, my sweet little Caitlyn," you growl, your cock plunging deep one last time before stilling, "You're going to come. Now."

You redouble your efforts, pounding into Caitlyn with wild abandon as you chase your own climax. Her scream of ecstasy mixes with the wet slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing off the walls. But you're not done with her yet. You want to give her everything, to let her sate her hunger on more than just your cock.

"Caitlyn," you pant, your voice strained, "Bite me. Drink." You angle your head to the side, baring the vulnerable expanse of your throat. You can feel her falter, hear her whine of denial as she struggles against the chains holding her in place. But you won’t take no for an answer. Reaching out, you grasp her head in your hands, holding her in place as you grind your hips against her oversensitive flesh.

"Drink," you command, a note of desperation creeping into your tone.

With a groan of surrender, Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your neck, her bite sharp and painful and so fucking perfect. You moan out, the pain of her bite mixing with the pleasure of her spasming cunt, driving you higher and higher until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. Your blood flows hot over her tongue, rich and thick and laced with the coppery tang of passion. She drinks deep, gulping greedily as if she's been starved, her throat working to swallow every drop of your life's essence.

You come with a shout, your vision going white as your climax crashes into you like a tidal wave. Your hips jerks and twitch against her, your release hitting you like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of your ecstasy, you can feel Caitlyn following you over the edge, her pussy clamping down hard as she cums.

You can feel Caitlyn start to come down from her high, her sips on your neck growing slow and languid as she floats in the afterglow of her release. Her body goes lax in your arms, her head lolling against your shoulder as she lets you cradle her close.

You smile, running soothing strokes down her back as you pepper soft kisses over her hair. "So good," you murmur against her temple, your voice rough with satiation, "My perfect vampire, so well-behaved." You nuzzle her, breathing in the heady scent of her satisfaction, of the musk of sex and blood that clings to her like an aphrodisiac.

"Shh, it's alright," you croon as she whimpers against your neck, her fangs finally releasing their grip on your flesh to lave the wound with her tongue. "I've got you."

..

Caitlyn buttoned up her shirt with shaking fingers, the post-orgasmic tremors still racing through her system. Her skin felt too tight, too sensitized, every brush of fabric against her flesh sending sparks skittering along her nerves.

She could feel your eyes on her as she tugged her pants into place, could sense the smug satisfaction radiating off you in waves. Probably still riding that high from marking her so thoroughly, making her his all over again. The thought sent a twinge of guilt spiking through her chest, a silent reminder of her responsibilities waiting for her at home, of the life she'd turned her back on to indulge in forbidden pleasures.

Caitlyn picked up her trench coat from the floor, shrugging it on with jerky, distracted movements. She avoided your gaze as she fumbled with the zipper, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of satiation and shame. "I should go," she said, her voice rough and raspy, the words sounding forced even to her own ears. "Vi will be wondering where I am." The mention of her lover's name sent a fresh wave of guilt washing over her, twisting uncomfortably in her gut.

She cast a glance at the clock, grimacing when she saw the late hour. She'd been gone for hours, longer than she'd intended. Vi would be frantic with worry, no doubt imagining all manner of horrors that had befallen her mate. And she would know as soon as she smelt the presence of the hunter on Caitlyn’s skin. The thought made Caitlyn's stomach churn, shame and self-loathing mingling in a sickening cocktail.

Turning back to face you, Caitlyn hesitated, suddenly unsure. She knew she shouldn't ask, shouldn't tempt fate or jinx the fragile understanding you'd reached. And yet the words slipped out before she could stop them, hanging heavy in the air between you. "Will I see you again?" Your answering smirk was slow and satisfied, your eyes glinting with wicked promise.

"Oh, my sweet vampire," you purred, taking a long drag on your cigarette before blowing the smoke in a leisurely stream towards the ceiling, "You have no idea how soon."

You gestured with your cigarette towards the door, your gaze never leaving hers. "Now go on, get out of here. Vi must be just dying for you." The smirk on your lips turned playful and taunting. "Bring her next time.I'm sure the three of us will have a blast."

You stubbed out your cigarette in the ashtray, grinding the amber into ashes. Before Caitlyn could turn away, you reached out and snagged her face in your hands with an unbreakable grip. Despite her own monstrous strength, she stumbled, her eyes flying wide as she found herself pulled flush against your chest. You kissed her hard and deep, plundering her mouth with a ferocity that stole the breath from her lungs. By the time you released her, she was breathless and reeling, clinging to your waist for support.

Only when her legs started to shake beneath her did you release her, keeping one steadying hand on her cheek as you steadied her focus on you. "If you ever need more," you murmured, your lips brushing her ear, "You know where to find me."

You know she'll come back, knows it as surely as you know your own name. Whether it's tomorrow or next week or a month from now, she'll be back in your bed, begging for you and craving your blood. It's only a matter of time before Vi finds out about your little arrangement, before the werewolf shows up again, eyes flared and fangs bared. But you're not afraid.

If anything, the thought sends a thrill of anticipation skittering down your spine. Wouldn't it be fun to have them tear you apart, their greed and lust clouding their minds and erasing their human senses?

There's always time for fun later.

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

tgif (quickie) - tripleS zhou xinyu

mind you she says "are you still leaving?" on fromm after she sends this picture like how do u not expect me to be riled up ????

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, casting a sterile glow on your weary face. Your inbox overflowed, a digital avalanche of emails threatening to bury you alive. Another late night loomed, the prospect as appealing as a root canal. Heaving a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, you finally succumbed to the inevitable.

Pulling out your phone, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the overworked computer. A quick text to Xinyu was the least you could do, especially after promising that you would come home earlier to watch a movie with her.

Honey, looks like I'm going to be stuck here late again. So sorry. Will order takeout.

You hit send, expecting the usual "Okay, love you" in return. Instead, your phone buzzed almost immediately.

A picture message.

You hesitated, then clicked on it.

Xinyu.

Not the tired, makeup-free Xinyu of the morning who grabbed your arm as you climbed out of bed. This was Xinyu take a selfie from the top, tongue sticking out and eyes sultrily looking at the camera. Almost the same view you'd get when you stand over, cock in hand and-

ping

Your breath hitched.

aww man...i was hoping we could do some painting after the movie too 😣

You stared at the picture, his heart pounding. Suddenly, the allure of a quiet night at home, of escaping the sterile office and diving into the warmth of Sarah's embrace, seemed infinitely more appealing than any amount of overtime.

You slammed your laptop shut, a grin instinctively splitting your face.

incentive accepted

The fluorescent lights seemed to dim, the office noise fading into the background. All you could see was Xinyu, waiting for you on her knees, and the promise of a night that would be anything but ordinary.

.

.

.

So much for burning the midnight oil, you think to yourself as Xinyu kneels before your raging cock, only this time, her face has been fucked thoroughly, saliva dripping down her chin.

"Gonna cum for me daddy? Paint my beautiful face with your hot. Thick. Load?"

You furiously jerk yourself off to completion in front of her face, spurts of semen flying onto her face like a lock on missile, some landing on her stuck out tongue.

You slump back against the couch as you finally start breathing again, blood rushing back to your head.

But Xinyu's not done. No.

She pulls your pants and boxers off your legs. Heck, you haven't even noticed that you hadn't taken them off fully yet.

"We're not done yet daddy."

You watch as her slender, naked body mounts you, perfect, bouncy skin glowing softly thanks to the dim lamp in the corner of the room.

She unbuttons your shirt and practically rips it off you while all you do is watch. And rest your hands on her curvy hips, admiring her figure of course.

"Want to show you what I learned from Yuqi.", she says as she kisses you before climbing off of your now naked body.

She drags a chair from the dining table and places it right in front of you. She takes a bottle of lube from the shelf and squirts some liquid on your cock before drizzling some on her pretty little feet. You watch as she runs the sole of her feet against the underside of your hardening cock, the friction being just the right amount to stimulate your pleasure senses once again.

"Don't think about work anymore daddy. It's TGIF."

(we need more tripleS smuts man, they're all stunners)

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. MAYBE ROMANCE IS A PLACE

Summary: Rafe is still angry at Sarah and you are his loving girlfriend.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff.

A/n: This is my first fic in a long time lol, so It will probably be a bit rusty. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback!

Winter had arrived. As the air got crispier and the winter hibernation loomed upon the Outer Banks, the chaos and trivialness of the Outer Banks began to simmer away.

As Rafe's girlfriend, you were rather thankful that Rafe would be distracted from his ongoing conflict with his sister's friends and now-husband. You did not undervalue the few months you would have Rafe to yourself, him already planning a city break to New York over Christmas. Yet the bliss you had become accustomed to by November soon disappeared.

As a student at Elizabeth City State University, winter took a toll on every aspect of your life. Studying in the final year of your college degree meant your work was piling up more and more by the day.

Sitting in Rafe's estate home you had spent the last 4 hours hunched over the desk in his office while he was off on 'business'- as he described. You were far too occupied to even consider for a moment what he was up to, even this morning you had begun studying before he had even woken up. So when he stormed into the office, his face raw red as he clutched his phone in his hand before he flung it on the sofa to your left along with his jacket, you were startled, to say the least.

After a few moments of stunned silence, you placed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boyfriend. Despite being together for several months now and finding ways to navigate his often erratic moods, sometimes you still felt as if you were on eggshells on how to approach him in moments like this. Rafe appreciated your often brutal honesty but also your sensitivity to his moods- without words spoken on it you both knew his unstable behaviours and outbursts weren't purely learned behaviours.

"What happened, Rafe?" He was still pacing the room, the way he was when he entered the room when you asked him the question. Yet without stopping, he huffed out a reply. "Fucking Sarah and her fucking games. I swear to fuck-" He began his more than common rant about his sister and presumably her friends if you hadn't interrupted. Sarah had grown a soft spot in your heart, you saw a lot of you in her. A young girl who had gone against what everyone in her life wanted for her in the name of love, as you did with Rafe. So when he began to ramble on about her you already knew she was unlikely to be in the wrong, especially when it came to her brother.

"Okay, let's calm down. Sit down for a second and breathe, you're practically burning up." You stood up, walking over to him unfortunately realising that your work would have to be put off for at least half an hour when he was in such a mood. "I don't want to fucking sit down, I can't believe she has done this shit again." Walking away from you back over towards the door before pacing back towards you.

"And what exactly has she done?" You questioned your boyfriend, glancing towards your phone that was bound to soon be bombarded with texts from Sarah regarding this exact problem. Sighing you look back over to him to see him staring at you, rage burning in his eyes. You obviously knew this anger was for Sarah but you weren't in the mood to get into an argument with a temperamental Rafe.

"I was minding my business trying to get some shit done with the estate over in Charleston when I saw- her with her stupid pogue friends. It's like she's rubbing it in my face y/n, does she even fucking care that her friends got our dad killed? I mean they probably fucking did it." Your face scrunched up in confusion, Rafe was upset that Sarah was hanging around her friends? Not to point out the obvious but that was a pretty commonplace that Sarah would be in, maybe not years ago when she had first hung out with the pogues- but now definitely. "Not to be Sherlock here Rafe, but just to check. You are angry that Sarah is hanging around with the same people she has been hanging around for 2 years now?"

His face dropped as if you had asked if the sky was blue. "Yes." An uncomfortable silence settled over the office. You were apprehensive about how to approach him now, sometimes you could sympathise with the oldest Cameron child who had a lot of unresolved trauma thanks to his late father Ward but this wasn't one of those times. You and Rafe had had this conversation years ago when you were only friends, and since you started dating- numerous times after. "Rafe, seriously? You need to stop worrying about this honestly. It has been years now."

He huffed in response, his features hardening and stare glazing over. Were you actually serious? His father had died only a few months ago now and he had been given the burden of not only figuring out everything that would happen with the family estates scattered across the East Coast but also working through Ward's will, a large portion of it which had been left to Sarah who couldn't care less clearly. He couldn't fathom why his loving girlfriend couldn't see what he could- a scheming sister who abandoned her family in favour of pogues. Huffing out a breath, he avoided your gaze knowing if he looked at you you would see the anger rising once more in his face. "That's the problem, you don't get it at all. Why would you get how much of a slap in the face this fucking is? All you do all day is sit here doing fuck all, whilst I'm out there making a future for us and deal with all the shit that comes with it."

Mouth wide open, you stare at your boyfriend as if he'd slapped you in the face- even though it damn well felt like he had. "Are you serious? Doing fuck all Rafe I sit here every day working my ass off for a degree so I don't spend the rest of my life living off your money. Something you complained Rose did to your fath-"

"Don't bring him into this, y/n." He interrupted, completely overruling your thoughts on his words- like he often did when overwhelmed by his emotions. "Rafe, I'm not bringing him into anything. All I'm saying is that I'm sitting here fucking studying to get a job- so god forbid I don't drop at your call to talk shit about Sarah." The room lingered in silence. Both of you refusing to concede to the other- why would you? You were well in your right to call him out on his bullshit.

"Look I don't expect you to get it. It's more than you'd ever understand- too complex" He muttered, walking off towards the door, undoubtedly planning to call up Barry for drugs until his anger faded. "Too complex? Please, Rafe, you don't understand how much work I do. I think the petty fights you and your sister have, that could be figured out if you just fucking sat down and spoke about it, are too complex for me."

Stunned at your words, he paused in his stride towards the door. Petty fights? What was petty about his sister being a raging bitch? "Whatever, I don't have time for this y/n. You're being completely ignorant of my issues."

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that talking down to me will get you nowhere. I've stood by your side for years, even when we were just friends. Defended you to everyone who called you crazy because I knew, and I still know, that deep down you are just conflicted. I love you, and I will defend you to anyone outside this house. But when it's you and I, I will tell you when you're overreacting and need to think twice about what you are going to do. And that's exactly what you need to do now Rafe. I know you're grieving still and yes, seeing Sarah with the Pogues after all that happened may hurt you. But she is grieving in her own way too. And if that is with John B and his friends then so be it. Don't burn the bridge you have any more than you already have, in the face of something that has been in your knowledge for years."

He knew you were right. You were the one person he trusted. Not Topper. Not Kelce. Especially not Rose. You had been with him through everything, and when he looked back you often gave him advice that didn't always swing in your favour- but always his. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to be in love with, so the fact you stood by his side for all those years was a testament to your honesty and faithfulness. "I'm sorry."

And although his words were short and concise, you knew below the surface level they meant a whole lot more. He struggled with showing any emotion that wasn't frustration. But his harmful words aimed at you doing 'fuck all', wasn't going to fly by under your radar.

"And what in particular are you sorry for?" You asked, leaning your back against his desk. If he wasn't in such a rage when he walked in he would have realised how tired you looked. Your hair was still undone from when you had woken up this morning, drowned in his sweatpants and hoodie he had given you years ago when you were drunk out of your mind at a High School party. Tired- but beautiful. Walking over to you, suddenly sheepish at his uncalled-for anger towards you, he slipped his hands around your waist, slightly pressing his fingers into the delicate dip in your back. "I know you do so much work for us baby, I'm sorry for undermining everything you have done for me. You're working so hard every day, and I'm so proud of you." He admitted, looking lovingly into your eyes. His eyes full of pure love for a girl he had chased all his life.

And although there was so much more to come for you both as you faced the future of your relationship but also the future of the island. You knew that right now, this was enough for you. Standing with the man you love as he moved his hand up and down your back, content.

"Down talk my degree again and you're on the couch for a week."

[obblobble]

I feel like we don’t get enough Affini with pleasuregrafts content. Sure, the standard mode of Affini being more kink than sex is great, I wouldn’t want dickfinni to ever overtake that, but I feel like there’s a lot of great material here. Like, imagine a floret who’s just so desperate to please her owner. Just seeing her affini’s satisfaction from her submission isn’t enough. She needs to make her *feel good.* So, her mistress caves and decides to get a phytogock grafted into her system, even though this isn’t the sort of thing she’d normally do, her floret clearly needs this, and who is she to deny her pet the things it needs to be happy? Besides, she thinks, maybe she’ll end up enjoying this~ The little floret is so excited when mistress shows off her “new vine” the next day. She thanks her mistress for giving her this opportunity to please her owner in a new way, eagerly getting into position, ready to be used. The Affini knows she needs to be careful as she starts to slip inside, her pet is just so small and fragile, and she knows just how easily she could hurt her if she isn’t careful. Now here’s the thing. You know how biorhythms are just the sum total of a living being’s body language, expressions, bodily functions, etc? You know what else would be a part of that biorhythm? *Thrusting.* As her mistress begins to take her, her biorhythms flood through the poor little unprepared floret, as her normal rhythm is slowly overtaken by a new song. A repetitive and quickly growing staccato beat. The rhythm floods her mind like the rising tide, in and out, in and out, her soul adrift on waves of pleasure. The waves start getting faster. The sea of bliss churns into a raging storm. And the floret is just too damn blissed out of her mind to even know her own name anymore. Her mistress’s huge form looms over her; she’s completely off the ground now, huge arms pumping her up and down like a living fleshlight. Eyes looking far away and lines of drool leaking out from both her mouth and tiny bouncing girlcock. The Affini is close now. She keels over her floret, desperately trying to keep enough control over her faculties that she doesn’t break the poor thing. She feels so good she can’t bother maintaining her human form anymore, falling apart into vines that wrap around and cocoon her hapless prey deep inside her. Without having to be attached to a facsimile of human hips, she can push her vine cock much deeper inside of her toy. Then finally, her vines tighten around her floret, and she stills for a moment, and cums deep inside her. (The cum, obviously, is full of xenodrugs.) She lets out a rustling sigh as she untangles her pet from herself, admiring her handiwork. She didn’t think that’d feel nearly that good. She might just get addicted to this.~

[novaursa]

Fire and Blood (reader's choice)

- Summary: For as long as Maegor could remember, you were denied to him by others. By his own father, by his half-brother, by the gods themselves. They saddled him off with a barren bride and locked you away on Dragonstone. And once Aenys died and Maegor has returned from exile to take the crown, he also takes you, as was his right. But before the wedding could happen, you disappear. You never arrive at the capital with your royal procession. And Maegor tears the realm apart.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The air was heavy with the heat of the afternoon sun, and the sky above King's Landing was an expanse of pale blue. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled under the light, and the wind carried the scent of salt and stone, mingling with the hum of the city behind. The Red Keep loomed in the background, a skeletal structure still rising from the hill, its walls unfinished, its towers yet to scrape the heavens as Maegor intended. The clatter of hammers and the creak of scaffolding were distant echoes, reminders of the power he was building, brick by brick.

But today, all of that faded into insignificance. Maegor Targaryen stood with his mother, Visenya, the only one who had ever stood by him. His bannermen, royal retainers, and lords stood at a respectful distance, their whispers nothing but gnats in his ears as he stared out at the empty horizon. You were supposed to arrive today, your royal procession expected any moment, the ships that carried you from Dragonstone cutting across the bay.

You. His bride. His blood. His right.

His gloved hands tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancient sword of his house, as his mind drifted, despite himself, back to all the times you had been denied to him.

His father, King Aegon the Conqueror, had made the first refusal. Maegor had been young then, but old enough to know what he wanted. You were young too, of course, but even then, Maegor saw the fire in your eyes, the way the blood of Old Valyria ran through you. You were his match in every way. He had stood before his father, demanding you be betrothed to him.

"It is not your place to demand, Maegor," Aegon had said, his voice calm, but his eyes cold. "Your brother's daughter is not for you. Aenys' children will be wed to strengthen the realm, not to satisfy your desires."

It was the first time Maegor had felt the sting of denial, but it would not be the last.

His half-brother, Aenys, had been no better. When he became king after Aegon’s death, Maegor thought surely now, with the crown on his brother’s head, he could finally claim what was his. You had grown by then, blooming into a woman with the beauty and strength of their ancestors. Maegor had approached Aenys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, looking every inch the weak ruler he was.

"You will not have her," Aenys had said, shaking his head. "She is promised elsewhere."

"To whom?" Maegor had demanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Who could be more worthy of her than I, her blood and kin?"

"A match will be made in time, but not to you, brother," Aenys had answered, his tone patronizing. "I have other plans for her."

Other plans. The words still tasted bitter on Maegor’s tongue, as though they had been spoken only yesterday.

He had begged. Yes, even he, Maegor the Cruel, had begged. But only to one person. His mother, Visenya. The warrior queen, the woman who had conquered Westeros by Aegon’s side. The only person who had ever truly understood him.

"I will not be denied her," he had told Visenya, pacing the halls of Dragonstone in frustration. "Father, Aenys, the gods themselves conspire against me. They will not give her to me."

Visenya, regal and fierce, had looked at him with those sharp, violet eyes of hers, the eyes of a dragon, and she had smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "They fear you, my son," she had said. "They fear the strength of your blood. Aenys and his ilk think they can control you by keeping her from you, but they are fools. They do not see what I see."

"And what do you see, Mother?" Maegor had asked, desperate for the answer he knew only she could give.

"I see the future of our house," she had answered, stepping close to him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder. "And I see you at its head, with her at your side. The dragons of Old Valyria will rise again, Maegor. And no one—no one—will deny you what is yours."

Her words had kept him sane through the years of exile, through his marriage to Ceryse Hightower, a woman who had proven barren, and a marriage that had been nothing but a chain around his neck. All the while, he had thought of you. You, locked away on Dragonstone, hidden from him by his enemies, the gods, the world. But now, none of that mattered. Aenys was dead, the throne was his, and soon, you would be too.

And yet... the ships did not come.

The sun was sinking lower, casting ghastly shadows over the unfinished Red Keep, over the city of King's Landing, over the assembled lords and banners. Maegor’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like wildfire ready to consume all in its path.

"They are late," he growled, his voice low, but his anger clear. "Where are they?"

Visenya stood beside him, silent and still as ever. Her presence was the only thing that soothed him, that kept him from mounting Balerion and flying to Dragonstone himself. But even her patience had its limits, and he could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. She felt the delay, the insult, as keenly as he did.

"They will come," she said, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that Maegor did not like.

And what if they did not? What if something had happened? What if your brother, Aegon, or even that fool Rhaena, had interfered, whisked you away before you could reach him? The thought sent a surge of fury through him, and he gripped Blackfyre tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves.

"No one will keep her from me," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Not this time."

Visenya turned to him, her sharp gaze cutting through his anger. "If they try," she said, her voice cold and final, "then we will burn them all."

Maegor’s heart beat with the promise of fire and blood. They had all denied him for so long. His father. His brother. The gods themselves. But he was king now, and no one could deny the King of the Iron Throne.

You would be his, one way or another. The realm would tremble at his wrath if you were not.

But still, the horizon remained empty.

Maegor’s patience shattered like glass underfoot. The stillness of the harbor, the absence of the royal procession, and the delay that felt like a deliberate insult boiled within him until he could bear it no longer. His fury was a living thing, a fire in his chest that demanded release.

Without a word to anyone, Maegor turned sharply on his heel and stalked away from the gathered lords and his waiting bannermen. Visenya's gaze followed him, but she did not call him back. She knew what was coming, and she would not try to stop him. No one would.

He marched through the half-constructed Red Keep, past the workers who hastily moved out of his way, their eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. His blood thundered in his veins, his mind consumed by a singular thought: you. You were not here. Someone had kept you from him again, and he would have answers. One way or another, he would have answers.

Balerion waited for him, the great black beast shifting restlessly as though sensing the storm of rage within his rider. Maegor did not hesitate. He approached the dragon without a word, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he climbed onto Balerion’s back. The dragon’s scales were hot beneath his hands, and the air filled with the smell of smoke and brimstone as Balerion opened his massive jaws, letting out a low growl that reverberated through the air.

"To Dragonstone," Maegor commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.

With a mighty beat of his wings, Balerion launched into the air, and the city of King’s Landing fell away beneath them. The wind roared in Maegor’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher, until the Red Keep and the harbor were nothing but distant specks below. His eyes narrowed against the rush of air as they flew toward Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a place that should have been your prison but was now the key to your disappearance.

The journey was swift. Balerion’s immense wings cut through the sky, and soon, the looming shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon, its dark, foreboding towers rising from the volcanic island like jagged teeth. The familiar silhouette of the castle did nothing to soothe Maegor’s fury. If anything, it fueled it. Whoever had dared to take you from him was hiding here, he was certain of it. And they would pay.

Balerion descended with a roar, his massive form casting a shadow over the castle courtyard as he landed with a thunderous crash. Maegor dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose, and strode toward the keep without hesitation. The guards, clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, scrambled to stand at attention, but Maegor paid them no mind. His eyes were fixed on one figure—Alyssa Velaryon, Dowager Queen, widow of his late half-brother Aenys.

She stood at the entrance of the great hall, flanked by her own royal guards, her expression calm but her eyes wary. She had been expecting him.

"Where is she?" Maegor’s voice was thunder, echoing across the courtyard as he approached. His gaze was locked on Alyssa, his hands still resting on the hilt of Blackfyre at his side.

Alyssa’s lips thinned, but she did not answer immediately. Her silence was an insult in itself.

"Where is she?" Maegor demanded again, his tone darkening, his patience long gone. "The ships have not arrived. My bride is not here. Where is she?"

Alyssa lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet defiance. "I do not know," she said, her voice steady, though her guards shifted uneasily around her. "She is not here, Maegor. I swear it on the blood of my children."

His anger flared like a flame doused in oil. He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes burning with rage. "You lie. Do you think me a fool, Alyssa? Do you think I will believe your false words? You know where she is. Someone here knows."

Alyssa did not waver, though there was a flicker of fear behind her eyes. "I do not lie, Maegor," she said, her voice firm. "Your niece is gone, but I do not know where. You think you can demand answers, but the gods have taken her from you."

"The gods?" Maegor spat the word as if it were poison. "The gods have no power here. I am king. I am the only god that matters in this realm."

He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard with a vicious hiss of steel. The sight of the ancient Valyrian blade, its edge gleaming in the waning sunlight, caused Alyssa’s guards to stiffen, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords. But Maegor did not care. He had faced armies and dragons alike; these men would not stand against him.

"You will tell me where she is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will take this castle stone by stone and burn it to the ground. I will burn you all."

Alyssa stood her ground, but her defiance was waning. Still, she did not answer.

Maegor’s grip on Blackfyre tightened. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and final. "If you will not speak, then I declare war on you, on this entire realm, and on the gods themselves. I will rip the truth from your dying lips if I must."

He raised the sword high, and Balerion let out a deafening roar, his fiery breath licking at the sky, as if in answer to his rider’s fury. The ground beneath Maegor’s feet trembled as the beast’s wings unfurled, casting the courtyard into shadow once more.

"Do you hear me, Alyssa?" Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the castle walls. "I will bring fire and blood to this land until she is returned to me. Every house, every banner, every village will burn. No one will be spared."

Alyssa’s face paled, but she held her tongue, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his rage.

With one final, furious look at her, Maegor turned and mounted Balerion once more. The dragon’s wings beat against the air as they took to the skies, leaving the castle of Dragonstone behind, but not forgotten.

War was coming. The realm would know the full wrath of Maegor Targaryen, and nothing would stand in his way.

Not even the gods.

The sky had darkened with storm clouds, a fitting shroud for what was to come. Maegor could feel the death in the air as Balerion, the Black Dread, flew low over the countryside, the sound of his massive wings beating like the drums of war. Beneath him, the land stretched out in peaceful ignorance—green fields, small villages, and the occasional hamlet, all unaware of the doom that was about to descend upon them.

His fury had not abated. If anything, it had grown, simmering inside him like the flames that Balerion carried in his belly. For days, he had waited—waited for some word, some message, some whisper of where you had been taken. But there had been none. Not from Dragonstone, not from King's Landing, not from any corner of the realm. Silence. It was as if the earth itself conspired to keep you hidden from him.

And so, Maegor had decided to speak in the only language he knew would reach them all—fire.

The town below was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of his rule. It had no great lords, no strategic importance. It was nothing more than a farming village, its people simple, its streets quiet. But that did not matter to Maegor. He was no longer a king seeking strategy. He was a dragon in search of blood.

Balerion let out a growl as they descended, and the townspeople, who had begun to gather in the streets, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard tales of dragons, but few had seen one in the flesh, let alone the Black Dread himself. Some screamed, others fled, scattering like ants before a boot.

But it was too late.

Maegor did not speak as they approached. He did not announce his arrival or give them time to prepare. His rage did not allow for such mercy. Instead, he gave the only command he had come to deliver.

"Dracarys."

Balerion unleashed his fury with a deafening roar. Flames erupted from his jaws, a torrent of fire that engulfed the first row of houses in an instant. The wooden structures went up like kindling, the dry summer heat making them burn even faster. Screams filled the air, high-pitched and desperate, as people fled their homes, only to be caught by the flames that licked at their heels.

The fire spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path—roofs, walls, fields. The village was alight, a beacon of destruction visible for miles around.

Maegor watched from above, his face cold and impassive, his grip on Balerion’s reins tight as the dragon circled over the burning town. The people below looked so small, like insects scurrying for cover, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. Not for them.

A handful of soldiers, likely from a nearby lord's keep, arrived, rushing into the chaos with spears and shields. They might have hoped to protect their people, to fight off the monster in the sky, but it was a hopeless effort. Balerion roared again, and another wave of fire descended, swallowing the soldiers in flames before they could even raise their weapons.

Still, Maegor felt nothing. No satisfaction, no relief, just the same gnawing fury. This town was but the first of many. If no one would give him what he demanded, then they would all burn.

Balerion landed in the town square, his massive form crushing the few remaining carts and stalls beneath him. The fires crackled and raged around them, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Maegor dismounted, his black armor gleaming with the reflection of the flames, and strode through the smoldering ruins. The people who hadn’t already fled or died in the fire cowered at the edges of the square, their faces streaked with soot and tears, their eyes wide with terror.

One man—a farmer by the looks of him, his face blackened with ash—dared to stand before Maegor. His legs shook, and his hands trembled as he held out a crude pitchfork, a pitiful weapon against the man who wielded Blackfyre.

“Please!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “We’ve done nothing! We don’t know where she is!”

Maegor’s gaze fixed on him, cold and unfeeling. “Then you are of no use to me.”

With a swift motion, he drew Blackfyre and swung. The blade cut through the air with a whistle, and the man’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed. Blood pooled at Maegor’s feet, mixing with the ash and dirt.

He turned to the remaining villagers, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “Where is she?” Maegor demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling flames. “Tell me, and you will be spared.”

But there were no answers. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional sob or gasp. They knew nothing, and he could see the truth of it in their frightened, helpless faces. These people had never laid eyes on you. They did not know your name. They were caught in a storm that was not theirs, a storm they could not hope to survive.

“Then burn,” Maegor said, his voice flat, his heart devoid of pity.

Balerion roared once more, and fire swept across the square, swallowing the villagers where they stood. The screams of the innocent echoed in the night, but they were distant to Maegor, drowned out by the roar of the flames. He mounted Balerion again, his mind already turning to the next town, the next village. There would be no end to his wrath until you were returned to him.

As they lifted into the air, the once-quiet town was a sea of fire below, the smoke rising in dark plumes that would be visible for miles. The next town would see the flames and know what was coming. They would know the price of silence.

But as they flew over the burning ruins, a grim thought gnawed at Maegor’s mind: even this, even the screams of the dying, had not brought forth any word of you. No ravens, no messengers, no spies. It was as if you had vanished from the face of the earth.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes hard as stone as he looked out over the darkened horizon. Let them hide you. Let them try to keep you from him. He would burn every inch of this realm to ash until they had no choice but to deliver you back into his hands.

War had come, and the realm would know the full measure of his wrath before it was over.

And still, you remained lost to him, as distant and unreachable as ever.

The halls of Oldtown’s grand keep were filled with the scent of burning torches and incense, the air heavy with the weight of old stone and old gods alike. Maegor strode through the corridors, his armor clinking with each step, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The lords of the Reach had gathered in the great hall ahead, awaiting his arrival, their banners lining the walls like silent witnesses to the war he was bringing to their doors.

He would have their armies. He would have their swords and their oaths. And soon, the realm would bleed for keeping you from him.

Yet, as he approached the towering doors of the hall, he was intercepted by a voice that grated on his already thin patience.

“Maegor.”

He halted but did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice, the cold, haughty tone that had once filled his ears with promises of alliances and power. Ceryse Hightower, his wife—the woman the Faith of the Seven deemed his lawful bride. The one who had failed him, who had borne him no heirs, no strength. She was a chain, an anchor from a life he despised. And now, she stood between him and the destruction he sought to bring upon the world.

With a slow turn, he faced her. She stood in the narrow corridor, her expression as cold as the marble pillars that flanked her. Her gown was white and gold, as befit a woman of her station, but there was no warmth in her. She had never had any warmth for him, nor he for her.

Ceryse’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her chin lifted in defiance. "This madness must stop, Maegor. What you are doing—it is unholy. This war you wage for your niece, this obsession, it will bring the gods’ wrath upon you. Upon us all."

Maegor’s eyes, dark and brooding, bore into hers. "The gods?" he scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "Which gods, Ceryse? The Seven who gave me nothing but a barren wife? The gods who have denied me my rightful bride and my throne time and again? They are nothing to me. I am the king, and I will take what is mine."

"You are the king," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising, "but I am your wife. The only true wife you have before the gods. I was wed to you under the light of the Seven. I am your queen, not some girl you lust after because she shares your blood and your fire."

Maegor’s lips curled into a sneer. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. She is more than fire. She is mine by right, by blood, by destiny. You are nothing but a symbol of a failed marriage and the weakness of the Faith. Your gods mean nothing to me, Ceryse. They have never meant anything."

Ceryse’s face flushed with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “The Faith is all that holds this realm together. The Seven bless our rule, and you spit on their favor. Do you truly believe this war you’ve started will end with your niece in your arms? The realm will turn against you, the Faith will rise—”

“The Faith?” Maegor’s laughter was dark, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “The Faith cowers beneath the strength of dragons. I have already broken their High Septon, and I will do it again if they dare stand in my way. Do not speak to me of the Faith when they have already bled under my blade.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “And what of me? Do I mean nothing to you, Maegor? I am your queen. I stood beside you when the world was against you, when you were exiled, when you returned to take the throne. I have endured your temper, your ambitions—everything. And yet you throw it all away for her, for a girl who should never have been yours.”

Maegor stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low and filled with menace. “You have never stood beside me, Ceryse. You have stood in my way, like all the others. The day you failed to give me an heir was the day your use to me ended. You are not my queen. You are a symbol of weakness and failure.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but her pride would not allow her to shrink before him. She held her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “This war is blasphemy. Even your late father would not stand for it. You break every sacred vow for this—this madness. And for what? For a girl who may be dead already, taken by the gods to punish your arrogance.”

Maegor’s hand shot out, gripping her throat, though not enough to truly harm her. His eyes were burning coals, his patience long gone. “Speak of her again,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “and I will end you here and now, wife or not.”

Ceryse’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch, even with his hand at her throat. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “Do it, and see how the realm turns against you. They already whisper of your cruelty, your madness. Kill your wife, and you will become the monster they fear.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor said nothing. His grip tightened slightly, the temptation strong, but he released her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a step.

"You are a fool if you think I care for their whispers," Maegor said, his voice filled with disdain. "I will rule through fear if I must. The realm will submit to me, whether they love me or hate me. And you will stay out of my way, or you will burn like the rest of them."

Ceryse straightened, her hand to her throat, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear. She had pushed him as far as she could, and she knew it.

“You will destroy yourself,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to hide it. “This war, this rage... it will consume you.”

Maegor turned his back on her, his cloak swirling in the dim torchlight as he moved toward the doors of the great hall. "Then let it," he said coldly, without looking back. "I would rather burn the world to ash than live in a world where I am denied what is mine."

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open before him, and Maegor strode inside, leaving Ceryse standing alone in the darkened corridor, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with a fear she had never known before.

The lords inside turned as one to face him, their faces pale with the knowledge of the man they served. Maegor took his place at the head of the long table, his eyes sweeping over the gathered men like a predator surveying its prey.

"You will gather your armies," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "and you will march with me to war. I care not for the gods, nor for the Faith. Those who stand against me will burn, and those who submit will live. But I will have my bride, or I will see this realm consumed by fire."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared defy him. They knew the price of disobedience under Maegor’s rule.

"Are there any who would challenge me?" Maegor demanded, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

Silence fell over the hall, thick and suffocating. Not a single voice rose in opposition.

"Good," Maegor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Prepare your men. The realm will bleed until she is mine again."

And with that, the great hall of Oldtown descended into preparation for war, while outside, Ceryse Hightower stood in the shadows, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.

The battlefield stretched wide before Maegor, a patchwork of torn earth, trampled grass, and bloodied banners. His army stood in sharp contrast to the smaller force across the field, led by his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the land, as if the gods themselves had abandoned all hope of peace.

Balerion, the Black Dread, shifted beneath him, his great black wings stretching wide as the dragon growled, sensing the impending battle. Maegor’s grip tightened on Blackfyre, the weight of the ancient sword familiar in his hand as he surveyed the field below. The banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, a cruel mockery of what should have been unity between their blood. But unity had long been shattered.

On the opposite side of the field, Aegon sat astride Quicksilver, his dragon a flash of silver-white scales that shimmered in the dying light. Aegon’s army was smaller, but it was fiercely loyal—men who believed in the legitimacy of his claim, men who called Maegor a usurper and a tyrant. Men who were willing to die for a boy who had been denied his crown.

Maegor’s jaw clenched as he gazed across the field at his nephew, the boy who had dared to raise arms against him. Aegon had your blood running through his veins, and that alone made Maegor’s rage burn hotter. But it was not just Aegon’s challenge to the throne that stoked Maegor’s fury—it was his insolent defiance in keeping you from him.

The armies stood still for a breath, the wind carrying the sound of clinking armor and the distant neighs of restless horses. Maegor’s soldiers waited, their faces grim, their hands tight on their weapons. His bannermen were eager for the bloodshed to begin, eager to crush the boy who dared challenge their king.

But Maegor had eyes only for Aegon, who met his gaze across the field with the same cold intensity. Even from a distance, Maegor could see the steely resolve in the young man’s face. Aegon was no longer the boy he had once dismissed, and that truth gnawed at him.

Without a word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward. The great dragon let out a thunderous roar, his massive wings lifting him from the ground in one powerful sweep. The air around them seemed to hum with tension as Balerion soared into the sky, circling high above the battlefield, casting an enormous shadow over the armies below.

Aegon wasted no time. With a sharp command, he urged Quicksilver into the air, the silver dragon shooting upward with graceful speed. The two beasts circled one another in the sky, the gathered armies below looking up in awe as dragon met dragon.

Maegor’s eyes locked onto Aegon, his blood boiling with the need for victory. He would crush this boy, as he had crushed all who had stood in his way. Blackfyre was already in his hand, the sword gleaming as he prepared to strike.

Quicksilver let out a high-pitched roar and dove toward Balerion, claws outstretched. Aegon, no doubt thinking speed would be his advantage, urged his dragon forward with a deadly precision. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon—he was the Black Dread, the most fearsome of all Targaryen dragons, and his size alone was enough to instill terror in any opponent.

With a bellowing roar, Balerion met Quicksilver head-on, jaws snapping as the two dragons collided in a flurry of wings, fire, and claws. The sky around them lit up with dragonflame, bright orange and yellow in the fading light. The sound of their clash echoed across the battlefield like thunder, and Maegor felt the familiar thrill of battle pulse through his veins.

Aegon swung his sword at him, their blades clashing as Quicksilver veered away, trying to outmaneuver Balerion. But Maegor was relentless. He urged Balerion onward, following the silver dragon, breathing down its neck with every beat of its wings. Aegon was skilled, but Maegor could see the hesitation in his strikes, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You will never have her, Uncle!" Aegon shouted over the roar of the wind and the battle below, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. "She is free of you! The gods will never let her fall into your hands."

Maegor’s face twisted into a snarl, his fury consuming him as he swung Blackfyre toward Aegon with all the strength he could muster. Their blades met again, the force of the strike sending sparks flying between them. "The gods be damned!" Maegor roared. "You think they care for your claims, boy? I will have her, and no man or god will keep her from me!"

Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re a fool if you think she would come to you willingly," he spat. "She despises you. She will never be yours."

Maegor’s rage flared hotter than dragonfire. He urged Balerion forward, closing the distance between the two dragons, but Quicksilver darted away, its speed giving it the advantage. Maegor’s strikes were powerful, but Aegon’s precision allowed him to evade, always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

Below, the armies had clashed. The sounds of battle—clanging steel, screams, and the thunder of hooves—rose from the ground, but Maegor cared little for what happened below. His focus was entirely on Aegon, on the boy who had denied him his rightful bride, on the nephew who dared to defy him.

Suddenly, Quicksilver darted upward, high into the clouds, and Aegon disappeared from sight. Maegor cursed, pulling Balerion up after them, but by the time he broke through the clouds, Aegon and Quicksilver were gone.

A howl of frustration escaped Maegor’s throat. He scanned the skies, his eyes searching for any sign of the silver dragon, but Aegon had vanished, leaving nothing but the roar of the wind and the distant sounds of the battlefield below.

"Damn you, Aegon!" Maegor bellowed into the empty sky, his voice echoing across the heavens. His blood boiled with fury, his vision clouded with rage. Once again, Aegon had slipped through his fingers, just as you had been denied to him time and time again.

He descended with Balerion, landing amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his soldiers still locked in fierce combat with Aegon’s forces. But it was not enough. The battle, the bloodshed, the cries of dying men—all of it paled in comparison to the rage burning inside Maegor. He had come for victory, for vengeance, for you—and he had been denied once more.

The soldiers around him fell to their knees, their faces streaked with blood and mud, their eyes filled with terror at the sight of their king. But Maegor’s gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by the promise Aegon had made before vanishing into the clouds.

You were free of him, Aegon had said. You would never be his.

But Maegor was not a man who accepted defeat. Not now. Not ever.

The realm would continue to burn until you were in his hands, and not even his nephew’s empty threats would change that.

With a final, chilling glance at the battlefield around him, Maegor mounted Balerion once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come. The war was not over. Aegon may have escaped, but Maegor would hunt him down. He would tear the realm apart, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left for his enemies to hide.

And in the end, you would be his.

Whether you wished it or not.

The second clash between Maegor Targaryen and his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, was inevitable. The gods had no place on this battlefield; only dragons, fire, and blood would decide the victor. Beneath the clouded skies of the God's Eye, the two riders faced one another atop their colossal beasts. Quicksilver, the pale silver dragon, hovered in the air with Aegon astride him, eyes blazing with defiance, while Maegor sat atop the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, a shadow over the land, a force of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

Aegon was no child, but neither was he the match of his uncle. And yet, as they circled high above the waters of the God's Eye, you could almost feel the weight of his resolve. Maegor could sense it, too—a determination to stand, to fight, to protect what little remained of his claim. But Aegon was a fool to believe he could stop what was coming. Maegor had returned, stronger than ever, and no man, no dragon, no usurper would deny him what was his—neither the throne nor you.

The dragons roared and circled, Balerion’s immense shadow darkening the sky. Maegor’s heart was black with fury, the rage of the denied, of one betrayed by his own kin. For years, he had been denied you, stolen from him by a weak brother and a cowardly nephew. Aenys had never been strong enough to hold the kingdom together, nor had he the will to make the hard choices. Now Maegor would show Aegon the price of such weakness.

“Tell me where she is,” Maegor bellowed, his voice a force of its own, carrying across the winds between them. “Tell me, and I’ll make your death quick.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, but his lips remained sealed. He said nothing, his jaw tight, the defiance in his eyes unbroken. It was clear that he would rather die than betray your whereabouts, and for a brief moment, Maegor almost admired the boy's stubbornness. Almost.

But that would not save him.

Quicksilver lunged first, his bright scales gleaming like molten metal in the dim light. His teeth snapped, his wings beat the air, and Aegon drove him forward, spear in hand, hoping to catch Balerion’s flank. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon, and Maegor was no ordinary rider. The Black Dread twisted mid-air with terrifying speed, jaws snapping shut around Quicksilver’s wing. The smaller dragon shrieked, a sound that echoed over the lake like thunder, and his body faltered as he was dragged downward, closer to the earth.

Balerion's fire erupted, black and red flames that swallowed the sky. Quicksilver was engulfed, his silvery scales turning black as smoke and ash filled the air. Aegon fought back, his dragon resisting, but it was clear to all who watched that there could only be one outcome.

With a final, sickening crunch, Balerion’s teeth sank into Quicksilver’s neck, tearing through flesh and bone. The dragon screamed, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sickening crash, Quicksilver and Aegon were flung into the earth below, the ground trembling from the impact.

Maegor descended slowly, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his nephew. The once-proud Aegon, Uncrowned and unbroken, now lay battered and broken beside his dying dragon. Maegor dismounted, stepping down from Balerion’s back as if descending from a throne. The grass beneath his feet was scorched from the battle, and the air smelled of death and fire.

Aegon coughed, his body shattered, blood pouring from wounds too numerous to count. His breaths were labored, each one a struggle. Maegor stood over him, the weight of his fury and triumph heavy in the air.

“Where is she?” Maegor demanded once more, his voice like steel.

Aegon lifted his head weakly, his eyes meeting Maegor's with the last of his strength. Blood bubbled on his lips as he smiled—a bitter, bloody smile.

“You’ll never find her,” Aegon rasped, defiance even now.

The anger that surged through Maegor was all-consuming, a wildfire burning through his veins. He had half a mind to rip his nephew’s head from his body then and there, but he knew Aegon would welcome such an end. No, his death would come soon enough. But it would not be swift, nor merciful.

With a final look of disgust, Maegor turned his back on the dying boy, mounting Balerion once more. There was no more time to waste on the Uncrowned. He would find you, with or without Aegon’s cooperation. And when he did, nothing and no one would ever separate you from him again.

After the battle, as Maegor's forces regrouped, a rider approached him. The man, bloodied and worn from the fight, bowed low before his king.

“My lord, we have received word,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It is said... she is being held in Lys.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, his blood roaring in his ears. Lys. So far away, beyond the sea, beyond his immediate reach. But no distance was too great. He would cross oceans, burn cities, and tear apart entire kingdoms if need be.

“Prepare the fleet,” Maegor ordered, his voice like iron. “We sail at once.”

Balerion let out a low rumble, as if sensing his master’s intent. There would be no peace until you were his, no rest until the blood debt was paid in full. The dragons were coming, and all of Lys would burn if it meant bringing you home.

The sun had long begun its descent when the black sails of Maegor's fleet appeared on the horizon, darkening the waters that surrounded Lys. The city, gilded with beauty and wealth, stood as a gleaming jewel in the far east. But to Maegor, it was a den of thieves—those who had dared to steal what belonged to him. As Balerion descended from the skies, casting a vast shadow over the city, panic spread like wildfire through its streets. The people of Lys had never seen the likes of such a beast, nor the wrath of a king who had come to reclaim what was his.

You had not expected him so soon.

The small tower in which you were held offered little more than a view of the sea and distant freedom, but you knew that no bars or walls could hold you forever. You had seen the men sent to guard you, faces hardened by greed and violence, yet even they had begun to whisper in hushed tones over the past days—of dragons, of black sails, of the King who would come. Maegor.

For weeks, you had wondered if it was only a matter of time before your captors sold you to another—or worse. But it was not the men of Lys who had taken you—it was Aegon. Your own brother. He had sent you here, far away from Maegor, far from the throne. He believed it was for your own good, to keep you safe from the king who had burned through the realm to take the Iron Throne. To keep you from the man who had claimed you as his.

But your brother had gravely underestimated the lengths to which Maegor would go to have you back.

And now he had come.

The tower trembled beneath your feet as Balerion’s roar split the sky, shaking the very stones of Lys. The dragon’s fire lit the horizon, the harbor a hellscape of flames and destruction. You could hear the distant cries of men fleeing from the wrath of the Black Dread, and in that moment, a strange calm settled over you. You knew Maegor. You had known him since childhood—his strength, his darkness, and above all, his possessiveness. He would burn this city to the ground for you. He would raze every last building, tear every stone apart brick by brick, until he had you back in his grasp.

The door to your chamber flew open, splintering as it slammed against the wall. The guard who had been stationed outside was gone, replaced by men bearing the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. They moved aside without a word, and there, standing in the doorway, was Maegor.

He was just as you remembered him, but now there was a fierceness in his gaze that you had never seen before. His armor, still streaked with blood from battle, glinted in the dim light. His silver hair, windswept from the flight atop Balerion, framed a face carved from stone, hard and unyielding. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes burned with a hunger, an obsession, that had only grown stronger with time. He had come for you.

Without a word, Maegor strode into the room, his presence filling it like a storm. He did not wait for pleasantries, nor for explanations. He reached for you, his hand closing around your arm with a grip that was firm but not painful, his eyes searching your face as if to assure himself that you were real, that you were truly here.

"You’re coming with me," he said, his voice low and rough. There was no question, no hesitation, just the ironclad certainty that had always driven him.

"Maegor," you began, your voice quiet but steady. The words you had rehearsed in your mind seemed to dissolve as you looked into his eyes. The fury, the relief, the need—it was all there, laid bare. He was not a man to be denied.

"You will never be taken from me again," he growled, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm as if to emphasize his point. "I’ve burned half the world to get to you. No one will stand between us now."

You had heard tales of what he had done—of how he had torn through Aegon’s forces at the God's Eye, of how he had set the seas aflame in his pursuit of you. But you never imagined that it would come to this—that your own brother would try to keep you from him. And now that he stood before you, towering, unyielding, you realized that there was no escaping the inevitability of what came next.

"You were mine from the moment you were born," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And they kept you from me. All of them—my father, your brother, the gods themselves. But no more. You will be my queen, and no one will ever take you from me again."

His words, raw and fierce, echoed in the space between you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the distant roar of Balerion outside, the great beast that had carried him across the skies to find you.

You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted within you. You had known Maegor your whole life. You had seen the violence in him, but you had also seen the man beneath it—the one who, for all his ruthlessness, had always looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And now, standing before him, you understood that there was no escaping him, not now, not ever.

"Then take me," you whispered, your voice soft but clear. "I’m ready."

Maegor’s eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing against yours with all the pent-up fury and longing that had driven him to Lys. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and you knew then that the man who had come for you was not just the king, but the dragon itself—untamable, unstoppable, and wholly yours.

When he pulled away, his hand still cradled the back of your neck, his eyes locked on yours. "We leave now," he said, his voice a low growl. "There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but ash."

He led you from the room without another word, the tower and all its horrors fading behind you as you stepped out into the night. Balerion waited, his massive form dark against the sky, and as Maegor helped you onto the dragon's back, you knew that whatever fate awaited you, it would be by his side.

And so, with a single command, Balerion’s wings unfurled, and together you soared into the night, leaving Lys in flames behind you.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Danny Phantom ~

“What does it feel like? To be terrified of yourself—of what you are becoming? The future looms not like an open road but a trap, a dark inevitability. You’re not waiting for it, not watching for it. You’re running. Trying to ignore the whispers in your head, lying to yourself that it’s fine, that it’ll always be fine.”

When the sun goes under the line called a horizon, the night sky comes to life. A silvery moon’s light bathing the eerie glow of an aura, catching the shadow out of the black.

The darkness surrounded him, with little sparks of hope. Stars that couldn’t catch him, neither he could catch.

His veins flowing with cold fire, tingling skin feeling intangible. A mind that’s filled with hollow, yet spiraling in chaos. Split into divergent, until down and dusk.

Why are you doing this to me? You leave me standing here, can’t you see. I was lost in your eyes, this was never meant to arise. You were my hero, always to be. But now you’ve vanished, you’re no longer with me.

We tried to carry on, but it wasn’t right. Forever burned in memory, like a song in the night.

Why does this hurt, hurt so much. It was never meant to be, as such. You gave me strength to stand alone, but now I cry when I’m on my own. Drowning inside, lost in a sea, why are you doing this to me? It makes me weak, a strange kind of ache, you’ll never understand the pain I take.

The memories keep running on, of how it used to be, before you were gone. The hero you were is no longer here, you flew away, so light, like a feather near. Don’t do this to me, please come back.

I still wonder why it had to be this way, so much potential, yet it all went astray. You went a different path, never to be seen, this wasn’t meant to happen, it was too obscene.

It lingers like a song, etched in my mind, it should have brought us joy, a love so kind. Like a song, will you ever return?

When will you be here again? I miss you more with every grain. Forever chained within my heart, I bring you to life through every art. In my memory, you’ll always remain, and beside you, I’ll forever stand.

“I want to cry, I want to scream, but I can’t. I mustn’t.”

The storm raged on, tearing through the night. Shadows of fear and regret clung to her like chains.

“Take my hand,” Danny said, his voice calm, cutting through the chaos.

“Why? So you can watch me crumble? So I can drag you down with me?”

His eyes softened, but his hand never wavered. “If you crumble, I’ll catch you, I’ll follow. Just trust me.”

“You… don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand,” he said softly. “I’ll carry you, no matter what happens, I’ll never let you fall.”

Slowly and with a trembling hand, she reached for him. Their fingers met, and his grip was strong, cold but alive—everything she thought she’d lost.

The chaos began to still, and she felt the faint echo of something she thought was gone.

Hope.

Those were random texts I wrote through the years of my own existence.

———————

You can read my Phan Fics on FanFiction.net. PhantomWithBreakfast

———————

Note to myself again…

About the drawings, I was just playing (practicing) with lighting, shading, etc…

Expressions, mouths... Yeah, still working on that. I was too lazy to shade the hair, lol.

Still hate drawing hands.

And the funny thing is, just because I’m drawing every day, I’ll always find new ways to try to improve my art (duh). Because I’m never happy when I’ve ‘finished’ one.

[callsigns-haze]

The Chase

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Tyler's storm-chasing adventure takes an intimate turn as Y/N teases and overstimulates him during a high-stakes tornado chase, creating an intense moment of passion and connection amidst the chaos.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, including oral sex and overstimulation, during a dangerous storm chase.

WC: 1.5k

The night sky was an inky black canvas, streaked with flashes of lightning as the storm raged in the distance. The air crackled with anticipation and electricity, and the thrill of the chase was palpable. Tyler gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he drove through the winding backroads, chasing the storm.

Y/N sat beside him, the adrenaline coursing through her veins matching his own. She had always been a part of his storm-chasing adventures, but tonight felt different. There was a charged energy between them, an unspoken understanding that they were in this together, no matter the risks.

Tyler glanced at her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the seriousness of their mission. "You ready for this?"

Y/N nodded, her excitement mirroring his own. "Always."

As they drove deeper into the heart of the storm, the wind howled around them, and the rain lashed against the windshield. The roar of the approaching tornado was a distant, ominous sound, growing louder with each passing moment. Tyler's concentration was unwavering, his eyes flicking between the road and the radar on the dashboard.

Y/N watched him, her heart swelling with pride and love. He was in his element, a master of his craft, and she couldn't help but be mesmerized by his intensity. She reached over, her hand resting on his thigh, offering a silent gesture of support and affection.

Tyler's hand covered hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We're getting close," he said, his voice a mix of excitement and caution.

Y/N could see the funnel cloud in the distance, a dark, swirling mass of destruction. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a reminder of the raw power of nature. She trusted Tyler implicitly, knowing that he would keep them safe even as they flirted with danger.

As the tension in the car mounted, an idea sparked in Y/N's mind. She wanted to remind Tyler of the connection they shared, to bring a moment of intimacy and grounding amidst the chaos. She leaned over, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I want to make you feel good."

Tyler's breath hitched, his eyes widening in surprise. "Y/N, we're in the middle of a chase..."

"I know," she replied, her voice low and sultry. "But I need you to remember that I'm here with you. That I love you."

Before he could protest further, Y/N's hands moved to unbutton his jeans, her touch confident and deliberate. Tyler's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as he tried to maintain his focus on the road. The storm raged around them, the tornado a looming presence, but Y/N was determined to create a moment of connection and passion.

She leaned down, her lips trailing kisses along his stomach, feeling the tension in his muscles. Tyler's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The danger of the storm, the thrill of the chase, and the intoxicating sensation of Y/N's touch all melded together, creating a heady mix of excitement and desire.

Y/N started with gentle kisses, her lips barely grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. She took her time, enjoying the way his body reacted to her touch. Her fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasingly slipping inside before pulling back.

Tyler groaned, his eyes briefly fluttering shut before he forced them open again, his focus wavering between the road and the overwhelming pleasure. "Y/N, you're killing me," he managed to say, his voice strained.

She smiled against his skin, her breath warm as she whispered, "Patience, love."

With deliberate slowness, Y/N peeled back the fabric of his boxers, revealing him fully. She wrapped her hand around him, feeling the heat and hardness, and gave a slow, deliberate stroke. Tyler's hips lifted slightly, a soft curse escaping his lips as he fought to keep the car steady.

Y/N began to kiss her way down his length, her tongue darting out to taste him. She moved with a tantalizing rhythm, her mouth hot and wet against his skin. Tyler's breathing grew more ragged, each inhale and exhale a battle for control.

Tyler's hips bucked involuntarily, a low moan escaping his lips. "Y/N, I... I can't..."

Y/N took him into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch. She hollowed her cheeks, creating a delicious pressure as she moved up and down his length. Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-come that had formed there.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to speak. "You can't what? Hold on? Or do you want more?"

"More," he choked out, his eyes glazed with desire.

Y/N took him deeper, her head bobbing in a steady, relentless rhythm. She could feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tensed and his breath hitched with each movement. Her hand joined in, stroking the base of him in time with her mouth, creating a double sensation that drove him wild.

Tyler's control was slipping, his mind a haze of pleasure and need. The car swerved slightly, and his hand shot out to steady the wheel. "God, Y/N, you're gonna make me crash."

She pulled back for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. "Then you better focus, Tyler. Because I'm not stopping."

With that, she took him even deeper, her movements more insistent and urgent. He could feel the storm closing in, the tornado's destructive power a stark contrast to the intimate moment they were sharing.

Y/N's tongue moved with expert precision, swirling and flicking, creating sensations that drove him to the edge. She knew just how to tease him, how to bring him to the brink and then pull back, leaving him wanting more. Her hand continued its relentless rhythm, each stroke a tantalizing promise of release.

Tyler's grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point of pain. He was teetering on the edge, the combined thrill of the chase and Y/N's touch pushing him to his limits. With a strangled cry, he finally let go, the release washing over him in waves of ecstasy.

Y/N didn't stop. She continued her ministrations, her mouth and hand working in tandem to prolong his pleasure. Tyler's body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. The overstimulation was almost too much, but Y/N's touch was too intoxicating to resist.

She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against his sensitive skin. "Do you like that, Tyler?" she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction.

"Yes," he moaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold on to his sanity. "God, yes."

"Good," she replied, her tone teasing. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

With renewed intensity, Y/N took him back into her mouth, her movements slow and deliberate. She built the tension again, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to drive him wild. Tyler's mind was a whirlwind of sensations, the pleasure almost too intense to bear.

"Y/N, please," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation.

"Please what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to speak. "What do you want, Tyler?"

"I... I can't..." he stammered, his body trembling with need.

"Can't what?" she teased, her hand moving in slow, torturous strokes. "Can't hold on? Or do you want more?"

"More," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N smiled, satisfied with his response. She took him even deeper, her mouth and hand working in perfect unison to bring him to the edge once more. Tyler's control was slipping, the pleasure too intense to resist. With a final, desperate cry, he let go, the release washing over him in waves of ecstasy.

Y/N didn't stop. She continued her ministrations, her mouth and hand working in tandem to prolong his pleasure. Tyler's body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. The overstimulation was almost too much, but Y/N's touch was too intoxicating to resist.

When she finally pulled back, Tyler was spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Y/N wiped her mouth with a satisfied smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"How was that for a distraction?" she asked, her voice full of teasing.

Tyler laughed, the sound a mix of relief and lingering desire. "You're incredible," he said, his voice still hoarse.

Y/N leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you, Tyler. Never forget that."

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Lost

anthony bridgerton x fem reader

summary: During a storm, Anthony Bridgerton finds his friend Y/N unconscious after a fall from her horse.

The skies over Aubrey Hall were dark and threatening, the air heavy with the promise of a storm. Anthony Bridgerton, the eldest of the Bridgerton siblings and the responsible Viscount, often found solace in the rhythmic gallop of his horse across the rolling fields. On this particular day, he decided to go for a ride despite the gathering storm clouds, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind.

As he rode through the familiar paths, his thoughts drifted to Y/N. She had been a constant in his life since they were children, their bond as strong as any familial tie. But recently, he found himself noticing her in a new light – the way her laughter warmed his heart, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of her passions, and the gentle grace she carried herself with. Yet, he had not fully confronted these feelings, pushing them aside in the face of duty and responsibility.

The first crack of thunder startled Anthony from his reverie. He looked up, realizing the storm was upon him. Deciding to turn back, he urged his horse into a faster gait. As he approached a familiar clearing, he saw a sight that made his heart stop – Y/N’s horse was galloping wildly, riderless.

Fear seized him, and he spurred his horse towards the clearing. There, amidst the pouring rain, he saw her – Y/N, lying motionless on the ground. Her form was crumpled, mud and rain soaking her clothes. Without a second thought, Anthony dismounted and rushed to her side.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his voice barely audible over the howling wind and rain. He knelt beside her, his heart pounding in his chest as he gently turned her over. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, and she was utterly still. “No, no, no,” he muttered, panic rising in his throat.

Without wasting another moment, Anthony scooped her up into his arms. She felt frighteningly light, and the fear of losing her gnawed at him with every step. “Hold on, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Just hold on.”

The journey back to the Bridgerton estate was a blur of rain and desperation. Anthony��s muscles burned with the effort, but he didn’t slow his pace. His only thought was getting Y/N to safety, to help. The image of her lying unconscious in the rain fueled his determination.

Finally, the grand silhouette of Aubrey Hall loomed ahead. Anthony’s cries for help alerted the staff, who rushed out to meet him. “Get the doctor!” he shouted as he carried Y/N inside. “Now!”

He placed her gently on a settee in the drawing room, his hands trembling. The house was a flurry of activity, the Bridgerton family and staff moving quickly to assist. Anthony barely registered his mother’s worried face or his siblings’ concerned questions. All he could see was Y/N, still unconscious and pale.

The family doctor arrived swiftly, ushered in by the commotion. He examined Y/N with a professional detachment that both reassured and terrified Anthony. Every second felt like an eternity as he waited for the doctor’s verdict.

“She’s sustained a concussion and some bruising,” the doctor finally said, his tone grave. “But she’s strong. With proper care and rest, she should recover fully.”

Relief flooded Anthony, and he sank to his knees beside her, tears mingling with the rain still dripping from his hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Thank you.”

The hours that followed were a blur. Anthony refused to leave Y/N’s side, holding her hand and willing her to wake up. His mother brought him a dry set of clothes, but he barely noticed the discomfort of his wet clothes. All he could think about was the fear of losing her, and the realization that he couldn’t bear the thought.

As the storm raged outside, the hours stretched on. Anthony’s mind raced with memories – their childhood escapades, the laughter they shared, the unspoken bond that had always existed between them. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen that she was more than just a friend?

It was in the quiet hours of the night, as the storm began to wane, that Y/N finally stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, and a soft moan escaped her lips. Anthony, who had been dozing fitfully by her side, jerked awake, his heart leaping with hope.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened slowly, focusing on his face. “Anthony?” she murmured, her voice weak.

Relief and joy surged through him, and tears filled his eyes. “Oh, thank God,” he breathed. “You’re awake. You’re going to be okay.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly as she took in his tear-streaked face. “What happened?”

“You fell from your horse,” he explained, his voice thick with emotion. “I found you in the clearing. I thought… I thought I’d lost you.”

Tears of his own began to fall as he spoke, the weight of his fear and relief overwhelming him. “I was so scared, Y/N. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

She squeezed his hand weakly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I’m here, Anthony. I’m okay.”

In that moment, Anthony knew he couldn’t hold back any longer. The realization that he could have lost her, that he had almost missed his chance, was too much to bear. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been blind to what’s been right in front of me all these years.”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with curiosity and concern. “What is it, Anthony?”

“I love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. But I was too stubborn, too scared to admit it. Finding you today, seeing you like that… it made me realize how much you mean to me. I can’t lose you. I don’t want to live without you.”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she listened to his heartfelt confession. “Oh, Anthony,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you too. I’ve been waiting for you to see it, to understand that my heart has always belonged to you.”

The weight of their unspoken feelings hung in the air between them. Anthony leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against hers in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love and emotion that had been building for years, a kiss that promised a future together.

When they finally pulled apart, Anthony rested his forehead against hers, tears of relief and joy mingling with hers. “We’ll get through this together,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you, Y/N. I promise.”

And in that moment, as the storm gave way to a peaceful dawn, Anthony and Y/N knew that their love was strong enough to weather any storm. Their journey had been filled with twists and turns, but they had found their way to each other at last, their hearts and lives intertwined forever.

[fangdokja]

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where love feels like a cage and loyalty is a loaded weapon, you must navigate the suffocating grip of those who claim to care—because sometimes, the ones who love you most are the ones who break you.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 12,333

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying, love bombing, explicit domestic violence and realistic depictions of abuse in the family, mature language, crime, unhealthy coping mechanisms, gaslighting, victim blaming

♡ A/N. It's kind of hilarious that I get comments from "Are you okay?" to "Why do you romanticize sexual abuse in glamorous ways". Yes, in that wording too. The dichotomy of comments. Of course, already putting it out there, I'm not the type of person to chat and waste time in internet arguments. If one doesn't obey RULES, immediate block, no questions asked. It's also to make sure these people don't get bothered by my content that disturbs them. So, it's a win-win. But, to me, it's funny. Like "Wow, thank you. It's so good that it felt so realistic, huh?". That makes me happy. A big turn-off for me as a writer (but I don't mind it when other authors do it) is "inaccurate world building and logic." I get genuinely irritated at myself. It's why when it comes to fandom characters, I make sure it's as accurate as a Yandere character can get. Same goes with anything world building. I like worlds that still have systems and logic involved, even in fantasy settings. And, by default, this also includes, controversies and taboos. Yeah, I talk a lot in these notes. But, honestly? Considering how fast you long form readers go through my work. Might as well chat, since I hardly talk anyway. And, if you read these notes. Thank you. :)) Also, I was supposed to put the NSFW until I realized it was reaching 13k+ words already...

The first thing you felt was pain.

It wasn’t the kind that built slowly, easing its way into your senses—it was sharp, sudden, and all-consuming. A brutal yank at your scalp wrenched you out of the fragile limbo between consciousness and exhaustion. Your head snapped back, the roots of your hair screaming as you were dragged from the mattress by an iron grip.

You hit the floor hard, the side of your head smacking against the cold tile. The sting of impact shot through your temple, and for a moment, everything blurred—the light filtering through the curtains, the outline of the woman looming above you.

Your mother.

Her face was twisted in rage, but there was something worse in her eyes—a hunger, a satisfaction in your helplessness.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the soundproof room in its suffocating silence.

“You really thought you could hide from me?” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss, the kind of quiet that always preceded something worse. “You think I wouldn’t find you, huh? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You stumbled back, your body already trembling with an instinctive fear that seized your lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

“I—I wasn’t hiding—”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt and yanking you forward so violently your head snapped back. Her face was so close to yours you could smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on her breath, could see the bloodshot fury in her eyes.

“You haven’t come home in weeks,” she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. “You think you can just disappear? Just run away? I had to come all the way to this shithole because of you. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for me?”

She threw you down, and your back slammed into the edge of your desk. Pain radiated up your spine, sharp and paralyzing, but before you could catch your breath, her hand was on you again—this time in your hair, wrenching your head back so hard it felt like your scalp was on fire.

“Answer me, you little leech!” she screamed, shaking you violently. “Do you think I enjoy cleaning up your messes? Huh? Do you think I like chasing you down?”

She yanked you upward by your hair again, dragging you to your knees. Your scalp burned, and a whimper escaped your lips before you could swallow it down.

You whimpered, trying to pull away, but she yanked harder, the tendons in your neck straining painfully as you choked on a sob.

“I don’t have the money,” you gasped, the words spilling out in desperation. “I promise, I—”

The slap came so fast you didn’t even see it, just felt the explosive pain as her palm connected with your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

“Of course you don’t have the money,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve been too busy playing house here, haven’t you? Hiding away like a pathetic little coward, thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

Her hand released your hair, only to shove you backward. You hit the wall hard, the impact rattling your teeth, and before you could even think about moving, she was on you again.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice hoarse from the lack of sleep. “I—I’ll get the money. I just need more time—”

Another slap came fast, cracking across your cheek with enough force to whip your head to the side. The metallic tang of blood bloomed on your tongue, and your skin prickled with the sting of her hand.

“Time?” she barked, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Time doesn’t pay the fucking bills. Time doesn’t keep a roof over your head, you little parasite!”

Her words struck harder than the blow, each one carefully crafted to cut where it hurt most. You weren’t her child. You weren’t even a person in her eyes. Just a burden. A mistake.

She shoved you backward, and you scrambled to catch yourself, your palms scraping against the rough tile. The small, cramped dorm room felt even smaller, the walls closing in as her shadow loomed over you.

“I raised you,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “I fed you. Clothed you. And this is how you repay me? By acting like a selfish little bitch? By keeping what’s mine?”

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Crying would only make it worse.

“I don’t have it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I promise, I’ll—”

Her foot connected with your side, and pain exploded in your ribs. You crumpled, clutching your stomach as she kicked you again and again, each blow punctuated by her snarling words.

“You don’t have it? You don’t have it?” she repeated, mocking your desperate tone. “Then what the hell have you been doing all this time? Lying around, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I had to come all the way here,” she hissed, dragging you across the room and throwing you onto the bed. The back of your head slammed into the wall, and your vision blurred. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face me like a damn adult!”

You tried to sit up, but she was faster, straddling your chest and pinning your arms down with her knees. Her fingers closed around your throat, nails biting into your skin.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is?” she spat, leaning in so close that her spit flecked your face. “Do you know how humiliating it is to have to track down my own child like some fucking runaway dog?”

Your airways constricted, panic surging through you as you choked, your nails scrabbling uselessly at her hands. Her grip was too strong, her weight crushing the breath from your lungs.

Tears streamed down your face, and the corners of your vision darkened.

She released you suddenly, and you gasped, coughing violently as your lungs screamed for air. Before you could recover, she slapped you across the face again—once, twice, three times. Each strike was sharp and deliberate, her rings tearing into your skin.

“You’ve been hiding at this university,” she said, her voice cold and measured now, as if she were recounting a list of your crimes. “Pretending you’re some poor little victim. Do you think anyone here gives a shit about you except me?”

Her hand closed around your arm, nails digging into the soft flesh as she yanked you off the bed and threw you to the floor. You landed hard on your knees, pain shooting up your legs.

“Answer me!” she screamed, her booted foot colliding with your ribs.

The impact sent you sprawling, the air rushing from your lungs. You tried to crawl away, but her foot came down on your back, pressing you into the cold tile.

“You think you’re so clever,” she continued, her voice rising. “Hiding here, avoiding your responsibilities, avoiding me. But I know you, baby. I know every little secret, every little lie.”

She grabbed the back of your head, slamming your face into the floor. Blood spattered across the tile, warm and sticky as it seeped from your nose and split lip.

“You owe me,” she hissed, crouching beside you and grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at her. Her nails dug into your cheeks, her breath hot and foul against your skin.

“Do you understand?” she said, shaking you violently. “You owe me. I don’t care if you have to steal, cheat, or whore yourself out—you will get me that money. Do you hear me?”

Your voice cracked as you sobbed, nodding frantically. “Y-Yes—”

The next slap sent your head snapping to the side.

“Louder,” she demanded.

“Yes!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’ll do it! I’ll get the money!”

———

The hand in your hair yanked with ferocious strength, pulling at your scalp until the roots screamed in agony. Your head snapped back, the sharp crack of vertebrae forced into an unnatural angle resonating in your ears. Before you could cry out, a fist collided with your cheekbone, the impact sending shockwaves through your skull. Your vision blurred with stars, and the coppery tang of blood filled your mouth as your lip split open.

Her voice was low and cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you?” A sharp tug on your hair wrenched a pained gasp from your throat. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?”

You tried to stammer out a response, but her fist collided with your cheek, the force sending you sprawling. “Shut up!” she hissed, towering over your trembling form. “Do you think I’m stupid? Running off to your little school, acting like you’re too good to come home.”

Your body was dragged across the floor like a rag doll, the rough texture of the tile scraping the skin from your knees and elbows. A boot slammed into your stomach with brutal force, driving the air from your lungs. The sensation was hollow, a sickening vacuum where breath should have been, your diaphragm spasming as you choked on nothing.

A boot slammed into your ribs, the sickening crunch of bone making your breath hitch. “You don’t even deserve this education. What have you done to earn it? Nothing!” Another kick landed against your stomach, and you doubled over, clutching yourself as the air left your lungs.

“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for you?” Her voice rose, venom dripping from every word. “All the things I could’ve had if it weren’t for you? And you have the nerve to ignore me, to avoid your responsibilities?”

Before you could even attempt to rise, another kick landed squarely against your ribs, the crack unmistakable this time. A sharp, jagged pain bloomed in your chest, each shallow gasp of air accompanied by the fiery agony of bone grinding against bone. You curled in on yourself instinctively, arms shielding your head, but it offered no protection.

A hard-soled shoe came down against your forearm, the force bending it at an unnatural angle. A white-hot flash of pain exploded in your vision, your own muffled scream echoing in your ears as the limb gave way. You clutched it to your chest, trembling, only to feel fingers clawing at your shoulders, wrenching you upright.

You whimpered, curling into yourself, but she wasn’t done. She grabbed your arm, twisting it cruelly as you yelped in pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She dragged you upright, slamming you against the wall. Your head hit the plaster with a dull thud. “You think I’m blind? You think I don’t know about the money you owe me? About the favors you’re dodging?”

Her nails dug into your shoulders as she leaned in, her breath hot and acrid against your face. “I should’ve left you to rot,” she snarled. “Ungrateful little bitch.”

The shove against the wall was unrelenting, the back of your skull slamming into the unforgiving surface with enough force to make the plaster crack behind you. Your head swam, the room spinning violently as nausea roiled in your stomach. Her nails raked down your arm, leaving red welts in their wake, and the dull thud of another punch to your abdomen left your knees buckling beneath you.

She didn’t let you fall.

Your body was dragged upright again, only to be shoved forward. You crashed onto the floor, your face bouncing off the tiles. The sharp edge of your jaw hit first, sending another sharp stab of pain radiating through your skull. You tasted more blood, hot and metallic, as it spilled from your mouth, pooling beneath your chin.

You flinched as she slapped you across the face, the sting blooming into a sharp, fiery pain. “Do you think the world cares about you? Do you think anyone at that school will protect you when I’m done?”

You tried to pull away, desperation overtaking your fear. “Please, I—”

“Please?” She mocked your voice with a cruel sneer. “Please, please, please,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a punch to your side. “That’s all you ever do. Begging like a worthless rat.”

She pressed you to the ground, her foot pressing into the small of your back. “Get up,” she spat. When you didn’t move fast enough, she grabbed your hair again, yanking you upright. “I said get up!”

You sobbed, choking on the blood pooling in your mouth. “I’ll get the money, I promise. Just give me time—”

“Time?” she interrupted, laughing bitterly. “Time is for people who deserve it. You think you’re entitled to my patience?” She slammed your head down against the floor, the impact making you see stars. “You’re nothing but a burden. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

A foot pressed onto the small of your back, grinding down with her full weight. The force flattened you against the floor, your bruised ribs screaming in protest as you struggled for breath. The heel twisted, grinding into your flesh, and you bit down on your own lip to keep from screaming, the already tender flesh splitting further.

Your good arm instinctively reached out to crawl, but she stepped on your hand with calculated precision, the heel of her shoe crushing your knuckles into the hard tile. The popping sensation was sickening, each joint folding under the pressure, and the pain was enough to make your vision go black for a moment.

Her grip returned to your hair, yanking your head up and slamming it down once more. The impact jarred your entire body, the sound of your skull cracking against the floor echoing in the small room. Blood smeared the surface where your face had been, a sickening trail that blurred with your tears.

There was no reprieve. No pause between strikes. Each hit, each blow, felt calculated—designed to hurt, to maim, to leave a mark that would ache for days, weeks. Your body was a canvas for her violence, every bruise and laceration a testament to her fury.

The world faded in and out, each moment marked by a new wave of pain. When her hands finally released you, your body crumpled onto the cold, blood-slick tiles. Every breath was a struggle, every twitch of your limbs a reminder of the damage inflicted.

The room was silent now, save for the ragged sound of your own breathing and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.

———

After a while, the barrage stopped, and you dared to glance up, only to find her crouched in front of you. Her face was close—too close—and her breath reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

Her voice softened suddenly, a terrifying shift that sent chills down your spine. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet,” she murmured, crouching down to meet your tearful gaze. “But keep this up, and you’ll find yourself with nowhere to go. Understand?”

You nodded weakly, trembling beneath her cold, predatory stare. She patted your cheek almost mockingly, smearing your blood across your face. “Good girl,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “Now clean this mess up. I don’t want to see a single drop of blood when I get back.”

Her voice mellowed, sickly sweet, as she reached out to cup your bruised cheek.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, her tone dripping with soft tenderness. “You know I don’t want to hurt you. But you make me do this. You make me.”

You flinched as her thumb brushed over your split lip, and her smile widened.

“Don’t cry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel bad, okay? You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’ll fix this. You’ll find a way to make it right.”

Her other hand clamped down on your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

“You will, won’t you?” she pressed, her voice hardening just enough to make it clear that this wasn’t a question.

You nodded, the motion jerky and desperate. Anything to make it stop.

Her smile returned, and she stood, brushing her hands off as if you were nothing more than dirt she’d stepped in.

“That’s my girl,” she said, turning toward the door. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The sound of her calm, measured footsteps receding down the hall was worse than any explosion of anger. It meant she was satisfied—for now.

You lay there on the floor, the silence in the room broken only by your ragged breathing. Your body ached, your chest heaving as you struggled to hold back the sobs clawing their way up your throat.

The phone on your desk buzzed once, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. You didn’t need to look to know it was another message. Probably him. The bully. Or maybe someone else who wanted to mess with you.

It didn’t matter.

You were the weak link, and everyone knew it.

────────────

The lie came easily—too easily. It dripped from your lips like oil, slick and poisonous, just like the makeup covering your face, as you stared at Domo’s face on the screen. “She’s been gone for so long, you know? And she just… wants to spend time with me.” You hated yourself for the waver in your voice, the hesitance that made it sound true. Domo smiled, her usual warmth softening her features. “Of course. Family comes first. We can always reschedule.”

Her kindness twisted the knife in your chest, but you nodded anyway. “Thanks. I’ll text you.” And then you ended the call before you could hear more, before her care could claw any deeper into the fragile parts of you that you were barely holding together.

The truth? There was no family bonding. No heartfelt reunion. Just you, sitting alone in your dorm as the hours stretched long and suffocating. You stared at the laptop glowing before you, the dim blue light washing over your battered face. The bruises on your cheek and ribs throbbed in unison with your pulse, each beat a reminder of what waited if you didn’t produce the money fast enough.

You clenched your teeth, flexing your fingers before placing them on the keyboard. This was the part of yourself you never wanted anyone to see. The part you shoved into the shadows because it didn’t fit the quiet, awkward nothingness that defined you.

But it was the only thing you had.

The screen filled with lines of code, flashing in rapid succession as your fingers moved. You had always been good at this—too good. The exhilaration of bending firewalls to your will, of slipping through systems unnoticed, had once been a guilty thrill. Now, it was a survival mechanism.

You rationalized it as you worked, forcing the bile down in your throat. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. This isn’t stealing. It’s… repurposing. The rationalizations tumbled over themselves like dominoes, each lie shoring up the fragile structure of your conscience. You weren’t hacking major accounts or wiping people out. Just skimming from places that wouldn’t notice a few hundred dollars gone. Universities, minor corporate accounts, underused funds in bloated systems.

The screen flickered, the transfer confirmed. You leaned back, chest heaving as though you’d run a marathon. Two hundred dollars here, fifty there. It wasn’t much, but it would add up. It had to.

You glanced at the clock: 3:42 a.m. Only a few more hours until she comes back. The thought sent a fresh spike of panic through you, and you dove back in. Another account. Another breach. Every keystroke felt like a confession, a sin piling atop an already crumbling foundation.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done it. The bruises lining your arms and the faint scar under your lip reminded you of how long this had been your reality. She leaves. You buy time. She comes back. You pay her off. A cycle that never ended, no matter how desperately you wished it would.

When the hacking was done, you stared at the balances displayed on the screen. Enough. For now. Your head thudded against the back of the chair, exhaustion wrapping around you like chains. The room was cold, empty, suffocating in its silence. You wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything to break the hollow ache gnawing at your chest.

But instead, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from your side. You shuffled to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out into the quiet campus. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, and for a moment, you swore you saw movement. A flicker of something—someone—watching.

You yanked the curtain shut, heart pounding in your chest. Just your imagination. Nothing’s there. You repeated the words like a mantra, though the uneasy weight of a presence lingered, settling into the corners of your mind.

When morning came, you’d transfer the money to her. When she left, you’d breathe again—for a little while. But tonight, you had no time to think about Domo, or bullies, or the terrifying fragility of the life you’d cobbled together.

Tonight, survival was all that mattered.

────────────

The air in the dorm room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves anticipated her arrival. You’d barely slept, the dark circles under your eyes deep enough to make your hollow face look corpse-like. The money was ready, stacked in an envelope on the small table near the door. A meager offering to stave off her wrath.

It’s enough this time, isn’t it? It has to be.

When the knock came, sharp and deliberate, your stomach twisted into knots. The sound echoed through your chest, each rap like a nail driven into your ribcage. You didn’t hesitate. Hesitation would only make things worse.

Opening the door, you saw her—your mother, standing tall in the hallway, her tailored coat spotless, her hair perfectly styled. She looked out of place in the dingy dormitory, like a predator descending on prey. Her painted lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

“Sweetheart,” she greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The smell of her expensive perfume suffocated the room. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I-I have it,” you stammered, pointing to the envelope. She clicked her tongue, her heels sharp against the floor as she approached the table.

Picking up the envelope, she weighed it in her hand like a predator inspecting its meal. “All of it?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

“Yes. I promise.”

Her nails were painted crimson, as though dipped in fresh blood, and they grazed the edge of the envelope as she opened it. Her eyes scanned the money, the movements slow and deliberate. “Hmm. This isn’t as much as I expected.”

“It’s everything I could—”

The slap came so fast, so sudden, you barely registered the sting on your cheek until you were stumbling back, your head snapping to the side. Her handprint burned into your skin, but you didn’t dare cry out.

Her voice was cold, the venom behind it more terrifying than her strike. “You think this is enough? Do you think I go through all this trouble for crumbs?”

“I—I can get more!” you blurted, your chest heaving as panic clawed at your throat. “Just give me a little more time!”

She closed the envelope, tucking it into her purse with an air of calm so calculated it made your blood run cold. Then, without warning, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You screamed, but the sound barely escaped before she yanked you down, dragging you toward the center of the room. Pain exploded across your scalp, blinding and raw.

“Do you think I have time for your excuses?” she hissed, her grip tightening. ��You’ve always been pathetic. Always needing someone to clean up your messes.”

Her knee collided with your stomach, and the air rushed from your lungs in a broken wheeze. She released your hair, letting you crumple to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

“I should’ve known you’d be useless.” Her voice was low, deliberate, and each word sliced through you like a scalpel. “It’s embarrassing, really. How you can’t even manage something as simple as this.”

You tried to push yourself up, but her foot slammed down on your back, forcing you flat against the floor. “Stay down,” she ordered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. Crying would only make it worse.

“Do you know how humiliating it is for me to come here?” she continued, pressing harder until your ribs screamed in protest. “To see the pathetic little hole you’ve buried yourself in? You’re lucky I even bother with you.”

She released you, and you gasped, curling into yourself on the cold floor. Her heels clicked as she walked to the door, her purse swinging at her side.

“Don’t make me come back for this again,” she warned, her tone sickeningly sweet once more. “You wouldn’t like what happens if I do.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. You didn’t move for a long time, your body trembling with the aftermath of pain and fear. The room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of your laptop.

You stared at it, the temptation gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Just one more time. I’ll take a little more. I’ll make it back somehow.

It was the only way to survive.

────────────

The room was dimly lit by the pale glow of your computer screen, the soft hum of the CPU your only companion through the relentless hours. Your fingers ached, stiff from the endless tapping and coding, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you moving. You’d done it. After days of sleepless nights, tense calculations, and hacking sessions that pushed the boundaries of legality, the number on the screen made your chest swell with something foreign: triumph.

It was the largest sum you’d ever seen in your life. Enough to keep your mother at bay for a long time, maybe even the rest of the year if you played it smart.

You leaned back in your chair, your head lolling against the worn cushion. Exhaustion clawed at you, but a smile—real, genuine—curved your lips. For once, there was no immediate shadow of fear, no sharp pang of dread in your stomach. You felt... safe.

Your gaze drifted to the photo frame sitting on the cluttered desk, the only piece of decoration in your otherwise bleak dorm. It was your high school graduation photo. Your father, with his immaculate suit and confident smile, stood tall beside your mother, who clung to his arm, her makeup flawless, her pride radiating through the glass. And there you were, sandwiched between them, holding your diploma with trembling hands.

Back then, you thought things would stay like that forever. A perfect picture. A perfect family.

Your smile faltered as your eyes lingered on your mother’s face in the photo. She looked happy then—truly happy. Not the brittle, strained version of her that had emerged after your father’s departure. The moment he left, everything broke.

You closed your eyes, memories creeping in like unwelcome guests. The screaming matches, the shattered glass, her tear-streaked face twisted in anguish as she begged him to stay. And then the silence, the unbearable silence that followed his departure, her love curdling into something sharp and possessive, clinging to you like a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“She only has me,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in the quiet room. The words felt like a mantra, a justification for everything you endured. “She needs me.”

The screen in front of you flickered as you finalized the transfer. The money was secure, broken into portions just as you’d planned. You wouldn’t give it to her all at once—that would only end in disaster. No, you’d ration it out, let it trickle through her fingers slowly. Enough to keep her satisfied, to keep her from asking questions, from demanding more.

A wave of relief washed over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were ahead of the game. You could breathe.

The thought of handing over the first envelope filled you with a strange kind of hope. Maybe this time, she’d smile like she did in the photo. Maybe she’d thank you, even hug you. Maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs, and crossed the room to the mirror. Your reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and pale, but there was a spark of pride in your gaze. You’d done something good—for her, for yourself. It wasn’t legal, no, but it was necessary.

Your fingers brushed against the photo frame as you returned to the desk, the cold glass grounding you. No matter how much she hurt you, no matter how much fear she instilled, you still loved her. She was your mother.

And you’d do anything to keep her happy.

———

The knock on the door was soft, almost tentative, but it still sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system. You clutched the envelope tightly in your hand, its weight heavier than the sum it carried. This was it. You smoothed your hair, tried to compose yourself, and opened the door.

She stood there, a vision of maternal grace, her sharp edges carefully filed away. Her lips curled into a warm smile, one that lit her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, she looked just like the mother in the graduation photo—loving, proud, whole.

“There you are, sweetheart,” she said, stepping inside and brushing a hand over your hair. Her touch was light, affectionate, as if the hands that had dragged you out of bed days ago had never known violence.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, she guided you to the small couch in your dorm room and sat down beside you, her perfume a familiar cloud of roses and nostalgia.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she said, her voice tender. “I’ve been so worried about you. You look tired, baby.” Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the dark circles under your eyes. “Have you been eating enough? Sleeping?”

You nodded, unsure of what else to do. The words caught in your throat, tangled in the weight of her presence.

“I brought your favorite,” she said, producing a neatly packed box from her bag. Inside were homemade cookies, perfectly golden, still warm as if she’d baked them just for you. She broke one in half and held it to your lips, her eyes soft with an affection that made your chest ache. “Here, eat. You need your strength.”

You bit into the cookie, its sweetness almost overwhelming. She watched you with such intensity, as though every crumb you swallowed was a testament to your gratitude, your obedience.

Finally, you held out the envelope. “I—uh—I managed to save some money,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For you.”

Her eyes widened, shimmering with what looked like genuine pride. She took the envelope delicately, as though it were a fragile gift. Opening it, she flipped through the bills, her expression melting into something softer, more radiant.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a sudden, crushing hug. “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Her words were honeyed, dripping with adoration, and yet they stung. You closed your eyes, leaning into her embrace, the warmth of her body erasing the bruises she’d left days before.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, her hand stroking your hair. “You’re all I have, you know that? Just you and me against the world.”

Her grip tightened, just for a moment, but then she pulled back, holding your face in her hands. “Promise me you’ll always take care of yourself, for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

The tears in her eyes looked so real, so heartbreakingly sincere, that for a moment, you believed her. You wanted to believe her.

“I promise,” you said, the words feeling like a chain coiling tighter around your chest.

“Good girl.” She kissed your forehead, a gesture so tender it left you dizzy. “I love you, you know that?”

You nodded, your throat burning with unspoken words.

The rest of the evening passed in a surreal haze of domestic bliss. She stayed for hours, tidying your dorm, chatting about mundane things, laughing at old memories as though nothing had ever been wrong. It felt like stepping back in time, to when your world was still intact, when her love wasn’t a weapon but a shield.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A shadow of doubt, a whisper of fear. Because you knew—deep down—that this wasn’t love. It was something darker, something that wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe.

But for tonight, you let it happen. You let her smile and laugh and hold you close. You let yourself believe, just for a little while, that everything could be okay.

———

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, a biting reminder of the wounds she was carefully tending. Her touch was impossibly gentle, almost reverent, as though the same hands hadn’t carved those injuries into your skin just hours ago. She hummed softly, a melody you vaguely recognized from childhood, her voice smooth and warm like a lullaby meant to soothe your fears.

“Hold still, sweetheart,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your cheek as she dabbed at a cut near your temple. “This might sting a little.”

It did. The pain flared, bright and hot, but her other hand stroked your hair, grounding you in the surreal tenderness of the moment.

“You’ve always been so brave,” she said, her eyes meeting yours with a depth of sincerity that made your stomach churn. “Taking everything life throws at you with your head held high. I don’t know how you do it, baby.”

Her smile was soft, motherly, and the juxtaposition of her words against the still-healing bruises on your arms made your throat tighten.

She leaned closer, inspecting her work, her breath warm against your skin. “There. Good as new,” she said, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Her hand lingered on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You really scared me, you know. You’ve been so distant lately.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and small.

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated concern. “Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t need to apologize. You’ve just… been through so much, haven’t you?” Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with an intimacy that felt suffocating.

“I’ve been so hard on you,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly as though she might cry. “I hate seeing you like this, so beaten down. You deserve so much better.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of confusion and unease tangling with the faint, desperate hope that this time—this time—she meant it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my baby, my whole world. I just want to see you happy.”

She stood and moved to the kitchen, her movements fluid, almost cheerful. “You must be starving,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make your favorite. Just sit there and relax, okay? You need to rest.”

Her back was to you now, and for a moment, you could almost pretend this was normal. The hum of the stove, the faint sizzle as she prepared the food—it all felt so mundane, so safe.

But the memory of her voice—razor-sharp and dripping with venom—echoed in the back of your mind.

"Don’t make me come back here for nothing, you useless little brat."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. She was different now. She was kind. Loving. She hadn’t been like this in years, not since before everything fell apart.

The meal she placed before you was perfect, a careful recreation of a childhood favorite. She watched you with expectant eyes as you took the first bite, her smile widening when you nodded in approval.

“See? Mommy knows what you need,” she said, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your knee. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? As long as we have each other.”

You forced a smile, the words catching in your throat.

The warmth of her affection was almost worse than her anger. It wrapped around you like a blanket, smothering you under the weight of its expectations. But you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t risk breaking this fragile illusion, not when the alternative was so much worse.

So you nodded, swallowing down the fear and confusion and guilt. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, you could almost believe it.

────────────

The halls were quiet, the chaotic din of the usual school day replaced by an unusual calm. It was as though the entire campus had been wrapped in a fragile layer of peace, everyone too preoccupied with the looming end-of-year celebrations to pay you any mind. You walked alone, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering faintly, your shadow stretching and shrinking against the scuffed linoleum floor.

For the first time in what felt like ages, your chest felt lighter. The suffocating weight of constant vigilance had lifted, even if only for a moment. Domo was away, too busy with her responsibilities to hover protectively over you, but her absence didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.

You passed clusters of students bustling about, their faces flushed with excitement and stress as they carried props and decorations for the Christmas program. No one spared you a glance, not even the cliques that usually whispered behind your back or the bullies who made a sport of finding new ways to humiliate you. They were too wrapped up in their own lives, their own dramas.

The solitude was soothing.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you stepped out into the courtyard. The winter air was crisp, biting gently at your cheeks and nose. The skeletal trees stood silent, their barren branches reaching towards the pale gray sky. You sat on one of the cold metal benches, pulling your coat tighter around you, and watched the world move on without you.

It was better this way.

The distant sound of carols drifted through the air, mingling with the faint chatter of students. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and soak it in—the peace, the simplicity. No shouting. No biting words. No stifling fear clawing at your throat.

For the first time in months, you felt something like happiness. At least for a while.

———

The air was crisp and still as you crept through the dimly lit campus grounds, the cold biting at your exposed skin. Every step felt heavier than the last, your stomach knotting tighter with each reluctant movement. The text from him sat unread but seared into your mind, its bluntness coiled around your thoughts like barbed wire: "My dorm. Tonight. Don’t make me wait."

It wasn’t the first time. His demands always came with the same suffocating inevitability, a choice between the humiliations he’d orchestrate and the unspeakable consequences of defying him.

You kept your head low, your heart pounding as you slipped into the shadows, avoiding the few lingering students rushing to finish end-of-year preparations. The warmth of the day had been fleeting—Domo’s absence notwithstanding. You’d almost dared to hope the universe might grant you a reprieve. But he’d reminded you, as always, that peace wasn’t for people like you.

His dorm building loomed ahead, its sharp, modern edges cutting against the pale moonlight. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the door, the sterile chill of the metal handle grounding you in the moment. Inside, the fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly, the hallways deserted and eerily quiet.

Room 312. You knew it by heart. You had never asked to learn this intimately, but circumstance—and his persistence—left you with little choice.

The door was ajar when you arrived, as though he’d been expecting you.

“Come in,” his voice called, low and casual, from somewhere inside. It grated against your nerves, setting off alarm bells in the recesses of your mind.

You stepped inside, the warmth of his room almost suffocating after the cold outside. He was seated at his desk, leaning back lazily in his chair, his posture deceptively relaxed. His gaze met yours, sharp and assessing, and the faint smirk playing at his lips sent a chill down your spine.

“Right on time,” he drawled, gesturing for you to close the door. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You said nothing, your throat dry as you complied.

The tension in the room was palpable as he stood, his movements unhurried, his towering presence swallowing the space between you. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with something darker. “Almost like you thought you could avoid me.”

“I wasn’t—” you began, your voice shaky, but he silenced you with a sharp laugh.

“Save it,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the oppressive heat radiating off him. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve been telling yourself. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

His hand shot out, gripping your chin with bruising force as he tilted your face upward. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning you like you were something to be dissected. “You look happy,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “What’s got you in such a good mood, huh?”

The question was rhetorical, his fingers tightening painfully as he leaned in closer. “You know,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your cheek, “I don’t like it when you forget your place.”

You swallowed hard, the fear clawing its way up your throat as his grip shifted to your shoulder, shoving you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your limbs stiff and trembling.

He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the harsh light. “We’re going to play a little game,” he said, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You’re going to listen very carefully, and if you’re good—well, let’s see if you remember what happens when you’re not.”

The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. You didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, as his gaze pinned you in place.

And just like that, the fleeting warmth of the day was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding reality you couldn’t escape.

———

He leaned against the desk in his dorm, his expression dripping with smug satisfaction, as if he had already won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. His phone rested in his hand, the glow from the screen casting shadows on his face.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His tone was light, almost amused, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “All this time, I thought you were just pathetic. Turns out, you’re also a little criminal. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Your stomach dropped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he sneered, tilting his head as he studied your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? That you could just go around doing… that and no one would notice?”

He held up his phone, the screen flashing with what could only be described as evidence—screenshots, transaction logs, even security footage. Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening rhythm that drowned out everything else.

“You’re so damn stupid,” he said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Leaving a digital trail like that? Rookie mistake. But I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from someone like you. After all, you’ve never been anything but a useless, desperate little nothing, right?”

The insult stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His grin widened at your silence, his enjoyment of your fear palpable.

“Let me spell it out for you,” he said, stepping even closer until you were forced to back up against the wall. “I’ve got everything I need to ruin you. Everything. Those little stunts you pulled to get your precious mommy her money? Yeah, I’ve got it all. And trust me, it’s enough to get you expelled, arrested… maybe even worse.”

You shook your head frantically, your voice trembling as you tried to protest. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, save it,” he snapped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t give a shit about your sob story. You think anyone else will? You’re nothing, sweetheart. Just a sad little loser with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes, frustration from everything welling up as if ready to pour out; but you blinked them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. He noticed, of course, and his smirk turned cruel.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he mocked, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You wouldn’t want Mommy Dearest to find out, would you? Imagine how disappointed she’d be. Or worse—imagine what she’d do if she found out her little cash cow has been hiding things from her.”

His words were a dagger to your chest, twisting with every syllable. He knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to exploit your deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

“But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost sweet. “I’m not a monster. I’m willing to keep this between us… for a price.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. “W-What do you want?”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Oh, nothing too crazy,” he said, leaning in until his face was inches from yours. “Just a little obedience. A little gratitude. Maybe even a little fun. After all, we’ve got such a good thing going, don’t we?”

His hand reached up to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Or, you can try to run. Try to fight. But let’s be real—you don’t have the guts. You’ve never had the guts. So why don’t you just be a good little slave and play along? It’ll be so much easier for both of us.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every passing second. There was no escape, no way out. He had you, and he knew it.

———

The air in the room felt oppressive, suffocating, as his words dripped into your ears like poison. His grin was wide, vicious, a predator toying with its prey, knowing there was no escape. He perched on the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming even as he leaned in casually, as though you were equals in this twisted game.

“You really think she doesn’t know?” he murmured, his voice a low, mocking purr. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting your panic like a mirror. “Domo. Your precious, perfect Domo. She’s not stupid, you know. I mean, come on, you’ve been sloppy, haven’t you? Or did you think you could actually hide all this?”

You flinched at his words, the knot of anxiety in your chest tightening. You had been careful. Meticulous, even. But now, doubt began to claw its way into your mind. His smirk widened at the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“That’s the thing about people like her,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “She’s got this shiny, righteous exterior. Strong sense of justice, doesn’t she? Loves tearing people like you apart. The frauds, the liars, the criminals. Do you even know what she’d do if she found out?”

Your stomach churned. You’d seen it yourself—how Domo could rip someone’s reputation to shreds with a single exposé, how her ruthless sense of morality left no room for gray areas. And you, with your secrets, your crimes…

────────────

The first time you saw Domo’s sense of justice in action, it left a deep impression—one that you didn’t know whether to admire or fear. It was a cold, rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky seemed to weep with an intensity that felt personal. Most students had already gone home, but you stayed late in the library, hunched over a stack of outdated textbooks you couldn’t afford to replace.

That was when you heard it—low, vicious laughter echoing from the stairwell. Curious, you crept closer, peeking from behind a bookshelf.

There she was. Domo.

And in front of her, trembling like a trapped animal, was a senior. He was taller, broader, someone who carried himself like he owned the place—until that moment. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he stammered, his hands raised as if to shield himself from her words. “I was just messing around—”

“Messing around?” Domo’s voice was calm, almost too calm. It carried no heat, no anger, only an icy precision that made your blood run cold. “So stealing exam papers and selling them to desperate students counts as ‘messing around’ now?”

She took a step closer, her shadow looming over him despite her slightly smaller frame. The rain continued to pour outside, its rhythm punctuating her words.

“I have the screenshots, the emails, the recordings. Every lie you told, every bribe you took—it’s all here.” She held up her phone, her finger hovering over the screen. “It would only take one click for this to reach the dean’s office.”

The senior’s face paled. He stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling into a pitiful mess. “Please, Domo. Don’t ruin me. I’ll do anything—just don’t—”

“Ruin you?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You ruined yourself the moment you decided your greed was worth more than the futures of those you exploited.”

There was no room for argument in her tone, no opening for negotiation. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t emotional. She was just. And that made it worse.

When the senior finally broke down into sobs, begging on his knees, Domo didn’t gloat. She didn’t smile. She simply pressed send.

You didn’t need to stick around to know what happened next. The senior was expelled within a week, his disgrace plastered across every whispering clique in the halls.

———

Another time, you saw her in action during a group project. It was supposed to be simple—divide the workload evenly, finish on time, get a decent grade. But one of your teammates, a quiet girl with a perpetually nervous expression, confessed to Domo that someone had been stealing her ideas and presenting them as his own in front of the professor.

Domo didn’t hesitate.

She called the guy out during the next class, her voice ringing clear across the room. “I think it’s only fair to credit the person who actually did the work, don’t you?”

The guy laughed nervously, brushing her off. “What are you talking about, Domo? We all worked on it together.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes glittered like shards of broken glass. “Because I have the timestamps on her drafts and the plagiarism report showing your presentation is word-for-word identical. Care to explain how that’s a coincidence?”

The classroom went silent. The professor frowned, leaning forward in his chair.

“Domo, I—” the guy started, but she cut him off with a single, raised hand.

“I don’t want your excuses,” she said firmly. “I want you to admit what you did, apologize to her, and redo the work properly. Or we can take this up with the academic board. Your choice.”

You could almost hear the sound of his pride shattering. He mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and spent the rest of the term walking on eggshells around her.

———

Domo’s sense of justice wasn’t loud or flashy. It didn’t rely on intimidation or physical strength. It was quiet, methodical, and utterly terrifying.

She didn’t give second chances. She didn’t forgive dishonesty.

And that was why you could never let her find out. Not about your hacking. Not about the money. Not about how you had initially planned to use her kindness for your own survival.

Because if she ever did…

She wouldn’t just hate you.

She’d destroy you.

────────────

“I mean, it’s almost funny,” he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Here you are, pretending to be this innocent little thing, latching onto her like a leech. But let’s be real—this friendship of yours? It’s built on lies. You used her.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice trembling. “That’s not true. I—”

“Oh, but it is,” he cut you off, his tone sharp and biting. “You needed her, didn’t you? Not for who she is, but for what she could give you. Money. Protection. A shield to hide behind. You’re pathetic.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I care about her,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Care about her? Don’t make me laugh. If you really cared, you’d have told her the truth by now. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know she’d drop you in a heartbeat. She’d see you for what you really are—a selfish, manipulative little rat.”

The words hit like a slap, and you recoiled, your heart pounding. “I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he sneered, cutting you off again. “You think she’s going to believe you over me? I’ve got proof, sweetheart. I’ve seen what you do. All those late nights, the hacking, the money you’ve been funneling. You really thought you’d get away with it?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t bother,” he said, his tone softening to something almost tender. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to tell her… yet. But imagine how she’d look at you if I did. Imagine the betrayal in her eyes when she realizes her best friend is nothing but a criminal.”

His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of affection. You flinched but didn’t pull away, too frozen by fear. “But I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m giving you a chance. A way out. All you have to do is listen to me. Do what I say. It’s not that hard, is it?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you tried to stand your ground. “I won’t let you manipulate me.”

His grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to manipulate you. I just have to tell the truth. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? You’ve already done all the hard work for me. All I have to do is hand her the evidence, and you’re done.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince. “So here’s the deal,” he said, his tone cold and commanding. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions, no hesitation. Because if you don’t…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll make sure she knows everything. And when she does, she’ll hate you. She’ll destroy you. And I’ll be right here to watch.”

You shuddered, the weight of his words crushing down on you. He pulled back, his grin as smug as ever. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Are you going to be a good little girl and play along? Or do I need to make a few phone calls?”

The silence stretched between you, suffocating, as he waited for your answer. And in that moment, you realized there was no way out. Not without losing everything.

———

His lips crashed against yours again, rough and demanding, his fingers curling into the nape of your neck with enough pressure to make your scalp burn. You didn’t resist—not because you wanted this, but because resisting would only escalate things. His breath was hot and suffocating, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to punish you for every shudder of disgust you couldn’t suppress.

Your mind spun in chaotic circles, desperately searching for an escape even as his body pressed you further into the mattress. His weight pinned you down, his hands wandering in a way that felt more like a claim than an embrace.

You closed your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only made your thoughts louder. They roared with a single name: Domo.

Domo, who would never forgive you. Domo, who could never know.

The thought of her was a knife in your chest, sharp and twisting. You didn’t fear her anger—you feared her disappointment. Domo wasn’t just a friend. She was the only light you had, the only one who ever made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely worthless. But Domo had a sense of justice as unforgiving as the universe itself.

You had seen her at her most ruthless. She wasn’t the type to scream or cry when betrayed. No, Domo dissected you with precision, unraveling every thread of your lies until you were nothing but a tangle of shame and regret. You had watched her dismantle people who thought they could outwit her, her sharp words leaving them gutted in ways they never recovered from.

If she found out about the hacking… the money…

Your stomach twisted. You’d seen it happen before. The way her eyes hardened, the way her voice turned cold, like steel slicing through flesh. Domo didn’t just destroy people—she erased them, made them into cautionary tales.

And she’d do the same to you.

But more than that, you’d lose her. She wouldn’t see the circumstances. She wouldn’t see your desperation, your mother, your empty dorm room filled with shadows. She’d only see the crime, the betrayal, the weakness.

The bully’s lips moved to your neck, and you bit your tongue to suppress a gasp. His hands slid lower, possessive and mocking, as if to remind you of the power he held over you.

“Thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and cruel. “Your precious Domo. Wondering what she’d say if she saw you like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you couldn’t let her see. You couldn’t let her know how far you’d fallen, how much you’d compromised. If she knew—if she even suspected—she’d leave you.

And your mother…

The thought of her sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. If Domo’s judgment was cold and calculated, your mother’s was visceral and brutal. She wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d punish you, grind you down until there was nothing left. You’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her fingers curled into fists, in the way her voice dropped to a low, venomous growl when she was angry.

The money wasn’t just a lifeline—it was the leash she held you on. It was the only thing keeping her rage at bay.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not even here, are you? Too busy thinking about how to keep all your little secrets.”

He kissed you again, his hands tightening their grip, and your mind screamed at you to focus. But all you could think about was Domo’s face—her sharp, piercing eyes, her unwavering sense of right and wrong.

And the cold, hard truth that if she ever knew the real you, she wouldn’t just walk away. She’d destroy you.

Just like he would.

“Go ahead,” he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His smirk was razor-sharp, his gaze dark with amusement. “Keep pretending you’re innocent. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You’re just as dirty as the rest of us. And the best part? No one’s going to save you.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

———

Your head swam with the weight of his words, the dark intensity behind them burrowing under your skin like thorns. His breath was hot against your lips as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with an almost tender care, a stark contrast to the bruises you knew he’d left on your body before. The room spun with his presence, suffocating, inescapable, and yet something in you was too tired to resist.

“You think anyone else could love you like this?” he whispered, his voice low and raw, each word an anchor pulling you deeper into his orbit. His lips found the corner of your mouth, teasing, brushing, and when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a surrender.

“I see you,” he murmured, his hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “The real you. The one who’s scared, pathetic, desperate. I see it, and I still love you for it. No one else does. Not Domo, not your mother, no one. They only see what you pretend to be.”

He kissed you hard then, his mouth consuming yours, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The edge of his teeth scraped against your lower lip as he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes sharp and burning with something primal.

“It’s always been the two of us,” he growled, his voice thick with possession as he gripped your hips, grinding against you in slow, deliberate movements that left no room for misinterpretation. “Even when you ran to Domo, even when you tried to leave me behind, you always came back. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your chest tightened as his words drilled into you, his logic cutting through every feeble protest you might have had. No one else cared. Not like this. Not with this twisted, obsessive devotion that terrified you as much as it made you feel alive.

“You think Domo will stay if she finds out who you really are?” he sneered, his lips ghosting over your jawline before nipping at your ear. “She’ll throw you away like everyone else. But me?” His voice softened, his tone almost reverent. “I don’t care what you do. Cheat, lie, betray me—hell, run back to her if you want. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your lips pressed against his, hesitant, shy, but it was enough to spark something dangerous in him. He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, his movements aggressive but laced with a desperate kind of love.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming, gripping, owning. “You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you? You’re mine. No one else gives a shit about you like I do. No one else knows you like I do. And no one else ever will.”

His words were a mantra, a binding spell, as he kissed you again, his love a suffocating force, overwhelming and inescapable. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t kind, but it was real in a way that twisted something deep inside you.

“You and me, baby,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat all at once. “Always.”

———

The hesitation lingered in your body, a faint tremor in your hands, a fleeting flicker in your gaze that he picked up on like a predator scenting blood. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips hovered over yours, smirking just slightly at the way you tensed under his touch.

“Still fighting me, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and rich with amusement, a dangerous edge beneath his tone. “You don’t have to say anything. I know that little head of yours is spinning, trying to figure out what to do. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You can’t afford to push me away.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate and suffocating, drawing out every second as if savoring his victory. “Not like this is new for us,” he whispered against your lips, his tone almost tender, like a lover’s. “You remember, don’t you? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t? It’s been a while, sure—probably because you’ve been too busy drooling over that bitch Domo. But this? This has always been us.”

The words landed like blows, each one calculated to chip away at your defenses. You stiffened at the mention of Domo, your mind spiraling into the familiar maze of fear and guilt. He laughed softly, sensing your weakness, and tilted your chin up so your eyes met his.

“There it is,” he said, his grin widening as his fingers brushed your cheek with mock tenderness. “That little look of guilt. You don’t want her to know, do you? Don’t want her to see the real you. The one who cheats and lies and does whatever it takes to survive. Guess what? I already know all of that, and I’m still here. Isn’t that funny?”

You stayed silent, your breath shaky as his hands roamed with purpose, drawing you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of his control. “She’d never forgive you,” he continued, his voice a soft hum of poison. “If she found out, she’d drop you like you were nothing. And your mom? Oh, let’s not even start on her.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it sinking into your chest. “But me?” he murmured, brushing his lips against the corner of your mouth before stealing another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you are. I’ve always loved you for it. Your pathetic, broken little self is mine.”

You knew he was pushing you, pressing all the right buttons to ensure you bent to his will. Your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight, but the weight of everything he had over you—the photos, the proof, the cruel knowledge of your worst secrets—held you firmly in place.

“That’s right,” he whispered as you finally stopped resisting, your body going limp under his hold. He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, possessive and firm. “You’re getting it now. This is where you belong. With me. Submitting to me, just like you always have, just like you always will.”

He didn’t stop, even as your compliance became evident. Instead, he pressed harder, his kisses more demanding, his touch bolder, his words laced with a dangerous, almost intoxicating affection.

“I don’t just own your body,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pulled you even closer. “I own your heart, your mind, your fucking soul. Domo doesn’t get that, and she never will. This? This is ours. Always has been.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight as the reality of his hold on you settled like chains around your chest.

Every word, every touch, every calculated smile of his reminded you of the truth—you were his, and fighting back only tightened his grip.

———

His hands moved with an infuriating blend of precision and fervor, peeling away layers of your clothing as if removing barriers to what he believed was already his. Each brush of his fingers was rough, each kiss an assault, his lips crushing against yours like he was trying to consume you entirely. He growled low in his throat, a predatory sound that sent a shiver of both fear and shameful heat down your spine.

"That’s it," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils blown wide with a dangerous mix of lust and obsession. His breath fanned hot against your skin as his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer. “My little masochist. You like this, don’t you? Pretending to fight me, pretending you have some kind of choice. But deep down, you love it. You love me.”

The words dripped with mockery, but underneath the venom, there was something softer—something that felt almost genuine in its twisted way. He leaned down, his teeth grazing your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “Yeah, that’s the sound I want. None of that quiet, boring little act you pull for everyone else. Show me what you really are, hmm? Weak, needy, desperate. Mine.”

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to pull away. He noticed, of course he noticed, and his smirk widened, his movements growing bolder. His hands roamed over you with a hunger that bordered on savage, but there was a calculated restraint in his grip, like he was savoring every moment of your submission.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky as his fingers slipped beneath the last layer of fabric, “I could ruin you, completely destroy that pathetic little life of yours. But I don’t. You know why?” He kissed you hard, swallowing your unsteady breaths before pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. “Because I love you. No one else gives a damn about you, not your saintly Domo, not even your precious mother. Just me.”

His movements grew rougher, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pushed you back onto the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze dark and feral, his smirk curling into something more primal. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he said, his voice almost a growl as he pressed his body against yours. “Careless, weak, a complete mess. But you’re my mess. And no matter how much you screw up, no matter how much you betray me, I’m the one who’s always going to pick you up, fix you, keep you safe.”

Each word came with another bruising kiss, another searing touch that left you reeling. He whispered sweet poison into your ear, promises wrapped in degradation, affection laced with humiliation. “You’ll never find anyone else who loves you like this,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Who knows you like this. You’d be nothing without me, and you know it.”

His real personality was fully unleashed now—raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly familiar. The mask of control slipped just enough to reveal the primal, obsessive hunger beneath. Every movement, every word, every calculated act was designed to remind you of one thing: he owned you. Body, mind, and soul.

────────────

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[onebadassunicorn]

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, attack

word count: 2.3K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

********

Chapter 5

Y/n POV

The Hewn City was everything I remembered it to be—dark, oppressive, and filled with a suffocating tension that lingered in every shadowed corner. I moved through its labyrinthine streets with practiced ease, keeping my hood low and my steps quiet. The cover I had taken—posing as a low-level contact with ties to Velaris—was just believable enough to slip under Keir’s radar. But every moment spent in this place felt like a game of balancing on a knife’s edge.

Through the bond, I sent updates to Rhys when it was safe to do so. Short, clipped sentences conveying just enough information for him to piece together the web of Keir’s plans.

“Keir is meeting with a group from outside the Night Court tomorrow. Possible ties to Autumn.”

Rhys’s voice entered my mind moments later, calm and steady. “Be careful. Observe, but don’t let them see you. If anything feels off, get out. Your safety comes first.”

I didn’t reply to that.

We both knew that safety wasn’t guaranteed on this mission.

I had already accepted the risks, but Rhys’s concern lingered in the back of my mind like a quiet reminder of the family I was trying to protect.

********

Rhysand POV

That night, Rhys sat in his office, poring over the reports I had sent, piecing together the connections between Keir’s activities and the wider threat looming over the Night Court. He was leaning back in his chair, his brow furrowed in concentration, when the door opened without warning.

Azriel stepped inside, his shadows curling around him like restless sentries. His expression was hard, but there was an edge of unease in his amber eyes.

“Where is she?” Azriel demanded, his voice low but sharp.

Rhys glanced up, his expression unreadable. “I can’t tell you.”

Azriel’s shadows twisted in agitation, his jaw tightening. “Why not?”

“Because she asked me not to,” Rhys said calmly, though his tone carried a warning edge. “This mission is highly dangerous. If anyone knows where she is, it puts her and the mission at risk.”

Azriel took a step closer, his wings flaring slightly. “You should have told me. I could have helped her. Protected her.”

Rhys set down the papers in his hand, fixing Azriel with a piercing look. “She didn’t want you to know, Azriel. She specifically asked that no one be informed of her whereabouts.”

The words hit Azriel like a physical blow, his shadows recoiling slightly. “Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something raw. “Why would she ask that?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because she believes she has the least to lose. She doesn’t have a mate, Azriel. No family, no ties to keep her here. She went because she thought it made her expendable.”

Azriel’s face paled, his wings sagging as if the weight of the truth had crushed him. “She’s not expendable,” he said hoarsely, the words trembling with barely contained emotion. “She’s my mate.”

Azriel stood in the middle of Rhysand’s office, his shadows twisting and writhing around him like they were mirroring the storm raging within. His amber eyes, usually calm and steady, were wild with emotion—confusion, anger, and something deeper, something raw and desperate that he couldn’t contain.

“She’s my mate,” he said again, his voice hoarse, as if saying it aloud might somehow make it real. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling slightly. “And you sent her into the Hewn City? Alone?”

Rhys remained seated, his face unreadable, though his violet eyes softened just enough to show that he wasn’t unaffected by Azriel’s outburst. “She volunteered for the mission, Azriel. You know I wouldn’t have sent her unless she was the best person for the job.”

Rhys’s gaze sharpened, his violet eyes narrowing. “When?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “The bond snapped... when she was in your office. Before she left.”

Rhys stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he asked the question that hung heavily in the air. “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

Azriel’s hands clenched at his sides, his shadows curling tighter around him. “Because I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I... I panicked. She’s always been my best friend, and I didn’t know how to tell her—especially not after the way I’ve treated her. And then... then she put up her shields.”

“Do you understand now why she feels like she has nothing to lose? Why she asked me to keep her location from you?” Rhys asked, his gaze steady.

Azriel sank into one of the chairs, his head in his hands. His shadows slithered around him in a frantic dance, reflecting the turmoil raging within him.

“I need to find her,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but resolute.

“No,” Rhys said firmly. “She asked for this mission to be hers, and I’m respecting her wishes. If you interfere now, you’ll only undermine everything she’s worked for.”

“She’s in danger,” Azriel snapped, his voice breaking as his wings flared behind him. His shadows surged, dark and frantic, as if they were searching for her even now, though they couldn’t feel her through the shield she had so carefully constructed. “And I didn’t even know. I didn’t even get the chance to—” He cut himself off, his throat working as he fought to contain the emotion threatening to spill over.

Rhys tilted his head, watching him carefully. “To what, Azriel? To stop her? To talk to her about the bond you’ve spent days ignoring while you’ve been playing shadow to Elain?”

Azriel flinched as if he’d been struck, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. “You think I don’t know I’ve made mistakes?” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “You think I don’t regret every second I spent not telling her? Every second I spent avoiding her because I didn’t know how to face what I felt?”

His wings drooped slightly, and for a moment, the shadows around him seemed to shrink. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pacing the room like a caged animal, his movements restless and agitated.

“When the bond snapped,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “it felt like everything I thought I knew about myself unraveled. She’s always been my best friend, Rhys. The one person I trusted completely. And then suddenly... she was everything.” He faced Rhys with a haunted look in his eyes. “And I was terrified I’d already ruined it. That I’d already hurt her too much to fix it.”

Rhys sighed, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “You’re not wrong. She has been hurt, Azriel. Knowing you were always looking at someone else. Because she believed she wasn’t enough. And because she loved you too much to put that burden on you. It was obvious to me how much she loves you, with or without the mating bond.”

The words hit Azriel like a blow to the chest, and he staggered slightly, his wings drooping further as he dropped into the chair opposite Rhys’s desk. He pressed his hands into his face, his fingers digging into his temples as though he could will away the crushing weight of his regret.

“I’ve been so blind,” he murmured, his voice muffled but thick with anguish. “I thought I was protecting her by keeping my distance. I thought I was sparing her from... from me. But all I’ve done is push her away.”

Rhys’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “And now she’s gone. She’s doing this mission because she believes she has nothing to lose. Because she thinks you don’t care.”

Azriel looked up sharply, his eyes blazing with something fierce and broken. “I do care,” he said, his voice raw. “I care more than anything. She’s my mate, Rhys. How could she think I don’t care?”

“Because you never told her,” Rhys said simply, though his tone carried a sharp edge. “You avoided her. You let her think that Elain was more important to you. And when the bond snapped, you didn’t even try to talk to her about it. What did you expect her to think?”

Azriel’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he buried his face in his hands again. “I didn’t know how to tell her,” he admitted, his voice muffled and broken. “I thought I’d already ruined everything between us. And then she put up her shield, and I couldn’t feel her anymore. It was like she vanished.”

Rhys’s voice softened, though his words still held an edge of reproach. “She put up her shield because she didn’t want you to feel her pain. Because she thought you didn’t want the bond.”

Azriel sat back in the chair, his shadows coiling tightly around him, his amber eyes hollow. “I need to find her,” he said finally, his voice trembling but resolute. “I need to tell her. I need to fix this.”

“No,” Rhys said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “She asked for this mission to be hers alone, and I’m honoring her wishes. If you go after her now, you’ll jeopardize everything she’s worked for.”

Azriel looked up, his amber eyes filled with desperation. “But what if she doesn’t come back?”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained unyielding. “Then we will all live with the loss of her and we will grieve. And now, all you can do is hope she comes back so you can tell her what you should have said all along.”

Azriel’s wings sagged further, his head bowing as his shadows curled around him protectively.

For the first time in centuries, he looked utterly defeated.

********

Y/n POV

The air in the Hewn City was colder than usual, an icy edge that seemed to creep into my bones as I walked through the shadowed streets. The tension was palpable, heavier than it had been days ago when I first arrived. Keir’s people were starting to notice me—lingering glances that lasted too long, whispers that quieted as I passed. The disguise I’d woven was unraveling, and I could feel the danger growing with every step.

I ducked into a quiet alcove, my breathing steady despite the unease curling in my stomach. I pressed a hand to the bond and reached out to Rhys.

“Keir’s starting to notice me,” I said, keeping my voice calm despite the pounding of my heart. “His people are suspicious. They’re watching me.”

Rhys’s reply came almost instantly, his voice sharp with concern. “Get out. Now.”

“I can’t,” I replied firmly. “I’m so close, Rhys. He’s meeting with someone tonight, someone from Autumn. If I leave now, we’ll lose our chance to confirm the connection.”

His frustration burned through the bond. “I don’t care how close you are. If Keir suspects you, you’re in immediate danger. I’m ordering you to come home.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, though even I wasn’t entirely sure. “I can handle this.”

There was a pause, the bond silent as Rhys seemed to wrestle with what to say. Finally, his voice came again, quieter but no less urgent. “This isn’t a game. If Keir finds out who you are, he won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“I know the risks,” I said, steeling myself. “And I’m willing to take them. This is my mission, Rhys. I can do this.”

His frustration was a palpable force through the bond, but he didn’t argue further. He simply said, “Contact me the moment anything changes. If it gets worse, you’re out. Understood?”

“Understood,” I replied, though I could feel his lingering concern as I severed the connection.

The dim, cold air of the Hewn City pressed against me as I stood in the shadows, my hood drawn low to conceal my face. The meeting I had been waiting for was finally happening, the figures I had tracked for weeks now gathered in one of Keir’s private chambers. I couldn’t hear everything, but I heard enough. Enough to piece together the plan, enough to confirm the danger Rhys had feared.

I slipped away, finding a quiet alcove to focus as I reached out through the bond to Rhys.

“They’re planning to strike during the Spring solstice,” I relayed, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “Keir has been working with Eris’s enemies in Autumn. They’ve arranged a coordinated attack—both on Velaris and the borders of the Night Court. I have all the names and details. It’s in my notes.”

Rhys’s voice came back immediately, tense and urgent. “You’ve done enough. Get out now. Come home.”

“I just need to get a little more—”

“No,” Rhys snapped, his voice sharp with worry. “You’ve done enough. Get out of there before—”

I never heard the rest.

The blow came from behind, a sharp, brutal force that knocked the air from my lungs. I stumbled, blood rushing in my ears as I realized I had been discovered. Shadows surrounded me—Keir’s guards. I fought back, my instincts sharp, my training keeping me alive as I dodged and struck, my blades finding purchase in flesh.

But there were too many.

Another strike landed against my side, and I gasped as I felt something warm and wet trickle down my ribs. My vision blurred as I sent one last desperate message through the bond to Rhys.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, nothing.

Chapter 6