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witchofhimring · 22 hours ago

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Disloyalty (Chapter 1)

Book One Masterlist (Loyalty)

Synopsis: Time has gone back and everything as is it once was, except you. After spending your first life being the pawn of others you are ready to even the score.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, mentions of rape (not to the reader), morally grey reader

You sat there in the cold dark, mud clinging to your skin. Resting against the Weirwood you were only faintly aware of it digging into your skin. The only physical sensation of importance was a stinging pain in your wrists and heavy painful breaths. Images of Alys and her green eyes were still imbedded onto your eyes. Light emanating from wherever was scarce. Shrouded in darkness you were hard to spot. Faintly you were aware of music playing near by.

Where were you? The archaic energy pulsing out of the tree made you realized it was a Weirwood. That was the only thing you were certain of. Was this the afterlife? Had the Seven sent you here to pay for heresy? A sickening panic brought you to life. Suddenly you could sit no more. The idea you were stuck in hell frightened you, and like a child you staggered up in terror. A great pain erupted in your heart as the situation set in. Owen, your son, was dead. Your dear little boy whom you had failed to protect. A wail of pain was wrenched from you. His little face floated in your mind. He was surrounded by blood with blue lips. The questions that had haunted you chanted like a morbid chorus. Collapsing to the ground you shuttered. You were stuck in this hell, forever to be tormented by the death of your son.

"To Prince Aemond and Princess Ellyn!" Jerking up you looked to see it was not just you and the tree. The light was coming from windows above. With trembling legs you stumbled a few paces and looked up. Above loomed the Weirwood. Through the branches you realized this was a garden, enclosed by the castle. Stepping further back you realized this was not just some castle.

It was the Red Keep.

Tapestries hung from the windows with the Stag and Dragon intertwined. The music now registered in your head. On the upper floors people were running to and fro, laughter on their lips. The sent of a feast permeated your senses. You looked back at the Weirwood and its many face. Twisted face forcing the bark to mold into grotesque mockeries of faces. Silently you stared down at those other faces. Were you in hell after all? For why would the Seven have the Old Gods were they could reign over man in hell? Unless this was not hell at all. Maybe this was some strange dream, perhaps that was all death was. One long endless dream.

You walked forward to those faces. Once they may have frightened you. But you were dead so they could do no harm, right? Closer you drew and one cold, bloody hand touched a face. Flesh contacted flesh. Your eyes met hollow but very much alive ones. "Hello?" For the first time you spoke to them, not out of fear. "Have you seen Y/n?" Cerilla's hatefully familiar voice floated, pleasing as the stench of dragon dung. You faded into the shadows. Looking down for the first time you realized this dress was not one recently one. In fact, you had not worn it since Prince Aemond married Ellyn.

Cerilla and one of her friends came into the garden. A thrill of hatred passed through you. If only there was a knife you might kill her then and there. A pity your body was not quite one with your brain. Your body felt like it had just been violently ill and only now just recovered. "I do not think she is here." Said Cerilla's friend, a girl you only knew by sight. Her dress was blue with flowers. This girl was a Florent. The same as that evil bitch Jenna. Jenna Florent. She had sent you to your death and taken everything for herself. If the Sven Hells's existed you hoped hers was a deepest, darkest part where no light ventured. "I suppose not. Think she has blubbered off into the forest?" Both girls laughed and departed. What they did not know was that Y/n had heard. And you emerged from out of the shadows, covered in blood and a look of hatred upon your face.

Your heart beat painfully. This pain inside might as well kill you. For a moment you remained paralyzed with pain. Then you realized it was not just pain, but rage. A rage that threatened to overtake you. It acted as a balm for your physical weakness. Banishing any thoughts of exhaustion you strided forward. The Red Keep had many passages. The nearest one was just behind a statue of Queen Alysanne. For the first time in two years you stepped into the Red Keep and flood of warmth filled you. So overpowering that you froze, completely forgetting you purpose. You were back where it all began. In these halls lay many memories, both good and ill. You only moved when your mind warned you someone might come. You gave the Weirwood one last glance before disappearing.

It helped that you knew the Red Keep so well. Every time someone passed you hid with ease. Everyone was either dressed in their house colours or of Targaryen or Baratheon. Once you made it to the door everything was dark. Time had passed but you knew this place well. Going up the stairs you finally reached a familiar place, your room. It was just as you had left it two years ago. Your blue sheets lay as they always did. A green dress hung over a chair, just as it had two years ago. Anyway, had you not gotten ride of that dress? Silently the door shut as you examined the room. Everything was familiar. You opened the curtains so see the moon in all its splendor. The forest outside seemed to breath with life. A surge of such intensity came and you dwelt in it. Closing e/c eyes you took it all in, the cold air, pine and so many other scents lingering. The moonlight more powerful than any sun.

A knock broke the brief spell. You tried to speak but only a croak came out. The door opened and Elinor stepped in. Suddenly nothing else mattered. In silence you simply stood there. Over the past year you had thought of all the things you would say, but now nothing came to mind. Numbly you just looked at her, every thought scattered.

Elinor quickly grabbed you by the arms and regarded with horror your appearance. Covered in blood and dirt Elinor likely thought you had been attacked. "Y/n! Oh Gods I better-" Elinor made to call for a servant. But you seized her sleeve and shook your head. "Please do not." "But you are hurt. Look at you!" It did look pretty bad. "I went into the forest and slipped on a carcass." You were quick to lie. Elinor still checked over you, only relived when she realized there were no wounds. "Very well, lets clear this up. I am sorry for startling you I just thought...well never mind. I will call for a maid." You needed no worries. Elinor could yell for all you cared. She was here.

The dress was immediately taken from you. Likely it was unsalvageable. A large basin was brought in and Elinor sent the servant away. Warm water washed away everything. You were rubbing away a stubborn piece of dirt from your knee when something alarmed you. On your right wrist was a long thin line. Like someone had slit your wrist. You tentatively touched it and then realized the same mark was on your other wrist. Two long thin marks scared your wrists.

"I was worried about you, taking into the forest like that. But I do not want you to think I am chastising you. I know today has been very hard." She was right, it had been hard. Thought it was hard today for a different reason than it had two years ago. Right now your thoughts were a million miles from anything regarding Prince Aemond and Ellyn. Instead you attempted to make sense of everything around you. Whether this was a afterlife or not. Had the past two years been all some strange dream? The memories felt too real, the mind was a powerful thing. Everything around you was clear. You had always been lucid in those dreams that felt so real. But even then it felt different. This was not a dream and maybe not even the afterlife.

Elinor laid out a nightgown on your bed. Making sure she could not see your wrists you put it on any got into bed. "Goodnight my sweet girl." Elinor placed a loving kiss to your cheek. You did not want her to leave. Nevertheless you watched her blow out the candle and close the door

In the darkness you lay, tormented by your thoughts. Without Elinor they came howling back with a vengeance. Most of all the weight of your lost son. Tears rolled silently down your cheek. Why had he died while you lived? Every parents askes these questions when they lose a child. It is one without answer or meaning. A simple snuffing out of light. A dreamless death was preferable to this. A blank nothingness was better than whatever existence you were thrown into. You had missed Elinor terribly but it could not protect you from all this pain. His blue bloody lips haunted your very soul. He had died alone in agony and there was nothing you did. You just let it happen.

You did not sleep that night, the moon passing through a dark nighttime sky. You watched it and resented your son not being there. He should have seen so many more sunrises. You heard the sounds of young children bellow, likely being allowed this rare privileg because of the wedding. Owen should have had the opportunity ty to play. To feel the deep bond that one friend feels for another. His life had been so brief, a sudden spark snuffed out, and yet his presence was a burn to your heart. A mother should never have to feel this.

You shot up. The reality hit you like an avalanche of rocks. A sickening thought occurred. This may not be a dream or the afterlife. If neither were true then there was another option.

Some say there was a God who could turn back time....

"Helaena!" You threw off the covers and did not even bother to put a robe on. The urgency made you nauseous with fear. Bursting out the door you ignored the cry of a maid. You were practically flying down the hall. You had to make it down there it time! Approaching a flight of stairs you were nearly there.

A hand which possessed an alarming amount of stress seized your left arms. Slamming into the stone wall your skull seemed to rattle. "Where are you going, you little snake?" Someone had you pinned against the wall. When your sight cleared you realized who it was. Cerilla had you right against the wall. The very girl who had your son killed and mocked your pain. She was right in front of you. "Get off me!" You roared. Did she not understand there was no time! "I asked you where-" You were beyond angry. First she had Owen killed and now had come back to mock you more! "For fuck sake Cerilla get off me now!" You screaming caught attention and suddenly there was an audience. People roused from sleep had come out to see the commotion. "What is going on here?" Jaecerion walked through the crowd. Going weak at the knees you nearly collapsed. Even Jaecerion was alive. "Y/n was causing trouble and I-" "I was doing nothing but this wild little bitch attacked me!" There was a gasp from the onlookers but you did not care. You wriggled and finally Cerilla let go. You made to run but Jaecerion stuck out a hand. "Jaecerion please." He saw the desperation in your eyes and looked to Cerilla. "Cerilla, what was Lady Y/n doing?" Cerilla's eyes were unusually wide and her hands were clenched. "She was running in an unruly manor and I was concerned she would run into someone." Cerilla tried to justify. "So was Y/n trying to cause trouble?" You just wanted to leave. "Jaecerion I do not have time." To everyone's astonishment you ran right past Jaecerion's arm and disappeared.

You were almost there, just a flight of stairs left. One level and you would be there.

Then a blood curdling scream rendered apart the calm night.

You could not bring yourself to go to Helaena. Once you realized it was over you collapsed against the wall. You were too late. Footsteps were racing past you in a hurry. The familiar scent of blood added itself to the Red Keep. Once more Jaehaerys Targaryen's story would become part of this cursed places legend. He would once more joining the line up of deceased people, cut down before their time. And you could have stopped it. Instead you just lay there in bed and stared at the wall. Helaena was now suffering as you are because of oversight. You were angry with yourself, and then angry at those who had cut him down. Once more the Blacks had struck and killed. Your swelling hatred found its fixture on Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. Last time they had both died, but their son sat on the throne. They still won despite everything. Despite all the blood, they had won.

Rooted to the spot you stayed in the stairwell. Jaecerion was still with you. Everyone else had left but him. Beside you, Jaecerion had come and placed an arm around you. 'Y/n?' Your legs seemed unwilling to move. Realizing this Jaecerion picked you up in his strong arms. Your mind was a thousand miles away. Barely aware of what was going on around you. Things swam in front of you. Hands placed themselves on the cold face in a vain attempt to block everything out. A great tempest stormed inside feasting on rage and despair. Ripping at everything you were, everything you ever would be. Settling itself in your very soul these festering emptions would plant themselves. Roots would sink into every part of who you were, blooming in all its malignant nature.

Jaecerion set you down on the bed. Green sheets rustled under your weight. Suddenly you were very cold, and it was not from the open window. This felt like one of those wretched dreams you got in Harrenhal. Except there was no escape from this one. Trapped in the nightmare you spiraled into the darkness. Laying down in his bed felt like being buried alive. Nausea boiled in your belly causing physical pain to clench like a fist. Hands curled into tight fists as you imagined them covered in blood. Jaehaerys's blood sticking to your skin, crawling up to your elbows.

With a great lurch you bolted up and vomited right onto the floor. Hands were touching you and fear became overcoming. 'Let go! You dashed to the other side of the room in a grazed frenzy. Two figures stood by the bed and in your madness you thought them ghosts. Crouching down you clasped hands together in some sort of prayer. Every breath seemed magnified, sounding like a great gust of wind each time it passed through cold chapped lips.

'Y/n?' Elinor's voice seemed far off. But you looked up and realized Jaecerion and Elinor were both looking at you. No ghosts. Blinking, you were brought back to reality. Your hands were not bloody. But that smell of freshly spilt blood never left, at least for you. bringing your hands to your mouth you closed burning eyes. 'Y/n, lets get you back to bed.' Elinor gently helped you up. 'I will summon a maester.' Jaecerion said. And you were lead back to the bed where once more dark thoughts surrounded you like a rope around the condemned's neck.

The nightmares came back. For the first time since living in Harrenhal you could hear the voices of the beyond. Everything was dark and despite reaching out you could not make any bearing. Everything seemed to fall away, like you had jumped down a deep hole with no end. The lack of control made you want to rage with helplessness. Would being brought back truly bring you victory? Or was this simply a cruel joke by beings greater than yourself? And what was the point of all this? Was this punishment for your sins?

When you woke up gasping and in a cold sweat they thought it was from the shock of Jaehaerys's bloody death. This was partially correct. The scent of his blood and headless stump sickened you. Having lost your own son you could only feel more pity for Helaena. Now there was also the combined feeling of deep shame. You could have stopped his death. At least his chances may have been better. Just like last time the assassins' hacked off a little boys head. Dread settled in your belly. If this could happen then what else could? Of course there was the obvious answer. Jaehaerys had died because of your inaction, not divine providence. Either way, there was only regret and grief.

Outside you could hear guards. Aegon had the castle shut down in the wake of his sons death. Despite having no love, or even liking for Aegon, you felt immense pity. Helaena's descent into madness seemed natural in her case. You had not seen Aegon after the death of his son, but you heard that he tore apart his room. Viserys's model of Old Valyria had lain in pieces afterwards. Soon Kings Landing would be in mourning, the stench of hung rotting corpses would fill the air, mingling with those killed in Rhaenys's flight from Kings Landing. Kings Landing was filled with the stench of the dead.

All day you spent inside. It did not matter that there was noise coming from outside your door. Or that there was a draft blowing in from outside. You had sworn vengeance and yet here you were, paralyzed with fear and helplessness. Soon rage seeped in. There was no one preventing you from going on. Jenna was busy with other matters for now and you were not a prisoner. You as of now could not go out.

The next morning you forced yourself to get out of bed. Every cell of your body ached and your eyes throbbed painfully. Elinor had you take a cold bath which held a little. Dressed in a dark green and at the door you did not want to leave. Finally, cautiously, you stepped out. The guard watched you with observant eyes. Suddenly the hair on your skin stood on end. You did not like the way he looked at you. Who was he? In your last life you had hardly paid attention to him. That made you feel small, insignificant, and that made you angry. Very angry.

Like a ghost you wandered the halls. You thought of all the stories you had been told. Of dead princes and builders who ventured into the castles deepest bowels, never to be seen again. Perhaps you could fall into the darkness and become a mere legend. Like the small insignificant little girl you were. That night you wandered back to bed. But you did not fall asleep. Something in you, an ever vigilant part, commanded all your senses. 'Stay awake.' It told you. So that night, laying in your bed facing the door. You waited. The guards shadow lingered outside. For hours he did not move. Stained ears did not pick up another's movement. That was until another's footsteps caused you to freeze. They were lighter, silk slippers on the floor. And then the guard, the man meant to protect you, left. You could see his shadow through the bottom of your door. His footsteps echoed off the stope. In a leap of faith you got up and silently opened the door. there was no one there. You could have gone back inside. The warm safe bed was inviting. Instead you slipped outside. There was a statue near by that could provide a hiding place. Soon enough he came back, accompanied by another. The woman's face was covered. But you could tell it was not Cerilla. her mouth was small like a rosebuds. Moonlight was just enough that you could clearly see the lower half of her face. There was a small mole just above her upper lip. Analyzing, you noted her appearance. There was a slender neck and slightly cleft chin. This might very well be a friend of Cerilla's. Although they had tormented you it was hard to place these few features by memory. You tried to listen carefully to her voice. 'Has she done anything suspicious?' Rage spiked through you. Who did this girl think she was?! The guard replied that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Little did they know you were listening. A bag of money was placed into his hand and the girl was off. Waiting, you watched like a silent predator. Nails dug into the stone, your teeth were bared like a panther waiting to pounce. And soon that anger turned to elation at the daydream of making them pay. Some evening of the score that was sweeter than any pastry from the Keeps kitchen. At some point you slunk back to bed when the guard had gone. Despite having hardly rested you were wide awake, heart singing with joy.

Waking up you felt strangely calm. Too exhausted to feel anything you lay there looking up at the wooden ceiling. Last night you had dreamed of Owen. It had been so peaceful, only it ended and the nightmare continued. This waking nightmare was worse than any other. Running through forests covered in blood was better. Anything was better than this half existence.

You could hear whispering by the door. Getting up you wondered if this was also your imagination. Or perhaps a spy. You opened it and heard someone dash away, green skirts disappeared down the corner. Hastily you peered down the hall. Someone was running away. Although you could not recall her face you realized it was one of Cerilla's friends. 'What the fuck?' Creeped out, you went back inside and locked the door, leaving the key inside. Why was Cerilla spy on you? Likely she would write back to Jenna, but about what? You doubted Jenna would care very much about you simply lying in bed.

Elinor came in a few moments later. 'Y/n, do you know where the guard is?' You shook your head, keeping the truth quiet. Likely Cerilla paid him something. If the man who looked out for your safety was in her pocket, who else was? Only Elinor were you certain of. Feeling suddenly angry you quickly ate breakfast, even though a concerned Elinor advised otherwise. Once that was finished you were dressed. Having no desire to interact with anyone, and having a sudden burst of energy, you told Elinor to leave. She had been concerned but you assured her all that was needed was quiet. After waiting several minutes to be sure she was gone you got up and looked outside. The guard had not returned yet. Slipping out you walked down the halls. Few were awake this early on. The morning was young and the sun not yet in full splendor. Shadows crawled alone stones set down by men slain. The red made you think of blood and ghosts dancing along the halls. Flittering about they haunted the place lamenting their untimely, unjust deaths.

Your feet took you to the lower levels. Sun and light was no longer available the deeper you went. Torches let of small flickers of light providing a small guide. Wandering, you allowed the misery of this place to engulf you in all its terrible power. Jaehaerys's ghost seemed to be right next to you, with blood trickling to the floor. For some time you were amerced in the catacombs. When you heard voices above and realized they were that of the living you decided to leave. It would not do you any good to be caught half dressed in public. You did not like to be laughed at. To avoid company you crossed through the courtyard. The Weirwood tree called to you in its ancient voice. For a moment you looked at it before disappearing inside.

You had assumed that Cerilla could make nothing of you laying in bed. That had been a miscalculation on your part. As the day went by you heard the full story that Cerilla concocted you felt the desire to throttle her. Apparently you were so aggrieved at Aemond's marriage that you collapsed and vomited. People snickered in the hall. Poor Jaehaerys had died and they cared more about some malicious rumor. Fingernails imbedded themselves into the skin of your cold palms when Erald Swann, Cerilla's cousin, made a ballad about a whore who's lover left her for another. Fingers tightening around the knife you wondered what it would be like to plunge it into his heart.

You had hated them back then too. But now ideas emerged from the darkness, dark ones. Fantasies in which you slaughtered every one of them. At night you would lull yourself to sleep with the knowledge that one day you would get even.

The ladies gathered in the Sept to pray. Last time, a lifetime ago, you had gone to this same place for comfort. Those cold stone unfeeling gazes looked at you. Now merely a shadow in your life, you felt nothing except apathy. Some part of you felt loss. Something was dead inside of you, having been slowly strangled to death. The lights flickered and you wished to dash them across the floor sending this place up in a great blaze. Afterwards, you slipped away.

Alone you walked in those old halls. Everything else, life, happiness, companionship, felt so far away. Heart beating you wondered if it might break. Unwillingly tears rolled down your cheeks. It seemed you were not yet past such emotions.

'You know I did see the Lady Y/n today. She looked quite aggrieved.' Having not taken care to remain aware of your surroundings, you realized this was near Ellyn's chambers. Through an open door you could hear Cerilla's putrid voice wafting out. 'Well the little slut better know her place.' Ellyn. Frozen, you suddenly were pulled back to the present. Your face turned ever so slightly, like a predator listening. Stalking slightly closer you strained to hear what they would say next. 'I do apologize that she is in your service, princess.' Of course Cerilla was sucking up to her. Her white neck looked so thin, so delicate.

You turned on your heel and walked away. Nearly running you raced back to the bedroom. Voices echoed, people stared. You heard someone lady with dark hair made a snide remark in your direction. Everything before you became hazy and the voices in your heard increased with fervor. Every word was magnified, scalding you, washing of you leaving behind wounds. You imagined blood running down their faces. Nails slashing at their skin. Howls of agony.

With a gasp you nearly collided with someone. People snickered and you soon saw why. Aemond Targaryen was before you. Recoiling as if presented with a ghost you wished the ground would swallow you right up. His face was that of a stranger. The boy who swam in the alcove was long gone for you. You tried to familiarize his face to memory. But everything about Aemond was so foreign he might as well be a stranger, because he was one. And now looking at him you realized something. Your love for him was gone. It had been something you knew for a while. Yet now it became fully clear, acknowledged.

'Lady Y/n. You best be careful.' The men behind you were laughing. Every one of their faces branded themselves in your mind. You were trembling, not out of fear, but rage. They laughed and laughed and you were the greatest fool. Your pride ripped at you with all its powerful fury. Aemond looked down at you as one might a mere passer by. Clearly the past meant nothing to him. He might throw it away, but it would sustain you.

Without so much as a word you speed off into the shadows. The Red Keeps cold bearing down on you. 'Then I shall keep her in my power.' Power? What did Ellyn know about power, what did any of them know!? You had gone through time, spilt your own blood! Looking at your hands, you realized, through the haze of pain, that another type of power was open. Alys had mentioned your mothers family. Reed blood that gave you blood of the First Men. If you could harness whatever power this was.......

'Change coats.'

'Running of blood!'

Just like last time you were woken by these words. Startled awake you immediately got out of bed. Pulling out a piece of parchment you wrote the words now. Whatever they meant you knew were significant. 'Running of blood' you could understand. But what was 'change coats' about. Surely it could not mean you would change sides. No, that was impossible. The very idea was ludicrous.

This morning you were filled with a strange energy. After months of being a prisoner it was liberating to be so free. Throwing open the window you could feel the breeze and summer air. Even the stink of King's Landing was welcome.

You were resolved to fight. Armed with knowledge of future events and the power of gods you would bring all your enemies down. Now you were certain of your fate. To perish or fight. Once you had blindly stumbled into the former. Your wrists throbbed painfully. Looking down you traced fingers over the scars. How did Alys do it? What power had allowed her to change time itself? She spoke of The Old Gods and a wheel. Having grown up in the Faith of the Seven you knew little about the north. It had been considered heresy and the maesters and septas tormented you with the Seven Hells. Now the world had been turn upside down. If this cold northern power would help you then so be it. Who cared what the future would be, so long as vengeance was to be had.

There was the obvious problem of where to begin. You could hardly go up and ask someone how to do magic. Only Alys could truly help you, but she was at Harrenhal. Would it be prudent to summon her? Given your station Alys would not be able to deny you. Or she might flee like last time. And who was to say Alys would even help you. Even if you were to bring her, what then? People would talk and there was no where to keep her. Despite being a lady this was not your castle. keeping Alys a secret would be hard. At Harrenhal Alys was infamous, bringing her to the Red Keep might make your situation close. The only way you could have her come would be to attain power through marriage. Soon they would betroth you to Jason Lannister. But you doubted he would keep his nose out of your business. Yet who else could you marry then?

Most nights you lay awake mulling over the past. Elinor brought you tea to help with sleep, which remained on the night table, untouched. In the moonlight you examined the scars on your wrists. Tonight you would likely dream again. Under a loose floorboard was a small dream diary. While you figured out what to do with Alys it would be prudent to keep an eye on these dreams. Books were hidden in various parts of your room. If Cerilla was spying on you it was best to hide anything suspect. Of course these books anyone could take out. But if someone found multiple books about the north in your room they might ask question. It would be just like that bitch to get you in trouble.

Not that the books told you anything about magic. Just mentions of old traditions and the north's history. Granted, knowing more about the north might help. But you were still left deeply frustrated. This far down south it was hard to find anything that could help. Andal tradition demanded that anything south of Moat Cailin be subjected to their ways, except for the few Weirwood trees scattered around. You had tried to get information from the tree. But aside from muddled visions and whisperings, nothing useful could be deciphered. It left you in a miserable mind.

At some point in the night you thought someone was outside the door. Someone who was not your guard. Pretending to sleep you saw the outline of a skirt. 'Some spy.' You thought.

The next morning you had an idea. The girl might not be able to find anything, but you did not like to be spied on. Rage made you want to hurt this girl. She would regret ever having played a role in Cerilla's schemes. True it was a ruthless plan, definitely spiteful. But she had destroyed the only place where you might be able to hide from prying eyes. So you would do the same to her. There was nothing would now not do. Long ago in another life time you might have balked at doing such things. Now it gave you a pleasure you had never known, ever truly indulged in. You had raged against Ellyn in the past, but only when she provoked you. Never alone had you been the architect of ones misfortune. You would posses power, whatever magic you may harness, and the power to reap vengeance on your enemies.

'Y/n, Princess Ellyn has summoned you.' Pulled out of your thoughts, you saw one of Ellyn's handmaidens standing by the door. Oh, right. You were in Ellyn's service at this time. In all honesty it was a bit funny. Once she had terrorized you so, now hatred had melted that fear. Besides, there were those you now hated more. Despite that, you remembered the interaction clearly. Being imprisoned for months on end gave one time to reminisce. You had poured over every detail and thought of ways you could avenge yourself. And to your savage delight, you could. She would dismiss Cerilla and have you alone tend to her. And on a table near by were nails filers. Sharp pieces of metal to style nails, or slice through skin.

In that moment a thought occurred to you. Had the handmaiden, who had now departed, seen the smile that curled upon your face she might have thought twice. Getting up you decided that yes, you would be more than happy to help. Slowly you made the walk to Ellyn's chambers. Last time you had walked slowly out of nerves. Now you did so in order for the time to be right. Your hands shook with excitement. Oh she would regret summoning you. Whatever accusation she hurled would pale in comparison to what was about to happen. She wanted to ruin your reputation, you would destroy hers.

To enter Ellyn's bathing chambers one had to walk through her bedroom. Six ladies sat sewing or talking in low voices. Good. They would hear the scream. A few looked up and you, one or two gave greetings. No one seemed to notice you looked unnaturally gleeful. A maid opened the door and you stepped into the moist, heavily perfumed room. It was like stepping back in time, because you were stepping back in time. Everything was just as it was last time. Ellyn in a bath, Cerilla fussing over her hair, and a maid. Cerilla gave you a nasty look. Much good it did, your attention was all on Ellyn. You would deal with Cerilla later. 'You. Get the herbs.' It was strange to see Ellyn so healthy. Jaecerion had not gotten to her yet. 'You never should have been so cruel to me.' You thought.

Nothing was said as you placed the herbs in warm water. You could feel Ellyn's cold blue eyes on you. Luxuriously she stretched out and eyed you imperiously. She had no idea what was about to happen. 'I think this suits you.' You wanted to say something. Ellyn no longer scared you as she once had. But for your plan to work everything had to go as it did last time. 'The Princess is speaking to you.' Yipped Cerilla the little lap dog. 'If the Princess whishes me to answer she may say so herself.' You heard the water splash as Ellyn got up and in a moment was out of the tub. Her nails dug into your skin just as they had last time. Back then it had hurt, but since then you had faced far worse. There were no tears in your eyes. Because you were no longer that little girl. You had always been prideful, but buckled under Ellyn.

'I am the Princess, you are my lady in waiting! You are nothing compared to me.' When her grip tightened you cried out. Louder than last time so they would all heart. 'I will keep you by my side if only to further vex you. Every night I will have you wait as my husband loves me. And when I have his son you may be here to assist. Then maybe I'll send you to the Silent Sister to release you from your torment.' Cerilla and the maid left, the door slamming shut. This was so easy you wanted to laugh. Last time she had laughed, you remembered. Not this time.

'How do you know it will be a boy.' You had leaned in very closely. The whisper could only be heard by you two. A hot ugly flush crept up her cheeks. 'No laughter?' You thought. Suddenly you were thrown back against the table. Behind you could hear the clattering of nail files. 'I am simply curious, no brothers...I mean. And I have heard some men put away...deficient wives. Perhaps you, not I, will be sent to the Silent Sisters.' Ellyn's hands closed about your throat. Her thin nails scratched at the skin. 'You bitch! I will have you flayed alive!' She hissed, and unlike you her words could be heard outside. Suddenly Ellyn jerked back, because in your hand was the nail file. It sparkled n the sunlight. Pale, unmoving, Ellyn stood here frozen. Then she sneered. 'I am a princess. You can not harm me.' 'Oh, your right. You seized her by the arm. An insidious smile curled on your lips, shocking the princess. And then in front of Ellyn you cried out 'Please don't hurt me!' all the while smiling. You forced the nail file between thin fingers, the sharp edge pointed right towards you. But you can harm me'. That was when Ellyn, with horror, realized what you were about to do. But it was too late. Pointing the razor towards flesh, you stabbed.

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, trauma, mentions of child morality emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, grey reader

Taglist:

@daenerysqueenofhearts

@le-petit-lulu

@aemondswifeisme

@mandiiblanche

@gknj9495

@minakay

@strangersunghoon

@iilsenewman

@moonlightfoxx

@gknj9495

@heartb8k2

@dahlias-and-marigolds

@dumbhxeredrose

@m-riaa

@sweetsnow88

@blxkstar

@seomta

@sxlsvv

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts.

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light.

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there.

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.”

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you.

Nightmare.

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them.

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you.

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that.

Maybe someone was, but not in reality.

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures?

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest.

He’s crying.

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing.

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them.

“It’s okay.”

Kyle.

His sweet Kyle.

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team.

What a failure he is.

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing.

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly.

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half.

How he’s missed this.

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny.

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds.

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I full-heartedly agree.”

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door.

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.”

John clears his throat. “How is she?”

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair.

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks.

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.”

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks.

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.”

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says.

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.”

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own.

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier.

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha.

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can.

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs.

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take.

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage.

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about.

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next.

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can.

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger.

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again.

But what comes next?

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you?

Could they leave you alone again?

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs.

They have time.

He has to make sure you’re okay first.

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay.

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room.

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them.

You hate it.

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything?

They left you.

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do.

You’re not them.

You don’t want to be like them.

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first.

Fuck them.

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection.

Or worse.

You’d get picked up by someone else.

Graves. Shepherd.

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead.

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass.

You still haven’t spoken to them, though.

You can hardly stand to look at them.

Fuck them.

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream.

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything.

You hate it.

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them.

It makes you want to scream.

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again.

Fuck them.

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do.

Fuck. Them.

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore.

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there.

You were tortured there.

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you.

Dr. Keller cares.

It’s her job to care.

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive.

She’s the only one you want to forgive.

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world.

You should have been their world.

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first.

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change.

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first?

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass.

You thought you were dying the first time.

You could only be so lucky.

The bond.

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t.

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first.

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain.

Fuck yourself.

Fuck your omega.

Fuck your pack.

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more.

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass.

Fuck them all.

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side.

Fuck. Them. All.

You don’t want him here.

He does it now, usually in the mornings.

You hate it.

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort.

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain.

You don’t want to.

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it.

The sea.

They brought you to the sea.

John remembered. He did it for you.

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger.

You hate it.

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her.

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you.

You don’t want them.

Fuck, you desperately need them.

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t.

You can’t reach out.

You can’t take his hand.

How desperately you want to.

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch.

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.”

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie.

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness.

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore.

You don’t feel like anything anymore.

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever.

That will certainly make things easier.

But will it make things better?

No. Probably not.

It’ll make things worse.

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now.

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted.

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing?

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now.

How badly it would destroy you.

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close.

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally.

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing.

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it.

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.”

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says.

“She needs her alpha.” He argues.

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.”

“I can’t give her that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now.

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it.

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.”

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost.

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head.

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight.

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again.

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t.

To the beach and back, then.

She’s like an angel.

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is.

The Garrick beauty is genetic.

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her.

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.”

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever.

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?”

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit.

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do.

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed.

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks.

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books?

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure.

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.”

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you.

You want to do it.

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller.

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe.

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger.

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more.

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.”

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now?

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time.

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.”

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US.

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.”

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing.

You’re smiling.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long.

She’s funny too.

Stinky men.

They are that.

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement.

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller.

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you.

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.”

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.”

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile.

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered.

Oh.

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered.

Oh.

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller.

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.”

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her.

That’s not possible. You know it’s not.

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.”

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.”

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say.

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter.

Another smile tugs at your lips.

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to.

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be.

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here.

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable.

You hate it.

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.”

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better.

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.”

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology.

It shocks him to stillness and silence.

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you?

He never existed.

He left you behind.

He never cared.

Anger begins to bubble within you.

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop.

They’re all listening.

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to.

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!”

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too.

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation?

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump.

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt.

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it.

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly.

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.”

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue.

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels.

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!”

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all.

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.”

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all.

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!”

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it.

The bond.

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all.

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore.

If you fall, you’ll never get up again.

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude?

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind.

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body.

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.”

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being.

Liar.

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through.

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever.

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly.

Liar.

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave.

So many things he should have done differently.

You can’t change the past.

Liar.

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them.

Not without taking drastic measures.

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state.

You did it because they left you.

You did it because you thought the abandoned you.

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again.

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ.

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below.

You think they left you.

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language.

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words.

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger.

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp.

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.”

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight.

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts.

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured.

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit.

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.”

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary.

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll.

It was necessary, but at what cost?

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress.

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate.

But how?

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer.

You need someone, and it can’t be her.

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing.

You need someone.

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win.

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can.

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away.

Just in case.

One can never be too careful.

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her.

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe...

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #John mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alpha/beta/Omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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yanderedrabbles · 1 month ago

Text

Yandere Desert Bandit - DubCon

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rules his tribe with an iron fist. Heartless, he's called. His soul as unmoving and unkind as the desert itself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who prays to no God but the desert and her bleached bones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who dreams every night of a woman, a lover as dear to him as water in the hamada.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finds your caravan by pure luck. People seldom travel this route - the springs are fickle and even one dried well is a death sentence.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches from a distance, dipping behind the dunes if anyone looks his way for too long.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hears the desert wind whispering in its sibilant way and knows this caravan is special somehow. Who calls his band together to raid you, even though they've already hit three camel trains in the last week.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who waits for nightfall before he brings steel and fire and choas down on you. Who revels in the blood he spills, each drop an offering to the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees a figure running from him, their cloak streaming behind them. Yandere! Desert Bandit whose blood is up, who wants nothing more than a good hunt.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides you down, his scimitar close enough to cut your cheek before you dive away from him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leaps from his horse without even stopping her. Who looks to you less a man and more a jinn. How else could he be so quick and so cruel?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who catches your wrist as you swing your dagger at him, laughing like you're nothing but a hare in his trap.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees your face and feels his blood turn to ice.

It's you. The woman from his dreams.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises suddenly that they were no mere dreams. No, they were a premonition, a promise. A gift from the desert herself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who won't let his promised bride slip away, no matter how you twist and turn in his grasp. Who grips your wrist so tightly you have no choice but to drop your dagger.

Yandere! Desert Bandit with eyes rimmed in kohl, glinting gold with the reflected firelight. Glinting gold with lust.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who brings his sword to your throat and threatens to spill your heart's blood all over the thirsty sand if you don't come with him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who forces you onto his horse and is quick to climb up behind you. One arm wrapped around your waist so he can savour the curve of your body. A woman in his arms, his woman.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who calls to his men to meet him at sunrise so that he can steal a few hours with you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who feels your hips rubbing against him in the saddle, no matter how fast or slow he rides. Who has to grit his teeth against his desire.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who smells of smoke and musk and blood.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides almost half the night to bring you to an oasis.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leads you to pool of water and commands you to drink. Who watches the water drip down your neck and catch on your collarbones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who has never been more desperate to lap up spilt water, even with a reservoir to infront of him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sits down in front of you and unwraps his litham. His hair is dark and smooth as oil. It falls past his shoulders and he gruffly tells you to brush and braid it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who wants to moan when he feels your nails running along his scalp and neck.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slowly turns to face you when you're done. He's on his knees like a supplicant and he doesn't even know it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rests his hands on your thighs. You fear the heat of him - his hands, his eyes - will surely burn you alive.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who offers you a choice. You can stay here in the oasis and he'll leave you as you are - virginal, untouched.

Or he can make you his bride. On this night, in this place.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your breath hitch, who sees the doubt creep across your face.

Why? You ask. Why not just take what you want?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who plays with your hair while he speaks. Who does it so absent mindedly that it's almost proprietary. Like he owns you already.

I can steal gold and jewels. I can steal the breath from a man's lungs and the life from his body. But this, this one thing, must be given willingly.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your heart war within you. The desert has you trapped more tightly than chains or bars. Even in an oasis, you can't survive on your own. You need him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who holds perfectly still as you lean forward and kiss him. It's chaste almost, a shy press of your lips against his. And he's thinking that there'll be nothing chaste between you before the night is done.

You don't know it but a kiss given willingly is all he needs to appease the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays his palm across the nape of your neck and pulls you back to him. Who bites at your lips until you give in and open your mouth. Who holds you in place when you try and pull away from his tongue and its ruthless advances.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who guides your hand to his cock and groans at just the touch of your fingers through his clothes. Who throws his head back and grits his teeth when you hesitantly stroke him, your hands so much smaller and softer than his own.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches you through the tangle of hair that's blown across his face. His little blushing bride. His desert prize.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who knows only roughness and cruelty. Whose first instinct is to throw you down and rip the clothes from your body. Who has to dig his hands into the sand to stop himself from doing just that.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays you down on the soft sand, the firelight casting his face in flickering shadow. There is more than lust there, though you can't see it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who runs his hands slowly down your waist, grabbing the fat of your hips before moving lower. Your thighs are squished closed and he works his fingers into your flesh until he practically pries them apart.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans down and spits on your cunt and uses his fingers to work it in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who clicks his teeth in irritation when you look away from him. Who grabs your jaw and guides you back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit whose fingers keep digging into your cheeks as he gets ready to enter you. He sees the doubt, the fear, the guilty lust in your eyes and he wants to drink it all in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who tries so damn hard to be gentle and slow. But once he has the tip in he can't even try to hold himself back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams himself the rest of the way in. Who snarls through his gritted teeth like an animal and digs his hands into the flesh of your hips.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who doesn't even register the way you scream or try and twist away from him. He has you now and he's going to fuck you hard and fast until he's satisfied.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who pounds into you with all those years of longing and lust and nights when he would have fucked just about anything because he dreamt of you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who uses your hips to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. His escaped hair hanging around his face and his canines gleaming.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hooks one arm around your lower back and literally lifts you off the ground so he can go deeper.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans forward and bites into your tits. Hard enough to leave bruises that turn purplish blue by the morning.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who deep down in his conscious mind knows he's hurting you like crazy. But it's all animal instinct in control and he doesn't stop even though you're begging him to please stop, please, it hurts.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams into you as deep as he can when he comes. Who forces a rough, biting kiss onto you even though you try and turn away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who digs his hands into the sand next to your head and just spends a minute trying to get his breath back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finally pulls out of you. Who slowly becomes human again.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises his bride is a crying, bleeding mess under him. Who makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can slowly pick you up.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who walks into the water and holds you close as the blood and tears wash away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who coos at you until you lift your head from his neck and look at him. He looks apologetic almost, but his gold eyes are still filled with want, with devouring lust. You are the bandit's bride and there's no escaping it.

He truly was the worst of thieves.

#steal a woman's coins or her chastity #whats the difference to a thief #yandere #yandere noncon #yandere scenarios #reader insert #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere lemons #yandere x reader #yandere oc x you #x reader #desert nomad

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