#my heart won’t stop pounding and my blood feels cold

[luxuriant-starlight]

damn. having c-ptsd is fucked up huh

[gojorgeous]

"MINE, MINE, MINE."

pairing: alpha!geto x omega!fem!reader summary: your doctor won’t refill your prescription until you’ve reset your cycle. you’re desperate for that refill, but geto’s not having it. content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), a/b/o dynamics, nsfw, dubcon? (reader doesn’t want a heat but it’s medically necessary (LMAO what)), established relationship, unprotected sex, breeding, praise, pet names, knotting, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, spit, blood, oral (fem!receiving), so much licking and smelling?, geto and reader are just downright feral LMAO, lmk if i missed anything. a/n: have y’all figured out that i have a breeding kink yet… anyway, this is the first a/b/o fic that i’ve ever written but i just read one and was feeling *inspired*. if people want i might do a prequel sort of thing for this that goes more in-depth about how they met and stuff. lmk! also, i have a vampire gojo fic planned hehe get ready bbs. if you want more of my omegaverse fics check out my alpha!gojo fic here! and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 5.2k

“No.” 

No? You shift in your seat, cold and plastic, sure you must have heard him wrong. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, an anxious habit.

“I can’t refill the prescription. I’m sorry, but, frankly, it would be completely irresponsible of me to do so. I’m shocked your previous physician prescribed them for so long.” Fingers find yours and twine them together. Your eyes flash to Geto, but he’s only staring at your new doctor, staring with that furrow in his brow he only gets when he’s worried.

Your new, soon-to-be old, doctor sighs again, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “You need to have a heat as soon as possible, allow your body to recalibrate. Indefinite use of suppressants is dangerous and unhealthy. They are meant to manage your cycles, not stop them altogether.” 

Sweat beads on your palms. He can’t be serious. But it’s his first opinion. Surely there’s another option.

“I-I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t think I’m understanding.” 

Another glance at Geto reveals that he’s frowning now. When his eyes find yours you see the decision there, one he’s already made without you. Your stomach drops.

The doctor sighs and suddenly the walls of the office feel small, tight, suffocating. The twinge of alcohol and chemicals in the air makes your nose scrunch. “Let me say this clearly. I will not refill your prescription for suppressants, nor will any other reputable physician. You have been taking them continuously for far too long. You risk permanent damage should you delay a proper cycle any longer.” The doctor glances to Geto, then back to you. “Go home with your alpha and allow nature to take its course. It’s what’s best.” 

Your eyes widen with realization– you are not leaving this office with what you came for. Your heart pounds and your palms sweat. “Th-that can’t happen, doctor. I need my suppressants. My job- I can’t be out that long a-and Geto can’t either, we–” 

“We will go home,” Geto interrupts, and his tone is final. “Thank you, doctor, for the advice.” 

Geto pulls you to your feet, gently but firmly. He leaves no question about the fact that you’re leaving. You can feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. You ignore it. You turn to your new doctor, silently smiting him. Why did your old one have to retire?

“Doctor, you don’t underst–” 

“Thank you again,” Geto interrupts.

Before you can make another sound, another protest, Geto pulls you through the door, out of the office, and back to the car. He opens the door for you, as he always does, except this time you’re not so eager to accept his chivalry. 

“Suguru,” you bite out. His eyes meet yours, but they are surprisingly gentle. So calm. How is he always calm? 

“Just get in, baby. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

You debate saying no, but you can’t bring yourself to start a fight when he’s being so good. You grumble when you climb in, buckling your seatbelt before Geto can do it for you.

The engine revs to life, but you hardly notice. You’re already scrolling your phone, the search bar reading a simple and straightforward “doctors offices near me”. You scroll right past the first ten, for once in your life wanting a doctor that’s a little sketchy. You scroll further– still not sketchy enough. Someone who’ll give you the prescription you need, even if it’s not necessarily… ethical. Or maybe you could get some on the street? Surely there was some kind of dealing ring for that. There was a dealing ring for everything, right?

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but his fingers are tight around the steering wheel, skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

You lift your phone to your ear, dialing the first office that looked relatively shitty enough. “Getting a second opinion,” you answer. 

Suguru plucks the phone so swiftly from your fingers that you hardly even notice it’s gone. You see him end the call and slip it into his back pocket, out of your reach. 

“Hey!” You scramble across the center console, hopelessly grabbing at your lost phone, your last hope. 

Suguru grabs your wrist, restraining you far too easily for your liking. “You’re not getting it back,” he says. His eyes never leave the road. 

Your brows pinch and anger boils in your stomach. “This is not for you to decide. It’s my body.”

He glances at you, unconcerned. Still calm. “And you’re not in a headspace to be making a responsible decision about it, so I’m making it for you.”

Your jaw drops and you pry your wrist free of his grasp. You escape, but you know it’s only because he allows it. “I am of perfectly sound mind, thank you.” 

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re blinded by desperation.” 

“It’s still not for you to decide!” When you don’t notice any change in his expression, you switch tactics– from anger to honesty. You let your face fall, let your true feelings creep through. “You know how much I hate it, Su.” 

Finally, he cracks. It’s instantaneous, the way he melts for you- the way the soft smile finds his lips and his hand finds yours, twining your fingers together. “I know, but you have to, baby. You heard the doctor.” 

You clench your jaw and avoid the sting of tears behind your eyes. You had heard the doctor, but you weren’t ready. Maybe next month, when you’d had more time to mentally prepare. 

Your skin crawled. You hated it, hated this. You hadn’t had a heat in years, avoiding them like the plague. You hated how vulnerable they made you, how they put you at the mercy of another. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Suguru– you did. You trusted him more than anyone, anything, but you still hated the feeling of being so completely helpless, so completely out of control, even if it was Suguru you were submitting to. 

For most of your life, you’d successfully hidden your omega status. With the help of suppressants, you’d passed as a beta until your early twenties. Then you met Geto. 

You’d met at work. He was cute, beautiful even, you’d thought, but he screamed alpha– and alphas could be dangerous, especially for hiding, unclaimed omegas like you. You’d stayed away as long as you could and, for a while, you were quite successful. You avoided him in the halls, sat at the opposite end of the table in meetings, replied to emails succinctly but politely. All was well until you’d been trapped in an elevator with him one morning, biting your lip anxiously as you waited to reach the twelfth floor. He’d smelled so good that day, perhaps due to an oncoming rut. You hadn’t been able to resist inching closer, taking deeper breaths. Suguru would later tell you that he’d suspected your hidden status, but he had no reason to question you. At least, not until he had you up against the elevator wall with his face buried in your neck. One deep whiff was all he’d needed to know exactly what you were, even with suppressants in your system.

You’d dated for a little over a year, until you’d decided he was the one. Your fingers dust over the mate mark on your throat, the one that had not only made you undoubtedly Suguru’s, but also the one that had revealed to the world exactly what you were. There was no hiding your true identity with an alpha’s scarred mark on your neck. 

Suguru had never seen you through a heat– no one had. You’d taken your suppressants daily, ever since you met him and even long before that. He’d claimed you on a day like any other, no heat necessary. He hadn’t had a rut in all these years, either. When he felt one coming on all he had to do was pop a single pill and all was well– apparently with none of the nasty side effects that came along with your suppressants. Another unfair privilege of being an alpha you supposed. 

“Sugu, I can’t do this.” Your lip is raw from how much you’ve been chewing on it by the time you reach home. 

Suguru softly shuts the door behind you, lifting your twined hands to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. 

“Yes you can. I know you can.” 

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand– doesn’t know what this will do to you, how it will break you. While you hadn’t had a heat in years, you had experienced them before. You loathed them more than anything, loathed the way your mind was a slave to your body and not the other way around, loathed the way your whole body pulsed and throbbed, loathed the way it made you feel so… weak. “I can’t. It’s-it’s-” Your hands come up to cover your face. You sigh and feel the blush crawling beneath your cheeks. “It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and then a soft sight. Suguru pries your hands from your face gently. When you meet his eyes, he’s all business.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” 

You shake your head and pull away, pacing. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that, Sugu. Not even you.” 

Strong hands catch your waist, holding you still. “It’s not a question. It’s happening– for the sake of your health.” 

You scoff and shake your head. “It’s not–” 

His thumb presses to your lips with just enough pressure to demand silence. The omega in you coos to listen, to submit– the other part of you reels with annoyance.

“End of discussion.” 

He’s closer now and you can feel waves of his breath skating across your skin. It’s like a drug, one that the primal side of you can never get enough of. Give in, give in, give in, your omega begs. Listen to your alpha… You try not to focus on the fact that he smells good enough to eat. You know what he’s doing– using his dynamic to persuade you, to make you see his way, playing to the omega you can usually hide so carefully.

“Sugu…” you say. You intend to be angry but you trail off when his eyes catch yours. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your heart melts at the words. He waits. Maybe he knows that the smell of his skin on yours is playing tricks on your mind. You wage a battle within. Every instinct urges you to agree and with every passing second it becomes harder to disagree. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps it's time you give in for once. Let him take care of you, your omega purrs. You’re nodding before you realize what you’ve done.

Suguru kisses you quickly, allowing no time for takebacks. When he pulls away he gets to work. He whips his phone from his pocket and you listen to him talking to his boss, your boss, saying that you’ll both be out of work for a week on “family” leave. Your face heats when you realize that your boss now knows exactly what you two are going to be doing for the foreseeable future. Suguru kisses you one last time before he’s out the door, off to get enough food and supplies to last a week. You won’t be leaving your apartment for some time. You don't fail to notice that he doesn’t return your phone before he’s gone.

~

You don’t notice a difference, even after the sun is gone. It’s not surprising, considering you usually take your suppressants at night– it’ll take a little while longer for them to fully exit your system… you hope. When you’re brushing your teeth you stare at the empty prescription bottle longingly. 

You join Suguru in bed. The moment you crawl onto the mattress he pulls you closer into his bare chest. You savor the way your bodies fit so perfectly- like he was meant for you and you alone. His front curls around your back, a leg slotted between your thighs. 

“Feel anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head to hide your swallow. You almost shiver when Suguru buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You feel him harden against your backside. He must be able to smell your approaching heat even before you can. Part of you expects instinct to take hold of him, for him to make a move, but he only presses a kiss to your jaw and holds you tighter. 

“Sleep, baby.” 

For once, you follow orders without a fight.

–

Hot. Too hot. 

When your eyes flutter open, you feel the pounding of your heart, the labor of your breath, and the growing ache between your legs. 

You sit up so fast you see stars, panic flooding your veins. No, no, no, no, no. This was wrong, you’d made the wrong choice. You couldn’t do this. Already, you could feel control slipping from your grasp, your consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral. You scramble, preparing to stand, to find your phone, to lock yourself away and suffer through this on your own.

“Deep breaths, baby.” 

Only then do you realize Suguru is already awake. He’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, both a comfort and a restraint. 

“Can’t-” Your breaths are ragged and so are your words. “Can’t do this, Sugu-” 

“Yes, you can.” He whispers. He pulls you closer, tighter against him. “You will.” 

You shake your head frantically, tears pooling on your lashes. When you turn, Suguru is staring at your neck, at the mate mark on your throbbing pulse. His jaw is clenched when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s restraining himself, you realize. A glance down reveals he’s already painfully hard in his pants. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, taking in your scent, waiting for you to wake. No doubt his rut has already been triggered.

His eyes raise to yours and he pauses at the tears that leak down your cheeks. He leans closer, and the scent emanating from his neck makes you groan against your will. His kisses away the tears. Slowly, one at a time. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Your body pulls him closer, even as your mind pushes back. “My phone, Sugu,” you panic. “Gotta gimme my phone. C-call a new doctor.” 

He shakes his head and when you start to squirm he only holds you tighter, holds you in place. 

“No, baby.” 

You whimper, seeking the scent gland on his neck against your will. The smell makes your clit throb almost painfully. 

“Sugu, please,” you cry. Tears stream from your eyes, staining your lover’s skin. 

“‘S gonna be okay. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it, love.” 

With each passing moment, you feel your fight slipping further and further away. Suguru rubs at the muscles in your back until you’re slumped against him, pitifully moaning like a wounded animal. It’s not long before your body takes the reins, until you start desperately humping at his thigh, your clit throbbing almost painfully. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” 

Your eyes roll back at the praise and when Suguru grips your waist you cry out at the touch. Everywhere his skin meets yours feels electric. You’re burning, burning, burning. It’s not until Suguru lays you down on your back that you see the sopping patch of slick you’ve left on his thigh. You whimper at the sight. 

“‘S okay, baby. ‘Ve got you.”

Suguru is looking nearly as lost to the lust as you are. Only his willpower and intent keep him from shredding away your panties and breeding your cunt full that very second. He’s never been in the presence of a scent so intoxicating. He’s never been with you, or any omega, through a heat. He thought you smelled amazing before, but now… He is lost to you, lost to the heat he feels emanating from every inch of your skin, to the honeyed scent pouring from your neck, to the slick he sees staining through your panties. His dick twitches in his pants. 

“Love you so much, baby. Gonna take such good care of ya,” he whispers. Instinct drives him forward until he’s plastered his lips to your jaw, licking and biting at the skin. You nearly scream at the sensation. You feel his touch everywhere, all at once. With your last coherent thoughts you know that this heat will be unlike any other you’ve ever experienced. It’s already so intense you can hardly think, and you’ve only just begun.

“Sugu,” you plead. 

The sound of his name on your lips breaks him. His hand dips across your stomach, thumbing past the edge of your panties until he’s running his finger through your slit, gathering your slick and rubbing it against your clit. 

You scream and thrash, so sensitive it nearly hurts, but he only moves to pin you beneath him, forcing you to take everything he gives. 

“Gonna make you feel ‘s good, baby.” he hums. He’s lost to you, to your desires, to your needs. Every piece of him screams to please you, to take care of you, in every way possible.

He continues his messy circles on your clit and until you’re gasping, hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

“S-Sugu…” you whine.

The growl that rips from his throat has you arching your back and bearing your throat in an act of submission. You hear a tear and watch your panties hit the floor. Your shirt follows and then you’re completely bare beneath your alpha. His eyes go black at the sight, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see a smidgen of their usual brown. There’s a deep rumble in his chest that has you keening and reaching for him, needing him. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue finds your neck, laving sloppily at your scent gland and the sensation is so delicious that you writhe beneath him. 

His fingers slide down your stomach, dipping between your thighs and rubbing at your clit. The touch is somehow gentle despite the complete and total hunger in his eyes, but it has you whining nonetheless. Every place he touches you, which is nearly everywhere, stings so delightfully that your eyes are already rolling back.

But you can’t wait. You can’t. Your body is starved, rabid, and you know what you need.

“Ssssugu… please…” your words are hardly above a whisper, barely a breath, but your alpha still hears you, still knows what you want, what you need. 

“I got you, baby… shhhhh…” He gives a final lick to your scent gland before he’s leaning back on his knees, parting your thighs wide, exposing your leaking cunt. You can feel a puddle of slick beneath your ass, your hole clenching desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. 

Warm hands slide up your skin and settle on your hips, tugging you a little further down the bed. You whimper, but don’t have time to say anything before you feel him slipping through your folds. A glance down reveals his weeping tip, achingly flushed, bumping and rubbing against your clit. When did his pants come off? You don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that the sight steals your breath away. 

“Gonna knot you good, princess.” 

You nod, wanting nothing more than for him to make good on his promise. You claw and grip at his arms, chanting his name endlessly. His chest rumbles again and your thighs part further on instinct. Finally, he gives you what you want. You feel him pressing in, fat tip stretching you wide. One of his hands moves to press down on your tummy and the combination has tears pooling in your eyes. 

He slides in slowly. With every inch you think he must be done, that you can’t take any more. But you can, and you do. When he’s finally fully in your jaw is hanging open in ecstasy and your eyes are rolled back in your skull. His fingers brush your clit and your hips jerk. 

“That’s it. So good, baby. So fucking good.” 

Your tears flood over, racing down your cheeks. He’s over you again, loose strands of black hair brushing your skin and forcing a whimper from your throat. He licks away your tears, lapping at your cheeks like you’re a fucking lollipop. His hips start thrusting in time with his licks, and it’s more than you can handle. Your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re begging. Pleading, whining, screaming for more. He gives it to you. One hand finds yours, twining your fingers together as he pounds into you so hard he’s rattling your skull. He’s licking at your scent gland again, driving you further and further toward a cliff you’re afraid to fall from. You think this orgasm might shatter you, might break you so thoroughly you’ll never be put back together again. You can feel it tightening at your core with each thrust, each lick, each kiss. 

“Fuck,” you hear him growl and whimper at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “‘M gonna bite you, princess. Gonna mark you up and knot you so good you’ll see fucking stars.” You pant beneath him, unable to word how excited you are by his words, how deliciously they roll across your skin and seep into your spine. “Tell me you didn’t take your pill, baby. Tell me I can breed this pussy full and it won’t go to waste.” He’s not talking about your suppressants you know, but rather the contraceptives you take in tandem with them. Of course you took it, but suddenly something makes you wish you hadn't. “‘M gonna flush ‘em down the fucking toilet. Never letting you take that shit again.”

The primal part of you surges forward at the idea. It chants deep in your mind. Yes, yes, yes…

“Suguuu… please…” It seems like those are the only words your tongue can form.

His lips press to yours, shushing you. “Shhh, baby. Don’ worry. I got you.” He licks across your cheek and down across your jaw until he finds your scent gland again. His thrusts pick up again and you think you might pass out from how good you feel, from how tight your muscles are coiling. You can feel his knot pulsing inside you, preparing to fill you to the brim. You’ve never felt more ready for anything. 

“Sugu–” 

And it’s at that moment that he makes good on his promise. His teeth sink into your neck and you feel your bond snap taut like a string, pulsing with the closeness of your connection. It’s pure ecstasy. Suguru’s knot swells, notching tightly inside you and when you feel his cum pulsing into your womb it’s all too much. You think you must be screaming from the pleasure but you only hear the ringing in your ears as your orgasm washes over you. Your muscles clench, your toes curl, your back arches, you see those stars Suguru promised. Heat tingles through your limbs and down your spine and you think you’ve probably just melted into the mattress. But you haven’t, and when your vision returns, you’re panting and staring at the ceiling. 

Suguru is above you and you can feel him still cumming, still releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum into you. The sensation makes you groan and he laps at your neck, cleaning up the blood from the new mark he’s just given you. Your consciousness trickles back in, the primal piece of you partially sated for the time being. You remember the context of your situation, why you’re here and not at work, what you’re doing. You’re puzzled by why you’d been so panicked by the idea of a heat before. How could you have been so reluctant, so scared, when nothing has ever felt this right?

Suguru is peppering you with kisses now, pulling you tight to his chest and rolling you both onto your sides where you’ll stay until his knot softens. 

“Sleep, princess,” he says and he uses that tone that always compels you to listen, to please. You happily do as he says and when your eyes drift shut it’s not long before you’re lost to a world of comfortable darkness. 

~

You wake to the throbbing again. All of the pent up need Suguru had sated has returned with a vengeance. You need him again, but it appears he already knows that. 

You feel him between your legs, his hair fully loose now and tickling the insides of your thighs. He’s eating you out, slurping up the cum that’s leaking down your thighs and spitting it back onto your cunt. It’s filthy, disgusting, and you love it.

“Sugu–” you gasp and your hips buck. His eyes lock with yours and the smile he gives you nearly makes you come on the spot. He holds your gaze as he licks one last long stripe over your folds. You whimper and clench around nothing. Empty, empty, empty…

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers against your skin. He’s kissing his way up your body now, leaving little circles of spit that cool when they touch the air and make you shiver. “‘Y smelled so good…” 

You whine and whimper, clawing at his back and leaving scratches you think might draw blood. You’re too worried about getting him inside of you to check.

You’re gasping like you’ve never had a breath of air in your life, like you’ve drowned and every touch he gives you fills your lungs with much-needed oxygen. His hands rub gently at your waist, but it’s not enough. You want him to wreck you, ruin you. You say as much. 

“M-more…” you beg and when he hums against your neck you squirm desperately. Warm hands dig into your flesh and suddenly you find yourself flipped onto your stomach. You feel Suguru behind you, pushing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands find your hips again and lift, propping you up with your face still pressed to the pillows. When you whimper he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine. 

“‘S okay, baby. Relax. Lemme take care ‘ve you.” 

Yes, yes, yes, you think. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you still when he feeds his dick into you, one inch at a time. You cry out, tearing at the sheets and begging for more, even when you already feel like you’re splitting in half. When he’s finally seated inside you he drapes himself over your back, brushing your hair over one shoulder to expose your neck. He leans in to lick you again, thrusting sharply the moment his tongue brushes your skin. You wail, pressing your face to the sheets and attempting to rock yourself back against him. One of his hands smooths over the flesh of your ass as he sets a pace, one that makes you bite down on a pillow to muffle your screams. 

“No.” Suguru uses that tone that makes you listen, that one that calls instinctively to the omega inside you, that urges you to please. He reaches for your pillow, tossing it aside and letting his hand curl around your throat as he continues to fuck you, letting his fingers feel the vibrations of every noise you make. “Let me hear you, baby. Always let me hear you.” 

You nod, eager to make him happy, eager to do as he says. You don’t dare restrain a single sound, eyes rolling back. The angle he has you at has your thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so close. You feel his heartbeat against your back, feel his tongue on your skin, his hand on your throat, his cock at your cervix.

When he groans, you groan with him, feeling his dick pulse inside you, his knot beginning to swell. You need it, need it so bad you can hardly stand it. 

“P-please, please, please–”

He swells inside you, locking your bodies together as his orgasm hits. It’s all you need to find your own. You wail into the mattress, cunt clenching and legs trembling until you collapse, flattening against the beg. Suguru follows you down, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

“Take it all, baby. Good girl. Take it all…” 

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. All you can feel is his cum flooding your insides, pulsing and pumping so deep into you that you swear your tummy is swelling with the sheer amount of it. Still, your body wants more, clenching and milking him for every last drop, just like he asked.

When you both come down from your orgasms he pulls you into his chest once again, whispering promises of protection and love that lull you into a trance-like state of happiness. When you fall asleep again, he’s chanting a word that your omega repeats right back to him. “Mine, mine, mine.”

When you wake again it’s to the sound of Geto staying true to his word and flushing every last birth control pill you have straight down the toilet. Your omega surges at the idea, but one mewl from you and he’s back in your arms, like you’re somehow the one in charge, not him. With every passing moment, you being to think that might be true- that perhaps a heat does not makes you as weak as you thought. Your alpha submits as much to you as you submit to him.

The week is spent in a frenzy. You do not measure by the numbers on the clock or where the sun is in the sky, rather you know time only as how long it’s been since Suguru’s been locked inside you. If it were up to you, you’d never stop, but Geto forces you to sleep, to eat, to bathe. Of course, he’s never far away when you’re following his instructions and you usually get a kiss and his knot as a reward for being such a good girl. 

It’s ten days later when your heat finally starts to wane. It feels as though every inch of you is covered in him. Bites, hickies, kisses, cum… no part of you has been left untouched. Suguru has had you everywhere. The bed, the shower, the bath, the kitchen. Every surface in the whole apartment reeks of sex and slick. He never keeps you too far from the bedroom, though, where you’ve piled up mountains of his shirts and sheets. Anything that smells like him, anything that can keep you tethered in those brief moments when Suguru goes to fetch you food or water or run you a bath. He takes care of you, just like he promised. 

When you wake completely clear-headed for the first time in well over a week, it’s to Suguru’s arms and lips. He’s got you all wrapped up in him, his arms locked around your waist almost like he expects you to bolt. You almost do when everything comes flooding back to you, this time with a completely clear conscience. But then he kisses your neck and whispers a delightful little, “welcome back, baby” against your neck and suddenly you’re realizing how… revitalized you feel, like a part of you has finally been properly satisfied after years of waiting. You’d always hated this, always hated the part of you that begged and cowered, hated heats- but maybe with Suguru… they really weren’t all that bad.

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

link: alpha!gojo fic

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[girlsworldillusion]

Perzys se ānogar

Pairing: Aemond x Sister!Reader

Rated: +18

Warnings: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: DUB-CON/NON-CON, INCEST.

Contains forced sex, targcest and yandere behavior. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

-- English IS NOT my first language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Summary: When you refuse to fly with him to Harrenhal and support his plans for revenge, Aemond loses his mind. Angry and afraid of losing the only person he has left, he makes a decision that will change everything.

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @zaldritzosrose

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

"Sister."

His voice breaks through the quiet crackle of the night, setting off an irregular beat in your heart, but you give him no sign of recognition. Instead, you continue to dart your eyes with interest over the orange glow of the many lights coming from the houses and commercial points scattered throughout the streets and alleys of Kings Landing. There is a certain grace and comfort in the knowledge that these people, countless of them, have no idea of the cracks spreading through the walls of the Red Keep right now.

"We share the same blood, you and I. I know you wish no harm to anyone, but at a time like this, the good of the Realm depends on us." He begins, not at all put off by your apparent lack of attention, his soft, cat-like footsteps barely audible against the stone floor as he walks towards you, stopping only when there is a short distance between your bodies. "Our mother is not a dragonrider, she cannot understand that you and I have a true calling to hear."

From the corner of your vision you see him reach out to touch your arm, and the alarmed gasp that abruptly leaves your lips along with the flinch of your body in response is noticeable, obvious enough to stop him in his tracks. You both stare at his hand, raised in the air just inches from your wrist - your wrist that, though hidden by the material of your robe, still throbs with the memory of the pain from where he grabbed it and pulled violently this afternoon, the marks of his fingers now carved into your soft skin.

Aemond clenches his jaw, his one eye shining with something very raw as he quickly understands the reason for your reaction, but you don't deign to make any further effort to understand what that look really means. Your hurt eyes linger on him just long enough to make sure he won't try to touch you again, after which you slowly turn your head to face the solitude of the night once more, your slightly shaky breathing rising and falling in your chest as you try to calm yourself.

He falls silent after that, and you suppress the urge to look at him despite yourself, your fingers nervously gripping the cold edge of the small wall of your private balcony. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your brother’s presence disturbing your previous calm with every second that stretches, until all you feel is apprehension and anxiety.

“Come with me to Harrenhal,” he says after a long silence where it’s clear you won’t say anything, his demand wrapped in nothing but a raspy crackle of his voice, a tone almost trembling at the edges. “We will lay waste Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You take a deep breath, the chilly night wind gently rustling the strands of your hair.

“And if I refuse?” Despite your inner turmoil and fear, your voice is surprisingly flat when you speak, cool even. He doesn’t answer right away, but even as you stare straight ahead you can see the way his body stiffens beside you. “Will you burn me as you did to Aegon?”

There’s a pause around you, a dull echo of silence that’s too long and tense to ignore, where not even the background noises of the city below can be heard anymore — as if even the night has gone silent before the gravity of your accusation.

“That is a lie.” Aemond breathes beside you in a dangerously low tone, as if he’s gritting his teeth, and you finally turn to him, lifting your chin to glare at him in defiance. His handsome face is painted with disappointment and spite, clear to you from any angle, even though he’s trying very hard to keep it hidden with his sharp, tense features. The thin, watery film glistening in his eye, however, is entirely unexpected, unsettling enough to almost distract you.

"Really?" You say instead, swallowing the wave of discomfort at seeing such raw emotion on your brother's face. He doesn't respond, his single purple eye still shining with unshed tears, his expression pained and wounded, as if you'd plunged the blade of the sharpest dagger into his chest. You squirm under the weight of his gaze, uncomfortable, but trying to remain resolute - knowing your accusation is true, as much as it hurts both of you. Despite everything, you love your brother with all your might, knowing that you're the cause of that expression on his face hurts you to the point that you feel slightly nauseous.

"Is it really possible that I'm losing you too, sister?" He whispers intensely, breaking the silence as he approaches you, pinning you against the wall and his own much taler body. His expression slides into something that is less of a sad expression and more of a grimace. Hurt, angry, like an animal that has been kicked too much and now chooses violence as defense. You know immediately that something just isn’t right, just from his aura. He looks tired, overwhelmed, and irritated, a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Aemond has always protected you, always looked out for you like a true older brother would. He was once your safety and security figure, someone loyal and caring that you knew you could trust no matter what.

But now?

Before you can think about it any further, you’re thrown off balance. His hand cups your jaw carefully, ignoring your scared, suspicious gaze, slowly sliding his knuckles down your face to your neck, rubbing deceptively gentle circles with his thumb over a pulse point on your skin — though his gaze burns into yours with a sharp stab of anger and raw hurt. You sigh reflexively, feeling a series of goosebumps on your arms and neck in response to that look, some kind of instinct ingrained in you telling you to retreat, to run away.

Your brother is a nearly empty shell of the man you knew, and even though you want more than anything to still be able to trust him — to believe that his true self is still buried somewhere deep inside this shadow of revenge and blind desire for power before you, keeping your faith is harder than any challenge you may have faced in the past.

“Hmm?” He presses for an answer, jaw tight and gaze dangerous, “Tell me. Would you do this to me, sister? Would you dare leave me like them?” His thumb stops stroking your skin in that gentle way so that his fingers finally wrap around the circumference of your throat with measured slowness, and you feel your breath quicken.

Run, run, run.

He’s not thinking — he definitely isn’t, because if he were, he would have realized that what he’s doing is scaring you — his sweet, sheltered little sister. He would have realized that the way he gradually tightens his fingers on your delicate neck wrings a shiver of fear from your body, tilting his head closer to watch with sick interest the way your plush lips part with a ragged sigh. He would have noticed how your eyes are now also filled with tears, a silent, alarmed question swimming in them. If he had been thinking, he would have been able to stop himself from taking the first step towards an act he was doomed to regret later.

He’s not thinking.

Aemond would never treat you this way – you’re certain of it, certain that he cared enough about you not to humiliate you so completely.

“I-I...brother, what-” His other hand travels to your waist, fingers tracing the opening of the robe you wear over your nightgown and you silence your fearful voice immediately. He stops at the hem of the soft material, caressing the delicate cloth beneath. With every movement of his fingers, he keeps his heavy gaze on you, dark, sharp features slanting over you, merciless and without compassion, his eye still bright with those tears he proudly refuses to shed. You tremble in shock, your hands finally thawing at your sides as you reach up to grab his wrist, struggling futilely to pull him away from your neck.

"Aemond...please, you're scaring me." Your voice shakes slightly at the pressure in your throat, at the grip he refrains from releasing, but you expect the growing desperation on your face to catch up with him at some point. It would have to, right? He's still your brother, after all. He's hurt, he doesn't know what he's doing, he wouldn't actually hurt you.

All of these statements run through your mind, keeping you stubbornly reluctant to face the painful truth ahead. (The stinging in your wrist is proof enough that yes, he would.)

"I won't lose you," he says so deeply, calmly and unfazed, as if he hasn't even heard you, as that hand on your throat presses your face up, to bring your forehead against his. "I won't lose you. Not you."

“A-Aemond,” you reply, your fingers still scratching his in a vain attempt to push him away, becoming genuinely frightened by his actions, by his complete dissociation from you - as if he were only talking to himself now. “W-what are you doing?”

He towers over you, his tall, lithe body unmoving even as you move your hands to push against his abdomen. You can’t utter another word with the combination of your heart pounding against your ribcage, the fear gripping your throat still gripped between his fingers, igniting a growing horror deep within your gut.

Could someone be watching this? Down below, right now, some unsuspecting person wandering through the gardens or peering through the windows of the same houses you were watching with interest just a few minutes ago. Could someone be watching the way the Prince Regent smothered the Princess on the balcony of her chamber? The way he held her against his body and breathed into her personal space as if they were intimate lovers?

Your hands slide against his solid frame; feeling the hard, elegant muscles of his torso beneath his dark clothes as you stubbornly push him away, and the beginnings of tears appears to trickle from the corners of your eyes as you close them. You are afraid. Though he’s not exactly cutting off your oxygen completely, his unwavering grip on your neck makes you almost dizzy, and as he watches you gasp softly and struggle, he seems to be waging an internal battle, his fingertips loosening their grip after a few seconds of silent contemplation. He doesn’t pull away, though. Aemond still holds you tightly in place, listening to your ragged breathing and the sobs that begin to wrack your body. He exhales long and slow against your face, his forehead still intimately pressed against yours.

“Y/n…” he begins, waiting until your sobs subside and your watery eyes open to meet his, just as fierce and unforgiving as before. “You’re all I have left. You know that, don’t you?”

Despite the grip of fear squeezing your heart, you nod once, sniffling softly. You know that. There aren’t many people left by your brother’s side now — not that you blame them.

“Then you know I need to keep you with me.” He says darkly, his fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown before he begins to push the material up towards your hips.

“Aemond!” You cry out when you feel his fingertips touch the warmth of your thigh, struggling to rock your body away. “S-stop, brother!”

“I can’t,” he tells you, his lips soft and warm on your cheek, and though he doesn’t stop his advance up your thigh, there’s an unexpected sense of vulnerability and hesitation in his voice now, as if something inside him is trying to fight his resolve: “It’s the only way to make you stay.”

He hesitates and relaxes his grip on you for only a second after that, but it’s long enough for you to push past him and slip between his body and the wall, running into your bedchamber on shaky, trembling legs.

He’s on you before you can take more than a few steps beyond the door, his hand gripping your wrist — your wrist already bruised by him. You gasp at the immediate pain of his possessive touch, flailing your legs in your own desperation and fear as he holds you captive. He suddenly releases your injured wrist and you realize belatedly that it’s only because he’s guided you unknowingly to where he wants you. In your panic to pull away, you cry out as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, falling back onto the softness of your mattress, your other hand quickly cradling your aching wrist against your chest. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, eyes wet and wide, your cheeks streaked with tears and redness, your hair disheveled around your face, your wrist throbbing with the newly awakened pain.

Aemond blinks slowly, his features grim as he watches your frail state. He hovers over the edge of your bed in his black clothes and his tall, sinuous, dark body like a god of death. The disparity in height between the two of you is even more evident in this position. The flames from the fire on the opposite wall create eerie patterns on his ivory skin. The orange glow darkening to a somber hue in spots, making his presence all the more frightening.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, though his expression remains sharp and his posture tense. A serpent about to strike. “I won’t hurt you.”

And unfortunately, you are the rat he has chosen to devour tonight.

“Liar! You already did!” Your shrill voice sounds louder than intended, a byproduct of the fear coursing through your veins. He takes a low breath and instantly drops his gaze to your wrist, still carefully cradled against your chest. You swallow hard, your voice dropping to a sad shudder. “W-why are you doing this to me, brother?”

His gaze rises to your face again, following the trembling of your lips, the moisture in your heavy eyelashes.

"Because you're mine." He answers, easy and natural, as if he didn't even need to think about it. But you notice that his voice is deep and cracked, emotional, his eye shining with tears again, even though his posture is threatening. "You're inside me, sister. All the time."

And, as unreal as the situation seems to be, it's impossible not to see how between the cracks of his obsessive and terrifying words he seems...fragile.

And maybe that's what makes him so scary to you. His volatility and emotional imbalance - he's a mess of feelings and you don't know how to deal with it. He's an unbalanced man, about to fall over the edge of the abyss without knowing how to save himself.

Against all logic and common sense, you find yourself feeling...pity. Aemond is your brother and you love him with all your heart. It hurts and pains you to see him this way - alone and desperate.

“I won’t let them take you away from me,” he continues, pulling you out of your mind, kneeling on the bed to get closer to you. “I don’t give a shit about the others. But I can’t lose you.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Aemond, with you. I’ll always be here.” You try to rationalize in a choked voice, trembling fingers gripping the edges of your robe, hiding from your brother’s greedy, sick gaze. “You don’t have to act like this.”

Aemond doesn’t care about your words. Instead, faster than you can realize, he’s on top of you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair as he presses you further into the mattress. You startle at the action, but you do nothing to push him away. Your brother’s unpredictability keeps you rigid beneath his body, afraid of what he might do from now on.

“I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, I can’t lose you, not you, not you...” he mutters softly, over and over, the insanity taking deep, entwined roots in his mind. And you feel sorry for him. His body is a solid, undeniably intimidating presence above you, dwarfing and coercing yours with his tall frame, moon-colored hair brushing the side of your face as he digs into your neck until you mewl in discomfort. His broad hands are splayed at the sides of your head; long, pale fingers that have committed atrocities beyond anything you ever imagined he was capable of. He is unstable. A danger. And yet, he is so fragile.

His scent; ash, dragonfire, and something contradictorily sweet — like freshly baked vanilla cake, you realize — fills your nostrils, and you sigh a broken sound, cupping his face between your palms. Your fingers are shaking as you hold him, applying gentle pressure until he lifts his head and looks into your watery eyes.

"B-brother..." You lick your dry lips, ignoring the way he looks at your mouth when you do so, "please, just talk to me. I want to help. Please. Tell me what to do?"

His gaze sweeps over yours for a few seconds and then down your body with disconcerting intensity, your shoulders hunching in response — as if you're trying to make yourself smaller, as if you're trying to keep yourself safe — making you regret wearing a nightgown that's too thin to offer any remotely reliable protection from that gaze.

He doesn't say anything when he looks back into your eyes. Instead, he brushes his thumb under your right eye to touch the wetness of tears there, and it takes you a second longer to realize that he's not wiping them from your skin but spreading them across it, as if he wants to see more of that on you.

You don’t have much time to think about how disturbing this is, because soon he’s sighing deeply before slowly lowering himself, and the first thing you feel is the tip of his nose as it brushes against yours. He does it once, twice, three times; a series of teasing nudges that make you hold your breath in nervous anticipation. This close, you smell the soft leather of his eye patch, see how the heavy lashes on his one good eye curl until they almost rest on the top of his smooth cheek when he half-closes them.

The signs of what’s to come are all there, but it’s still a surprise to feel his lips slightly chapped against yours. You’re so shocked by it that you don’t react when you feel a hand coming up to tilt your face better so he can kiss you and taste you more deeply.

Spit soon coats the dry lines of his lips, making them slide over yours softly and fluidly, his fingers cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to lick your bottom lip in a silent plea. His saliva tastes like cinnamon and heat, you think distantly - almost dissociated from the situation, unable to understand how you ended up here; knowing the taste of your brother's mouth.

You frown at the feeling of wet muscle crossing your lips, tracing the roof of your mouth and your gums with hungry curiosity, your fingers inert and as dissociated as you, coming to life to hold his shoulders. You manage to push him enough to part your lips, your breath quick and wet as you try to assimilate what is happening: "A-Aemond, please...stop."

"You said you want to help, didn't you?" He growls impatiently at the corner of your mouth, sliding his fingers down your jaw and neck to tangle them around the back of your neck in a possessive grip. And when he presses the side of his cheek to yours and you feel something wet on your skin, for a moment you really can't tell if it's your tears or his. "This is how you help me, sister. I just need you to stay with me. Just let me have you. Maybe...maybe if you can feel me inside you too, then maybe you'll understand. Maybe it'll all make sense once more. I just need you to stay with me."

Even though the string of words that spill from his lips are delusional at best, there's no mistaking or ambiguity about what he's saying. Though you're still a maiden, you're no fool at all. You understand immediately what your brother wants.

Your bones ache, your eyes burn with more tears, and your throat itches with the immediate urge to scream a denial, to turn away from him, to run and hide under your bed — like you used to do when you were just a little girl and were so scared of something, hoping Aemond would come to you and soothe your fears with his whispered words in gentle Valyrian and his loving, innocent touches. But you know that this time it won't be like that. Because this time the reason for your fear is himself.

Yet it’s the sheer desperation in his voice that stops you from fighting; the helplessness mixed with agony, the urgent, jealous need — as if he’s on the brink of madness and only this can save him. It’s a sick, delusional thought and you know it. Irrational in every way. But as Aemond slides his hands over your body as if he’ll die if he doesn’t, breathing raggedly in your ear, burying his face in your hair to cover the tears you’re now certain are his, you know you won’t push him away — even if your mind begs you to.

His pain seeps into your ears, slides through your arteries and veins until it reaches your heart, a stranglehold you can’t shake. Your fear is so ingrained with your pity that you can’t tell the difference.

Maybe he just wants to feel loved. He hasn’t felt that in a long time, you know that…maybe he just needs help readjusting. Maybe you’re the good to his evil. The calm to his chaos. The balance to his disharmony. Whatever it is, if it’s you he needs to regain his sanity, you’ll give it to him. He’s your brother. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

If having you is what would make him at least half the brother you loved and wanted around you, then so be it. You’d embrace his sick need — because you love him.

So when he leans down to your mouth again, you hear yourself whimper, a surrendered sound as his thumb presses and pulls your lower lip, forcing your mouth open as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t fight this time, or try to dissociate. Instead, your own tongue shyly mimics his movements, your hands coming up to caress the roots of his hair, eliciting a guttural moan from his throat. He’s rougher this time, licking your mouth greedily, using his sharp canines to bite into the soft plush of your lip until you hiss — but you don’t push him away.

(Are you proud of me, brother? Can you feel how much I love you? Can you understand how far I’m willing to go for you?)

His body is a weight that’s both comforting and overwhelming as he presses down on you, evoking a searing heat across your cheeks and neck, so intense it borders on fever pitch as the movement makes you feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock resting against your belly. You stiffen for a second, too horrified by it, but almost immediately force yourself to relax when he leaves your panting lips to kiss your jaw and chin — his hips undulating on yours as he leaves trails of pure heat on your skin. You can do this, you can do this. For Aemond.

“That’s it. A good girl, hm. Always my pretty little girl.” Outside, thunder rumbles as his tongue lathers your throat with saliva, seconds before he bites down. You squeal a high-pitched sound, hands tugging at his hair in response to the pain, and he groans hoarsely into your skin, licking the bite to soothe the sting. "Sorry, angel, I couldn't resist." The sadistic amusement in his tone confirms the lack of sincere regret in his actions.

But despite his apparent playful and mocking persona, Aemond seethes with impatience and uncontrollability. He is like a hurricane, an earthquake - untamable as the force of nature. His merciless hands offer no respite as they grip your body; no preamble. He is not interested in taking this slowly, and that becomes painfully evident to you in the space of a few seconds.

His hand, warm and eager, slides down the column of your throat, palming the fragile fabric of your nightgown to cup your breast. He palms the soft mound for only a moment before squeezing it tightly, almost trembling with anticipation. You groan under your breath, brows furrowing at the rough touch — but when your brother looks at you with that widened gaze, breathing deeply, all he offers you is a breathless, “So beautiful, baby.”

Even after everything that’s happened between the two of you up until this point, it’s this that makes your cheeks heat up and your stomach flutter with an unexpected feeling of butterflies flying.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts and needs that he barely seems to notice when you turn your head away, embarrassed and blushing, refusing to look at him, wanting to ignore the utterly foreign sensation of having his hands on your body like this. Because while the way his fingertips press against your stomach to lift your nightgown to expose your legs and skimpy underwear is disturbing and humiliating, there’s also a kind of confusing heat swirling in your loins with each small touch on your skin; something that doesn’t necessarily feel good, but isn’t entirely horrible either – though the very idea of your body, on some level, beginning to welcome this is repulsive to you.

You want to please him, you want to be the anchor that will restore and stabilize your brother’s sanity, and you will absolutely do that for him if it’s within your power. But you have no doubt how unnatural this all is – how damning the notion of giving this part of you to none other than your brother – the one you’ve never seen with such eyes until this very moment. Knowing that he’s seen you this way for gods only know how long, is a difficult thought to even consider.

Oblivious to your internal war, Aemond rolls the side of your underwear in his hand and pulls it down the length of your legs, parting them so he can kneel on them. His hands, broad and calloused from years of riding in Vhagar's saddle and extensive sword training, send shivers down your spine as they knead and caress the length of your legs, and you bite your lip at the new sensation.

Even with your face turned away and your eyes closed, you know the exact moment he looks at you. His gaze fixed on the delicate, untouched center between your legs is so intense that you practically feel it on your skin. The reflex to try to close your legs is overwhelming, but you suppress it with clenched teeth. You wouldn't deny him anything, it was already decided, no matter how humiliating and wrong it was.

He leans forward, his moon-colored locks tickling you and his breath is hot against your skin as he presses wet kisses against your neck, trailing down to your jaw before stopping at your ear, leaving behind bruises that you know would be hard to hide tomorrow.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Aemond admits, his voice hoarse and slurred. “I love you so much it hurts. You’re mine. Mine.” You know he does, what he says is true. Aemond loves you. But it’s really ironic, isn’t it? He loves you with all the sincerity there is and yet, here you are. Lying in your bed, a place that once offered you safety and comfort, about to share an intimacy that you neither truly desire nor consent to.

Leaning on your thigh, you feel the hardness of his penis and your hands grip the sheets at your sides, keeping your eyes tightly closed, your eyelashes damp and trembling at the sensation of his fingers sliding like a cunning snake between your legs to trace the outside of your most intimate part. The discreet squishing sound of his fingers diving inside your folds sounds embarrassingly loud in the silence of your room and only makes you shrink even more, so focused as you were on keeping still and quiet.

"Fucking hell." Hearing him curse in your ear, with his jaw tense and his voice deep, awakens that chill in your stomach - the same butterflies taking flight again.

You want to disappear and pretend none of this ever happened.

(You want to open your eyes and look at him.)

His nose nudges your cheek as his thumb gathers some of your natural moisture to make its way to the hidden nub at the apex of your folds, rubbing short, wet circles against it before giving you any time to prepare. Your reaction is immediate and you jerk your hips a few inches off the bed, eyes flying open at the unfamiliar but utterly overwhelming sensation. You stare into the flames of the fireplace with wide, watery eyes, his continued stimulation of that spot making it hard not to visibly tremble beneath him. Against your cheek, you feel your brother’s lips stretch into a satisfied, cruel smile and a ragged sigh escapes you along with another humiliated tear.

But despite his obvious satisfaction at getting a reaction out of you, you can feel Aemond’s frustration growing by the second. “Is it good for you?" He murmurs, eager and expectant, as if he needs an answer to keep himself under control. “Do you need anything else, baby?” He purrs before you can respond — not that you thought you could. He bites your neck when you don’t say anything; punishing you.

“Aemond, p-please…” You gasp, unsure of what to say as he bites your earlobe hard. The circles on that sensitive mound of nerves begin to shift into a rhythmic up and down, rubbing the same spot until you feel your thighs trembling with…with…something. You can barely string two words together, but you know something is happening.

Your hands are clenched so tightly in the sheets that your knuckles ache, your heart threatening to race into your throat with how hard it’s beating, and by the gods, there’s a tingling sensation building in your lower belly that increases exponentially with each brush of the pad of his thumb against that sensitive nub, until you feel like something might literally explode inside you. It’s almost painful how intense it all is, but in a way that you can’t help but want more.

Wrong. This is wrong. This should be for Aemond, just for him, just to help him. It’s not about you, you shouldn’t feel things. You shouldn’t, no way. Because it only makes you feel worse…dirtier.

You almost thank him when he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and overwhelmed and very very confused by your own body. Your teary eyes lift to see him kneeling between your legs, the same thumb that was on your folds now entering his mouth as he sucks hungrily on it — his gaze fixed and hooded on your scandalized face.

“You’re delicious, sister. The best sweet treat I’ve ever tasted.” He croons after sliding his thumb from his lips with a wet ‘pop’ and you hide your face with your palms, sobbing a mortified sound. Aemond chuckles at your reaction, but doesn’t scold you.

Instead, it’s the distinct sound of rustling fabric that makes you peek through your fingers, watching your brother pull the top part of his clothes. Strands of candlelight make him radiate like an otherworldly creature beneath the flickering flame, creating some artistic shadows on the lean, defined muscles along his arms and stomach, broad shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You watch him through the gap in your fingers, blushing deeper with every patch of skin your eyes skim. Aemond blinks slowly, his jaw tense and sharp, his pupil so dilated that the darkness almost eclipses the thin violet ring of his iris. And your heart, once racing, seems to simply give up and stop when he lowers his fingers to the waistband of his riding breeches.

Once again, refusal dances on your tongue and you almost scream for him to stop. This isn’t right. Your brother definitely shouldn’t be about to get naked in front of you like it’s a normal thing, and you almost say so…but you’ve both gone too far. Too far to turn back now. What’s the point in trying? And you’d hardly bet on the innocent idea that he’d listen to you anyway. Aemond would take what he wanted, as he always had.

He unzips his pants without looking away and pushes them down, stopping at a mound of fabric between his thighs. It seems to be all the patience he has for the act, barely able to take his clothes off completely. Your fingers tremble in front of your face as you watch with wide eyes between them. His hard length stands proudly between his legs, thick and long. Intimidating, really. Pale like the rest of his body, except for a few veins in soft shades of blue distributed along the base and the pinkish tone of the head shiny with pre-cum. You have no basis for comparison, of course, since you've never seen a penis in your life. But you don't need to be an expert to know that what he has there, without a shadow of a doubt, would not be easy to fit inside you. In anyone, you suppose.

Aemond shows very little sympathy for your alarmed expression, falling over you to rest on his elbows beside your face, long silver hair flowing around you both — smelling of smoke and vanilla cake.

He stares at you for what feels like a century, breathing raggedly, lips parted. You stay in that position for so long that you jump slightly when you feel his fingers grip yours, pulling your hands away from your face to lift them above your head, pinning your wrists in his hand. He makes sure you don’t move your hands from where he’s placed them, sliding his fingertips over your injured wrist with a gentleness that moves you, down the inside of your arm, to the side of your torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

He doesn’t take his eye off yours as he lifts those same fingers to his own face, gripping the side strap of his eye patch for a few seconds before pulling it over his head and tossing it on the bed. You’ve seen the sapphire in your brother’s eye a few times before. It would have been impossible not to have seen it, not with how close you were. You were the only person he felt comfortable and safe enough with to get rid of the piece of leather covering his mutilated eye. But, even though it wasn't the first time, the sight never ceases to amaze you.

The blue of the stone contrasts sharply with the paleness of his porcelain skin and his silver hair, evidenced by the long, jagged dark scar that starts halfway down his cheek to above his eyebrow. If you look closely, you can see yourself in the brilliant reflection of the sapphire - your face scared, embarrassed and amazed - all at the same time. The immortalized imperfection in this part of his face only serves to highlight the blatant perfection of the rest.

Physically, you have always compared Aemond to an angel; an ethereal and unattainable creature, a being of light and purity. But your childish daydream couldn't be further from reality. As much as appearances say it, Aemond is anything but an angel. His heart is as dark and gloomy as a night sky during a storm. The only times you’ve seen any semblance of light in his personality is when you’re around — and even that hasn’t been happening lately.

Gods, you hope that your unreserved surrender to him tonight can pull him out of the absolute void he’s hiding in. You truly hope it’s not all for nothing. There’s nothing left you can offer, after all. Aemond has already taken everything.

When his hips lower to bring your bodies together, your legs instinctively part to receive him, the solid, warm weight of his wet cock pressed into your belly is enough to send a full-body shiver through you. There’s nowhere to look but into your brother’s eyes — both that one functioning eye and the hollow that houses that precious stone. You’re floating with the overwhelming myriad of feelings, lips parted with shallow breaths, eyes watering, cheeks flushed, and your heart hammering so hard in your chest that for a moment you think you might actually die from it. It’s not healthy to feel like this, right?

“This has always been mine.” You lick your lips, blinking slowly at Aemond — it’s really an effort to try to understand and follow what he’s saying right now. “You’ve always been mine.”

He says this as he snakes an arm between your bodies to hold his throbbing member between his fingers. He’s deliberate with this, each movement slow and calculated to make sure you see what he’s doing. And indeed, your eyes — as hazy and confused as they are — follow the path of his hand after a few seconds, watching in shock and embarrassment as he pumps himself, a few slow up-and-down movements to get some relief, gritting his teeth as he growls another curse close to your ear.

You glance up at his face, flushed and impatient — his eye, hooded with lust, glances back up at yours — before looking down, forcibly guiding your attention back to the long fingers that are barely long enough to close completely around his own shaft. There’s a hard-to-swallow lump in your throat that only gets worse every time his movements make a wet slurp that sounds too loud for your sanity. Your body is arching and your fists clench tightly in the sheets above your head as he guides his leaking tip into the crevice between your folds, parting them and sliding with a slow drag that ends in that same sensitive spot as before.

You writhe beneath him, “N-no…” suddenly hesitant at how insanely real everything is becoming, at how intensely your body is feeling. “Just wait a second, brother—”

“Shh…it’s okay, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, sister.”

“Aemond, please, I don’t like this!” You nearly scream, your eyes wide and watery, overwhelmed and scared — forgetting for a moment that your goal was to give him what he wants. No matter how you feel about it.

For a moment, Aemond looks genuinely distressed by your obvious desperation. You see the tension of his jaw and the bitter glint in his amethyst gaze. But as quickly as it appears, disappears.

"You will. I'll make sure of it, sister. I promise." He says with a brush of his nose against yours, the oppressive aura surrounding him growing heavier, swallowing any sympathetic feelings that had arisen in the face of your agony.

"You have my word that I will try to do this as gently as I can." With his other hand, he cups your cheek and, despite you not believing his words for a second, you find yourself leaning your head into his palm. The glint of sick affection in his gaze makes your chest ache, and you sniff in defeat. He hums a satisfied sound when he sees your surrender and leans forward. You don't deny his kiss, accepting the slow, languid, sensual rhythm he imposes with his lips. Deep in your chest, you break and cry, but on the outside you just accept it, returning the kiss to the best of your newly awakened abilities.

“There we go, there’s my good girl,” he coos, licking your trembling bottom lip. Despite your terribly tumultuous mind, your body is as connected to him as ever, a shiver running down your spine as he kisses your jaw, trailing warm, wet lips down your neck. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you try to obey his request and keep your eyes open.

"I've waited so fucking long for this. When Helaena was handed over to Aegon, I really thought we'd both be next. You just need to be patient, I told myself." Every part of your body tingles with sparks, hips grinding against yours, grunting in a husky, bitter tone as the head of his cock rubs against your entrance. "Tsk, but they're fools. All of them. The Council, our father, our mother, Aegon, the damn realm...none of them realized what was in front of them this whole fucking time." He frowns a little, leans to the side and puts two fingers inside his mouth for a few seconds before lowering them - you sigh and shudder when a fat glob of saliva is rubbed right in the center of your legs, in that entrance you know is too small for him, adding to the mess his wet cock had already made. "You and I, we were meant to be from the beginning. An unstoppable force. Fire and blood. We would be unbeatable together, sister."

"I-I didn't, ah!..." You try, only to be interrupted when a sharp bite on your ear makes you squeal and flinch.

"But it's okay, don't worry. I'll fix that horrible mistake, my little one. I'm the Prince Regent. I'm the one who gives the orders now. No one will ever try to separate us again." Between the agonizing anticipation of having your brother's penis threatening to enter your untouched intimacy at any moment, his rough touches and his disturbing words, you barely feel coherent, lost and adrift like a castaway washed up on an island. Before you can interrupt his seriously questionable reasoning, he holds your gaze with his with a sympathetic and pitying glint in his dominant iris, as if he were your saving grace. "I got you, pretty girl."

His words are far from comforting, but you don’t have time to dwell on that.

“You’ve been mine since the second we were born. Mine to protect and cherish. Mine to tame and take.”

Still propping himself up on one elbow, he uses his other hand to grip your thigh, pushing one of your legs up and to the side, spreading you wide for him until your joints scream with the sting. The head of his cock slides between two folds one last time, nudging your entrance with clear intent.

You hold your breath.

“Eyes on me, sister.” You blink back the tears in your eyes, your face darkening to another shade of crimson at the intensity with which he looks at you, his warm, sweet scent surrounding you from every corner. “And keep those little hands where I left them.” He finishes with a sadistic smile that startles you when he see how your fingers are trembling and fidgeting above your head.

“That’s it. Stay with me. There we go.”

He finishes by saying your name against your lips before taking it all.

...

The first thrust rips a broken cry from your throat.

...

There’s no real surprise in that, though. You’ve seen how big he is, and despite your complete inexperience in the matter and all that saliva and other fluids between your legs, you just know you’re not prepared enough to take him – not that Aemond cares.

You cry out in humiliation as he tilts his head back, shuddering and letting out a breathy laugh that sounds decidedly arrogant.

“Oh fuck, so tight. I should have taken more time preparing you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, sister. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. I promise I won’t enter your body until you’re slick and spread wide for me. Fuck, I promise.” His free hand grips your hip tightly, bruising your flesh, and you sob, knowing his apology isn’t sincere — scared of the hint that there would be a next time.

You don’t know if you could handle a second time. You don’t know if you’ll survive the first.

He was going to rip you apart, and that possibility became more and more real with every inch he forced inside you. You gasp in denial, mumbling a nonstop series of pleas for him to slow down, hoping he’d find some compassion within himself — something to back up all that love he proudly boasts about you. But Aemond is truly an unstoppable force, and once he’s gotten what he so desperately wants, there’s no going back. Not even for your sweet little sister. All you can do is press your nails tighter into your palms and bite your lips until you taste blood as the round head of his length continues to push and push, slowly but mercilessly, inside you. And even through it all, you keep your watery eyes on him - like the obedient little girl he wants you to be. All for him.

You watch him as he still has his head tilted back for a second too long before he looks at you again, his gaze once again frighteningly fierce.

“You have such a tight pussy, dear sister. I can’t even –” he grits his teeth, sweat gathering at the silver roots of his hair and at his temples “- I can barely fucking move!”

It’s really hard to tell if he’s complimenting you or insulting you with that growling, sullen tone, but you cry out anyway, barely able to handle the way his cock hurts you with one powerful thrust forward. There’s a very short window of time where you get some relief as you feel him slowly pulling back, your walls returning to their original shape. Unfortunately, your relief is short-lived. He snaps his hips forward again, rearranging your insides to make room for his girth. Your breathing is shallow and uneven as more tears trickle down your cheeks and onto your chest. And honestly, as much as you’re trying to be obedient, it’s actually almost impossible to watch your brother with all the blurriness of your tears making it difficult.

“Look how well you’re taking me, little one, all swollen and tight around my cock. It feels good, doesn’t it? To have your brother like this and know that only I will have you like this? To know that only I will make you cry like this? Yes, fuck…” He rests his forehead against yours and cups your cheek. “I’m the only one, sister. You’re the only one. You’re mine and I’m yours. We belong to each other from the day we’re born until the day we die.”

Heat envelops your cheeks and heart and you sigh at his devoted words. Aemond really does love you. He loves you in a fiery, obsessive way, an irrational feeling that will ruin everything around him - including the two of you.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size when he finally reaches the end, barely waiting half a second before pulling out and pushing back in hard thrusts; as if seeking more of that intense, visceral sensation. It hurts so much and you flinch every time his hips slam into yours. But your walls keep clenching and pulsing around him, eliciting grunts and moans from the man above you.

You can barely bear to look at him during your own violation, no matter how much you force yourself to. That fulfilled, needy look making the embarrassment and humiliation coil tighter in your gut. When you finally turn your head away in shame, unable to keep up appearances any longer, he goes straight for your throat like a wild animal. Sucking and biting the flesh to make you scream, thrusting at a different angle that makes you immediately writhe on the bed. Your walls tightening around his cock in something that, surprisingly, horribly, isn't pain.

“See, you feel good too, right?”

You can't bring yourself to respond. Eyes half-lidded and lips parted as your body twitches with each of his thrusts, something funny coiling in your belly, warming your insides and leaving the dull pain of his thrusts behind, like a background noise that almost loses its importance after a while.

“You feel so good, baby.” He pants against your lips, kissing every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, slamming his lips loudly against the exposed patches of your shoulder and collarbone, thrusting his hips into yours with feverish abandon. A wet sequence of ‘tap, tap, tap’ sounds in the silence of your sleeping chamber, until you’re worried the guards might hear you outside. You want to tell him to slow down, you want to tell him to stop. But his movements and intentions are those of a barbarian – he seeks only to claim, to conquer, to claim you for his own.

“You’re perfect, I love you so much. I love you. I love you, sister.” He chants, thrusting relentlessly – obsessively – into your walls, sweat making his strands stick to his face, a salty drop running down the bridge of his nose and onto your cheek. He releases his grip on your thigh to roughly pull your nightgown over your breasts, immediately cupping and squeezing the soft flesh until you squeak at the sensation, rolling a small nipple between his index and middle finger.

To propagate and keep the blood of Old Valyria pure, unions between direct relatives were common among the Targaryens. Aegon and Halaena were the closest example you had of this. It's normal. And yet, it feels anything but normal. From the possessive way your brother's fingers sink into the soft curve of your waist to keep you contained while he corrupts you, the continuous and violent slap of his hip against the inside of your thighs, to the way his other hand holds a fistful of your hair in a tight tug, exposing the column of your throat to the air that smells of sex while his lips growl acidic words close to your ear. Everything feels wrong, dirty. As if all the purity that existed around the world suddenly ceased to exist, leaving behind only sin and cruel intentions.

Unforgivable.

Still, you grumble in frustration about how your body responds so well while your mind simply doesn't.

You hold Aemond tightly, finally lowering your hands from where he’d placed them, feeling his broad, toned back easily cover your smaller form like a protective shadow under your fingertips. The conflicting emotions are only tinged with more unexpected lust, as if he’s summoning the feeling from deep within you by force, as you involuntarily arch your back against him, feeling the searing heat of his chest pressing hotly against your breasts. A kind of heat only a Targaryen could share.

Your soft walls clench against him in response to the sensation, and Aemond curses again, pulling you closer, fucking you deeper. The burn in your lower half almost seems entirely muted now, that trickle of treacherous pleasure snaking through your core with unstoppable force as his cock brushes against a bundle of nerves inside you that —

And you moan.

Long, loud, undeniably aroused.

The sound is unmistakable, even over the loud slapping of skin against skin and Aemond’s ragged breathing.

You moaned for him. The first truly explicit, unfiltered sound you had made since this all began.

Aemond blinks and stops moving, staring at you with wide eye, mouth half open, cheeks flushed and skin sweaty — as if he’s noticing you for the first time. In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, his pupil were already dilated. But in that moment, it darken and explode completely, right before your eyes. He growls and grabs your chin with a tight grip, pulling your mouth to his to kiss you as if your lips were water to someone walking under the desert sun. His teeth hurt your lips, but you don’t complain, kissing him back with the same devastating intensity.

He thrusts into your pussy again as if he hadn’t stopped, hard and relentless, thrusting his tongue into your mouth at the same pace. You moan again, this time into his mouth. Thighs aching from how hard he’s pounding into you. Legs spread wide as he fucks you into the mattress with years of pent-up desire.

Everything is a blur, wrong yet right, burning with need and blood ties as his body rumbles and heats against yours. His hungry lips leaving yours to kiss every bit of flesh they find. You can’t stop yourself from trembling around his length, clenching tighter and tighter as he groans and murmurs his adoration for you.

“A-Aemond, brother…” you gasp, unsure, afraid of what you want from him, how much you want this — whatever it is.

Your arms, trembling and weak, wrap with all your remaining strength around his shoulders, your nails digging in to anchor you to something – anything – as he loses control above you. Pleasure and pain intertwine until you don’t know which is which. You can’t think straight, barely able to breathe between strangled moans and the fresh wave of tears that spill from your lashes as your pussy clenches around him tighter with each thrust. The sensation burns so deliciously that you cling to it, afraid of it but needing it.

“You’re mine,” Aemond demands suddenly, pulling away from your ruined neck to meet your starry eyes. “Tell me you’re mine.” He has that delirious look in his face, you think uncertainly, violet eye slightly wide and too focused on you and only you, the stone of his sapphire shining in the dim light of the room. Overwhelming, possessive. "Say it." He presses, less controlled, more ruthless.

"I-I'm yours." You respond quickly, your voice nothing but a fragile, brittle whisper, panting with each hard thrust into your delicate body, earning a hiss and a throb from Aemond's cock. "I'm yours, brother. All yours." He groans fiercely, barely allowing you to finish speaking before pulling you into a deep kiss, all tongue and saliva, as the brute force of his hips begins to increase in rhythm.

The wooden canopy of the bed slams loudly against the wall with each hard thrust, the entire bed creaking and weeping in a continuous back and forth, your cheeks burning with flames because now you're certain the White Cloaks outside your door can hear what you're doing.

A strangled cry rips from your throat as he uses his thumb to sloppily rub your clit while he digs the short nails of his other hand into the sides of your cheeks to force you to look at him, your own nails digging into the back of his neck as you hold him tight.

“Say it again; tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. Fuck, say it, say it now—” He whispers into the fat of your cheek, watching you with a manic, clouded gaze, leaving a trail of saliva from your jaw to your mouth as he bites down, his hips thrusting into yours in desperation. You can only whimper when he pulls away, his thumb slowing his ministrations when you take too long to speak.

“I love you, oh…I-I love you so much, Aemond—” You’d said those words to him a million times before, but they’d never carried this emotional charge, this much sentimentality and anticipation — words of desire and heat that were so unfamiliar and intense to you that they barely made sense. But, gods, you could feel the truth of them in your veins. “I need you. Please, brother — don’t leave me!” Your mewls and pleas answered to him, and him alone.

“Never. I’ll never let you go. We belong together, you and I…always.” Aemond’s breathless but ravenous words began to fade into the nothingness of pleasure. There was no more pain, no more guilt or disgust. That was for sure. All hurt dissolved into the overwhelming, magnificent feeling of being here, trapped in your brother’s arms. Your soft cries were a higher register than the wet slap of your joining, you discovered, giving yourself over entirely to the feeling. It encourages him to push harder and chase those beautiful sounds that reward him. You can feel him against your tight walls, nudging deep, carving a place for himself — a place that didn’t belong to him, that wasn’t his to take.

But maybe it was. Maybe it was always his to take. You were his to take.

“Y-yes, Aem…I need it. I need you, brother.” You respond softly, your eyes matching his, hooded and delirious, gently cupping his face in your hands. He turns his head slightly, just brushing his lips along the bruise around your wrist without taking his eye off you, silently apologizing for hurting you like that.

Of all the things he should apologize for —

You wish you could tell him that was the least of the evils he had inflicted on you. Instead, tears stream down your cheeks and you nod at him once, accepting his request with a shaky smile and a hoarse moan.

The candles scattered about your bedchamber burn brightly, wax dripping down the length and hardening on the brass holsters and mantelpiece. Your numerous books lie open on the floor, quills and assorted inks scattered in calculated disarray. Thread and needles rest delicately on your sofa, scraps of embroidery you had recently begun. Your dressing table is strewn with finely ornamented ribbons, pins, and jewels. Your riding clothes hang neatly behind the privacy of the screen.

All supporting an appearance of virtue belonging to a Targaryen Princess, a lady who had only recently flaunted an innocent purity in her body and mind. But now, right there, precariously hidden by the delicate veil that covers the canopy of your bed, fluttering gently in the warm breeze of the room, it is anything but a virtuous and innocent scene.

His tongue traces the outline of your lips up and down, and soon you find yourself gasping for air as you focuses on the heat that seems to radiate from the center of your belly to between your legs. That same tension from before is quickly rebuilding and you shake your hips, yearning for more of him, but unsure of what exactly is happening - Aemond, as always, seems to know what you need before you do, and soon he is back to sliding his thumb in a steady rhythm around your clit.

Your legs tremble as you approach something grand and overwhelming, hips rotating against your will. All the willpower in the world couldn’t stop you from chasing this heady feeling right now.

“I’m…” you mumble, confused, breathless, desperate, scared, “I feel…brother…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he pants, eye shining with something you can’t define, “Trust me.”

It’s like you’re being torn apart — being burned and torn apart from the inside out and you’re enjoying it. Gods, what’s happening?

“Oh, sweet girl…” his thrusts slow slightly as he applies more pressure to your clit, “Just let go — I’m here, I got you…that’s it, just like that, let go—”

A very raw, primal moan escapes your throat as his thumb is suddenly sliding with agonizing friction along that spot between your legs, his thrusts angled at a different angle that hits a sensitive, tender place that, until this unholy night, you never imagined had. Your brows furrow in sweet agony and you tighten your grip around his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer until your sweaty foreheads are pressed together, the tension in your stomach rising impossibly until your back arches off the bed.

The hand on your face drops and he circles your throat, gentle, just pressing, keeping your body pinned beneath him as you begin to writhe and cry out loud. It’s a moment of absolutely glorious release, like the feeling of flying for the first time on the back of a dragon - you feel your entire body explode in waves of shock and ecstasy, adrenaline coursing through your veins as if you’ve never been so completely and truly free before. You barely see Aemond, even though he’s literally nose to nose with you. All you see are bursts of light in front of your blind eyes, your hips bucking against his and your insides clenching desperately around his cock for what seems like hours until finally, finally, exhausted and sobbing, your weight falls back onto the bed.

“Ao issi sīr gevie, mandia. Sīr gevie.” Vaguely, like someone shouting from far, far away, you hear your brother sing praises for you. You are beautiful, sister. So beautiful. A tired mewl is all you offer in response, head still light and floating like cotton. He’s losing his rhythm, snapping his hips into you, pulling his hand from between your legs to prop himself up on both elbows and claim another quick, breathless kiss from your sensitive lips. You barely have time to respond before he pulls away again.

"Rūsīr ao ondoso issa paktot īlon jāhor pryjagon tolvie azantyr bona dares naejot sīmonagon īlva. Hēnkirī īlon jāhor se vys." He's moaning more, babbling obsessively about destroying every army that stands against you and conquering the world with you by his side. The determination and heat in his voice leaves you breathless, and you watch through bleary eyes his flushed, delirious expression. The way his parted lips are slightly swollen and red from the intense kisses you've exchanged, his brows furrowed, sweat gathering and running down his hairline onto his temples and cheeks, moonlight hair sticking to the sides of his face and swinging over his shoulders with every stroke of his body, the intense blue of the stone in his empty eye - and the dark violet in the other.

He’s beautiful and terrifying too, like a fallen angel.

With a strangled grunt that raises the small hairs on your arms and a few more uncoordinated thrusts, Aemond pushes his face into the crook of your neck, your pussy still quivering sporadically around him, shuddering as he curses and spills himself inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, this is...this is perfect...” He’s mumbling into your skin, thrusting his hips into yours with a lazy, deep drag, as if to ensure he spills himself as deep inside you as possible.

And though you know it’s impossible, you almost think you can feel it — the heat of his cum spurting in thick streams inside you, so deep that nothing could possibly get it out. The thought makes you both satisfied and sick.

Your eyes are staring up at the canopy of your bed, staring unseeingly, lips parted with panting breaths and a racing heart. All you can do is make a soft moan as he slowly pulls away from you, though he's hissing something about not wanting to leave the heat of your tight pussy just yet. He’s pulling you with him as soon as he’s out, as if he’s physically incapable of keeping himself apart from you for more than a few seconds, rolling you onto his side and pulling you face-to-face next to him.

You blink slowly as you stare up at him, letting him do the same to you. And surprisingly, where before your mind screamed and throbbed with conflicting thoughts and guilt, now everything is… silent. There’s no energy left to continue this now, you realize. All fight has been drained from you and all you want now is to rest. To close your eyes and pretend none of this happened - no screaming, no sharp words and no pain.

Just sleep.

Aemond seems to understand the surrender in your eyes. Silver hair falls over your cheeks as he leans in and kisses your sweaty forehead, murmuring a 'my beautiful girl'. A soft, tender kiss, the kind of innocent and pure kiss a brother would give his little sister.  

A sad tear falls as you close your eyes, hiding your face in his neck, so close to him that you can feel his heart beating - as fast as yours.

His arms tighten around you, holding you as close as is physically possible. “You were so good to me…” He gently kisses the top of your head, the exhaustion still evident as he pants slightly between words, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Get some rest, little one. And don’t worry. I’m here now and I’ll take care of what’s mine.”

The words bring you no peace. But you don't think he needs to know that.

****

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond purrs, “keep shivering for me, sister.” He pushes your legs further apart, grabbing your bare ass and pulling your cheeks to rub your drooling entrance against his insatiable mouth. That slick, sinful tongue makes its way around your folds, probing and teasing your clit before dipping between them, gently massaging your aching, abused walls — by him, of course. You shiver, just as he wants, feeling the soft muscle slide deeper and deeper into your core, licking what just hours ago had been the secret parts of a virginal lady.

"B-brother, I need...please, that's enough...I need to rest for a while-" you're crying as you beg, your hands stretched out at your sides, too weak to stay tangled in his hair, your body sweaty and exhausted, shaking with the orgasms he'd wrung from you until your throat was raw from screaming.

You shiver, despite indisputable evidence to the contrary, a new tingling is clouding your brain, driving you crazy with every stroke of his tongue, your body clenching and clenching in a new delirious spiral of pleasure.

Aemond growls and continues abusing your clit with his thumb as if you hadn't said anything at all, the bed shaking with the force with which he's grinding his hips against the mattress in search of his own release. It's dirty, wet, the room smells of sex, sweat and tears, the sheet you're lying on is stained with the blood of your purity, and you can't even think about allowing any of the maids to come in to clean it when daybreak comes.

Aemond, unlike you, seems completely at peace - content to fuck you like this, with no signs of wanting to stop any time soon. Thrusting his cock into the mattress at the same pace as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, flicking your clit with his thumb in short circles until you scream and cum, your juices spilling over the Prince Regent's tongue once more. You sob and grip his silver hair as he mercilessly continues to lick and suck without stopping, somehow hungrier than before.

"Aemond!! Please, I can't! It's too much!!" Your cry is loud as you feel yourself overcome by pain and pleasure, shaking your head from side to side, trying to push your brother from between your legs. He pulls away from your wet heat briefly, only to murmur a quick, breathless “yes, you can do it, be a good girl and give me one more” before flattening his tongue to continue licking your folds again.

You have no choice but what he allows you.

****

“Will you fly with me to Harrenhal?”

He asks a few hours later, as the first light of dusk filters through the cracks in the windows and you’re both still tangled together.

Aemond bites the side of your neck, leaving another mark behind, his lower body rising to meet yours, quickening at a pace that makes your thighs tremble. His hands, wide and possessive, slide to your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

“Y-yes, brother.” You respond, breathless and sweaty, using your hands flat on his broad chest to support yourself as you riding to the rhythm your brother has set for you, being pulled deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of desire, unable to steady yourself. “I will follow you wherever you go.”

Nothing has changed, you think seconds before you come - (how many times has it been again? Eight, nine? By now you’ve lost count.)

Aemond would lead and you would follow.

He’d tainted and stained you, stolen a part of you that shouldn’t have been given to him. But he’d taken it anyway, like a conqueror would. Molding both your mind and your body to suit his demands, to answer his jealous, possessive call. And you would follow him. Until the day you died you would follow him. Because your heart belonged entirely to your brother, even if it wasn’t in the way he want.

He has you, your dragon, your body, your soul, and your blind loyalty. Your hands would be intimately clasped, dripping with blood and sin.

Inevitably.

As it should be.

[novaursa]

The Flames We Carry

- Summary: Ser Criston Cole expected for Rhaenys and Meleys to appear over Rook's Rest. To Gwayne's horror, Rhaenyra sent her sister instead: you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaeyra's younger sister and is bonded to Silverwing. These events happen after Skyfall. If you want to read all the parts in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (there is no adult content, but there are visual descriptions of violence, blood and gore)

- Word count: 3 712

- A/N: this was scheduled to be posted tomorrow, but I've decided post extra today. Enjoy.

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

Ser Gwayne Hightower had always been a man torn between loyalty and desire, but never more so than in the days leading up to the siege at Rook's Rest. The tension between him and Ser Criston Cole had grown sharper since that fateful day when he let you—the Princess, Y/N—slip through his grasp before their march on Duskendale. He could still feel the warmth of your skin against his, the taste of your lips lingering like a ghostly memory, a sweet torment. You had been his time and time again, even if only in stolen moments, and each encounter had deepened the scars on his heart.

Gwayne knew he should be focusing on the battle ahead, yet his thoughts strayed back to you, his mind replaying that night over and over. The look in your eyes when you realized he would let you go, when you understood the depth of his feelings despite all the bitterness that lingered between your Houses. He had set you free, knowing full well it was an act of treason in all but name, and yet he would do it again if it meant sparing you the horrors to come.

But now, at Rook's Rest, everything was escalating rapidly. Ser Criston's scorpion ballistas and archers were poised in ambush, waiting for the dragon they expected: Rhaenys on Meleys. The war council had been clear, and Gwayne had heard it all through gritted teeth—Aemond and Aegon would flank her on Vhagar and Sunfyre, trapping her in dragonfire and steel. It was a ruthless plan, one that made his stomach churn. He had sworn to protect his family, his king, and yet all he could think about was you.

The skies darkened, a shadow sweeping over the encampment. The men tensed, eyes raised to the heavens as the flap of wings grew louder. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up, expecting the crimson scales of Meleys. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.

Silverwing.

The graceful, silvery-grey dragon, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, now bonded to you. Gwayne’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you in the skies above, facing down two monstrous dragons with only the loyal Silverwing at your side. Panic clawed at his throat, his mind racing. He could see it in Criston's eyes too—the slight widening, the realization that their ambush had just become a slaughter. Not for Rhaenys, but for you.

“No…” The word slipped from Gwayne’s lips before he could stop it. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the nearest scorpion, where soldiers prepared to take aim at Silverwing. His vision tunneled, anger and fear boiling together in his veins. He couldn’t let this happen—not to you.

"Stand down!" Gwayne shouted at the soldiers, shoving one aside with enough force to send the man sprawling. The crew looked at him in confusion, but Gwayne didn’t care. He grabbed hold of the crank, making it impossible for them to load the bolt.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!” Criston’s voice was a venomous hiss as he stalked toward Gwayne, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re sabotaging the plan! Move, or I’ll have you—”

Gwayne spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t let you do this, Criston. Not to her.”

Criston’s lip curled in disgust. “Her? You would betray your king, your House, for a traitorous whore who—"

The sound of steel rang out as Gwayne drew his sword, slashing at the scorpion mechanism, rendering it useless. The soldiers scattered, unwilling to get caught in the confrontation between two knights who had both earned their deadly reputations. Criston’s eyes narrowed, and in the blink of an eye, his sword was in his hand, the tip leveled at Gwayne’s chest.

“You’ll die for this treachery, Hightower,” Criston spat, the words laced with venom.

“I would die a thousand times before I let you kill her,” Gwayne growled back, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you harm her.”

Above them, the roar of dragons filled the air as Silverwing engaged with Sunfyre and Vhagar. Dragonfire crackled like thunder, the heat from the flames casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. You were up there, fighting for your life, for your cause. Gwayne’s heart ached with every fiery burst, knowing that each moment could be your last.

Criston lunged, and Gwayne barely parried the strike in time. The two knights clashed, steel against steel, each strike filled with desperation and fury. Gwayne fought with everything he had, driven by the need to protect you, even if it meant cutting down one of his own.

“Do you think she cares for you, Gwayne?!” Criston taunted between strikes. “She’s a dragonrider, a princess—she’ll never be yours! You’re a fool!”

“I know what I am,” Gwayne snarled, knocking Criston’s sword aside and slamming his shoulder into the other man’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “But I also know what I feel. And I’ll not stand by and let you murder her.”

Criston recovered quickly, rage twisting his features as he advanced again. “She chose Daemon over you! The Rogue Prince—do you think she’ll remember your name when she’s ash?”

Gwayne roared in fury, his blade a blur as he pressed the attack. The sounds of battle, of dragons shrieking and flames roaring, were deafening, but all Gwayne could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the desperate need to get to you, to save you. But with every second that passed, his hope dwindled, and fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Then, the ground trembled, a shockwave of heat and force rippling across the battlefield as a massive burst of dragonfire erupted nearby. Gwayne staggered, the distraction costing him as Criston’s sword sliced across his side. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He couldn’t afford to fall—not when you needed him.

But as the flames subsided, a silhouette emerged through the smoke—Silverwing, descending, with you astride her. Your eyes, burning with determination and fury, locked onto the scene below: Criston standing over a wounded Gwayne, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“Y/N!” Gwayne shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t hesitate. With a command, Silverwing unleashed a torrent of dragonfire, forcing Criston to leap back, narrowly avoiding being consumed by the flames. In the brief reprieve, Gwayne stumbled to his feet, clutching his side.

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The memory of that last kiss, of your shared moments, hung between you like an unspoken vow. Gwayne knew he had only seconds before the battle resumed, but in those few heartbeats, he saw the truth in your eyes—the love that had never truly died, the bond that still connected you, even through war and betrayal.

But there was no time for words. With a final, lingering look, you turned Silverwing toward the sky, preparing for the next wave of the fight. And as you ascended into the chaos once more, Gwayne knew he would fight until his last breath to protect you, even if the whole world stood against him.The battle raged on, but in that moment, Gwayne Hightower’s heart belonged to only one—you.

The battlefield below Rook’s Rest was a symphony of chaos and death, the sky a canvas painted with fire and blood. Gwayne could only watch in helpless agony as you and Silverwing clashed in the heavens with Sunfyre and Aegon, two dragons locked in a deadly dance of tooth and claw. Overhead, the monstrous shadow of Vhagar circled like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every screech of agony, every roar of defiance, was a knife twisting deeper into Gwayne’s chest.

On the ground, Criston Cole barked orders, his eyes fixed on the battle above. The soldiers scrambled, trying to reload the scorpions, but the dragonfire raining down made their task near impossible. Bolts flew haphazardly, striking neither dragon nor rider, only adding to the carnage below as men screamed, burning alive in dragonflame. Gwayne’s heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the clash in the sky.

Silverwing and Sunfyre circled each other in a blur of flashing claws and snapping jaws, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and blood. Gwayne could see the desperation in the way you leaned into every attack, urging Silverwing forward with a fury that matched his own. Aegon, though armored in golden scales and atop his mighty Sunfyre, was losing ground; he was not the rider you were, and Sunfyre, for all his pride, was no match for Silverwing’s speed and power.

“Hold fast, Sunfyre!” Aegon’s voice cut through the air, laced with both command and fear. But the king’s bravado was slipping. The once-proud Sunfyre shrieked in pain as Silverwing’s talons raked across his side, tearing through scales and flesh. Blood sprayed like rain, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto Criston’s soldiers below, causing them to scatter in panic.

Gwayne could feel his grip tightening on his sword as he watched, torn between the desire to cheer for your victory and the dread that this battle would consume you. Criston, standing nearby, had forgotten Gwayne entirely, his eyes alight with a mixture of awe and hatred. “If Sunfyre falls, so falls our king,” Criston muttered to himself, though Gwayne could hear the edge of panic in his voice.

But you would not give Sunfyre a moment of reprieve. Silverwing descended with fury, slamming into the golden beast with the force of a hurricane. The clash was brutal, teeth and claws tearing through scales, blood and fire mingling as the two dragons grappled. Sunfyre roared, a cry filled with both pain and rage, as Silverwing’s jaws clamped down on his wing.

“No!” Aegon’s scream echoed across the battlefield, his eyes wide with disbelief as Silverwing’s powerful muscles twisted and tore, shredding Sunfyre’s wing almost completely from its body. The golden dragon thrashed wildly, his flight faltering as the wing dangled uselessly by a thread of sinew and bone.

Gwayne’s breath caught in his throat, torn between elation and horror. You were winning, but at what cost? He knew what was coming next. Vhagar, that ancient beast of war, had been waiting for this moment. With a bellow that shook the very ground, the monstrous she-dragon descended like a nightmare from the skies, her jaws wide and hungry.

“Look out!” Gwayne shouted, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him from so far below. His heart thundered in his chest as Vhagar slammed into both Silverwing and Sunfyre with the force of a landslide. The three dragons collided in a tangle of limbs, scales, and teeth, a storm of rage and destruction. The impact was so fierce that Gwayne felt the ground shudder beneath him.

“No! No, no, no…” Gwayne whispered, his voice cracking as he watched the entangled dragons plummet toward the earth. You and Aegon were mere shadows against the backdrop of fire and smoke, barely visible as the dragons twisted and fell in a deadly spiral. Criston’s soldiers, caught between the descending juggernauts and their own fear, broke ranks, fleeing in every direction as the ground rushed up to meet the falling beasts.

Gwayne felt a cold dread settle in his bones as he watched you, desperately holding onto Silverwing’s saddle as the world blurred around you. You clung on with a ferocity that spoke to your will to survive, but against Vhagar’s ancient fury and Sunfyre’s desperate thrashing, even the mighty Silverwing was struggling.

Criston’s eyes were wild as he watched the battle unfold, his voice a harsh whisper of disbelief. “Vhagar will end it… she must end it…”

But Gwayne wasn’t watching Vhagar anymore. He was watching you. You were still fighting, still urging Silverwing to fight back, but the odds were overwhelming. Sunfyre’s golden scales were slick with blood, his roars more pitiful now as he struggled to right himself in the air. Silverwing’s wings beat furiously, trying to break free from Vhagar’s crushing grip, but the elder dragon’s jaws clamped down on Silverwing’s neck, dragging all three dragons toward the ground with terrifying speed.

The earth shook as the three dragons smashed into the battlefield, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. The sound was deafening—a sickening crunch of bone and screech of metal as the dragons collided with the earth. Gwayne’s heart dropped into his stomach, his eyes searching desperately through the smoke and dust for any sign of you.

“No…” he whispered, stumbling forward as if he could somehow reach you, somehow pull you from the wreckage of dragons and death. But even from here, he could see the carnage—Silverwing’s body twisted and battered, Sunfyre writhing in agony, and Vhagar looming above them all, a monstrous shadow of death.

For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell silent, every eye fixed on the wreckage of the fallen dragons. Gwayne’s breath was ragged, his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you amidst the chaos. The dust began to settle, revealing broken bodies, shattered armor, and the mangled forms of the dragons.

And then he saw you—barely visible, still moving. You crawled from beneath Silverwing’s wing, blood streaking your face, your expression fierce even in the face of such overwhelming odds. Gwayne’s heart leaped into his throat. You were alive. Against all the odds, you had survived the fall.

But the battle was far from over. Vhagar’s malevolent eyes fixed on you, a deep rumble echoing from her throat as she prepared to finish what she had started. Aegon, still clinging to the last shreds of his pride, shouted commands to Sunfyre, but the once-majestic dragon was crippled, struggling even to rise.

Gwayne turned to Criston, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Do something! Call them off—she’ll be slaughtered!”

But Criston’s eyes were cold, devoid of mercy. “It’s too late, Hightower. She made her choice.”

Before Gwayne could respond, a deafening roar split the air as Vhagar reared back, ready to unleash a final torrent of fire upon you and Silverwing. Gwayne’s breath caught, knowing he was powerless to stop what was coming. All he could do was watch in helpless horror as the monstrous she-dragon prepared to strike.

But in those last moments, your eyes locked onto his. Even from across the battlefield, Gwayne saw the fire in your gaze—the unyielding determination, the refusal to surrender, even in the face of certain death. It was a look that would be seared into his memory forever.

And as Vhagar’s jaws parted, ready to unleash death upon the field, Gwayne did the only thing he could—he prayed. For you, for Silverwing, and for the love that had been forged in the fires of war.

It felt like time itself had slowed, the moments stretching into agonizing eternity. His breath hitched as the flames began to build in Vhagar’s throat, the light of impending destruction flickering in her maw. It would be over in seconds—everything would be lost.

But then, with a burst of speed that took even Gwayne by surprise, Silverwing jolted forward, her wings beating with desperate strength. As Vhagar’s jaws parted to unleash her fiery death, Silverwing struck. The smaller, silvery dragon lunged at Vhagar’s exposed throat, her teeth sinking into the tender scales. Her bite was unrelenting, fueled by both fury and the need to protect you. Vhagar’s flame sputtered out in a roar of agony, the ancient beast thrashing wildly as she tried to shake off the determined Silverwing.

Gwayne’s eyes widened in awe and terror. Silverwing’s tail snapped like a whip, striking Vhagar’s head with a force that reverberated across the battlefield. The blow landed squarely on Vhagar’s eye, the sound of bone and scale cracking sickeningly loud. The she-dragon’s roar of pain was a monstrous, guttural cry that seemed to shake the heavens. Even Aemond, usually so composed in battle, shouted in fury and alarm, yanking hard on the reins to regain control of his wounded dragon.

Gwayne knew he had only moments to act. Blood was streaming down your face, and even from a distance, he could see the exhaustion and pain etched into your features. You laid on the ground, barely holding on to life as Silverwing thrashed against Vhagar’s deadly strength. It was a miracle you had survived this long, but that miracle was on the brink of shattering. Gwayne’s decision was made in an instant, despite the searing pain in his side and the chaos around him.

Nearby, a riderless horse whinnied in terror, its eyes rolling as it tried to flee the madness. Gwayne gritted his teeth, limping toward the panicked creature. “Easy, girl,” he rasped, wincing with every step. The horse reared, wild with fear, but Gwayne moved with surprising swiftness, grasping the reins and swinging himself into the saddle with a grunt of pain. Blood stained his tunic from his earlier wound, but he forced himself to push through it. There was no time to dwell on it—not when you were up there, fighting for your life.

“Where are you going, you fool?!” Criston’s voice rang out behind him, filled with fury. “You’ll die, Hightower! Come back!”

But Gwayne was deaf to Criston’s commands. He spurred the horse forward, urging it toward the burning wreckage of dragons, toward you. The horse resisted at first, terrified by the scent of blood and fire, but Gwayne was relentless, guiding it with strong hands and determined resolve. The animal finally obeyed, its hooves pounding against the earth as it charged through the smoke and debris.

Criston cursed behind him, and Gwayne heard the clatter of armor as the Lord Commander sprinted after him, but Gwayne didn’t care. All that mattered was reaching you.

Above, the struggle between Silverwing and Vhagar intensified. Aemond’s curses mingled with the roars of his dragon as he tried to force Vhagar to tear herself free, but Silverwing was like a vice, her jaws locked onto Vhagar’s throat. The she-dragon’s great wings buffeted the air, but even Vhagar, with all her size and strength, was struggling against the tenacity of her smaller opponent. Silverwing’s wings were shredded, her silvery scales bloodied, but she refused to let go. She was holding on not just for herself, but for you.

“Y/N!” Gwayne’s shout cut through the chaos as he neared the spot where you lay half-alive below Silverwing’s wing. He could see that you were barely conscious, your grip weak on your sword as you fought to stay awake. Desperation fueled his every move as he urged the horse closer, reaching out to you. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Through the haze of pain, you blinked up at him, your eyes unfocused. “Gwayne?” Your voice was faint, tinged with disbelief. “You… you shouldn’t be here…”

“I’m not leaving you!” Gwayne snapped, his voice rough with emotion. With a final burst of strength, he dismounted down beside you, reaching for your arm. The moment his hand grasped yours, you seemed to come back to life, your eyes clearing just enough to recognize him fully.

“Gwayne… you need to run,” you gasped, wincing as another jolt of pain coursed through you. “She’s going to kill us all…”

“Not today,” he vowed, pulling up with him and onto his horse. You were light in his arms, weakened from battle and injury, but there was still a flicker of the fierce spirit he had always admired in you. “I’ll get you out of here, I swear it.”

Criston’s voice was closer now, filled with anger. “Hightower, you’ll be executed for this!” he roared, but Gwayne didn’t even spare him a glance. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal surged forward, carrying you both away from the hellish scene behind you.

As the horse galloped across the field, Gwayne glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see the moment when Silverwing’s strength finally gave out. Vhagar’s claws found purchase, tearing deep into Silverwing’s side, and with a heart-wrenching cry, the silver dragon was forced to release her grip. Vhagar reared up, triumphant and bloodied, but the cost of the battle was clear—her eye was ruined, her scales cracked and bleeding. Silverwing collapsed onto the battlefield, her wings crumpling beneath her, but even then, she snarled defiantly, refusing to bow.

But there was no more fight left in her. Gwayne’s heart broke as he watched the light fade from Silverwing’s eyes, her body slumping in exhaustion. Aemond’s laughter echoed through the sky, dark and cruel, as he urged Vhagar to take the final blow. But before Vhagar could finish her fallen opponent, Gwayne’s eyes caught the movement of Criston as he halted his pursuit.

“Cole!” Aegon’s voice was a ragged gasp, filled with pain and panic. The king lay on the battlefield, unmoving, his once-golden armor scorched and twisted from the flames. His face was barely recognizable, the flesh blistered and raw, his body wracked with agony. Criston’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what had happened—their king was grievously injured, possibly dying. All thoughts of pursuing Gwayne and you evaporated as Criston sprinted toward Aegon, screaming orders for a healer.

Gwayne tightened his hold on you as the horse raced away from the carnage, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. You clung to him weakly, your breath shallow, your strength fading fast. “Stay with me, Y/N,” he urged, his voice trembling with barely contained desperation. “Just hold on a little longer. We’ll find safety. I won’t let you die.”

Your eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, you leaned your head against his chest, your voice a faint whisper. “You saved me… again…”

Gwayne’s throat tightened, his emotions threatening to spill over. “And I’ll keep saving you, no matter what it costs,” he promised, pressing a fierce kiss to your temple as the wind whipped through your hair. “I’m not losing you. Not today, not ever.”

Behind them, the battle raged on, but for Gwayne, the only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms and the fragile hope that somehow, despite everything, they would both live to see another day.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Like Animals 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, free use, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you're taken by a man with an insatiable appetite.

Characters: Curtis Everett.

Author’s Note: This is in the same universe as Partners in Crime.

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“You don’t have to be afraid,” the grizzly voice rises in the darkness. “I don’t want you to be... scared.” 

You flinch and tug on your arms, wrists bound behind you, your ankles similarly bound together. You sit in the corner of the black space, knees drawn to your chest, arms crushed into the wall. You whimper as footsteps echo in the void. You blink, trying to see through the layers of shadows. 

You can’t speak. There’s something in your mouth. Dry and coarse. Fabric of some sort. 

“I’m not a monster...” the statement sends a shiver up your spine. 

You turn your head back and forth, dizzy as each scuff of your sneaker, each rustle of fabric, every syllable rolls off the walls you can’t see. You can’t remember how you go here. You don’t remember anything. You just went to bed and woke up in this place. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He’s closer, his voice clearer. He’s not long pacing. “You can protect them. From me.” 

A sudden bloom of light blinds you. You squint against the harsh glare of a lantern as it floats closer. It hovers over you and descends slowly. The man behind it holds it just below his face so you can barely make him out. 

“I just need... something to keep me under control.” He clunks the base of the lantern down. “I won’t hurt you either, not if you’re good.” 

You wince and shudder as he reaches for you. He curls his fingers and brushes his knuckles against your cheek. You shy away and he opens his hand, grabbing your head and pulling you forward. His icy blue eyes turn your blood cold. 

“You just have to do what I say. What I want. If you don’t...” he looks away and shakes his head slightly. “You have a sister. Two. They’re pretty, like you. I could find them. They’d just be two more. There would be others along the way.” He brings his other hand up and grips your head between his large hands. “I can’t stop it. I tried.” 

He searches your terrified face and closes his eyes. You feel him quake. “You can stop it. You can stop me. Without you, I won’t be able to control it.” 

You’re heart pounds in your ears. You don’t know who he is or why you’re here. More terrifyingly, how does he know about your sisters? How did he find you? The questions blow through you like a chill. 

“Will you help me?” He squeezes your skull until it aches. He’s strong. So strong. You can only see his face but you can tell he’s bigger than you. 

You bat your lashes as tears bobble on the brims of your eyes. Whatever he wants, you know it’s not good. You know he’s going to hurt you whether you say yes or no. He just might have a bit of mercy if you agree. 

You try to nod. You can only wiggle a little in his grasp. He lightens his hold on your and swirls his broad thumbs against your temples. He leans closer. His dark stumble sharpens his jawline and his brows arch. 

“Yes?” He wonders. 

You nod, this time harder. You can’t stop. You rock towards him and garble around the gag. 

He hushes you and stills your head. He lets you go and hooks his thumb under the strip tied around your mouth. He pulls it down then digs out the wad from between your teeth. You cough and lean into the corner. 

“I...Thank you.” 

He crumples the fabric in his hand and snatches up the lantern. He stands and shuts it off. His treads scrape on the floor as he walks into the darkness and your left in the blotchy black nothingness, the ring of light still burnt in your retina. 

A door opens, letting in a gust, then closes with a deafening clang. You whimper and sink back. Your wrists and ankles ache from constriction and your jaw feels loose without the cloth to bite down on. Your tears overflow at last and you devolve into helpless sobs. 

What is this? 

You huddle as you try to stave off the cold creeping from the cement beneath you and the dingy walls. You think you’re underground but you could be wrong. It hardly matters where you are. 

Hinges squeal and you flinch again, hitting your head off the hard wall. The footsteps approach again and you cower. Something clunks down in front of you and you hold your breath. The man walks through the darkness and the lantern glows once more, further away. He hangs it from a hook and approaches you again. 

You sniff back your tears as your cheeks are left raw and cold with the wet sheen. 

You look down at the metal tray. With the light out of your face, you can see better. Not clearer, but more of him. He’s tall and burly. He gets down on his knees and sits back on his heels. He takes the thick metal spoon from the tray and stirs around the creamed corn. 

“Eat,” he orders. 

He raises the spoon and you open your mouth. The corn is sweat and gooey. You swallow it down even as the texture repulses you. He feeds you a spoonful at a time, no time for you to resist or taste. Next, he scoops up the mashed potato. 

“Wait,” you say and cough again, your throat dry. “Wait, who are you?” 

“Finish.” He drags out the last letters. 

You nod and look down at the spoon. You lean forward and open your mouth. You eat as diligently as he feeds you, eager for an answer. The turkey is coated in gravy but its bland. You swallow down the last bite and he offers the cup of water. You drink it down greedily until you choke. 

He pulls away as you catch your breath. You slump against the wall again and flutter your lashes at him. 

“Please, tell me who you are,” you murmur. 

He takes the cutlery in his hand as he lifts the tray, holding the cup steady with his fingers. He sighs, “my name’s Curtis. I already know yours.” He stands as you gape at him. “But you shouldn’t care who I am, you should’ve asked what I am.” 

[kybercrystals94]

Nightmares and Demons

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Prompts -> Bonus Alternate Prompt: Light in the Darkness -> Week 12: Nightmares & Radio Silence -> Week 13: "Stop Touching Me!" // "I'm not touching you!"

Rated: T | Words: 1443 Author's Note: This is a roundabout sequel to my Febuwhump 2024 story Poisoned.

“Remember, remember, remember…” Crosshair murmurs through gritted, gnashing teeth. He presses the heels of his hands into his temples, fingernails digging into his scalp. “...remember, remember…” A sob. “...please, remember…” 

The girl came again. She knows his name. Speaks with a familiarity he craves. She tells him they are coming. Their brothers. Their brothers are coming. It is only a matter of time. He believes her. He has to believe her. If he doesn’t, he has nothing. Nothing but the poison that the Empire has leached into him. Needles and torture and endless, endless pain. 

Her promise, void and empty as it is, is like a light in the inky, consuming darkness. A fragile, flickering flame on the end of a match. It burns close to his finger tips, but he won’t let it go. 

“What have they done to you, Crosshair?” the girl asks when she comes. 

Crosshair tries to ignore her, tries to remember. Their brothers. Her promise. They’re coming. 

“...remember, remember, remember…” 

If he falls asleep, he doesn’t remember. He never remembers. 

He only feels the ghosts of memories, transparent and impossible to grasp in desperate fists. They brush past him, leaving lingering anguish in their wake. They never comfort, only torment and haunt him. 

When Crosshair wakes, it is silence that greets him. Not the girl. Not their brothers. 

Crosshair stands and looks out the grate of his cell. The other cell doors are swung open while his remains firmly latched. Why didn’t the guards take him too? Have they finally finished their experiments? Has he finally outlived his usefulness to the Empire? But that isn’t right. Something is wrong. 

Panic pricks his skin, stutters his heartbeat, quickens his panting breaths. 

He doesn’t understand. He should be grateful he is being left alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. He shouldn’t be alone. 

“...we don’t leave our own behind…”

“...we would’ve taken you back…”

“...it is his nature…” 

“...you're my brother too…”

The ghosts press in. Memories darkened with poison, glimpses of clarity in a clouded mind. He shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. Please, don’t leave me alone! 

Crosshair stumbles back from the grated door. Nearly falls. “Guard?” he calls out. Don’t call out. Don’t draw attention. “Guard!” His voice pitches in his throat, a near scream.

A guard comes. He stands at the grate, looking in through a lifeless, broken visor. His blaster hangs loosely from one gloved hand. His armor is stained with blood and scorch marks. “You’re still here,” the guard says incredulously, voice thin and weak. 

Crosshair only stares back. 

The guard tips his head. “Funny. I didn’t think they’d leave one of their own behind.” 

“Behind?” Crosshair whispers. 

The guard opens the door. Steps toward him. “They came for the girl, they came for the others…but they didn’t come for you.” 

Crosshair thinks his lungs turn to stone. He can’t breathe, can’t draw in a breath, can’t speak a word. The guard takes another step. He lifts his blaster. “The Empire doesn’t need a singular, damaged clone. Its own kind don’t even want it. Why would we?” 

The girl wouldn’t leave him behind. Their brothers wouldn’t leave him behind. She promised they would come. For her. For them. They wouldn’t leave him behind. 

But they did. 

“Don’t,” Crosshair rasps out. He can’t move. His body paralyzed with something. Fear? Resignation? 

The muzzle of the blaster gouges into this chest. He feels its cold heat through the thin cloth of his shirt, over the pounding throb of his heart.  

Silence. 

And in the silence, the click of a trigger. 

***

Crosshair chokes on a frantic gasp of breath, the inhale burning down a raw throat. He tries to kick out of the blankets tangled around his limbs, but they hold fast, binding him to the horrifying remnants of the nightmare. Crying out, his frantic movements become panicked and uncoordinated until he falls with a heavy crash from his bed to the cold, unforgiving floor. 

The main light of his room clicks on.

The click of a trigger. 

The darkness is banished in an instant, but the terror lingers still. He thrashes, one hand trying to disentangle himself, the other an empty wrist useless to do anything. 

“Hey, hey,” a voice says, “Cross, it’s okay. It’s alright. It’s just a nightmare.” 

“Stop touching me!” Crosshair cries. He isn’t talking to the voice. He’s talking to the endless fabric that confines his movements, his freedom…

“I’m not touching you,” the voice says, sounding confused. “Hold still, let me help you. I’ll help you, Cross…just…” 

Hands, steady and sure, swiftly free Crosshair from the folds of blankets. He is too relieved to feel ashamed yet. Crosshair simply sits, skin burning with cold adrenaline, nightclothes damp with sweat. His breathing is short and quick. He needs to calm down before he passes out. He knows that, but his body doesn’t care. His body doesn’t listen to reason. His mind can barely comprehend it itself. 

An arm wraps around him. “Easy, easy. It was a nightmare. Breathe. Just focus on your breathing. Okay? Nothing else.” Loud, exaggerated breaths guide him to even out his own breathing. It feels like long, shivering hours before his mind clears enough to recognize Hunter at his side on the floor. 

Embarrassment readily takes hold as adrenaline seeps out, but Crosshair can’t bring himself to pull away. Not yet. He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter asks.

Crosshair bites back the reflexive refusal. He lets the question settle instead, unanswered and expectant. 

Hunter doesn’t ask again, doesn’t move away. 

Omega talks about her nightmares, sometimes. Crosshair hasn’t tried to listen, but when the house is silent, and the only sound is the trembling voice of their little sister, confessing the demons that plague her sleep, it is hard not to. However, it seems to help her. The lies of the darkness cowering away in the light of the truth when Hunter tells her she’s safe now, Hemlock isn’t coming back, the Empire is no longer searching…she’s safe, she’s loved, she’s home…

Their home. 

“...it was about Tantiss,” Crosshair murmurs, his voice unsteady. 

Hunter hums. 

“I couldn’t remember anyone,” Crosshair continues, “The drugs they’d used clouded them. Omega was there, but I couldn’t remember her name. She told me our brothers were coming. They were coming for us…but I couldn’t remember who our brothers were.” 

Hunter’s grip tightens just a little, pulling him closer. 

Crosshair shudders against him. He has to finish or he never will. “In the nightmare, I woke up and everyone was gone. The other cells were open, all open except for mine. A guard came to my cell. He looked like he’d been in a firefight.” His throat constricts, but he can’t stop now. Even if he wanted to. The words rush out of him. “He said…he said that I’d been left behind. My brothers had come, but not for me. He said that I was no longer useful, that a solitary clone that wasn’t even wanted by its own kind was worthless…and then he shot me through the heart.” 

Shame washes over him as he exposes the dark corners of his mind to his brother. Thoughts he’s buried deep that claw their way out of the filth with sharp claws when he’s most vulnerable. He feels raw and unfortified, shivering on the floor of his bedroom. But at the same time, he feels protected. When his own strength failed him, Hunter stepped in, offering his own in the dark of night when demons both born and inflicted rushed in to torment. 

Hunter does not speak for a long time, but the silence isn’t empty. It is companionable. Crosshair has missed companionable silence. It is hard to come by. 

“I know that you know the truth,” Hunter says at last. “But sometimes it helps to hear it.” 

Crosshair nods. He is familiar with these words. He’s heard Hunter speak them to Omega many dark nights. 

“The truth is,” Hunter continues softly, rough voice low, “You and Omega escaped Tantiss together. You saved each other, and found us again. The truth is, no matter what the Empire thinks of us, you are our brother, and we love you.” 

Crosshair swallows back the emotions that threaten to betray him. 

“The truth is, that we are safe,” Hunter goes on, “and we’re together now. The truth is, you’ll never be alone again. Not if we have anything to say about it.” 

Crosshair sinks into the one armed embrace of his brother. 

He’s safe. 

He’s loved. 

He’s home.

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[sillysowa]

PROMISE

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER

GENRE: HEAVY ANGST

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: NOT PROOFREAD, USE OF Y/N, READER DEATH, DESCRIPTION OF INJURIES

AUTHORS NOTE: IF YOU CATCH ANYTHING TAHT ISN’T GN, LET ME KNOW

SYNOPSIS: HOBIE NEVER WANTED IT TO END LIKE THIS…

—

Often, Hobie looked fondly upon your deep caring nature and true heroism that he never saw in anyone else—but this time he only cursed it to hell.

He saw his life flash before his eyes as you swung back into the collapsing building to rescue a civilian, panicked and fueled on the notion that you ‘had to save them.’

He couldn’t have possibly chased after you any faster, and the moment your webs shot them out of the building and into the crowd of people gathered to catch them, he screamed,

“Y/N!” A cry of pure despair tore from Hobie’s throat as he watched the ceiling collapse on his only love.

His heart constricted in his ribcage at the sight of your fear before it happened and the sounds of you pain. He had never moved with so much haste, tearing the rubble off of you with his pulse pounding in his head. You were trapped under incredibly large pieces of the ceiling and Hobie could see your bloodied feet under the small gap he revealed.

“Y/N! Y/N please!” Hobie gasped, crawling under the opening. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of your limp body, pierced in your side by a giant rod of metal from the rubble, bleeding out like a bloody waterfall. You were conscious, but definitely not for long with all the blood loss. Your mask was torn clean off and tears spilled from your poor red eyes,

“H-Hobie…?”

“Y/N-Y/N-Y/N…It’s me!…oh, my love...” His shaking voice cracked as his arms reached out to gently hold you close. You cried and screamed in pain as he cradled you,

“I know I know, I’m sorry my love, I’m so sorry. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay…I’m here, I’m here.” Hobie rambled, his voice trembling as he turns your head to look away from the wound and into his teary eyes. It was heartbreaking to see him like this,

“Hobie…I don’t want to die…” Your lower lip trembled and your voice was hoarse as you spoke, your rattling fingers clinging to the back of his jacket as you sobbed, the shaking of your body only causing you more pain and making you cry even harder.

“You won’t die baby, I promise.” Hobie almost whispered as he attempted to gently remove the rod from your side, instantly stopping when your screaming grew particularly agonized and sobs of his name fell from your lips, your limp body tensing under him,

“It’s-it’s useless Hobie…” You whimper, swallowing and trying to not hyperventilate. Hobie felt utterly defeated, looking down at the dying light in his arms and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he felt your trembling fingers against his warm skin, wiping away his tears—you were so cold.

He held your hand there as if there was a possibility he could engrave your fingerprints into his skin and keep you there with him. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to muster up the strength to speak,

“P-Please don’t cry, Hobie…”

If only it were that easy. Hobie had never been so afraid in his life as he was watching you fight for your own in his arms, your blood gushing all over him with seemingly nothing he could do to help you.

“I can’t let you die like this…I can’t.” He whispered and squeezed your hand, his warmth an oddly unfamiliar feeling to you as your mind starting to feel fuzzy, your head lolling back only for Hobie to cradle it with his palm,

“Why…?” He asked, his voice low and broken in anguish as he held you, your head in his palm, “You’re all that matters to me you know that right?” Hobie couldn’t bring himself to use words like ‘were’ or ‘mattered.’ You were still there…at least for a little longer,

“I know…” You sobbed, coughing and choking on your blood then whimpering as Hobie’s grub tightened on you and his pulse raced. You were horrified of dying, but relieved that it would be in Hobie’s loving arms. Those same arms that hugged you tight every time he saw you, caged you in when you slept soundly, and saved you countless times. There was no other way you would have your death than this—Hobie looking down on you with your hand against his cheek, whispering about how much he loves you while soaking your fingers with his tears and rocking you gently in his arms,

“Hobie…listen to me okay?” You groan, your eyelashes fluttering as you wince in dying pain,

Hobie just nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He looked like he was genuinely hanging on every word you said.

“Please, promise me you’ll…keep living…keep fighting everyday, Hobie, just the way you always do-“ You choked out, holding his jacket in your balled up fist. The pinch in your eyebrows, the tears in your eyes, the blood on your lips—it was a nightmare to Hobie,

“N-No please don’t-don’t say things like that please…” Hobie cried and nuzzled his cheek against your palm, scared that it would fall from his face at any moment,

“Hobie you have to promise…” You whimpered, your glossy eyes gazing longingly into his own. Hobie couldn’t…because he knew if he did it would be like sealing the deal on your death. But, he also knew that he couldn’t let you die without doing anything you asked of him, so he swallowed his pain,

“I-I promise…” Hobie whispered, his tears dripping down onto your face, you whimper and your breathing grows slow, your face becoming oddly pale and colorless, your eyes dull,

“Y/N? Y/N, I can’t lose you, please!” Hobie screamed with a hollow voice, barely his voice barely a whisper in the bustling night. He held you like a baby, never feeling so helpless in his life. You didn’t respond to him, just squeezed his jacket until your knuckles turned pale and your hands shook violently before all their movements ceased. Your eyes were Hobie’s only remaining form of contact with you, the light slowly going out and being replaced with the lifeless look of a doll.

Hobie’s body was racked with sobs as his composure crumbled, hot tears brimming down his cheeks as he held your head under his chin. You were gone…his only love, his life, his purpose—gone. He slipped his palm into your hand, squeezing it like your fingers could still hold him—he didn’t want to think about how you could never hold his hand again…

Hobie knew he would never be the same person he was before he had held your dead body in his arms and sobbed for hours, dreaming that you would open your eyes and tell him you’d be okay, that you’d both be okay. He held your hand the whole night, even though your fingers were stuff and you would never feel a thing ever again.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri @lasagnaisbest @deepzombieyouth

[puppetmaster13u]

Howdy, who wants a WIP of my dark-ish dragon batfam that I mentioned and rambled about? I am also open to answering questions and doing even more rambles lol.

Warnings for some gore and such :] Also Tim's lacking self confidence and general unreliable narrator-ness when it comes to everyone.

   “Shh… it’s alright Timmy… you’re okay…” 

   Tim shuddered at the familiar voice, now tilted by a growling croon as fingers- claws- ran through his hair. He hiccuped slightly, the grip on him tightening and tucking him closer to a scaled form. 

    “You’re okay,” Dick crooned again, continuing to run fingers through his hair. “Dad will be back soon, won’t that be nice, Timmy?” 

   Scales scraped against his clothes as the older vigilante nuzzled against him, grip gentle but oh so possessive. He couldn’t tear free if he tried- and oh he had, he’d tried to run a few different times even with his broken leg, until he was no longer left alone. 

   Tim blinked back tears, trying to stop his heart from pounding against his chest as a thumb rubbed against his wrist. He’d never thought that his life would end up like this, cradled in the nest of things no longer pretending to be human. Trapped with no way out. 

   “Shh…” the shushing was more like a hiss, Dick’s cheek rubbing against his cheek as he failed to keep the tears from falling. “It’s alright Timmy, you’re going to be okay, alright? Sh, you’re just a little baby, it’s alright to feel overwhelmed…” 

   He shook his head, unable to make his tongue work or his throat form words, only able to get out a whimper. Tim wanted to go home, to the Drake home, even if it was empty and cold compared to the boiling heat of the Wayne manor. He wanted to pretend he had never become Robin, had never done such a stupid thing without realizing the consequences. 

   Dragons were possessive creatures. He’d known this even before he found out what the Bats were. He knew how violent they could be, even before seeing Nightwing and Batman rip Joker apart. If he wasn’t careful he could still taste blood and feel the viscera spatter across his face and into his hair. 

   Dick hummed, shifting his hold. Claws continued to gently tug tangles from his hair, even if there weren’t any left. “Everything is going to be fine, ‘kay Timmy? Look,” he knew the older boy was motioning to the batcomputer in front of them even if everything was blurry. “Dad is on his way home now, isn’t that nice?” 

   No, because he couldn’t even escape when it was just Dick, nevermind if there was both him and Bruce. Bruce, who could tear open a man’s rib cage like it was a ziplock bag. He didn’t think he could ever forget the sound of it, nor the sight of organs being violently torn free from where they should be. 

   He’d become Robin to stop the violence, but it seemed like he’d made it worse. All it took was one stupid mistake, one stupid slip up that resulted in him being caught, and now people were dead. 

   He couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down his face, even if they were wiped away by sharp claws. He had only wanted to help, he hadn’t meant to make everything worse. 

[lucysstoryworld]

Lease of Life | Azriel x Reader part 2

Hey! Thank you all so much for all the love on the first part. I am honestly blown away by the support and didn’t expect it to become so popular, so truly thank you for that. You’re all incredible.

Just a forewarning, it has been awhile since I read acotar so some things won’t be exactly like the book so forgive me :)

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, violence, dark thoughts.

Drip… Drip… Drip…

Was that noise water of blood?

Where am I?

What happened?

The pounding reverberating through your skull was the only thing you were sure of at the moment. The dull, slow throbbing that threatened your already nauseated stomach even if you so much as lifted a finger. It didn’t help that the breathing of whoever was in the cold room with was so damn irritating. Silence is what you needed, craved. Just enough silence that you could exist unnoticed until the pain passed. 

Room... breathing.. 

Realisation dawned upon you, prising your eyes open with such violence that  the ache in your head threatened to render you unconscious. Inch by inch, you pushed yourself from the ground, feeling as though you were moving in slow motion. You searched around the room, trying to find the source of the breathing. Trying to find your sisters. 

Though you were met with the face of a man. Long, golden hair. Green eyes. Positively handsome. He made a troubled face look exquisite. 

“You’re awake. He will be pleased,” He seemed to say more to himself than to you. 

“Where are my sisters?” Voice crackled, throat aching for water. 

“Safe. That is all you need know, (F/n).” 

He had to be joking, “Safe? Safe... How wonderful, a bunch of men come into my home, rip us from our beds and... murder our staff. How safe of you,” Speaking, no, barking at him the way you did was sure to earn you a beating. However, the images of Dina’s snapped neck fuelled the fire raging at the core of your being. 

“Males,” He responded, eyes flicking from your own to the damp ground you were currently seated on. 

“What?” 

“You said men. Fae are not men and women. We say males and females.” You furrowed your eyebrows, staring at the... male as if he had grown a second head. 

“So from what I just said to you, all you got was that I incorrectly termed your friends. Whatever.” You seemed to trigger something in him, he curled in on himself slightly. 

The moment of vulnerability was short lived when his eyes hardened and he pushed himself to his feet, “You’re more like her than the others. You should keep that smart mouth of yours shut if you know what’s good for you,” Was all he said before he took his leave.

A slight groan and another wave of sickness had you resting your head upon the tiles. At least the cold was smoothing your headache. It lulled you into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

When you awoke once again, it was instead to the sound of heavy footsteps nearing your cell. A cell. Your confusion from before hadn’t allowed you to fully realise your surroundings. Not that you had much to look at. Nor did you have much time to dwell on it. The headache had not passed and this time it had brought a fresh fever. A cold shiver rattled your body before you were hauled to your feet by those who entered your prison. More males. Lifting you seemed to be as easy as lifting paper to them. You were sure these were the beasts humans were taught to fear. Brutal and ruthless. When your feet began to falter, the creatures shoved you with such force that you stumbled into the ones in front of you. Your breaths became laboured, lungs weak and your heart was stuttering in your ears. From the fear or the stress on your body you weren’t sure.

Blackness began to dance in your peripheral vision when you finally stopped in front of a large wooden door. The slight tang of blood hinted at the back of your tongue, as a slow dark stream dribbled from your nose. Before you had the chance to try stump the flow, a shove had you staggering into the large room. The light sent white hot pain spearing through your eye sockets. Once again, hands plunged you forward. This time, there was no one in front to cushion your fall and you slammed onto the floor, your hands barely catching your body. 

“You bastard! What did you do to her?!” Nesta’s voice ripped through the room like ice cold water. 

Raising your head, you finally saw everything. Your sisters on a dais, kneeling before three crowned women... definitely women. Though the expressions on their faces matched that of the animals that treated you as though you were dirt beneath their feet. Front and centre on the dais was another male whom, like every other fae male and female had a face that seemed to blessed by beauty for which gods kept for themselves. His face was wickedly beautiful, cruelty incarnate. In spite of that, the cauldron in the centre of the room seemed to suck the life out of the room. 

No... it consumed it. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes from it, even as fear prickled your very soul. It was like it was daring you to look away. Taunting you. 

A loud ringing pierced through your hearing, like it was only you and the cauldron. Facing off. It eating into every fear that you possessed. 

“(F/n)!”

Feyre’s screech finally had you moving your gaze. She was surrounded by her family, her eyes screaming unbridled terror. Terror for you, Nesta and Elain. 

“You lay one traitorous hand on her, Tamlin, and I will make good on the debt owed to me for my mother and sister,” Rhysand growled. Turning your head, you saw the blonde male who greeted you in your cell. He seemed frozen in place, his hand outstretched with a scrap of cloth. You assumed it was for your nose, but you could not bring yourself to take it. Your senses were overridden, panic replacing the blood in your body. 

“Now, now. Enough with the theatrics and let us get to the purpose of today.” Everyone’s attention snapped to the man. With a wave of his hand, two men picked Elain up. Elain who was as pale as a sheet of parchment. Elain who made no acknowledgment of the situation thus far. “As promised, human queens. I will show you that immortality can and will be gained.” 

Nesta’s thrashing and screaming became violent as she fought with all her might to get to Elain. Be that as it may, her efforts were fruitless. Elain was plunged into the cauldron, seconds and eons seeming to pass simultaneously. 

A tingling danced through your fingers, an aura passing through your vision. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening. Elain had to be okay. She is to be married soon. With that insufferable, alpha-male Grayson that, in this moment, you wished with all your might would come in and rescue her. Save her from the hell she was plunged into. Loud, rattling breaths racked your body, the thumping to your head returning with a vengeance. You locked eyes with Feyre, trying to tell her what was about to happen with your eyes alone. Pleading with her to make you safe. 

And when that blasted cauldron was tipped, and Elain slithered out covered in a sheen of some otherworldly essence was when your eyes rolled back into your head and you dropped to the floor. 

* * * 

Nesta, Feyre and the inner circle watched in horror as convulsions jerked (F/n)’s body. Feyre thrashed and fought in attempt to get to you with Nesta following suit. “Please let me go to her! Please! She will choke!” Mania seemed to grip Nesta’s body. When she could not break free from her captor’s hands, she began to wail “Just turn her on her side at least! Please!”

Tamlin took it upon himself to hold (F/n) on her side as foam began to leak from the corner of her mouth. “I want her in next!” Hybern boomed, seemingly delighted by the situation. His eyes were focused on the newly fae Archeron sister. Elain, whom was examining her new body, still had not uttered a word. She only turned and watched as a guard ripped her sister’s still seizing body from Tamlin’s grip and approached the cauldron. 

Nesta’s crying, Feyre’s roars, all efforts fell on deaf ears as (F/n)’s body disappeared below the surface of the cauldron’s depth. 

* * *

Cold, yet warm. 

Harsh, yet gentle. 

Welcoming, yet uninviting.

All the sensations of the void were at odds with one another. 

Darkness. That was the only thing that appeared to be harmonious in this environment. You wished to stay in the peaceful void, though your body screamed at you to get out. 

What seemed like an eternity passed when light flooded your senses once more. The peace was short lived when you coughed a black liquid up onto the tiled floor. Your head shot up, eyes meeting that of Azriel’s, whom looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“What’s happening?” You all but squeaked, barely remembering anything from entering the room and now. Looking down at yourself, you felt a gentle whirring in your blood. A whirring that felt like you had been born anew. Reborn with a body that felt strong, that bared no hint of the ailments from before. 

When your lithe fingers made contact with your ear, it all made sense. 

Fae. 

“What the fuck,” You whispered to yourself. 

A strange scent flooded your nose, something that you could not explain nor had you ever smelled it before. Whatever it was, it felt wrong. 

The cauldron. 

That’s what it was, you realised when you turned to see Nesta being dragged towards its domineering opening. You wanted to move, ached to run towards her but you felt anchored to the ground with some unmovable force. 

You watched with horror as Nesta met the same fate as your own, as her hand remained above the surface, pointed at the man in charge in a silent threat. 

In a silent promise. 

The general roared, lunging towards your eldest sister. Only to have his wings shredded in the process. Screams erupted from Feyre and her family. Possibly even you, but the sounds all fused as one and you couldn’t find your own in the mix. Seeing that blood pool from his body had you emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. 

When the cauldron was tipped once again, Nesta’s body flowed with it. You sobbed as you pulled her towards your body, feeling an unmatched terror as she lay motionless.

“C’mon, wake up,” You mumbled, slapping her cheeks. 

Moments passed before she sputtered to consciousness. Despite the situation, relief was the only thing you could feel. Relief at her survival. Elain’s. Your own. 

“Hybern you son of a bitch!” Morrigan growled, almost animalistic. 

“What a perfect outcome! Look,” He gestured from the human queens, to you, “Look at this success. The cauldron even possessed the power to cure the shortcomings of this human girl. Rest assured, you will be immortal. Never again to be plagued by the ailments of a mortal body!” 

“You’re psychotic,” You boomed before you realised you were speaking. 

The only reply in which you received was a smile that screamed victorious. Like he was the most cunning male to have walked Prythian. Narrowing your eyes, you challenged him. You knew it was idiotic, but you dared him with your gaze to take you on. To jump into the ring with you. 

Before he had the inkling to respond, blinding white light exploded throughout the room. Frantically, you tried to find the source. Only to see that it was pulsing from Feyre. Raw power flooded your senses. Flooded from your sister into you, filling you with the purest form of love and protection. Like Feyre actively encased you with all the comfort that she hadn’t in the years since she had left. 

When it finally dimmed, she appeared different. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something. 

“Tamlin?” Her panicked... innocent? voice whimpered. 

Someone then. 

Feyre began a tirade of almost incoherent mumbling about how she had been taken against her will and glamoured this whole time. Confusion rippled down your body, looking from your sister to Tamlin whom looked at Feyre as though she brought the sun and stars to the earth. Looking back at her family, they looked just as bewildered as you felt. It only lasted a second before Morrigan and Azriel were with you. Morrigan clasped both her hands onto you and Nesta, while Azriel lifted Elain. 

And from one moment to the next, you went from being seated on the tiled floor with Nesta to the plush carpet of place you had never been. The scent of Feyre lingered throughout the room, providing you with some comfort. It did not last for long. 

When it dawned upon you that she was not here, you shot to your feet with legs that had the consistency of jelly. You leaned upon Morrigan, and looked at Rhysand with such anger that it sent that whirring in your blood boiling. 

Whispering, for you felt that you could not keep the cap on that boiling sensation if you raised your voice so much as an octave, you said, 

“Where is she?” 

I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know if there are any mistakes! :)

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Please let me know if I missed you and some of the tags wouldn’t work so apologies. 

[lucifersdeadbride]

“Let’s Dance Together In The Rain”

A scenario in which MC (being you) wants to dance in the rain with their beloved demon. How will each one respond? A short one shot for each brother. (some fluff, somewhat angst, and Asmo as always is touchy, but no suggestive themes) 2 paragraphs per brother

LUCIFER:

“Excuse me?” Lucifer asked you rhetorically with a sly smirk on his face, purely just wanting his ears to be blessed with such a question once more. You rolled your eyes and smiled, dropping your umbrella to the ground and letting the rain droplets soak you beneath the fabric. “I said, would you like to dance with me in the rain?” You asked over the speakers of the coffee shop playing melodic music to those walking past. You and Lucifer both shared the same taste in music, as well as a taste for pure, melancholy romance. Lucifer dropped his own umbrella with a faint chuckle, and looked up at the dark sky as he basked in the cold droplets decorating his face blissfully. He looked down to find you patiently waiting in front of him with a smile still plastered on your face, your hand out to him eagerly waiting to be hugged by his own. Lucifer quickly wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing his chest against your own, and his hand gently entangling your fingers with his. “Follow my lead, my love. He whispered against your ear before leaving a kiss on your lobe, causing your cheeks to grow hot, and your stomach to be riddled with butterflies.

You two danced away in the middle of the plaza to the faint music, not caring for the judgement blatantly given by passing onlookers. As you two laughed and dramatically danced in the wet downpour, unphased by the natural shower dowsing you both to the bone, Lucifer pulled you close to his face. His hand braced your back to keep you pressed, and his lips barely grazed your own in a subtle tease. You felt your heart pound as you gazed into his eyes, finding comfort in the shared, longing silence. Before you could speak your mind, the tall, prideful demon already beat you to it. “I love you, so much. I’d dance with you in the rain over and over again if it means keeping you happy, and getting to call you mine forever.” He finished his sentence with a deep kiss full of passion, the kind that makes your heart stop and your blood run hot. The kind of kiss that makes time feel senseless, and life feel nothing more than a simulation. The kind of kiss that lets you know, you’re his and only his, forever.

MAMMON:

“Oi, you want me to what?!” Mammon asked with a scoff, already crossing his arms to let you know he’s not about it. “Ain’t no way I’m dancing in the cold, wet rain!” You pouted, looking down at your feet to seem all glum. “Oh, okay…” you said with the saddest tone possible, knowing you could easily manipulate him into changing his mind to please you, albeit evil. “I just thought it’d be romantic and fun.” You mumbled while lightly tapping a puddle of rain with your foot, causing droplets to faintly splash onto the top of your shoe. Mammon watched the mood change very quickly, and groaned to himself while scratching his head in frustration, eyeing your foot tapping away sadly at the puddle. He sighed heavily and snatched the umbrella you held in your hand, already dropping his onto the sidewalk without caring for other pedestrians. “Yah, no human of mine is gonna be sad. Especially because of me!” He exclaimed boastfully, practically yanking your body into the drizzle. You laughed while wrapping your arms around his neck, and forcing closure between you both, pressing your nose against his own. “Mammonie, you’re too easy~” You teased before pecking his lips. Mammon immediately blushed, rolling his eyes and pulling out his AirPods. “You know I could never say no to you.”

He places one pod into your ear while the other in his own. “Um, won’t the rain ruin these, Mammonie?” You ask with concern coating your tone. He shrugs, picking a romantic dance playlist from his D.D.D. and tucking it away into his coat pocket. “So what? The Great Mammon can always buy a new pair. What’s important is keeping my human happy.” With rosy cheeks he pecked your forehead, holding you close against his chest, his arms resting comfortably on your lower back as if they were meant to be there. You happily snuggled against his chest, the smile on your face never leaving as you two swayed slowly within the rain. Becoming soaked to the bone in cold rain never felt so amazing.

LEVIATHAN:

“Leviachan~” you cooed out to the otaku while peeking into his room. Just before you could step in a bolt of lightning flashed and crashed outside the window, causing the sweet demon to quiver and hide under his blanket with not a second to spare. You winced slightly, but only from the sudden obnoxiousness that came about. “Levi, you okay?” You asked as you fully stepped in, shutting the door behind you. His TV displayed a dim screen of a paused game that he’s been raving about nonstop for days. You could hear the faint whimpering from under the shivering covers, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly at how cute it was to find the third strongest demon lord afraid of a little storm. “Leviathan, it’s okay.” You spoke softly while peeking under his makeshift hideout. He opened his eyes and immediately smiled the moment he saw your face. “Darling, I’m so happy to see you…” Levi sat up with the blanket slowly falling from his head down his shoulders. He then immediately blushed, looking away with his hands covering his cheeks. “Agh, I’m sorry you had to see me in such a lame, vulnerable state. You probably think I’m such a weakling.” You chuckled, leaning over the tub he lay in and placing a kiss on his hands that remained pressed against his embarrassed face. You could feel the heat emanating from the immense blushing even through his fingers.

“You’re the strongest, bravest demon I know, Leviachan. So brave that you’re willing to dance in the scary rain with me.” You casually suggested while guiding him out the tub, pulling him out gently by his arm. The blanket fell along the rim. Levi gasped, shaking his head super fast. “No way! I’m not going out there in such danger!” His demeanor carried heavy reluctance. You pursed your lips with a sigh, looking away at anything but the otaku himself. “I understand. I guess I could ask one of your brothers to see if they’re interested. Oh!” You perked up, “Solomon would definitely dance in the rain with me!” You thought aloud on purpose, hoping to make Levi just a tad jealous to swindle his mind. You peeked over at the cute hermit to find him already fully clothed in rain gear, buttoning up his rain jacket with determination. Your face immediately fell into a shocked, confused look with an over-preparedness for the storm. Levi adjusted his rain boots before taking your hand into his, already pulling you towards his bedroom door. “As the normies say: let’s roll.”

SATAN:

The weather of the Devildom was gloomy today. Grey skies and consistent rain with a dash of bitter winds. One might find this mood dampening, but you found this splendid for your day of binge reading. For once you were left alone in your room. No pestering from the brothers’ shenanigans that you somehow were always dragged into, or an hour long lecturing from Lucifer for arriving thirty seconds late to class. A blue moon was more occasional than the alone time you were granted. Nothing more than just you, your fluffy blanket gifted to you by Asmo during past holidays, and your romance novel borrowed from the librarian himself, Satan. It wasn’t surprising nor unexpected of him to suggest such a beautifully written story. You were deeply invested in this chapter, and found yourself rereading a specific paragraph involving the main couple romantically dancing away their worries in the rain. You couldn’t help but blush as you played the scenario in your mind with yourself and Satan substituting the characters. The thought of someone as handsome as himself, artistic and intelligent, putting his hand out to you as the rain soaked his gorgeous locks, and complimented his stunning complexion, caused you to silently become feral. You sighed heavily while gently tossing the book to your side, grabbing your throw pillow to cover your face in disappointment. Sometimes it hurt to live your fantasy out in your head. The eagerness to act out this script was almost too much to bare. Quickly, a knocking at your door brought you out of your elusive thoughts. Apprehensively, you rolled out of the comfort of your bed, and made your way to the calling. As you opened your door you were met with the “main character” of your beloved book. Satan stood there with a smile, and an umbrella to his side almost mimicking a cane.

“Good evening, sweetheart.” He endearingly greeted, bringing a blush to your cheeks almost instantly. You smiled, “Uh– you the same– uh–“ you stumbled over your words, not making any sense and feeling an overwhelming wave of embarrassment. Satan couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself. You could feel yourself shrinking with every chuckle. “I’m sorry, you’re just so funny.” He apologized yet complimented. You looked away bashfully, quickly moving on. “Why’d you stop by?” You asked. Satan tapped along the handle of the umbrella anxiously, but very subtle. “How far have you gotten through that book?” He questioned with an eager intent. You shrugged, “A little over halfway. Why?” Satan immediately grinned, peeking through your door to look out your window from where he stood. He nodded towards the gloomy view. “So, you think we can reenact the couple’s first dance? I’ve been waiting many long years to find the perfect someone to fit such a romantic scenario.” Satan asked sweetly, almost giddy-like with just the hope of the possibility you’d agree. You couldn’t even find yourself to answer him, feeling drenched in shock and disbelief. It’s almost as if he read your mind. But, it clicked; “Hm,” you chuckled, “it seems I may have read your mind, Satan.” You reached up on your toes and pecked his nose softly, causing his cheeks to burn up. “I’ll get dressed.” You said with a smirk, leading him into your room by hand to await your readiness.

ASMODEUS:

“Honey, there’s no way!” Asmo refused while looking away from you and into his mirror, applying lip gloss intricately. You flopped onto his bed, rolling yourself into a blanket burrito. “But why not?!” You whined, holding a pout. “Rain is dirty, and will cause my hair to severely frizz. Not to mention I don’t want you catching a cold.” The beauty king quickly responded, turning to you in his spinning chair. “Why don’t we just stay in and practice skincare instead?” Asmo suggested, poking gently at your nose as only your head stuck out from your fabric cocoon. You frowned and turned away from him, rolling your eyes feeling annoyed. “We always do that.” Your tongue was sharp, “We always do what you want to do, but anytime I suggest something you find reason to say no.” Your tone carried more sadness than anger. You and Asmo have been together for a while now, and it hurt to feel like you were always second to everything in his life. It hurt to feel like your opinions or wants and needs didn’t matter. It may be something as silly as dancing in the rain, but it was more than that. You wanted to be put first for once. The lustful demon wore an expression of shock, slowly pushing himself away from the bed you lay on. The room was tense, silent, and a bit awkward. You couldn’t read if he were upset by your words or offended. You sat upright, still wrapped in his blanket, trying to find the right words to say even though a peep hasn’t come out of him.

“Even if it’s not dancing in the rain,” you began quietly, “I want to try something different with you tonight– anything! Something I like to do and want to share with you. There are other things we can do together other than–” “Hush, love.” Asmo cut you off in a whisper as he climbed onto the bed, pulling your cocoon apart slowly. He let the silky blanket rest against your shoulders loosely, and wrapped his arms tenderly around your neck in a cradle. “You’re right.” The demon uttered against your lips, causing you to blush instantaneously. “I’ve never realized this until you said it, but you’re right, we always do what I want to do. We always go shopping, do makeup, skincare, nails, all that I adore.” Asmo moved from your lips to your ear, nibbling your lobe teasingly. This was always his way of talking to you when you both argued or disagreed on things. You couldn’t help but melt every single time. Your cheeks remained hot as he continued to whisper. “I’ve never cared for anyone else’s interests, especially if they weren’t related to my own. You’re not just anyone else though,” he kissed your neck, “you’re special to me. Everything you care for, I care for. What matters to you matters to me, too.” Asmo pulled back just enough to brush the hair out of your face. With a smile, he kissed your forehead and trailed to your nose, and eventually your lips, passionately. This time he was much more sincere than other moments. He left you speechless, but you couldn’t contain your happiness as your face beamed with the affection. “Asmo…” you mumbled, his name rolling off your tongue with pure bliss. He chuckled at your expression, and placed his fingers under your chin, gently guiding you back to his lips. His breath coated your own as he once again whispered, “Come on love, let’s go dance in the rain to your heart’s desire.”

BEELZEBUB:

“Would you look at that,” Beel motioned out the window of the restaurant you both sat in as he spoke with a mouth full of food, “black rain.” You set your fork down and dabbed at your mouth with your linen napkin, staring out at the downpour of what depicted squid ink drenching all of Downtown Devildom. You frowned, turning back to him, “Black rain?” You asked confused. “Sounds dangerous.” You added in while poking at your dinner. You felt full and couldn’t take another bite, but knew it definitely wouldn’t go to waste with your gluttonous demon who’s practically a vacuum for leftovers. “I’ve heard Lucifer mention it before but, he never explained much of it to me. Or,” you shrugged, “maybe he did and I just lost interest and tuned him out.” You laughed at your own words, Beel doing the same. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Well,” he paused to pull your plate away from your side to his, not even asking but already knowing, “it’s definitely not dangerous. I don’t remember what causes it, but it’s not often we get to see it happen. Nothing amazing,” he stuffed his mouth, “just black water falling from the sky.” You chuckled as you watched him eat with a big smile. Food always made him so happy. You sometimes even wondered if it took precedence over yourself, and you didn’t really want to know the answer.

“It’s finally slowing down.” Beel muttered while holding your hand across the table, his chin resting in the other. Some time went by as you both awaited the end of the downpour. “I’d rather start going now while it’s drizzling before I eat the entire kitchen.” “You mean again?” You quickly retorted, “Because you just did that.” You finished with a laugh, and he did the same. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He stood from the booth and onto his feet, his hand still holding yours. “Come on, muffin.” He practically cooed, seeming eager to head back home. Probably already thinking about what’s in the fridge for him to raid. You smiled and stepped out from the booth, wrapping your arms around his toned, large bicep. As you walked out the restaurant, Beel placed his jacket over your head in an attempt to keep you dry. He was always so sweet, putting others before himself in every way possible. Surprisingly, even with the consistent drizzle of black rain, you both took your time walking home, not minding the weather and its nuisance. You stopped in your tracks so suddenly, causing Beel to mindlessly tug on your wrapped arms as he tried to continue on. He looked back at you confused. “What is it?” His tone coated with concern. You pointed at a street busker who played his violin beautifully under a small tarp, keeping his little space dry from the black rain. “Listen! It sounds so beautiful!” You said full of excitement and joy. Beel couldn’t help but smile at how happy it made you. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” He agreed. You let your arms slip from his and down to his hand, gently hugging it with your much smaller fingers. You looked up to him with a sparkle in your eyes, letting rain droplets decorate your face. They mimicked mascara-shed tears. His jacket almost slipped off your head, but he caught it with his free hand in time. The rain already began making its way through your hair. “Um, Beel? Would you care to dance with me?” You asked nervously, but kept a hopeful smile. The hungry demon looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed softly. “In the rain?” He questioned, then shrugged before giving you any time to answer. “Sure,” he said whilst picking you up into his arms without warning, playfully twirling as he placed a peck on your soaked cheek, “I’d love to dance with you, Muffin.”

BELPHEGOR:

Belphegor absolutely loves visiting you in your dreams. It’s a two-in-one package deal for him: getting to sleep and still spending time with you. He’s always able to create the perfect date scenarios for you both, and make them as magical as you want. Best of all, you two are all to yourselves. No brothers to steal you away, no school studies, and no unpredictable roadblocks. You started to become just like your slothful lover; always looking forward to bedtime. You looked over at your alarm clock on your bedside table for the time, and couldn’t help but to smile knowing it was indeed time for bed. You quickly gathered your favorite pillow and blanket before heading out your bedroom door, making your way to the sleepy demon’s attic. Your steps were fast, but quiet. You didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention from anyone at this moment. You didn’t have time for book organization, playing new video games, or handling gambling debts. All you could handle and wanted on your schedule was cuddling up into dreamland with Belphie. You really had become a twin of the demon himself. Beelzebub would be so jealous. With a few more turns and agonizing climbing of stairs, you eventually made your way to the attic. Belphegor was already sitting on the floor with his pillow and blanket near the entrance, patiently waiting on your arrival. He looked up from snuggling his pillow and smiled, his eyes full of delight the moment they touched your face. “My shooting star~” He said softly, standing on his feet and dropping his belongings to cup your face, planting a gentle kiss to your lips. His excitement he exuded through his affection never failed to make your heart melt.

You both got settled in by decorating the bed in plush throw pillows and fluffy blankets, eager to rest your bodies in the comfort. You did so first, while Belphie dimmed the lights to a low setting if it were that of a single lit candle in a spacious room. As you cradled your favorite pillow in a fetal position, the sleepy demon carefully crawled his way onto the bed, making sure not to pinch your limbs in the process. He then situated himself right next to you as the bigger spoon, tucking his arms under yours to pull you into his chest. The warmth that cradled you instantly made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but smile as Belphie placed his chin in the crook of your neck, letting a warm sigh out that raised the hairs of your nape. “So, my dear,” he began, his lips grazing against your skin, adding to your already familiar goosebumps. “Where would you like to have our date tonight?” Your arms moved from your pillow and instantly atop his own, gently tracing up and down with light tickles against his skin. You hummed, “Mm, London sounds wonderful.” He chuckled. “London? I like it. What would you like to do?” He asked, simultaneously leaving a couple kisses along your shoulders. You felt a blush coat your cheeks as you subtly hid your face away into your pillow, feeling as if your idea might be cliche and a joke to him. “I was thinking…maybe we could dance in the rain? Maybe to some beautiful classical music?” You asked bashfully. “But if you want to do something else, that’s fine, too.” You immediately suggested on a defense. Belphegor couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, subconsciously pulling you into his body even more than before. “Why so shy?” He kissed your ear with a gentle nibble to your lobe, whispering, “I couldn’t think of a better date than that. Let’s dance our dreams away in the rains of London, my shooting star.”

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐚

✧·˚ it’s not fair when things don’t go as planned someone ends up getting hurt. xanthus should know that by now and now he must face the consequences.

warnings. heavy angst

a/n: this is a repost because tumblr took it down, so please show as much love on this one as you did the last!! thank you!

your heart was pounding in your ears as you were struggling in audric’s iron grip, trying to free yourself to be with xanthus who was struggling to get to you before he could hurt you. you were terrified, shaking with tears in your eyes, trying to brace yourself for whatever pain was in store for you.

“is this it?! is this your revenge? i told you what happened was a mistake i’m sorry!” xanthus pleaded while still actively struggling.

“what you’ve done cannot be undone lawrence. so, i will do what i must to make you feel my pain. your mistake killed my family, this is my revenge.”

audric’s grip on your wrist tightens and you fear he’ll break it. you look to xanthus, try to find some sort of reassurance that you’ll be okay, but you can’t see any evidence of emotions that would bring you the comfort.

“your quarrel is with me, not them! please audric, they’re all i have.”

“my family was all i had.” audric says coldly before biting his wrist to draw blood.

he takes enough time to let xanthus process what his next move is going to be and watches as xanthus’ face drops at the realization.

“no! don’t do this! love don’t drink it!”

before you realize what, he’s talking about audric’s wrist is pressed against your mouth, unintentionally tasting the bitter blood. after audric knows you’ve had a taste he throws you to the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of you and you hear the sickening crack of your skull on the cement floor.

“love! please! love look at me!” xanthus’ voice is muffled and there’s a ringing your head.

you touch your head to find blood seeping from it. you’re too scared to look for the source of it on your head, you’ve always been squeamish with injuries.

“first dose.” audric states before grabbing you by your hair, you scream in pain. “don’t worry, i won’t kill you yet, i want you to suffer.”

“stop it! you’re hurting them!” xanthus’ pleads fall on deaf ears as audric drags you out of the room while you scream in pain.

the heavy door slams shut and xanthus can hear the automatic lock click, now muffling your cries of pain. he slams his fist against the wall of his cell and holds back tears of frustration. he can feel the pain you’re in and it’s excruciating, if it’s bad for him he knows it’s even worse for you.

“xanthus?”

“i’m fine dontis, i just need to get out of this cell.”

“how are we going to do that?”

“i have an idea.”

your weak body hits the cold ground in a dark room, and you don’t have the strength to move your body to face audric’s large figure, but you watch his shadow loom over you.

“please don’t do this…” you cry out weakly.

“i hate to lie and say it’s nothing personal, but it very much is.” he gets down on one knee and forces you to drink more of his blood.

the dark substance is spread all over your face and it makes you feel sick that your captors blood heals your wounds. you know better though; you know it only so he can inflict more wounds on you without killing you. he’s using you to torture xanthus because he knows hurting you will hurt him more than anything else.

“second dose.” he whispers under his breath before pulling out a notebook and writing something down and leaving the room, letting the door close and lock behind him. you close your eyes and pray that you don’t wake up in the same hell you’re in currently.

unfortunately for you, you awake in the same hell as before. it’s too dark for you to tell if your eyes are even open and you’re unsure if you’re even awake until the door swings open to reveal audric’s figure along with another unknown person.

“feeding time, love.”

the use of the pet name xanthus gave you makes your stomach turn. you struggle to sit up to face him, your whole-body aches in pain with the torture that you’ve experienced. once you properly look up at the two men standing in the doorway, your blood runs cold at the vampire that is clearly starving that audric is holding back without any effort.

“don’t be scared, the pain you feel is only temporary.”

audric let’s the vampire loose as it jumps onto you and starts attacking you, grabbing any limbs it can and biting down harshly on them. it’s like being stabbed over and over again with a knife, you are unsure if they’re even drinking your blood or just leaving puncture wounds everywhere.

your body heals with each dose of vampiric blood but it’s your mental state that is quickly deteriorating. every sudden movement, every unexpected noise has you on edge and you can’t find peace in the darkness of the room you’re kept in, and you fear for what might be in the room with you. you are only human after all.

once the vampire finishes the pain it inflicts on your body you’re roughly pushed back down to the cold ground. the air is knocked out of you at the sudden force, and you choke out a breath.

“audric, please.” you sound broken. “i want to go home.” tears well in your eyes at the mention of home. you’re beyond scared and the thought of being safe again brings you to tears.

“don’t you see? this is your new home, you are never leaving this place; you are never getting out of here…” he lets out a dark chuckle. “…alive at least.”

the pain you feel is intense before audric uses his blood to heal you again. the shock that this is doing to your weakened body only makes you feel worse, you start to wonder if you’ll ever leave this place, and you hope that this pain you are feeling is only from you and not from the bond. you pray that xanthus isn’t as affected by what audric is doing to you. you hope that it isn’t affecting him, that he’s not letting him win by showing that he can feel the pain.

xanthus is very much affected by the torture that you are being put through, he feels every sharp pain, every spike of anxiety that you experience, it rattles him to his very core. dontis tries his best to help his friend with a form of mediation to help him push through and not give audric the big reactions that he’s looking for; breathing exercises are the most helpful and dontis shows his support by breathing through it with him.

a part of him feels guilty for not reacting to your pain. the most he does is flinch at the pain for just a split second before acting as though nothing happened. xanthus tries to count the days by counting each second into each minute into an hour and so on, but eventually he loses count and he has no way to track the time.

time seems to drag on and you do your best to try to fight through the pain that you’re being put through, but your mind feels numb; likes you’ve checked out mentally. this doesn’t go unnoticed by audric and he says it’s time.

“up you go.” audric pulls you up roughly by your arm so harshly that due to your lack of nutrition you know it will bruise badly. “it’s time to see your bond.”

your ears perk up at the mention on seeing xanthus again. you wonder what state he has been left in, hopefully a better one than you.

your weak body is dragged through the empty bare halls that echo the sound of footsteps on the smooth cement floor. a patchy trail of blood follows you due to the open wounds littered around your skin from the last ‘feeding’ session taht audric decided not to heal. the pain from them is numb to you, audric’s control over your mind makes it so, if it wasn’t for what he had already done you would’ve mistaken it for pity but you know better and that he’s only doing it so you don’t fight back.

audric stops at a large bolted shut door and drops the hold on your arm to open it. you hit the ground harder than you mean to, failing to catch yourself. your head hits the cold floor and you hear the familiar sound of cracking and then the warmth of blood dripping down the side of your face.

“bleeding again? gosh you humans are so fragile.” audric spits out while pushing the door open and grabbing your arm to throw you into the room. your rag doll of a body is slammed against a cage that rattles at the force and you swear you can feel your already broken ribs puncture a lung causing you to cough violently and struggle to breathe properly.

“..love?”

xanthus.

his voice nearly makes you burst into tears, it sounds so soft and is filled with concern.

“i must say lawrence, they’re a lot stronger than i thought they would be.” audric pulls you aways from the cage and lifts you to your feet that you can’t stand on without audric holding you up.

your head is pounding and everything is blurry through your eyes, but you try your hardest to focus on xanthus. he’s standing in front of you trying to assess all of the damage that audric has done to you.

“you’re going to be fine love, d-don’t worry. we’ll get you out of here and fix you up.” xanthus’ voice hitches as he looks at the fresh blood on your face.

audric lets out a loud laugh.

“oh lawrence, you always did know how to make me laugh.” he says, readjusting you to be in front of him. “you are never getting out of here.”

you suddenly feel a wave of release wash over you and you realize you can move on your own. the pain shoots through you and grip the bars to stop yourself from falling over. you feel xanthus’ hands cover your own. the small action plus the ridiculous amount of pain your in makes your tears flow freely down your cheeks as you look up to lock eyes with xanthus. his expression scares you even more, he’s mortified at the state your in.

you can’t bare to look at him any longer with that expression painted on his face. your legs fail you and you end up on the ground meekly holding onto the bars still. xanthus quickly gets down to your level trying to see if you’re breathing.

“i-i’m sorry xanthus.” you choke out your words, pushing through the pain just to speak to him. “i’m so scared, i-i tried to be b-brave and i failed.”

“it’s okay love, you’ve been so brave, i’m so proud of you love. you didn’t fail me i promise.” he sounds like he’s pleading with you to stay strong.

“i think it’s time to put them out of their misery, don’t you think lawrence?” audric asks harshly pulling you away from him.

“no! audric let them go!”

audric’s hand grips your hair tightly, making the open wound on your skull bleed more down your face.

“just smell that delicious blood lawrence. you really know how to pick them huh?”

the smell of your blood was driving xanthus insane. he was hungry but it was overshadowed by the anger he felt at the fact you were bleeding and badly hurt.

audric pulls a knife from behind him and traces the sharp blade on your jawline. you can hear xanthus practically growl at the action.

tears roll down your cheeks onto the reflective blade being now held tightly at your throat. you look to xanthus for any kind of comfort and the only thing on his face is panic and soon your blood paints his features as he lets out a horrific scream.

the hurt stops.

then it starts again.

it’s a piercing pain that travels through every nerve in your system and shocks you awake. you’re still in the same room on the floor covered in blood, you see xanthus free from his cage standing over what seems to be a body that you can only assume is audric.

every part of you aches and you sit up from your place on the floor. xanthus sees you move through his peripheral vision and turns to face you.

“i’m sorry.” he apologizes. “i couldn’t save you in time. the bond is broken.”

he looks at you differently, theres no ounce of affection for your in his eyes anymore. you can only see the pain in them and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“xanthus?”

he walks over to you and offers a hand.

“come. let’s find dontis and leave.”

his words are as cold as the hand that you take.

“you’re a vampire now.”

inspired by this post by @belladonnadawn thank you so much for the idea

i think this has been in the works since i saw the post which was like months ago i’m just glad i finally finished it.

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[simplydannie]

Part 1

After confronting someone who was trying to take advantage of his sister, Veneer is on his last strike at school.

But he proves he won’t stop when it comes to protecting his sister, no matter what the cost is.

After Veneer put a beating to that kid Corey, the principal took him to the office and called their parents.

All Velvet could do was sit outside the office, listening to the back and forth bickering.

The principal didn’t even let her explain herself. That Veneer was only protecting her because that idiot couldn’t take “no” for an answer…. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time her brother got into blind rage’s like that… and it only happened when Velvet was in trouble…. One more strike and Veneer was out…

There was silence for a while the car ride home…

“… sorry.” Veneer simply said. Their dad huffed in the drivers seat.

“For what? Protecting your sister?” Their dad replied.

“…. For getting in trouble??” Veneer said confused. Their mother turned to look at them from the passenger’s seat.

“You will NEVER get I trouble for protecting each other. You got that?” Their mother reassured. The twins smiled.

“Now! Who wants takeout tonight!?” Their dad chimed.

Veneer was not looking forward to the following Monday. Unfortunately, Velvet had A period… leaving him alone most of the morning. Veneer did his best to steer clear of anyone who could’ve seen what happened that day…and it seemed it was the whole school.

They all eyed him as he walked to his locker. He could hear their whispers and giggles.

“Poor Velvet will never get a date with that psycho around her.” He heard someone say… was that true? Was he preventing his sister from finding someone? No. He would never. He’d want her to be happy…. Just not with a jerk like Corey…

“Hey Veneer!” A high pitched voice broke his train of thought. He turned to find a familiar girl walk up to him… a girl from his math class he believed…

“Uh hi.” He smiled. Veneer really never had anyone talk to him outside of class… he couldn’t help but feel excited.

“Hey, I was hoping you could help me with something?” She asked.

“Y-yeah. S-sure.” He stuttered. Closing his locker he followed the girl. She lead him away from the main campus and towards a building in the back by the field. Veneer was a little confused…but didn’t want to ruin anything… someone was talking to him… this was his chance to make friends.

“Wait here!” She chimed as she disappeared around the corner of the building. He was a little nervous, but he bit down those feelings…. His blood turned cold when he heard a voice…

“Hey douchebag.” Veneer turned around to find Corey standing behind him… blocking his only exit…a few of his friends came to surround him too. Veneers heart began to beat quickly as he saw no way out.

“What? Scared? I thought you were mister tough guy Friday?” Corey commented. He had bandages taped all around his nose… Veneer was certain that he had broken it as he pounded away that day.

“Y-you wouldn’t leave my sister alone.” Veneer stood his ground… well tried too…. Where was Velvet?

“Your sister can fight her own battles. Besides, you ruined my shot with her.” Corey replied.

“She was saying no….” Veneer retorted.

“No she wasn’t!”

“You shoved her into the lockers!” Veneer began growing furious. Corey smiled.

“Alright there it is! Come on! I want a rematch right now!” Corey put his fists up. Veneer arched an eyebrow. God, he’s an idiot, he thought.

“No.” Veneer simply stated as he attempted to walk around them… big mistake…. Coreys friends grabbed him be the arms. They pinned him up against the wall, holding him tight and good.

“… pay back time.” Corey said as he began swinging away.

Velvet walked out of her A period class. She went to the spot where her brother normally waited for her…but he wasn’t there. She walked to his locker, his first period, places he’d normally be… but nothing.

“The hell Veneer.” She mumbled to herself. Velvet was far by some buildings leading to the field looking for her brother when she heard something…. Small little cries of pain…. Velvet followed the noise, rounding the corner of the building, she saw Corey senselessly beating up her brother as his friends held him tight.

“HEY! JERK OFF!” Velvet screamed as she ran and tackled Corey to the ground. He was caught off guard. Velvet had him in a chokehold, cutting off his air in take. Corey’s friends let go of Veneer and turned their attention to Velvet, attempting to pull her off.

Veneer watched through blurred vision…he heard them say things…he saw Coryes friends pull her off… suddenly Corey lay on top of his sister, who was helplessly pinned to the ground by his friends. Veneer desperately tried to get up… the pain was killing him… until he saw Corey reach for his pants….

“NO!” In a rush of adrenaline, Veneer tackled the two friends allowing Velvet to break free, kicking Corey right where it hurts. Corey bent over in pain. Velvet grabbed him in a chokehold again, squeezing her arm tightly around his neck.

Blood all over his face, Veneer had no problem knocking one of Corey’s friends out senseless… the other ran away in fear. Veneer turned his attention to his sister who was still choking Corey.

“Vels… Vels… VELS!” Veneer called out. Upon hearing her brother’s voice she let go. Corey fell to the ground gasping for air…

KRUNCH!

Velvet punched him square in his broken nose again….Corey wailed in pain. She turned her attention to her brother, grabbing his face with both her hands…he had open wounds bleeding through.

“Your eye is definitely starting to swell up.” She said having a good look at him. Veneer looked at Corey then to the unconscious friend beside him.

“Strike three. You know this means Iiiiim probably expelled.” Veneer said with a sudden horror in his face. “Oh my gosh, I have a record now!” He gasped in shock running his hands through his hair.

“You have no idea.” The twins turned to find the principal standing behind them, one of Corey’s friend trembling behind her… of course the whole school had to follow. “Veneer to my office now-“

“Oh screw you!” Velvet exclaimed. Everyone was silent… Veneer staring mouth open at his sister. “You’re just seeing Veneer beat up some douchebags when he was actually protecting me! This school is protecting the wrong students! Corey got his butt handed to him because he couldn’t take “no” for an answer! And this school is choosing to protect him!? Ha! Be careful out there girls! No one is going to protect you. Go ahead call our parents, tell them what Veneer did, tell them he’s expelled..” She wrapped one arm around her brother and began leading him away towards the exit of school. “ and tell them if they can pick us up at Fickle Freeze, me and Veneer will be having some nice cold ice cream.”

Veneer smiled. They made their way through the crowd of students Everyone just staring at them. One thing was certain about the twins… They knew how to make an entrance and to make an exit…. They knew how to be remembered… Everyone would know the names wherever they went: Velvet and Veneer.

[luwritesomething]

mickey altieri x reader where she starts getting suspicious of him but ignores it cause he’s her boyfriend (and she’s in denial) until one day she accidentally catches him still in costume without him knowing. Reader then starts avoiding him and is super upset and doesn’t know what to do until one day he shows up and asks her why she’s been avoiding him. She tells Mickey that she saw him in the Ghostface costume and knows that he is the killer and he tries to explain himself and tries to calm her down. She’s very upset about it and is scared that he might hurt her but he reassures her that he won’t. She loves him so she eventually decides to stay with him anyway and promises that she won’t leave him or tell anyone abt him being the killer… I hope this made sense lol I feel like I put a lot I’m just in desperate need of mickey fics 😭

Mickey Altieri x Reader: Please.

Warnings: swearing, manipulation (mickey manipulates the reader to stay by his side), lack of morals from reader's side, mentions of blood and murder.

Word count: 2160

Author's note: i'm living for these requests! with this little piece, i was able to answer two of them, that's why i added the other one. i love mickey, but i actually struggled with writing this one because my moral alarm was going off everytime i tried to think of a reason for reader to stay with mickey after finding out... that's why i went down the manipulation path! hope you like it, and remember, no matter how 'unoriginal' or 'boring' you think your reqs may be, i love getting them and will most probably write them <3

also in here mickey is a little dumb dumb because he goes into his dorm with the ghostface costume on, something that i don't think mickey would actually do... but anyways! no more spoilers :)

graphic by me! also, i'm leaving my mickey altieri playlist, if anyone wants to take a look at it, feel free!

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas. in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, mickey altieri, chad martin-meeks, mindy martin-meeks, tara carpenter, anika kayoko, laura crane

The pounding of your heart was the only thing you could feel as you shut your eyes close and try not to make a damn sound. You knew you hadn’t been meant to witness what you had since the moment your mind had been able to connect the dots together, just some minutes ago, and now you were just trying not to discover yourself.

The sounds of someone moving around Mickey’s room had woken you up from your heavy sleep, the coldness from your boyfriend not being by your side anymore easing you up to reality. You had barely opened your eyes, a quick flutter that registered the small lamp in Mickey’s desk shedding its light in the figure next to it. Your heart had stopped at the sight of the figure who, even though had its back turned to you, you could recognize everywhere after last week’s news.

Someone was on a murder spree on campus, dressed with the same costume the figure there was wearing, so it was natural for your first thought to be that you were the next victim. You even saw the knife in the figure’s hand, blade stained with blood that meant you weren’t about to be the only dead of the night. But, before you could even think about moving to try and save your life, the figure had taken the ghostly mask off and you had recognized Mickey, your dear and loved and lovely boyfriend Mickey, in less than a second. That was when you had stopped breathing, your eyes closing as you tried to wash the sight of the bloody knife off your mind, and your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You waited in silence, trying to control the thoughts that raced through your mind, and not making a single move that could expose you to Mickey. Luckily enough, he got out of the room with a towel on his shoulder, to go and use the communitary shower, and that allowed you to breathe deep before trying to control the panic trying to take over your body.

Was Mickey really the killer? When you opened your eyes again, the costume was nowhere to be seen but it was not like you had the imagination to make that up. And if you were true to yourself, Mickey had been shady as fuck. Oh, God, were you really suspecting your own boyfriend of being a killer? The evidence had been right there, in front of your eyes — that wasn’t suspecting anymore.

When some steps could be heard outside the door, you forced yourself to close your eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the sick feeling messing with your stomach. You kept yourself grounded, hidden between the pillow and the sheets, and your body stilled terribly when Micky got himself on bed, like nothing had happened. He smelled sweet, the scent of his shampoo surrounding you.

Quietly, you held your breath as his arms surrounded you, lovingly, and you waited for something — anything — to happen.

You waited for the whole night, but nothing other than Mickey swiftly falling asleep did.

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

The days passed by, and your mind couldn’t help but bring back the image of Mickey on the costume with the bloody knife whenever you were around him. And that was terrible, because you spent an incredible amount of time with Mickey, which quickly brought you to avoid him.

At first it was rather small and subtle — made up group projects, very real homework, studying. Then, the need to be on your own, which triggered his suspicions of something else going on. You were inevitably jumpy around him during those times you ran out of excuses, laughing less than usual and sometimes even zoning out on him. The thought of you losing your feelings for him was nearly driving him insane.

Mickey couldn’t stop thinking about you during his film history course, and not in a good way. From college, his murder spree and now you acting up, he had received a ridiculous amount of stress — enough to make him space out in every single class of his. In the middle of the lesson he had already made up his mind about having to talk things out with you and figure out what he had said or done to upset you that much.

When the class ended he was the first one to get out, without even saying goodbye to Randy, and heading towards the classroom he knew you’d be in. You both had learned each other’s schedules after spending so much time together, and that hour was perfect, since his class ended a little bit before yours and both were the last classes of the day.

Oblivious to his presence outside the classroom, you calmly gathered your things once the class came to an end, agreeing a date and hour with the partner you had been assigned to for your next project. Attending your classes and focusing on your schoolwork kept your mind off things — things being Mickey — but as soon as you crossed the classroom doors and saw him there, it all came back.

Mickey smiled at you, even if you didn’t smile back, and walked towards you with that easy going manner of doing things he had. You waited for him with your fingers drumming against your side, which he caught on — weren’t you happy to see him? Even if he had verbalized that question, he wouldn’t have gotten an answer.

“Hey.”

“I didn’t know you were coming.” You said, forcing a smile that, surprisingly, hadn’t felt so forced. Maybe you had been slipping lately, but your objective was not to be killed, and you didn’t know how far he was planning on going. “I have to go to the library, do you want to hang after—?”

“I just wanna talk to you for a minute.” Mickey interrupted you, grabbing the hand you had use to lightly gesture around.

Your heart started pounding so loudly you were afraid he able to hear it. He wasn't, but you didn’t notice his fingers pressing on the pulse point on your grip, checking that, indeed, you were pretty nervous. “It can’t wait?”

“It’ll be just a min.” Mickey promised, insisting oh so charmingly. He squeezed your hand once. “Please?”

How were you supposed to say no to him when he asked so nicely, with his head cocked and his eyes shining? You nodded softly and sighed under your breath, letting him take you wherever he wanted as you tried not to think too much about it.

He led you outside and to the side of the building, a not so hidden place that equally allowed you to be seen by the students walking through campus but not be heard unless you raised your voices. You found yourself terribly afraid of noticing all these things, but Mickey letting your hand go and placing himself across from you got your attention too fast.

“What’s gotten into you?” He finally asked, head cocked.

It took you a second to catch it. “What?”

“You think I haven’t noticed?” Mickey pursed his lips slightly, then shook his head. He truly looked worried. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

“I’m not avoiding—”

“Oh, please.” Mickey waved his hand to make you stop, diminishing your ridiculous attempt to fool him. “Don’t lie to me like that. Just… tell me what I did wrong so I can undo it and—”

You started shaking your head, nervous. “It’s not— It’s not like that.”

The look in Mickey’s eyes was so helpless that you felt how your heart started to crumble. “Please?”

You looked away from him, feeling the fast way your heart was pumping blood. If you had been seated, you would have started to bounce your leg up and down — Mickey couldn’t be more confused at your nervous-wreck state.

“Are you the murderer?” You asked in a whisper, almost not daring to look up to see his reaction.

But his face didn’t tell you anything. Mickey was completely emotionless as he stared back into your eyes, his brain processing very slowly those four words that had just left your mouth. How could you know? He was sure he had been really careful, trying not to let his mood after a kill or planning affect any scenario between you. Mickey knew you were smart, but how?

That was not the right direction to go, though, he realized as you waited for him to give you an answer. You had been acting all weird around him because of being scared of him, and that feeling didn’t make him feel entirely good. 

“Listen…” He started, coming a step closer to you, but you instantly backed away.

“Don’t.” You hissed rather abruptly, still not believing he hadn’t denied it completely and put an end to your delusion. You were right. “If you get closer I’ll scream.”

“Sweetheart!” Mickey exclaimed, surprised, his eyebrows shooting up as the pet name he reserved for your softest moments slipping past his lips in what was an improvised plan of manipulation. The seriousness in his voice and face was the only thing you could pay attention to, though. “I wouldn’t hurt you. You know that, right?”

You hesitated and he almost hissed right then. Falling for you hadn’t been on his plan, but now that same plan was being threatened just because you had found — and he couldn’t have that happen. Mickey wouldn’t kill you, no, but his partner easily could if you did something stupid, and he also did not want you to go to the police saying things about him and the murders. He needed to think of a solution, and fast.

“Then why would you hurt others?” You said hastily, then your head looking around you to really make sure no one was listening. “You’ve killed people, Mickey. I knew some of them—”

“You have to trust me.” He interrupted you instantly. There was only one way out, as he saw it: manipulation. Mickey needed you by his side. His acting skills were enough for you to stop looking so nervous, watching closely how his eyes fell to the floor in fake defeat — but you didn’t know he was acting. You didn’t even know he was a star. “I can’t tell you but you have to trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His hand reached out to grab yours, but you dodged it, rather defensive. “And why would I trust you?”

“Because I’m not a liar.” Mickey frowned slightly. If you didn’t let him convince you of staying by his side, he would have to… The way he called out your name was rather heartbreaking, this time managing to catch your hand and pressing it against his chest. “Please. I wouldn’t hurt you, and you know that.”

He was making you doubt, he realized, as your eyes fell to your hand on his chest. Mickey seemed desperate from your eyes — begging you to stay. But it wasn’t right… “It just… this changes so many things.”

Mickey shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. I still love you, and I always will.” His promise sounded genuine, and it was. There was no denying that, Mickey truly loved you. If he didn’t, you would already be another number on his back, after those little four words you said to him. 

But there he was, playing tricks on your mind without you noticing. “I’d trade my life for yours.”

“Mickey…”

“I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” He insisted, more strongly now. His eyes continuously searched for yours, knowing you wouldn’t be able to deny him if you were looking right into his eyes. “Please, please, you have to trust me. Don’t you love me anymore?”

The question shocked you, and if you had been in your right mind, you would have realized the length of the manipulation. But in that moment it only made you gasp, surprised that he would actually question it with such a real expression. 

You were quick. “Of course I do!”

“Then…” A sigh interrupted Mickey, who looked down, letting your hand go. He didn’t need that much dramatism, but now that he had actually gotten used to the part, why stop? “Please.”

There wasn’t much thinking from your side. Mickey had asked you to please trust him, and that was what you were going to do. He had also promised not to hurt you, and you knew him too well — or so you thought. There needed to be more behind all this, and you had to be by his side. 

“I trust you.” You muttered after some seconds, and he looked up instantly. A soft smile blossomed in his lips as you nodded. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

Mickey leaned closer to you, with the swiftest movement, a hand cupping your cheek. “I love you.” He whispered softly.

“I love you too.” You replied against his lips.

[macabrelinguine]

You sat in the room you hated, checking the clock. Five minutes. You were hungry, pretty damn near starving, actually. But you didn’t want the door to your room to open. You didn’t want the food she provided under the guise of care. You scoffed. The only thing she cared about was her meal. You didn’t think you could bleed so much until you came here. Three minutes.

You flopped backwards onto your bed, closing your eyes. Thinking of a time before you were little more than a good source. But all you could think of was her smile, her laugh, her entrancing eyes. How her words seemed to flow like water over ice. That same ice could be seen in her gaze in your more recent memories.

You refusing her food, pushing her away when she sat with her. The memories continued as the ice in her eyes seemed to prick you as you held her gaze. Then, in all the memories, she would grab you by your wrist, the back of your neck, your waist. She’d pull you closer with surprising force and-

You opened your eyes. You knew what happened next and you didn’t want to re-live it. You checked the clock.

No. It couldn’t be that time already-

The door clicked open, and in she stepped.

“Hello, love.”

“Jane” you said, not raising your head to look at her. It was a small act of rebellion, but not one that went unnoticed. She strode over to you, grabbing your jaw and wrenching it upward. You hissed a breath between your teeth.

“Look at me when I talk to you.” You stared at her for a second before nodding.

She smiled.

“Good.” You mustered a weak smile as she continued. “It’s time to eat, my love.” You stiffened.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat. I can’t eat unless I know you’re safe and you won’t pass out.”

“I-“

“Don’t you want me to be happy, love?” You sat stunned for a moment.

“No! You- you tricked me, you kidnapped me, and you suck my blood!” She just stared at you for a second, and you braced yourself to dodge her, but she didn’t move.

“Eat.”

“But-“

“My dear,” she hissed at you, “I’m being lenient with you. Now eat the fucking food.”

you ate the food. A dinner of tofu, spinach, and lentils. Iron rich foods. You glanced up at Jane, pleadingly. She spoke.

“Remember when we first met? You were so cute. I always knew I wanted this. Well, not you being so stubborn. But that can be fixed.” She moved towards you and your heart pounded in your throat.

She smirked at you.

“Don’t be so scared love, I’m not ready to eat quite yet.” You tried to slow your quickening heartbeat as she continued. “Anyway, I always knew I wanted you with me, here. Just for me.” She grinned, sighing. She was very close to you now, and you would’ve felt the warmth of her body if she wasn’t ice-cold as her eyes.

“Alright. Now I’m hungry.” You stiffened.

“Jane, wait-“ you were stopped as she put a finger to your lips.

“Shh, it won’t take long. It won’t hurt too much, you know that. Well, maybe a little extra, for not eating yesterday.” She laughed, exposing her fangs.

“Now, where should I start?” You tried to keep your heart rate steady as she traced a finger along your wrist.

“Here?” she moved her hand to your forearm.

“Maybe here?” You knew she feel how fast your heart was pumping, how scared you were. “Hmm, I think…here!” She said, landing her finger on a vein in your neck. Your heart beat ever faster as she positioned you on her lap, gently moved your head to the side to expose your neck, and bit.

you tried not to move, the faster this was over the better. Jane finished up and put a bandage on your neck.

“That didn’t hurt too much, did it love?”

It had. It was all you could do to keep the tears in your eyes and off of your face. But you cleared your throat and answered

“No.”

She rested her head on your shoulder, relaxing. You stiffened, not used to her touch. She started speaking to you.

“What’s so bad about this life, my love? What makes you put up such a fight?”

She moved so you were face to face.

“Why can’t you just listen? Would that be so hard?” Her voice was soft, but her words felt like knives. She tilted your head up with a single finger, continuing her speech.

“I hate having to hurt you, my love. I try to be patient with you…but-“ She grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer, whispering in your ear.

“Sometimes you’re just insufferable.”

[marvelmusing]

I had an idea for the Another Life alternative ending. What if the reader goes back to her world and finds Aleksander there. Don’t know the logistics of how it happen though 😀

I always planned to have a happy ending where the reader chose to stay with Aleksander in Ravka (because I too would stay in a fictional world where there’s ‘magic’ and life is an adventure)

But I definitely once or twice thought about how angsty it would be if I pulled the ‘it was all a dream’ trope

Imagine everything that happened in IAL being a dream that the reader wakes up from. They’re utterly heartbroken, because it had felt so real.

So….

In (Another) Another Life

[Alternate Ending in the Real World AU drabble]

-

Aching for some familiarity, or perhaps hoping to find the pages of the book changed in some way, you search for your copy of Shadow and Bone - or any book from the trilogy. In your frustrated, teary-eyed state you can’t find them.

When you had first awoken, you were confused to not to wake up beside Aleksander in the Little Palace. Slowly, it had dawned on you that you were back in your world, the day after when you had appeared in Ravka.

Now, your eyes are sore from crying and your head still struggles to process where you are. It’s a ten minute walk to the nearest bookshop, and you shiver in the cold winter wind as you make your way there.

It feels as though you’re in a dream, seeing cars and people dressed in ordinary clothes that now feels so unusual after spending a year in Ravka.

Though it now seems that you hadn’t even left your world - that it might have all been a dream.

It feels like a lifetime since you had last visited this quiet little shop, and the blood pounds in your ears as you head towards the young adult section. It’s ordered alphabetically, and you hunt for Bardugo, repeating the name over and over in your mind frantically.

With shaking fingers, you pull out Shadow and Bone. Flicking through the pages, you find nothing changed. The ache in your heart deepens.

It wasn’t real.

Weakly, you slot the book back and tug out Siege and Storm. Tears cloud your vision as you stare at the pages. The same story. Alina fighting the Darkling. No you, and none of your Aleksander.

When you return it to its spot, you blink several times before realising there’s no Ruin and Rising. It’s not surprising. It’s rare that a shop has all three books in a popular trilogy. At least you won’t have to read Aleksander’s death in this state.

The ache is still there, clawing at your chest. You can’t help but feel cheated by the universe. An entire life - a happy life - has been ripped away from you.

Then someone says,

“Looking for this?”

Your heart stops, and you can’t breathe as Ruin and Rising is held in front of you, a stranger’s arm almost curled around you. But it wasn’t a stranger, because you recognised that voice.

Turning, you meet a pair of painfully familiar eyes.

If this is some sort of twisted trick by the universe and this man, that looks so much like your Aleksander, doesn’t recognise you, then you might just scream.

“You know me, don’t you?” He asks softly, hesitation filling his features. Your own voice is quiet, your chin wobbling as you speak,

“Sasha?”

A bright smile breaks over his face, and he nods.

“It’s me.”

Throwing yourself into his arms, he holds you tight against his chest. There’s an unfamiliar cologne of some sort filling your senses, but as he cradles the back of your head you know undeniably that this is your Aleksander.

Fingers griped into the soft fabric of his jumper, you bury yourself further into him.

“I thought I’d never see you again, I thought-”

“I know, my love. I know.”

Some of the tension leaves your body at the sound of his reassurance.

“How are you here?” You ask.

“I live around the corner.”

Lifting your head up from his chest, you gape at him.

“You what?”

He laughs softly, stepping away from you slightly and taking your hand in his.

“Come sit with me.”

He tugs lightly on your hand, and you follow him to the collection of armchairs on the other side of the shop.

“My name is Aleksander Morozov.” He explains once you’re settled in the chair beside him.

There’s a black wool coat hung over the arm, and a scarf is tucked down between Aleksander’s thigh and the edge of the seat.

“Yesterday, one of my colleagues mentioned the Grisha trilogy, making a comparison between my name and that of the Darkling. After that, I began reading the first book.”

So this isn’t the Aleksander you had met? But how does this man know you, like your own Aleksander knows you? Why was he still holding your hand, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles like your Aleksander always does?

“When I fell asleep last night, I woke up as Aleksander Morozova, hundreds of years before the events of Shadow and Bone. But I couldn’t remember my life in this world.”

You frown, your lips parting in confusion.

“You mean that, somehow, we… shared a dream?” You suggest. He shrugs.

“Perhaps.” He runs his hand over his chin, his brows creased together. “Perhaps we both entered a different universe, and happened to cross paths.”

“But you do know me… don’t you?” You ask tentatively.

He smiles softly, and says your name with a familiar fondness.

“Yes. I know you.”

Your fingers squeeze his, and relief fills you as he continues to speak,

“When I woke up this morning, I came here immediately to read the rest of the books.”

“We clearly still think alike then.” You remark with a shy smile.

This man is a stranger, you could have walked by him yesterday without giving him a second glance. Today, he’s the person who means everything to you.

He’s wearing a grey jumper and dark jeans, and part of you can hardly believe what’s happening as you study his appearance.

His smile remains soft as he looks at you, and your cheeks warm as you realise you must look like a mess. You had thrown your clothes on frantically to rush here, but Aleksander has seen you in a far worse state than this.

“Like calls to like.” He reasons, leaning closer to you as he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair.

Looking down at your entwined fingers, you also lean closer, resting both of your elbows onto the arm of your own chair. His eyes flicker up to yours, only to fall down onto your lips.

Your smile returns as watches your face carefully, and your stomach flips with excitement as Aleksander’s forehead brushes lightly against yours.

“I suppose so.” You breathe out softly and he smiles as he traces a fingertip along the length of your jaw.

Tilting your head upwards, you kiss him softly.

Both of you are shaking, terrified that this also might be a dream. Then Aleksander’s hand curls around the back of your neck, and all the fear leaves your body as he deepens the kiss.

He’s real. He’s here, and you’re together again.

Giddy excitement fills your body, chasing away the ache that had haunted you since waking up this morning, as you both smile into the kiss.

An Aleksander Morozov exists in your universe, and he lives around twenty minutes away from you.

The story of you and Aleksander might not have been the one written into a bestseller, but you know that in at least two universes you end up finding one another.

That’s good enough for you.

-

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan @savagejane1 @sande5098

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Thrall - Blue/Nightmare

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genres: Vampire AU, Human AU, Nightmare’s a real piece of work, dark fic?, “romance”

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Killer, Dream (mentioned), Error (mentioned), Science (mentioned), Dust (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW: Kidnapping, stabbing, blood, blood drinking, breaking bones, toxic behavior, threats of violence, just...read with caution lol

Word Count: 5450

“Get. Out.” Blue spun around, the knife pointed straight at Nightmare’s chest, right where his heart was. Or, more accurately, where it should be. He would be surprised if Nightmare had a heart in that cold chest of his. Nightmare held his hands up defensively, not yet moving.

“Blue, sweetheart. Let’s put down the knife, yeah?”

“No! Get out of my house and never come back! I’m sick and tired of this. I’m done!” Blue shouted, body trembling as he did so, his glare never faltering. “I’m done being your blood bag, and I’m done feeding into your sadistic nature.”

“Come on now. Let’s not be like that.” Nightmare grabbed onto Blue’s shoulders, pushing him into his side dresser. 

Despite his shaking, Blue held the knife to Nightmare’s chest anyway, ready to stab it into it at a moment's notice. Nightmare’s nostrils flared, Blue’s blood flowing right beneath his skin, practically begging to be drunk from. Even from here he could practically taste it, it’s savory flavor, it’s utter perfection. His tongue ran over his lips as his teal eyes met Blue’s gaze, eyeing him like a plate of freshly cooked meat. Blue shuttered, suddenly acutely aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

“Go away.” It was wavering, more of a plea than an order. 

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” The grip on the knife tightened, Nightmare stayed calm, watching every moment carefully. Every twitch and subtle movement was analyzed, studied carefully with precision. Questions flying through both of their minds as Blue’s breath quickened, and as Nightmare didn’t breathe at all. Only adding to Blue’s horror.

Blue swallowed hard, eyes darting back from Nightmare’s hypnotizing eyes to the floor to the knife back to Nightmare. How quickly could he attack, how quickly could he get away? How quickly could Nightmare recover and how quickly could he sink his teeth into his skin?

“I said, get out. Before I make you.”

“We both know you won’t do it.” Nightmare leaned in closer, whispering in Blue’s ear, making him shutter. “You don’t have the heart. You’re too sweet, too kind,” Nightmare smiled, “Now put the knife down, stop this silly little act of rebellion of yours and give me what I want.” Nightmare licked his lips and kissed Blue’s cheek, and moved all the way down to his neck. Blue’s lip quivered and Nightmare nipped gently at his neck. Not biting. Not yet.

“You taste so good, you know.”

“Leave me alone!”

Nightmare sucked on Blue’s neck for a moment, “Mmm…I hope you beg like you did last time. It was adorable.” 

Blue shivered as Nightmare ran his tongue up his neck, “Though, I don’t think you can outdo last time's performance, ‘twas incredible, haha.” Nightmare’s hand squeezed his hip, gently rubbing it with his hand. “But don’t feel required to live up to your, beautifully intoxicating, standards. Your desperation excites me regardless.”

Sobs threatened to come out of Blue as Nightmare continued to play with his neck. Leaving saliva and small hickeys all over, forcing his blood to the surface. His grip on the knife wavered, and he felt like he might drop it. Then, Nightmare let out a low hiss, a signal that he was about to bite. Blue had heard that noise time and time again never connecting the two things up until recently, it was now or never.

Nightmare cried out, in pain? Surprise? Horror? Blue didn’t know. He had shoved that knife so far into Nightmare’s chest, only the handle was outside. It must’ve dug through his organs, and, if Blue was lucky, pierced his spine. He shoved Nightmare out of the way and onto his bed before running out of the room. That should give him enough time to at least get to Error’s house, or at least to some place in public. And maybe, he could get a plane and travel to Dream, who was currently in Transylvania visiting family. Dream could help him, he was strong and his family is so large, no one would allow Nightmare to slip in to get him. He would be safe.

Moving faster than he ever had before, Blue rushed down the stairs, slamming the door to his room behind him. He beelined to the front door, shoving aside his coffee table as he moved; he didn’t have the luxury to walk around furniture. He threw open the door, and carefully prattled down the steps to the sidewalk before sprinting down it, towards the moon. It was still rising, and bright as hell. His mind focused on Error’s apartment building. It was a five minute walk when he wasn’t being chased by a vampiric madman, so getting there should take no time at all.

The street lights flickered as he ran, the moonlight shining down on him. He could see Error’s house from here, he was so close. Then memories flashed as he glanced to his left. There was the same alley he had met Nightmare on the day his life was ruined forever. He took a pause. Nightmare wouldn’t be so cruel to remind him of that night…would he? He stopped running, his heart pounding in his chest. He spun around, no sight of him. Blue didn’t even want to look down the alleyway. He patted himself down, maybe he could come back home and Error could pick him up?

Shit shit shit!

All of his pockets were empty. He left his phone at home. Of course he did. Just his luck. He took a step back, listening. His ears started ringing with silence and the pounding of his blood. His blood…he felt disgusted at the sound of it. That’s exactly what Nightmare was after, exactly what got him into this mess. He glanced at the other side of the street, nothing. Not even an alleyway for him to get jumped. He ran across the street, making sure no cars were coming. Despite his legs screaming at him, he began his sprint again as soon as he reached the other side.

A scream escaped his mouth, and within a moment, his head was slammed into the building next to him. Nightmare had a tight grip around his head, eyes and body shaking with anger. Knife still lodged in his chest, a few drops of his blood oozing out of the wound and onto his bare chest. Nightmare had most of his shirt unbuttoned, only having the bottom two still together, the top part of his chest completely bare. 

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” Nightmare yanked his head back, fingers tightly holding his hair. “Especially after that stunt you pulled?” Nightmare laughed, it was vile and unsettling.

Nightmare shoved Blue into his chest, on the opposite side of the knife, “The mere idea of that is adorable.”

“Are you going to monologue now that you’ve caught me?” Blue hissed out, trying to pull away. Nightmare’s eye twitched, and he slammed his foot down on Blue’s, a large crack ringing out. Blue shrieked, his struggling ceasing immediately.

“Y’know, I don’t mind your spunk, Blue. I don’t mind the sass, and I don’t mind the blatant fucking disobedience. But you know what I do mind?” Nightmare yanked the knife out of his chest, placing it against Blue’s cheek. Despite it being lodged in Nightmare’s chest for at least ten minutes, it was freezing against his cheek, still seeping with vampiric blood. 

“This bullshit. It’s cold, isn’t it? I know you think I'm an unfeeling monster, but it still hurts, you little cunt. You need correction. And now, my dear, you have set up the perfect way to do that.”

“You broke my foot!” Blue shrieked, “Is that not enough for you?!”

“No. I cannot trust that you won’t pull something like this again. You need something…permanent.” Nightmare didn’t stop speaking, not allowing Blue time to comprehend the horror of what he just heard. “I have clearly been far too lenient with you. That is my fault, allowing you to live your life just as you always had been. Do not worry, unlike your foot, this will not hurt a bit.”

“NO!” Blue yelled, pushing himself away from Nightmare. However, he didn’t get all that far, due to the arm gripping his waste. “I don’t want to be like you!”

Nightmare paused, his face falling for just a moment as his eyes narrowed. Blue opened one of his eyes, looking at Nightmare who laughed. Cackling in astonishment. “You naïve fool, I will not be turning you. Your mortal blood is far too valuable at the moment. Maybe someday though, if you bring me enough entertainment.”

“Then wh-”

“You’re clever, obnoxiously so. Do you know what a thrall is, my dear?”

Blue’s eyes widened and his mind was taken off of the throbbing pain in his foot for a moment, “No…No Nightmare please you can’t do this, I don’t-”

The knife was put up to his lips, silencing him, “Shh. Your begging won’t save you this time, and most likely, never again. You fucked it up, and now, I get to make you mine.”

Clearing his throat, Nightmare began to speak, oddly calm. He slipped the knife into his belt, freeing up his other hand. “Now, I know you mortals think of a vampire turning someone into a thrall by taking control of their mind, or whatever. You’re all stupid though, because that’s not how that works. If we could just mind control anyone we wanted, then we wouldn’t need thralls, we wouldn’t need to hide, and we most certainly wouldn’t put up with mortals who think they’re able to take us down.

“Mortals like you, babe!” Nightmare’s finger flicked Blue’s nose, his voice high pitched as he mocked him. Then, without warning, his tone went dark once more. “Blue.”

“What?”

“Define ‘thrall’ for me.”

Swallowing hard, Blue wracked his mind, trying to ignore the pain overwhelming all of his senses. “A thrall is…a noun.”

“Mhm.”

“And it means…being in someone’s power?” He hesitated, glancing up at Nightmare whose face gave him nothing to work with. “In the terms of vampires, it’s a human, usually, who serves a vampire.”

“That’s right. I wonder how you can be so smart, but so utterly stupid at the same time.”

“Wh- Hey!”

“Quiet.” Nightmare hissed, shifting their position so he was leaning against the wall, taking some of the strain off of being forced to hold Blue up. “None of that actually means mind control, now does it?”

“...I guess not, but what does that have to-”

“I can make you my thrall, a handsome thing to serve me, and you’ll be aware of it the whole time. You’ll hate it, but you’ll have no other choice!” Nightmare laughed, voice unhinged as he chuckled, his face burying itself into Blue’s shoulder. “You’ll belong to me, body and soul, and you’ll have no choice but to follow my every word.”

Through gritted teeth, Blue made one last attempt to call Nightmare’s bluff. “Yeah? And how will you go about that?”

With a saccharine smile, Nightmare flashed his sharp teeth at him. “By drinking my blood, of course. A bit of a role reversal, but it’s quite effective.”

“What?! No! I’m not going to-”

“You don’t have a choice there, babe. Drink up.” 

Blue’s face was shoved into the wound, blood going up his nose and into his mouth. He coughed and hacked up Nightmare’s blood, but Nightmare didn’t loosen his grip. Blue shuttered, defeat washing over him. He was going to suffocate if he didn’t do what Nightmare wanted, and despite the fact that death might be the better option here, he wasn’t going to let this bastard kill him. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not now, not ever. Blue swallowed the blood that entered his mouth, as well as apprehensively licking the wound to get more. He gagged, but kept going. Absolutely abhorrent. 

After Nightmare deemed that Blue had taken enough of his blood, he pulled Blue away from his chest, allowing him some time to breathe. Blue was heaving, a drop of blood dripping down his chin. Nightmare wiped the blood with his thumb, smiling as he helped Blue to his feet. Er…foot.

“That should be enough for now.” Nightmare hummed in approval as Blue clung to him. “It would be mean to make you walk all the way back to my castle, wouldn’t it? I don’t think we would make it by daylight if that happened.” Nightmare chuckled, scooping Blue into his arms. The wound in his chest still oozed blood, but he wasn’t in a hurry to deal with it. His body would heal it within a matter of time, maybe in two hours or so. Being a vampire did have its perks, after all. Blue was quivering in his arms, his body shaking, desperate to fix itself. Nightmare felt a slight twinge of regret, not for hurting him, of course, it was well deserved, but for the fact that it would take a few months for his foot to fully heal.

Mortals were so easily damaged and it was so difficult to heal them, he always forgot about that. Perhaps that was for the best. His grin turned twisted, he would have to pay extra attention to the news and social media for the next few days. He wondered how Blue’s friends would react to his disappearance. He wondered how the media would explain it. That was his favorite part, to watch mortals try and explain the supernatural. It was adorable to watch them try. And he especially wondered how that bastard, Dream don Dalezya, would react. It had been so long since he had last stolen a mortal away, he forgot how trilling it was. He had brought humans into the manor before, of course. He wasn’t a newbie at this sort of thing. They’d last a decade, maybe two, before he either killed them or sickness caught up to them. Keeping humans hostage was fun, at first. When the poor things were terrified and still full of hope. Then it got boring. They’d get used to it, used to him. Sometimes they’d even fall in love with him. He didn’t need a mortal’s love. His nose scrunched up at the thought. Besides, hunting and tracking down humans was half of the fun. He’d prefer it to not be a twice a century thing.

None of them had been a thrall. Perhaps this time would be different. Blue was already a fantastic toy. He hadn’t met a lot of mortals before this, but considering he had managed to get the attention of Dream and befriend him, then perhaps he was a little different. Blue never bargained, never tried to offer Nightmare anything to get him to stop. He would only fight back, and when that proved fruitless, he would beg Nightmare to leave him alone. That is what Nightmare adored. He’d also never had a human stab him before. And while it pissed him off, that Blue even thought that he could get away with such a thing, he couldn’t stay mad. Not forever, anyway. Such a bold move from someone mortal? That was something to note. It wasn’t enough for Nightmare to respect Blue, of course. Him? Respect a mortal? He would never allow himself to fall that low. 

Maybe Blue would keep him entertained for longer than a few decades. And maybe…just maybe…Nightmare would curse him with vampirism. Not now, but later. If Blue proved to be astoundingly enthralling (haha, he found himself hilarious), then maybe he would put Blue on the same field as him. Keeping Blue as a mortal kept the power dynamic between him and Nightmare stable. Static. Vampires were inherently stronger, faster, and simply more powerful than humans. Not to mention that Nightmare was tall, muscular, intimidating, and Blue was like a small rabbit, or newborn puppy, to him. Blue could be crushed within a matter of moments. Despite his best attempt to stop Nightmare, he had to rely on stunning him to get away. He was probably hoping that he could get help of some kind, maybe from Dream or his friend…Error? Yes, Error sounded right. Either way, he was prey. And he was acting like it. The power dynamic between him and Nightmare would stay that way unless Nightmare decided to up Blue’s chances.

The forest was getting thicker. The canopy above him was shielding him from the moonlight, which would soon become blazing sunlight. Blue had ceased his whimpering, thank god, and his eyes were squeezed shut, trying to ease his pain. The wind was howling, and Blue shivered in his arms. Nightmare rolled his eyes, nearly rolling them into his own head. He would have to make sure his log supply was decent. His manor wasn’t heated, it was built in the 11th century and he hadn’t bothered to update it to modern technology since his body heat was irrelevant to his survival. Oh, how he loved his manor. It was large, gothic, and had a massive library. What more could a man ask for? His manor wasn’t equipped with much modern technology, but Blue would survive.

Humans these days were so pampered, with their air conditioning and internet and whatever. The only thing Nightmare didn’t mind was the advances in medicine. What was the point in keeping a mortal if the thing got sick and had no choice but to succumb to it?

The forest grew thinner, and Nightmare’s manor soon came into view. It was towering, and Blue opened his eyes briefly to look at it. It was large, probably one of the largest buildings he had ever seen, and had a massive fence around it. The fence had to be over ten feet (or three meters) and was made of a thick metal. It had intricate designs, but not a single pattern large enough for him to fit through. The gate itself had two large spires, and was made of metal and black basalt. It looked to be in incredible condition, even though Blue expected it to be at least somewhat rusted. On the gate, which caused his anxiety to spike, was a massive latch, keeping it locked. It was nothing that he had ever seen before. He squirmed in Nightmare’s grip, trying to get out of his arms. There wasn’t much of a plan, panic was setting in. He didn’t have his phone, he was going to be separated from Error, and Dream, and everyone he loved, and his heart started racing.

Blue couldn’t believe that he had allowed Nightmare to carry him all the way through the forest with little issue. He didn’t get the chance to squirm as Nightmare took him from everything he ever knew. Before he could do anything, he was set down onto his knees as Nightmare approached the gate to unlock it. He shifted onto his good leg, and despite his ever growing despair, he made an attempt to crawl. He wouldn’t get far, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to be a passive player as Nightmare took him. The gates swung open, and Nightmare scooped him up right again. He was slung over Nightmare’s right shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He fought in Nightmare’s arm, trying to free himself. If he could just stay outside till daylight, then maybe he could hobble his way home. The gates slammed behind them, and Blue flinched. He glanced at it, squinting, was it locked?

“It locks by itself, don’t get your hopes up. Unless you feel like climbing up that fence with that poor foot of yours, you won’t get far.” Nightmare opened one of the doors to the manor with his left hand and entered the large building. It was like a castle. Blue pulled his scarf up his face, the manor was even darker on the inside. Dark bricks lined every wall, the ceilings high and towering, with fancy chandeliers draping from them. Along the walls were sconces holding dim, flickering candles. All of the doors were large and wooden, with designs meticulously carved into them. The only sound that Blue could hear was his own breathing, and the sound of Nightmare’s footsteps against the wooden ground. It was quiet. Eerily so.

A shiver sent itself down Blue’s spine, goosebumps appearing up and down his arms and legs. It was cold, both the castle, and Nightmare’s arms. He clutched onto Nightmare’s shirt, burying his face into the cold skin of his chest. The pain came in waves, and Blue felt his foot begin to throb, ache, and burn through his veins like an awful poison.

“It hurts.” Blue croaked, his voice threatening to break.

“I know.” Nightmare murmured. He kept Blue close, his stride never faltering. “I will take care of it.”

The walk to…wherever Nightmare was taking him wasn’t long. Blue kept his eyes open, observing all of the manor that he could. It was beautiful, and he wondered how Nightmare got such a place. As they passed through certain rooms, Blue could’ve sworn he heard the sounds of hushed voices and laughter. There was movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye, and despite the fact he knew better than to believe what he couldn’t truly see, he felt a pit in his stomach grow. Who else was in here? Monsters like Nightmare? Or humans like him?

“You're a cruel bastard, you know that?”

“Is that so?” Nightmare spoke, his voice flat as he adjusted his grip on Blue’s body. “What did I do this time? I haven’t said a word in the last few minutes.”

“Who else are you keeping here?” Blue spat, “I saw- I heard them. How many others are here against their will?”

An exasperated, yet malicious grin grew on Nightmare’s face, a snicker forcing its way out of him. “There are many things about this world that you don’t yet know, Blue. The others, there are four of them, if you’re curious, are not quite human, not quite vampire. When the time is right, I’ll introduce you to them.”

“Why not now?”

“Why? Hah!” Nightmare laughed, pushing open a door with his shoulder, “Because they’ll tear you limb from limb!”

The room that Nightmare had taken him to was a bedroom, but it wasn’t Nightmare’s. Not only were all of the surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust, Nightmare would never allow that in his room, but the furniture in the room itself was much less Victorian, and much more Rococo for Nightmare’s tastes. With a hum, Nightmare carefully adjusted how Blue was sitting in his arms, now carrying him one would a toddler. He approached the bed (that Blue couldn’t see, due to his face being over Nightmare’s shoulder) and sneered.

“Bastards. I give them one job…!” Nightmare muttered to himself, whipping around and gently placing Blue on a chair that was tucked underneath the vanity. It was beautiful, if not for all of the dust coating all of its crevices. Hesitantly, Blue touched the mirror with his finger tips, dust coating his fingers. He coughed, waving away the dust. Hesitantly, he touched his face, leaning in closer to the mirror.

Holy shit.

“I look like a mess…” Blue muttered to himself, pulling at his eyebags and touching his sickly cheeks. Is this what he always looked like after an encounter with Nightmare? He hadn’t gotten his blood sucked this time…was this a result of drinking Nightmare’s blood? His thoughts were cut short as a hand that didn’t exist in the mirror grabbed him by his chin, forcing his face to the left.

“You look utterly ravishing,” Nightmare ran his thumb against Blue’s lips as he cooed to him softly, resisting the urge to run his teeth against his neck. “I’m going to be right back, okay? Don’t be stupid, and if you need anything, just shout.”

With a quick ruffling of Blue’s curly hair, Nightmare exited the room. Blue watched him, his heart pittering against his ribcage. He gripped onto the seat of his chair until his knuckles began to turn white. There was a clawing in his mind and chest, his own brain nearly forcing him up and out of the chair. To his horror, there was a part of his mind that panicked when Nightmare left his vision. There was a legitimate sense of longing, of wanting, the urge to stumble after him, to make sure they weren’t too far apart.

Blue shook his head, physically trying to get rid of the foreign feelings. He twisted his body away from the door, taking slow breaths to try and ease his racing heart. His hands shook as he began to snoop through the drawers, needing anything to distract him. To his disappointment, he found nothing except dust and dead bugs within. He pushed back against the desk to scoot his chair backwards, giving himself room to open the large, middle drawer. IT squealed as he pried it open. The dresser hadn’t been used in what seemed like years.

And…! Nothing.

Disappointment washed over him and he groaned, looking up at the tall ceiling. Even though the drawers proved fruitless, the high ceiling was beautiful. It curved inwards, intricate patterns carved into the brick, and at the very top was a painting of the night sky. He wondered who painted it. Not Nightmare, surely? Whoever it was, was likely dead now, considering how old the mansion was.

“I can’t believe you brought me fresh meat, boss.”

“Stop it.”

With a yelp, Blue lurched backwards in his chair, a stifled shriek coming out of him as he slammed his broken foot onto the bottom of the dresser. He bit down harshly on his lip, tears forcing their way out of his eyes. He glanced up at the person who appeared on his left without a sound, taking in their appearance.

The first thing Blue noticed was their eyes. They were more like eye sockets, being completely and utterly blank, like two blackholes on their face. What Blue could only assume to be dried blood stained their cheeks, rolling down from the corners of their ‘eyes’ and forming beads at the bottom of their face. Blue couldn’t look away from their black eyes, desperately trying to search for pupils.

It was almost hypnotizing.

“Shh, it’s okay. Relax, cariño.” They spoke, leaning in closer, and Blue could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The stranger held his hand, as if he was about to kiss the top of it. He could barely move, his mind whirling and growing foggy. “I’m just going to take a little piece of you, ‘kay?”

“Don’t you-”

“AGH?!”

The moment the hunting knife touched his knuckle, instinct kicked in, and Blue’s fist landed in between the person’s eyes. They shot back, knife clattering to the ground as they staggered backwards, holding onto their face. Blood dribbled from their Greek nose, eyes (eyeholes?) widening in shock. Nightmare cackled, lifting Blue from the chair he was sitting on.

“Cabrón…!” Even through his pain, Blue managed to flip the person off, “Coño.”

“I see that the two of you will get along splendidly.” Nightmare smiled, making sure he supported Blue’s bad leg. “Killer, this is Blue, my newest thrall, and Blue, meet Killer, he is, alas, my right hand man.”

Killer, an uncomfortable name for someone who was just mere inches from his face, picked up the knife, twirling it in his hand. After standing up straight, he slipped his hunting knife back into the sheath on his thigh, eyes narrowed at Blue. His skin was a light brown, and his black hair was asymmetrical and choppy. He wore baggy cargo pants, which were also black, with the sheath on the outside of his right leg. His blue sweatshirt drooped from his shoulders, revealing a compression turtleneck underneath. The hood of it had beige faux fur; it looked soft to the touch.

“A thrall? Been a while since you last had one of those, boss.”

“Yes, I am aware. And since you decided to break his poor foot further, you get the honor of making sure his room is adequately set up! Isn’t that nice?”

“Wh- Hey! Nightmare!” Killer shouted, “Do I look like a janitor to you?!”

“You look like someone who’s going to be utterly fucking walloped if you don’t get to work!” Nightmare called back, sauntering out of the room, keeping Blue close to his chest.

The door slammed behind them, a low growl coming from Nightmare’s throat as he hissed. It was rather quiet as he walked down the hall, Killer’s grumblings slowly consumed by the sound-eating walls of the manor. Blue gasped for air, his breath hitching over and over as he clung to Nightmare, pain searing through his body.

“That bad, huh?”

“I-It hurts.” Blue choked, “Fuck, I can’t-”

“I know.” It was likely his adrenaline-filled brain misconstruing Nightmare’s body language, but he could’ve sworn that Nightmare looked down at him with love, sincerity. That couldn’t be right. “I know.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“So you’ve said.”

“This is your fault. Make it stop.” He croaked, his trembling hands feeling the folds of his scarf for a moment of comfort.

“Rest assured, I will.”

Sharp teeth punctured Blue’s neck, his scream lost in the labyrinth that was the manor’s hallways. Not much would be taken, despite Nightmare’s thirst. He had yet to get what he initially came for: Blue’s delectable blood. Blood was blood, no matter who it came from. However, Nightmare did have his preferences. The taste of Blue’s skin intermingling with the metallic liquid, his arms being able to wrap around his waist to hold him close, his pretty cries when teeth sunk into him all made Blue the perfect meal. After all, the actual taste was only half of what made a meal good. Presentation was, arguably, more important. And, oh, did Blue present.

With a desperate gasp, Nightmare released Blue’s neck, blood dribbling down his chin, the two piercing wounds bubbling up slightly. His tongue pressed against them, an ecstasy-filled shiver tearing up his spine.

Like fucking ambrosia.

It had been too much for Blue’s brain to handle, finally deciding to shut down, leaving him unconscious in Nightmare’s arms. For the first time in a few hours, he looked at peace, his head rolled into Nightmare’s arm, and hands neatly placed on his chest. Nightmare didn’t, couldn’t look away, a foreign feeling of fondness flowing through him. His lips connected with Blue’s forehead, leaving a rather blood kiss mark behind.

Cute.

Nightmare began to walk once more, towards his own bedroom this time. He had wanted Blue to settle in a place apart from him. Can’t have the mortal thinking he was too special, now could he? He wasn’t going to force Blue in a room that was covered in dust and who knows what else. He swore that he assigned someone to have an extra room clean at all times, but perhaps he didn’t give that command. …Or he did, and someone ignored it. There would be hell to pay if that was the case.

It’d be easier to care for Blue if they were staying in the same room, though, so Nightmare would let it slide. This time.

Nightmare’s face pulled into a sneer. Blue’s foot had only gotten worse from his initial break, and Nightmare no longer had any idea the state of the bones in his ankle. The last thing he wanted was to set the bones incorrectly, and have them heal in a way that would make Blue’s life a living Hell. That was his job!

That meant he’d have to call up the doctor, whose actual name Nightmare didn’t know, referring to him only as “the doctor” or, when he was feeling more casual, “Sci.” He’d contact the doctor using his phone, which everyone called “old-fashioned” (Dust got a hearty smack for that comment). It wasn’t his fault that phones had simply gone downhill in quality since the rotary phone! Sci would come over and fix Blue right up, likely better than Nightmare would. His area of expertise was blood, not bones.

Immediately, Nightmare relaxed when he entered his room, the non-crypt one, of course. He set Blue down on his massive bed, which rarely went used, and Blue turned onto his side, getting comfortable on the fluffy blankets. His hand ran through his curls, the other mindlessly touching where the knife had been pressed into his chest.

He couldn’t even be mad anymore.

To have Blue, to have Blue be his, was so incredibly worth it.