#now i scream in agony in the tags

[sincerelybubbles]

HEY *tap tap tap* HEY IM HEARTBROKEN NOW

if you love me, keep it to yourself | s.r.

[previously]

in which Spencer gifts you a necklace for your birthday and you begin to question why you continue to push him away

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (kinda flangsty) content warnings: blowing smoke part THREE, kissing, starcrossed lovers, spencer being interested in other girls, jealous!reader, maeve, reader has hair that covers her neck (?), circa s10, dancing, reader's birthday but the weather/time of year isn't mentioned word count: 2.24k a/n: i meant to post this earlier but i got distracted by animal crossing. my bad.

You shifted your feet again, wary of your heels slowly digging into the dirt behind Rossi’s house—mansion. You folded and unfolded your hands, waiting for something to happen while everyone’s attention was on you.

In true BAU fashion, they’d thrown you a birthday party despite you insisting that you didn’t want one, which left you in a party dress, sitting on the outdoor furniture and watching the way the stars glimmered this far away from the city. Exhaustion wore at you like waves, waiting for an acceptable time to abandon the festivities.

They surrounded you. All of your friends minus Kate, who had gone home early to spend time with Meg, and yet, it still felt like there was a piece of you missing. Something inside of you had been chiseled away with an ice pick, and the raw flesh stung with fresh hurt when Spencer stood in front of you.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked you softly, providing you with a false sense of protection from prying eyes. Spencer’s brown eyes glowed beneath the warm string of lights, studying your appearance as if it was the first time he’d seen you all night.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, feeling cold despite the heated patio you were sitting on. “No one else is dancing, Spence,” you told him, watching as he took your rejection for what it was.

Spencer turned from you, walking along the path to the gazebo, minding the gaps between the stones as he hung his head. You watched him smooth his suit jacket as he looked up at the same sky that you’d been keeping an eye on, waiting for it to fall.

Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you glanced over to see Dave giving you a disappointed look. “Now,” he started, “I hope I’m not overstepping when I saw this, but if you keep holding him at arm’s length, eventually he’s going to walk the other way.”

You slid further down on the chair you were perched on. He was overstepping. Overstepping so far that his foot was going to slide off of the edge of the world. Part of you wondered if you were watching it happen right now, if Spencer was finally turning and walking away from you for good, but as you eyed him from the patio, he peeked over his shoulder, looking to see if you had moved to follow him.

That was your cue. Pushing yourself to your feet, you wrapped your shawl over your shoulders and followed the cobblestone path that would lead you to Spencer. Your heels tapped gently on the old stone until you halted at the entrance of the gazebo, holding a hand to the worn wood column to keep yourself steady. “Hey,” you greeted, an involuntary smile flying to your face when his head lifted at the sound of your voice.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered. Your proximity to the team was no longer a concern of yours, but the two of you still chose to speak in quiet truths. Using small voices sometimes seemed to quell the gravity of your situation. Two people in love who would never be able to find their way together.

You wanted to move on from stolen kisses in bars and tears shed in your apartment, but every time you looked at him, you were struck with the memory of years past. You thanked him, conscious of the tentative peace between you. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and his hair had grown considerably since the last time you stood opposite each other like this, but he was still Spencer.

His tie was crooked, and you put your hands behind your back as if to physically restrain yourself from fixing it for him. Besides, there was something about his crooked tie that made him undeniably Spencer—it was so endearing that it built a pit in your chest. “I got you something,” he spoke again, digging in his back pocket for something.

Your breath caught in your throat when he produced the dainty chain; a simple necklace dangled from his fingers and without giving it a second thought, you lifted your hand and took the chain from him. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, wondering where Spencer acquired the skill of picking out jewelry.

“I don’t see any dancing,” Rossi heckled from the patio, and as if he was controlling you, the two of you took a step toward each other.

You were toe to toe; goosebumps spread across your skin while Spencer’s hand splayed across the small of your back. You set your free hand on his shoulder, the other one dedicated to clutching your new necklace as if your life depended on it. “We don’t have to dance,” he offered to you, still whispering as if Rossi had bugged the gazebo.

Shaking your head, your face warmed when someone turned the volume up and the rest of the team retreated to the indoors. “You like to dance,” you countered, swaying gently with the music.

Every bit of coordination that Spencer lacked with sports, he made up for with dancing. His mom taught him when he was a kid. At least, that’s what he’d told you years ago. “I know I do, but… I was really just looking for a reason to get you away from everyone so I could give you your gift.”

Squeezing his shoulder, you smiled despite yourself and shrugged, “I like dancing with you, Spence.” You wanted to slip something in about being a good friend, but you bit your tongue. He’d just given you a necklace, and you knew better than to push him away now.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in response, “We could dance all the time if you’d go out with me.”

Your steps faltered, you would’ve tripped over your own feet if Spencer wasn’t there, keeping you upright. “I thought we were past this,” you said after regaining your balance.

“I never will be,” he responded immediately. “Can I be honest?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked up at him, “If you must.”

“When you told me ‘not right now’ in that bar last year, I didn’t anticipate it taking this long,” he told you, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t mind waiting for you, but part of me was worried that you forgot.”

“I remember,” you assured him. “I told you I’d let you know, and I will.”

Spencer laughed nervously, the gold glimmering in his irises under the faint lights of the gazebo, “You wouldn’t happen to have a timeline for me, would you?”

Your smile returned to your face; he pulled you closer to him with the flat of his palm on your back. “How was your date with that surveillance agent?” You spun the conversation around, acting as if you didn’t remember Dorian’s name. They’d gone out for coffee, and you recalled being in a particularly rotten mood that day.

He hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

“Oh,” you feigned surprise, “Why not?”

“She’s not you,” he answered easily, maintaining his façade that you were the only girl in the world—at least as far as he was concerned.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re going to have a hard time finding someone to go out with if that’s your prerequisite.” You tried to resist the flattery that his words brought to you. Your heart clenched at your brain’s outright refusal to accept him.

He shrugged, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Your feet stopped, pausing the dance, “Spencer…”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “I’m tired of dancing around each other.”

Looking around, you spotted the bench in the gazebo. You nodded in the structure’s direction, “Did you want to sit down then?”

He glanced over his shoulder to the bench, “I was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah,” you breathed. “Well, how do you think we should move forward?” You let him lead you over to the bench, minding the way the curtains of the house moved—a sign that your friends were eavesdropping.

His eyes flickered down to your hand. Your fist was clenched around the necklace that he had gifted you. “You could start by wearing the necklace,” he proposed, taking your hand in his.

Spencer cradled your fist, peeling your fingers away from your palm one at a time before revealing the pendant. “Why don’t you put it on me?”

Plucking the chain from your hand, you turned away from him, lifting your hair from the back of your neck so he could have a clear view of the clasp. His fingertips touched your bare skin ever so slightly when he released the necklace.

You were so close. You were so close to calling everything off and telling him you were ready, but when you turned around and met his eyes, you saw it again. You looked into his eyes and saw the terror. The vague sense of haunting that had been there since the day Maeve died still bloomed in his irises.

You’re not sure why you spoke again, but he had given you something. You felt inclined to return the favor. “Do you know the first time I knew I was in love with you? I mean really knew that I was in love… It was the case right before Emily joined the BAU—the first time. There were two killers operating in St. Louis at the same time, and you had found their communication in the classifieds. It seems so insignificant looking back at it now, but there was something about the way you explained it to me. I realized it wasn’t just that I was impressed by your brain, but I was in love with you.”

He's silent for a long time, and you know why. You’ve never told him you loved him. There had never been a moment before this where you’d truly confessed your love for him, and yet, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. “That was eight years ago,” he croaked, his voice suffocated by turmoil.

“I know,” you breathed. Your voice was so soft that you weren’t sure he’d hear you, but he did. Spencer always heard you.

He took a deep breath, looking at you frantically like he was waiting for you to take it back, “You never said anything.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“I—” he faltered over his feelings. “I wish you’d said something to me years ago. We’ve missed so much time together.” His words implied that there was a new sense of togetherness now. It wasn’t as easy as being in love with each other, you knew that.

Shaking your head, you dropped a hand to the bench you were sitting on, the wood soft with years of occupants. “I don’t know, Spencer,” you shrugged, tracing the woodgrain with your fingertips. “I’ve seen the other girls over the years. I never thought you’d be interested in reciprocating my feelings.”

He frowned, “Other girls?” His hand caught yours on the bench, enveloping your hand with his warm, nimble fingers.

“JJ, Lila, Austin, Maeve,” you listed, redirecting your focus to the ridges of his hand. You wanted to commit each crease and swirl to memory before he inevitably dropped your hand.

Surprise lit up his face, cocking his head to the side while he looked at you patiently, “None of them are you.”

She’s not you. None of them are you. His words echoed around the confines of your skull like a ping-pong ball. “You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It means everything to me,” he insisted. “You mean everything to me.”

His ice pick had returned, chiseling at your resolve like you were running out of time. “They’re just words,” you said desolately, the dainty chain around your neck applying pressure like shackles on your shoulders.

“Can I ask you a question?” As expected, he withdrew his hand from yours, leaving your palms empty, begging for more.

You hummed, bringing your hands back to your lap, “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

Slowly, he slid off of the bench, kneeling in front of you while he took both of your hands in yours. “You’ve built your walls up so high, how do you know if you’re protected or imprisoned?”

Freezing, you gave yourself a moment to process his words before you tilted your head down in shame, “I’m not entirely sure anymore.” Your confession came as a surprise to both of you. You swallowed thickly, leaning over to be closer to him, “but I think I’d like you to kiss me again.”

Not needing to be told twice, Spencer craned his head forward and pressed his lips to yours. He rose to his feet, cradling your cheeks, he held you like water in his hands. He kissed you and it was just as sweet as it had been the first time, pulling away slightly, he whispered I love you against your lips.

That was all it took for you to drag yourself away from him. Three words that you’d waited a decade for, and all you could get yourself to say was, “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” He asked breathlessly.

Frantically, you stood up and smoothed out your dress. “It will be,” you offered. You headed back to the house, leaving Spencer—and your heart—behind.

"All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire." - Edgar Allen Poe

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[birrdify]

im obsessed wiht your AU mister moloch ...... @can-your-kinitopet (for Some reason i cant tag your main sobs)) i Will draw more whne i come back from the Dread. Dinner

[hauntingblue]

making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

[whenyoucomeback]

can't wait for you to listen to the rest of EPIC. it's wild and even takes fun creative liberties apart from the Odyssey !! and Odysseus only gets better imo <3 even when he making. wild choices, to say the least

It seems like a ton of fun to keep listening to!! Honestly I miiight cave and keep listening to it tomorrow or sometime this week, since even today I was feeling it calling to me, I just was super busy and didn't want to make my brain short-circuit or something in the middle of it or miss out on fully appreciating him TwT I've seen a few spoilers (using "fandom words" to talk about greek mythology feels wild to me but my blog my word choice, I guess? I can do what I want forever) already and it seems sooo devastating oh my goodness. Which I am so, so deeply excited to hear, seriously !!! :D

[chuuciae]

look mr bear it's a mr bird

[scarrrletales]

DRAGON AND DAMSEL

DRAGON!SYLUS X PRINCESS!MC

🔞 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

This blog and its content, including this post, are strictly 18+ only. If you are under 18, please do not interact, like, reblog, or follow.

Tags : Dark romance, PWP (P0rn with plot), dirty talk, past life lovers, creamp!e, double p3netration, marking, br3eding, m0nsterfvcking, unprotected s3x, r0ugh sex, MC is h0rny.

Summary : A princess is offered as a sacrificial bride to a dragon but discovers a dragon in heat.

A LONG LONG TIME AGO.....

It was a lovely morning at the kingdom of Tarus. Everything was going perfect for you, being bethroted right after you come of age — to a prince.

You can't help but to giggle and feel giddy, still not believing that you are to be his in a few hours, it's your wedding day after all.

A knock suddenly interrupted your thoughts, followed by the door opening and maids scattering to your room. I turned to look at them and smiled nervously.

"Princess (Name), it's time."

I nodded and let them take over. The maids took off my nightgown, slipping me off to a white chemise, a red sleeveless dress — followed by a corset and a large crinoline. Whilst the others gets busy with combing and styling my hair.

Heaving a sigh of relief after the torturous cinching of the corset's ribbons, the maid gently takes my wedding gown off the wooden mannequin and dressing me.

I looked at myself in the mirror "Wow...." I smiled and looked the maids. "T-thank you..." I said gently as my smile dropped as I saw their expression full of indifference. They then bowed and left my room coldly.

"We're they always like this?" I asked myself

Eversince I set foot in this castle, everyone has been so distant, even the king and queen. Only the prince was kind and welcoming towards me, even touring me the gardens and horseback riding in the mountains with me.

"I hope that all is well soon...."

—

After the wedding ceremony ended, we rode a carriage heading up to the mountain. He held out his hand after the carriage stopped, I smiled and gladly took it. I looked around and saw guests wearing masks, which made me puzzled.

"Welcome princess."

The queen greeted warmly and hugged me.

I hugged reluctantly and hugged her back "T-thank you for welcoming me into your family, your highness." I looked up to her smiling.

She nodded and took the lead on walking through the rock bridge. The queen then spoke.

"For generations, its been our task, our duty, to protect our people."

I listened intently as I tried to ignore what's underneath we're walking on. It's dark and creepy, with multiple dead roots and a never ending abyss below.

She cleared her throat and continued.

"Today, you join a legacy of women who shaped this kingdom......When our ancestors claimed this island, they discovered a bloodthirsty beast already here. It attacked the village. In retaliation, the king took his revenge, by killing the dragon's lover and the king led his soldiers against it, but none survived except him."

A beast? Here in this kingdom? How gruesome.

"The beast demanded a terrible price: bring the the fairest maiden in the land in exchange for peace. The women were sacrificed, and so......the kingdom was born."

She came to a halt and looked at me with a serious face. Signaling a red cloaked and masked individual, she took out a dagger.

"It is a tradition we commemorate every generation. A tradition going back centuries."

I looked at her nervously as she slowly asks for his son's palm — the prince. Without hesitation she slashed it. My hands trembled as I slowly took out my hand, I bit my lip in agony as I tried to held out a scream as the blade cuts through me. The queen then pressed our palms together, mixing our blood, followed with covering it with a white cloth. The queen smiled eerily "She is now of royal blood!" she proclaimed. The guests bowed in respect.

"To ensure our kingdoms thrive forevermore, toss the coin into the abyss now." I nodded determined, I slowly walked closer and tossed it below.

"The ceremony is now complete, you may now make your return."

The prince and I looked at each other smiling. I wonder what will happen later at our wedding night? I snapped out off my thoughts as he gently picks me up and carried me.

"I-i can walk fine y'know..." I said, embarrassed and smiling.

He chuckles as he looks at me and asks for me to close my eyes as he came to a halt on the middle of the bridge, I giggled. "I'm sorry." The prince said.

I looked at him confused. The last thing I new that my husband. My prince. Tossed me into the dark abyss.

"Argh....." I groaned painfully as i slowly awoke.

I writhed in pain as I tried to get up but failed. What the hell? This must be just a dream? With all the strength I got, I stood up and looked up. "HELP! I-is there anyone there? HELP ME!" I sobbed in pain as I tried desperately to climbed up the stones, only to fall down again.

"FUCKING SHIT!" i threw the crown and my ring on the ground and yelled in rage.

There was barely any light left in the cavern that I was tossed on. How will I ever survive this? Will I die here? My parents, my sister, my kingdom..... A fire suddenly flashed afar on one of the passageway of the cave. Curious, i followed the light that led to a tight cave.

I held my breath as i stumbled upon another cave, a huge one field with large rocks and a smoky-burning breeze inside it. My legs brought me to the pathway that led to a shiny spot. Why is it all so familiar? I flinched as a booming voice suddenly interrupted my admiration for the precious items.

“I…like your eyes, they are beautiful i can see your hatred, defiance and greed for life.”

My face dropped as i sensed an dark ominous aura clouding the area. Then it hit me, remembering what the prince told me when we're on a walk. Thousands of years ago, dragons ruled over the lands of Philos. By nature, dragons are wicked creatures that feed on human souls. They excel at drawing out the darkest parts of a person's heart, driving humans to turn on one another and become slaves to their desires. The greedier the soul, the more irresistible it is to a dragon.

Weary about my surroundings, i picked up a stone "W-what do you want from me!?" I shouted, full of fear as the winged figure circles around me.

"My...my....look like something's never changed. Sweetie."

The figure revealed itself as a man. Winged, sharp and undeniably good looking? I wasn't expecting this at all,

I chuckled nervously "W-what are you going to do to me?" i held back my tears, my hands clutched over to a fist. The dragon chuckled deeply and and landed Infront of me. I closed my eyes tightly, prepared for death.

His lips came crashing down on me making me gasp for air as he continuously. His lips were desperate, passionate and rough. "Mmmm..!" I tried avoiding him, but failed. It was making you go into a haze, it's almost like as if your hypnotized and familiar with his touch.

I couldn't help but to return his kisses, his large hands suddenly wrapping around my waist and his tail lifting my skirt then ripping it off. "H-hey!" I gasped, blushing.

"Relax my princess, you can handle it."

You feel so needy for him. Why? why is it like this? Why is the dragon suddenly kissing me all off a sudden? I bit my lip to prevent myself from whining. He stops kissing me and clawed open my corset revealing my body. It's tail suddenly striking my butt, making me gasp and fall over to the red cushion surrounded by sparkling treasures and bones.

"What's your name?" he asked, before dipping down to my chest ravaging and marking it down. You couldn't help the noises coming out of your mouth. "(N-name)...ohh fuck!" i whined, he bites your thighs before completely making your mind go blank. The dragon's tongue rapidly licks over your dripping wet cunt, it was so undeniably good. I gripped his hair tightly and whined.

"Sylus is the name. In case you forgot, sweetie. It's been many years after all." he smirked before starting to ravish your dripping wet pussy again. The dragon — Sylus.

His red eyes gleamed over you before showing off his two massive cocks. I gulped and bit my lip as i looked at it astonished. How will that even fit inside me? Sylus claims my lips as he spits on his hands before pumping his cock.

"I-i..---" i stuttered "Scared now aren't we?"

I looked down nervously and backed away a bit. He then flips me over before slowly plunging his length inside me, making me moan and my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Holding into him tight as i closed my eyes in pain, i moaned and clawed his back. "Such a fucking whore for me. Look, your cunt perfectly hugs my cock, kitten." Slowly looking down, i bit my lip as i saw his length plunged inside me.

Sylus then began to move, his hips becoming faster and faster by time while claiming my lips and neck. "Ahhh! sy-lus..." My mind was now full of lust and need. Giving in, i started bucking my hips onto him while kissing him.

Oh...is this what the elders told me about? What happens only most to married couples on their wedding night. I fantasized about this, i red about this day. So immoral......

"Oh? you're getting a bit desperate aren't we slut?" Sylus said as he carried me, face to face before thrusting it inside my cunt. "Ohhh! yes! ohh ngh!" i whined over his shoulder and bit his neck, marking it.

You let out an shriek as he suddenly forces your head down, causing you to choke on his cock. Bucking his hips into your mouth you can only tear up in the sensation you are feeling whilst you kept eye contact with him.

"Good girl, taking my cock like that." You whimpered as his length was buried deep inside your throat, making a bulge. It was painful at first but it suddenly was replaced with pleasure as he then gets busy with your tight hole. Teasing and licking it before thrusting it once again. "s'too much...ah!!" i drooled over him. Fuck.

Delighted, he inserted the other one in to your ass. "!!!" i gasped and let him take control. "You like it that much huh? i'll teach you what love is again, sweetie." he bucked his hips and started to go rough with me. Sylus growls into your neck as he plunges into your pussy deeper. I was crying in pleasure, i looked at him desperate and kissed him as we both continue to buck our hips together in pleasure.

"I-i...i'm gonna! i'm gonna!" i moaned desperately and wrapped my legs around his waist as both of his cocks continue to delve inside me. "Let it all go, kitten." Ropes of hot seed came rushing inside your cervix. It was jaw droppingly good.

I was panting heavily and fell on top of his chest, my legs all wobly and my cunt dripping full of cum.

The cavern was silent now, the crackle of fire replaced by the rhythmic sound of their breathing. The princess lay against his chest, her fingers tracing the faint glow of scales that shimmered beneath his skin—half-man, half-beast. The intensity of their union still lingered in the air, but her mind raced as fragments of memories stirred, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. He watched her, his red eyes softened with something far deeper than desire—an ancient pain.

Sylus tilted her chin, his clawed hand surprisingly gentle. Her heart skipped. A flicker of recognition. Those eyes, that voice —it wasn’t new. It was something buried, forgotten.

She pulled back, her breath catching. "I know you.." she gasped. Her blood ran cold, then hot, as the truth hit her. "You’re... my—"

"Your lover." he finished, his voice heavy with centuries of longing. "And now, your dragon." The cavern seemed to shrink around them as her tears fell. She clung to him, her words a whisper against his chest. The dragon only held her tighter, his fiery embrace a promise of love that defied even time itself.

— the end.

[fckwritersblock]

What I Should’ve Said (pt.2)

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x black reader

Description: TBA

Word: 3,023

A/n: I can’t even describe how surprised and happy I am, by the support and love you guys showed to part one. I am extremely obsessed and in love with these twins, and this is exactly what we all mean when we say we want to pair of Jordans, Amen?

AMEN!

Tag list: @capswife @marley1773 @kxllanxtdoor @berlinswifey @thegreatlibraryofalex @httpsangelsstuff @lovereadingfanfic @li-da-savage @reci1996 @nbanenefrmdao @theonekaysstuff @kpopslur @fjssdfb @zane2408 @saik-k @childishgambinaax @k4kashin @keliwel

Part 1 - I Never Told You

Elias?” You mumbled, staring at the scene in front of you in horror.

Blood. All the blood. It was all you could focus on—the crimson liquid seeping from the side of Stacks’ neck, painting the ground in a gruesome tapestry of life and pain. Stacks, who was withering on the ground, struggled to move, his body twitching as if trying to fight against the inevitable.

The next thing you heard were gunshots, sharp and echoing in the air, as Smoke lit Mary up, each bullet finding its mark in her body. Just when you thought the chaos couldn’t escalate further, she dropped to the floor, only to rise again, defying the laws of life and death. Your ears were ringing from the close proximity of Smoke’s gunfire, but all you could see was Stacks.

As you inched toward him, desperate to reach him, Mary bolted toward you, pushing you out of the way with a force that sent you sprawling to the ground.

Hastily, you scrambled to your knees, crawling as fast as you could toward Stacks, your heart racing.

“Elias!” You screamed, horror twisting your voice.

There was an entire chunk of skin missing between the top of his neck and shoulder, a gaping wound that made you feel sick. Without a second thought, you tore off your shawl and pressed it against the injury, your hands trembling. Smoke, his face a mask of fury and fear, lifted his twin brother slightly, cradling his head in his lap.

“She fucking bit me, baby,” he coughed out, his mouth stained with blood, each word a struggle.

“Smoke, what do we do—?” you stammered, panic creeping into your voice.

“Fuck, just hold it!” he barked, his own desperation evident as he tried to help you stem the flow of blood from Stacks’ neck.

“I’m sorry,” Stacks wheezed, the sound barely escaping his lips. You felt one of his hands tap your elbow weakly.

“I don’t care! I don’t care about anything else; I just need you to stay with me, okay?” You begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kept pressure on the wound with one hand and reached down to hold one of his.

He squeezed your hand back, but only for a moment. You felt his grip loosen, and that arm fell limp, a chilling realization settling over you like a dark cloud.

“Elias, please!” you cried, your voice breaking as fear clawed at your insides.

“I love you,” he said, looking you dead in the eye, his gaze piercing through the pain, though his own eyes were mere slits now.

“I love you, big brother,” he murmured this time to Smoke, the words a whisper of tenderness amidst the chaos, before a gurgling sound escaped his lips, followed by an eerie silence.

“Elias?” You called, your heart racing, but there was no response.

“Elias!” You shouted again, desperation flooding your voice as you shook him gently, hoping against hope for a miracle.

But he was gone.

The world around you faded into a blur, the sounds of gunfire and chaos dimmin' as the weight of loss crashed down upon you like a heavy shroud. You felt a coldness seep into your bones, a chill that had nothin' to do with the night air—it was the icy grip of despair.

“Elias…” you whispered, his name hangin' in the air like a haunting melody, a promise left unfulfilled.

You couldn’t move. All you could do was stare at your hand clutchin' his. His hand was quickly turnin' cold, life leavin' him with every passing second.

Smoke's face twisted in agony as he cradled his brother, the bond of twinhood shattered in an instant. You could see the rage buildin' within him, a storm of emotions that threatened to erupt at any moment, ready to lash out at the world for takin' his brother away.

“Smoke, we have to move the body outside,” you urged, your voice shaky.

“Ain’t nobody touchin' my brother,” he seethed, fury and heartbreak intertwining in his words.

Coverin' your mouth to choke down another sob, the reality that Stack was no longer here played on a loop in your mind, a cruel reminder of what you’d lost.

“Y/n, you too, baby,” your sister said gently, rubbin' your shoulders, tryin' to coax you into movin'.

With trembling hands, you reached out, runnin' your fingers softly over his forehead before pressin' your own to his. You closed your eyes, wishin' for one last moment, one final chance to tell him how you felt.

“I should’ve told you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “I should’ve told you how much you mean to me.”

Your lip trembled as you leaned over, placing a tender kiss on his forehead, a goodbye you wished you didn’t have to say. Annie helped you up and out of the room, her grip firm yet comforting.

You paused at the doorway, lookin' back at Stack one last time, the sight of him still feelin' unreal.

“Come on, y/n,” Annie urged, her voice gentle yet insistent. You turned your gaze to your sister, who could see the hurt and pain in your eyes. Her heart ached for you and for her lover. Tears flowed freely down your face.

“I didn’t get to say it back, sista,” you whispered, the weight of your unspoken words hangin' heavy between you.

Haint.

That’s what your sister thought it was, but you all quickly found out she wasn’t too far off.

See, a Haint, in plain terms, was a malicious ghost. Restless spirits who, for some reason, hadn’t moved on.

But no.

No Haint would be handled between you and Annie, but vampires? That was a whole 'nother beast.

This was another type of evil you weren’t equipped to deal with. Not one that wore the face of the person you loved. When you saw him walkin' back up to that front door, lookin' alive as if nothin' had happened, givin' you that signature smirk, gold ones shinin’ like it was any other day, you were floored. You wanted nothin' more than to reach out, grab him, and make sure he was real.

Once Smoke closed the door, it stood still in front of it, unmoving. You prayed this was all a joke. You prayed Stack would just walk through that door and tell you that everything was gonna be okay.

But that didn’t happen.

You weren’t sure how he knew you were still on the other side of the door while the others were further away, tryin' to come up with some sort of plan, but you began to hear him whisper your name.

Or did you?

You weren’t sure what was real or fake anymore, and it was startin' to drive you mad. The voice of one of your very best friends askin' you to open up, plead in' with you, tryin' to assure you that everything was okay and nothin' was as bad as it seemed.

“Bam.” You shut your eyes tight as the sweet, silky voice of the man you loved coaxed you from the other side of the door.

“Elias, please,” you whispered, your voice tremblin' with confusion and longing.

“Open the door for me, Bam.”

“Just… I don’t understand,” you stammered, your heart racin' as it fought against the logic of your mind.

Your brain knew the truth. It wasn’t him. But your heart didn’t care, and right now, the two were at war with each other.

Everything you and your sister had grown up knowin' about magic and creatures that go bump in the night—it was all real, and it was literally at your front door. Yet, your heart struggled to see anything but Stack.

The man you had fallen so deeply in love with when you were just sixteen—the man you were still hopelessly in love with now. Except now, there was no longer a livin', breathin' Elias, but rather somethin' undead.

Vampire.

“Just open up for me, and I promise you, everything is gonna be okay, baby.” His voice flowed like honey, each word drippin' with the kind of sweet reassurance that used to melt your heart.

“Elias…” you breathed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions, a fragile whisper that barely escaped your lips.

“Open the door, Bam.” This time, his tone was still gentle, yet there was an undeniable firmness to it that sent your heart racing, pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

“I can’t do that,” you sniffled, not bothering to conceal the hurt that laced your voice. “It’s not really you, ‘Lias.”

You pressed your forehead and hand against the door, wishing for nothin' more than to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, to bring him back to you in any way that you could.

“But I am, Y/n. It’s still me, girl. There’s only one me, baby.” He joked in that familiar way that made your heart swell, even now, even in this twisted moment. “I’m just… better now. Everything is so much better.”

From the outside, Stack leaned against the door, his forehead pressed against the same spot where you stood, as if he could feel your presence through the wood, tethered to you by an invisible thread.

“No fear, no pain. Shit’s just beautiful.” You listened, entranced, as he went on, his voice smooth and enticing, painting a picture of a world where everything was normal. “And you’re beautiful.”

Mary, who had originally stood by giggling, enjoying the show of what she thought was her man trying to gain entry into the juke joint, recoiled at his words, her expression shifting from amusement to disbelief.

The hive mind they had formed once connected to Remmick allowed her to see into Stack’s thoughts as well. It wasn’t what she thought it would be.

Inside Stack’s mind…

Once he became part of the hive, she assumed his deepest, most inner thoughts would be of her—of their love, their connection.

But what was funny was that the bond they shared was nothin' more than the connection of two people who loved the same person back.

See, while Stack may have loved Annie, he breathed you.

It changed the landscape of her emotions as the vampire form tried to reason within, but deep down, she knew.

Stack was never really hers.

He was yours.

He always would be.

“You are beautiful, and you will be beautiful—on the outside and the inside,” Stack spoke convincingly, his tone a mix of charm and desperation that echoed in your chest. “And you and I? We will be together. No problems, no worries.”

Your fingers played with the latch on the door, the metal cool against your skin. You knew you couldn’t invite him in, but wouldn’t it be okay if you just looked at him? If you could see him, talk to him face-to-face, maybe you could reason with him. Fix him.

“We want you,” Stack said from the other side, his voice dripping with longing, like a lover’s whisper in the dark. “I want you.”

“But Stack—” Mary tried to interject, her tone tinged with concern, but one sharp look from him silenced her instantly.

“Shut up, bitch,” he seethed, the darkness that filtered into his voice made you recoil, snapping you out of the trance you didn’t even realize you were in, the warmth of his charm replaced by a chilling edge.

“I just want you,” he repeated, urgency creeping into his voice, raw and desperate. “It could be me and you.”

“Now open the fucking door!” Stack screamed, the sound of his fist slamming against the wood made you jump back, colliding into Smoke, who you hadn’t realized was standin' there, along with the others—watchin' you with sad, worried eyes as you broke down.

Smoke gently took one of your hands and squeezed it tight, his other hand resting on your back, guiding you away from the door toward Annie, a protective shield against the darkness.

“Come on, sister. You got to stop torturing yourself.” Annie’s voice was low and steady, filled with concern that wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Get the fuck on outta here, Stack!” Smoke threatened, takin' your place at the front door, ready to protect you from whatever darkness loomed on the other side, his stance firm and unwavering. “Fo’ I give you the pain you lookin’ for.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve already won,” Stack said, his voice dripping with a mix of confidence and something darker, leaving a chill in the air that seeped into your bones.

You struggled to catch your breath, disoriented and unsure how you ended up in the back of a car. The vehicle felt foreign, likely belonging to someone who had come to enjoy the evening’s festivities, not knowing what they’d fall victim to.

The world around you faded into a blur, drowned out by the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart.

You blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. Each time you shut your eyes, the horrific memories of the last half hour flashed before you like a relentless slideshow.

Grace. Taunted by Bo before she snapped, letting the horror in.

“Bam.”

Those of you who remained inside the juke joint were doing your best to arm yourselves before the undead descended upon you, ready to invade your sanctuary.

You blinked rapidly, feeling tears swell in your eyes, the last wave of grief crashing over you as you closed them tight.

You watched Delta sacrifice himself, as you felt Mary’s claws sinking into your abdomen, her whispers echoing in your mind at the memory of her claiming him as hers, before being suddenly thrown away from you.

“Bam.”

All you could do was watch as Smoke hovered above Annie, who had spared you a glance. She was muttering words you couldn’t understand; your ears filled with a deafening white noise.

A moment later, you watched your sister’s husband drive a stake through her heart. You could feel her essence leaving this plane, taking a piece of you with her as she slipped away.

“Bam.”

Everyone was gone. The people you grew up with, the ones you loved—they were all dead or turned to the undead. You looked down, the vision of your hand blurring in and out of focus as you felt something slick coating your fingers.

Blood.

This time, the blood on your hands was yours.

“Come on, Bam, look at me.” A voice said softly.

You blinked hard, your vision clearing as you finally focused on the face before you.

“Elias?”

A feeling you couldn’t quite describe washed over you. You were torn between wanting to scream and shout or attempting to run away, even though deep down, you knew you were in no condition to do so. You should be scared of him, but you didn't have the energy to feel fear. You were dying.

The air around you was thick with dread, the acrid smell of smoke and blood mingling in your nostrils, a stark reminder of the chaos that had consumed the night. With your last few moments in this lifetime approaching fast, you considered it might be a blessing to lay eyes on the face of your soulmate one last time.

With a shaky hand, you reached up, caressing the side of his face gently, yearning for the warmth that once radiated from him.

Stack let out a sigh of relief, the sound echoing in the stillness. You had been in and out of consciousness for what felt like an eternity as he picked you up and carried you away from the madness.

Stack looked down at the spot you’d been holding, your dress now darkened with blood, a stark contrast against the fabric.

The scent of you flooded his senses, and he couldn’t help the drool that pooled in his mouth, salivating at the thought of how you would taste. Yet, he fought against his new nature, focusing solely on you.

“Did you mean it?” you choked out, bringing his attention back to your face, your voice a fragile whisper.

“I did. I do.” He confessed, relishing the warmth of your touch against his cold skin. “I’ve been in love with you since I was a youngin’. I’ll always want you, even if you don’t want me.”

You looked into his glowing red eyes, filled with sincerity, and a pained laugh escaped your lips, tinged with irony.

“Even undead, your insecurities are screamin’,” you smiled, your teeth stained with blood. Your fingertips caressed his skin, grateful you could finally see him one last time. “I never wanted Smoke, Elias. I only ever wanted you.”

“I ain’t ever been nobody’s but yours, Y/n.” His rough voice whispered, filled with longing. “I will always be yours. I just need you to stay with me.”

You thought about it. Everyone else you loved was already gone, and you felt a hollow emptiness where your heart was supposed to be. You were on the brink of death yourself.

“C’mon now. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you wanna stay.” Stack pleaded, feeling your heartbeat slow beneath his fingers. He cradled your head in his hands, desperate for you to focus on him.

He wanted you to stay with him forever, but he didn’t want to take away your choice. He had taken enough from you tonight already.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Your thumb ghosted over his lip, and even half-dead, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him one last time.

Did it have to be the last time?

“I wanna stay,” you whispered through half-lidded eyes.

It was then Stack kissed you, kissed you the way he had pictured so many times before. You reciprocated, both of you ignoring the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. When you pulled apart, he kissed your forehead a few times before resting his on yours. He then took your hand in his, kissing your palm, then your wrist.

“It’s gon’ be alright, don’t you worry. I got you.”

Then he bit you.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

A Single Tear

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!niece!reader Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT (I am being serious when I tell you to mind the tags): dubious consent, anal sex, smut. Mentions of death. Forced marriage. Targcest/incest. Physical assault. Word count: ~4k

Summary: The Dance has ended, and Aemond and his niece are all that remains of the Targaryen lineage, until Viserys and Aegon come of age. Forced to marry, to ensure the continuation of their blood line, there may be peace in the realm but Aemond finds ways to continue to wage war within the marital bed.

Author's note: Chapter two of Tear Down My Reason, but also based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She averted her gaze, nausea roiling in her empty stomach as the carving knife rended its way through the roast swan, the sickening sound of cracking flesh and splintering bone making her screw her eyes shut momentarily, as though that would be enough to chase away the sight and sound. Though she had not been there to see it, her mind drifted to the thought of the blade of Blackfyre being brought down upon Cregan’s neck by the man that now sat beside her, putting an end to the life of her husband of less than a year.

Her appetite was non-existent. Watching the highborn lords of Westeros – what remained of them – stuffing their faces around the feasting table served only to disgust her further. Seeing such revelry when just months earlier the entire realm had been plagued by famine seemed like a cruel joke; a famine started by a war that had ended in her now deceased uncle feeding what remained of her mother to his dragon, while her younger brother was forced to watch. To think of it caused a hollow in her chest, to know that her mother had died screaming in agony. The pain spread, aching and suffocating, making the confines of her white lace bodice feel too tight, too restrictive, she could not breathe. Lucerys, Jacaerys, Joffrey, Daemon, her mother, Baela and Rhaena, they were all gone, and she was alone in the world, save for her two youngest brothers, both still too young to understand the fate that had befallen them all. She was left at the mercy of the uncle who had stolen her virtue prior to the war beginning, and the grasping, scheming woman that was his mother.

The realm feasted atop the ruins of House Targaryen. The entire farce of a wedding seemed as though they were trussing up what little remained of its corpse and parading it forth for the benefit of prying, morbidly curious eyes. In a sick sense, she supposed that having starved them, burned their lands and demanded their fealty, the least they were owed was a show. She chanced a glance at Aemond – her uncle who she had married only an hour earlier – and took a small amount of comfort in the fact that he appeared as unhappy as she was. His single eye remained fixed upon the table, the food on his plate untouched as his hands sat curled into fists upon either side of it. The war had lasted only two years, and yet it seemed to have aged him a decade. Hard lines were set into his brow, permanent dark circles sat vibrant as bruises on the pale skin beneath both of his eye sockets, and his jaw was set so tightly that she wondered how he had not yet worn his teeth away to dust.

Her breath caught in her throat as the toastmaster stood, announcing it was time for the king and queen’s first dance together.

Surely not.

A feast had been frivolous enough, but to make a further spectacle of them in this way was like rubbing salt in the wound. She had not even danced at her wedding to Cregan – they had had a simple ceremony, just the two of them, beneath the heart tree in the Godswood of Winterfell. When the Northern lord had draped his cloak around her shoulders, the fur of it had sat heavily upon her frame, and she had never felt safer, more protected. When Aemond had placed his upon her earlier that day it was done with all the care of someone discarding their undershirt over the back of a chair when readying themselves for bed.

She did not move, her fingernails dug crescent moons into the wooden tabletop as her eyes darted around the room in panic. She could not dance with Aemond. She would not.

“Come,” Aemond’s voice whispered smooth as silk next to her, “we must present a united front to those we rule over.”

He did not wait for her response, simply stood, pushing his chair out behind him, before extending his hand to her. Her eyes lifted to meet his piercing stare, and she swallowed thickly, seeing the subtle flare of his nostrils she knew that his patience was wearing thin, and it would be unwise to refuse him. She fought the urge to recoil as his larger hand enveloped hers. There was no warmth to the gesture, he may as well have been holding the pommel of dagger, in fact she knew he would derive greater pleasure in that simple act than he ever would from touching her.

They moved slowly to the centre of the room, and it was eerily silent, though the atmosphere had not been one that could be described as lively even before that point. The scrape of cutlery against plates had seemed louder than any of the dinner conversation, drowned out only by the soft melody played by the musicians in the corner. Aemond kept a hold of her hand, placing his free one upon her waist, and did not look at her as they began to awkwardly sway. His seeing eye remained fixed upon the farthest point on the wall, the brown leather of his eyepatch prominent against the sharp lines of his face, partially obscuring the ragged scar that bisected the left side of his face. She kept her gaze fixed upon the silver dragon head clasp of his tunic, attempting to find some enjoyment in the gentle drumming of the tabor accompanied by the subtle plucking of the lute.

If keeping up this farce was what she had to do to keep Viserys and Aegon safe then she would do it, there was little else she could. She had remained in Winterfell when Cregan had marched south with his Winter Wolves, and when they had suffered a crushing defeat, those that remained had been given the choice of being sent to the Wall for their treachery, or being put to the sword. Northerners were proud people and, as such, all had chosen death, her husband included. It had been Aemond who had relieved Cregan’s shoulders of his head, something she was sure he had delighted in. She had felt terror stricken when Alicent Hightower had sent for her, commanding that she return to King’s Landing. She had been convinced she was to meet the same fate as the rest of her family; Lucerys, snatched out of the sky by the jaws of Vhagar. Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Corlys and Baela all lost in battle. Daemon, swallowed up by the God’s Eye along with Caraxes. Rhaenyra, burned alive and then devoured by Sunfyre. Joffrey, thrown from the back of Syrax. Rhaena, drowned in an attempt to flee to Pentos. What gruesome death would await her, she had wondered.

The former queen had surprised her when, instead of sentencing her to die, she had offered her a marriage proposal to her only remaining child. Alicent had always been a vibrant beauty, but as she had stared at her, she had been struck by the same look of loss that she often saw in her own eyes, reflected back at her. There were grey streaks at the temples of her auburn curls, and her large, dark gaze was haunted. She wondered if Alicent regretted not accepting her mother’s proposal to betroth Jacaerys to Helaena all those years ago. What bloodshed could have been avoided had they simply set aside their resentments and mended the rift within their family?

“You would wed your favourite son, your only son, to one of Rhaenyra’s plain featured bastards?” The words were bitter and dripping with resentment as they left her mouth.

She fought the urge to smile triumphantly as she saw Alicent wince involuntarily, reminded of her own cruel words. The dowager queen placed her hands upon the surface of the writing desk she stood behind, bracing herself as she drew in a steadying breath, before meeting her unwavering stare once more. “Targaryen blood runs through your veins. You must pass that on, for the good of your House, for the good of the realm. We will wed you to Aemond, and when the time is right, Aegon will marry Jaehaera. It is what your mother would have wanted.”

Anger flashed through her as quick as a lightning strike, and her hands curled into fists at her sides at the mention of her mother. Her eyes widened, her skin heated with rage as she took a perfunctory step forward, biting out her words. “My mother would not have wanted to die, she would not have wanted her children to die, she would not have wanted any of this!”

What little remained of Alicent’s restraint snapped, as she slammed her palm upon her tabletop, her loose curls falling over her shoulders to frame her face as she had leaned forward, angry tears gathering upon her lash line as she had shouted back her own rebuke. “No, but she wanted to behead my grandson, to have the other torn apart! You speak of loss as if your own family have not contributed to mine!”

She took a step back, away from the older woman, swallowing thickly as she watched the rage drain from her, replaced by sad and bitter resignation. Alicent spoke again once she had composed herself, this time her voice was calm, though the remnants of her outburst caused it to tremble slightly. “Your mother may not have wanted this precisely, but she would not have wanted to see House Targaryen crumble into ruin either. She fought bravely to ensure that her children inherited the throne, as did I. You would be queen. You cannot say she would not have wanted that.”

Her shoulders sagged. She knew that Alicent had the right of it. Rhaenyra would sooner have slit her daughter’s throat than allow her to marry Aemond, however, if it meant securing the dynasty that their family had torn itself apart to rule then she would have begrudgingly accepted. And she had no choice but to do the same.

She and Aemond stood in their shared marital chambers, the wedding feast mercifully at an end. The room was larger, more opulent than the simple guest bedchamber she had occupied the last time she had visited The Keep – when Aemond had stolen her maidenhead with the promise of marriage, and then cruelly retracted it. What bitter irony that she now had the husband she had once so desperately pined for, and could not bear the sight of him. Her eyes moved about the room, taking in the large four poster bed with its heavy crimson velvet canopy, the rich, mahogany tables and chairs, and the plush couches set before a grand, roaring fireplace. It was every inch befitting of a king and queen, and yet none of it made up for the loss she had suffered at the hands of the man that now stood before her,  his eye fixed dully upon the flames that leapt within the hearth, casting long shadows against his face. He had taken so much from her; her virtue, her brother, her grandmother, her husband. She wanted to hurt him, to wound him as gravely as he had hurt her. They would be expected to produce heirs, but she had no intention of making it enjoyable for him. She wanted him to be reminded of just how much she hated him each time he slid inside of her.

“War has made you weak it seems, Uncle,” she taunted, cocking her head as she laced her fingers in front of her, “it did not take you this long to take what you wanted the last time we were together.”

Aemond turned his head slowly to face her, something feline in the movement of it, his eye appraising her without any emotion. “I do not want what I have already had,” he told her cooly, “there is no rush when I have already wetted my cock with your maidenhead.”

He smirked then and the prideful look upon his face enraged her. She wanted to throw herself at him, to claw out the eye that her younger brother had left untouched, but she knew she was the weaker of the two, he would best her if she attempted to challenge him physically.. Instead, she allowed her fury to embolden her words as she flashed a cruel smile of her own, all sharp white teeth – she would not let him forget that blood of the dragon coursed through her veins too. “I suppose virtue is of little interest to you, considering the months you spent warming your bed with that withered old witch. I wonder how many men she had between her thighs before–”

She gasped as he lunged for her, cutting her off mid-sentence as his hand closed around her throat, squeezing tightly and restricting her airway. He forced her backwards, white hot fury blazed in the brilliant blue of his iris as the back of her skull made harsh impact with the stone of the wall behind her, making her yelp with pain as the dull thud reverberated through her body, the pain almost ringing in her ears. Not satisfied with the hurt he had inflicted upon her already, he dug his fingertips further into the delicate flesh at her throat, hard enough to bruise and shook her roughly, so hard that she felt her teeth chatter together. Her hands flew up to his wrists, clawing at him as she desperately tried to pry him off of her, but he did not budge. “You will not speak of her,” he hissed, more beast than man, “do you understand? If you utter so much as a word about her again, I will cut off your fucking head the same as I did your traitor husband.”

Terror overwhelmed her. Aemond’s absence from her life had caused her to forget how cold and calculating he could be. War had made a murderer of him, and icy tendrils of fear crept along her spine as she realised that if she continued to push then he would just as easily murder her too. As her vision began to swim, growing dark at the edges, he loosened his grip, leaning in close to whisper to her. “Slicing my sword through that northern cunt’s neck almost felt better than pushing inside of you for the first time. But perhaps it is time I reacquaint myself with the sensation.”

Just as quickly as he had crowded into her space, he stepped back, and she gulped down huge lungfuls of air, the sudden rush of blood to her head making her feel faint as she was able to breathe again. With trembling hands she touched her fingertips to the doubtless bruised flesh of her throat, and her chest heaved, her eyes wild with fright, but Aemond ignored her, turning towards the bed instead, as he began to unbuckle his tunic.

“Disrobe,” he commanded flatly, not looking at her, “let us get this over with.”

She could run, she supposed, but would she make it to the door before he did? And if she did, who was there to save her? She resided in a nest of vipers, any person she could run to within the castle would promptly return her to her uncle, turned husband, and the retaliation for her disobedience would be far worse than whatever he inflicted if she were to simply just lay there and endure it.

Kicking off her slippers, she divested herself of the necessary garments, removing only her stockings, smallclothes and the outer layer of her wedding gown, leaving herself in her white cotton shift. He would have her body, but he would not look upon more than was necessary.

As she laid upon the bed, she was surprised to see that he had stripped entirely naked as he advanced towards her. He had not undressed when they had first lain together, only unfastening his trousers enough to free his erection. She did not mean to stare, but the sight of him fascinated her. Where Cregan had been broad and solid, muscular but not defined, and covered with a light dusting of hair, Aemond was the polar opposite. He was long, lithe, a weapon personified as every muscle was visible beneath the pale skin pulled taut across his torso. He was hard already, and she shivered at the idea that any potential harm he may inflict upon her aroused him. Now rid of his eyepatch, the sapphire that occupied the empty socket glittered malevolently in the glow cast by the fireplace, the scar that covered that side of his face pulling the features down into a mask of near sorrow.

She trembled as he knelt before her on the bed, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he grasped the hem of her shift, rucking the fabric up and around her hips. Dexterous fingers grasped her knees, prising them apart, baring her to him.

“No, there is no need,” she whispered, her heart drumming a panicked rhythm in her chest, attempting to squirm away from him as he lowered himself upon the bed, settling his face between her thighs.

His palm landed upon the soft meat of her inner thigh with a sharp slap, the sound echoing off of the vaulted ceiling with a loud crack, making her yelp. She stilled, and he held her firmly by her hips, preventing any further movements. “This will make it easier,” he told her, before leaning in to drag the flat of his tongue against her sensitive flesh.

She whimpered at the sensation, her hands balling into fists atop the thick quilt of the bedcovers.

Easier for you, she thought, as she twitched beneath his ministrations. He had no desire for her to feel pleasure, he simply did not want it to hurt when he forced himself inside of her. In spite of herself, she began to pant softly, her hips started to roll greedily of their own accord against his face as he lapped greedily at her, squeezing her hips appreciatively as she began to respond to him. The pleasurable ache grew more insistent, gradually building towards an edge she did not want to give him the satisfaction of pushing her from.

I hate you, she thought, biting her lip to hold back a moan.

His hand moved from her hip as he pulled his face away, his chin glistening with arousal, and he dragged his fingers through her sticky wetness. She squealed as he trailed them lower, spreading her slick around the puckered ring of muscle that lay further below.

“What are you doing?!” she cried, lifting her head to stare at him, wide eyed with horror.

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his throat. “It is customary for a husband to take his bride’s maidenhead upon their wedding night,” he explained as he worked a finger inside of her. The stretch took her breath away, the foreign sensation felt wrong, but the hold he still had upon her hip was too strong for her to buck away from it. “As you are aware, I unburdened you of that long ago. But this part of you–” he pumped his finger for emphasis, “remains untouched, I am sure, so I shall stake my claim there tonight instead.”

Dread gnawed at her insides, her heartbeat erratic as she pleaded, her voice shaky, bordering on a whine. “Aemond, no, please…”

“Let this be a reminder to you of what happens when you speak out of turn, talus,” he uttered, removing his finger from her to lean across and grasp a vial from the bedside table. He uncorked it with his teeth and spit the stopper towards the floor, before coating his fingers in the viscous yellow liquid inside, and spreading a generous coating over his manhood.

He pushed his finger back inside of her, quickly joining it with a second, and she screwed her eyes shut, humiliation washing over her in a wave of warmth as she turned her head away. The only surviving daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is what she had been reduced to, a mere toy for the whims of her cruel uncle.

She tensed as she felt him pull his fingers from her once more, this time replacing them with the blunt head of his cock.

“No,” she whimpered pitifully.

“Yes,” he breathed insistently, pressing forward.

She felt as though she was being split in two. As much as he had done to prepare her, it hurt – much more than when he had stolen her virtue, though that she had given willingly. This was a test of endurance, and she felt she might crumble under the intensity of it. It was unnatural to be stretched so, and Aemond grunted once he finally bottomed out within her.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly, “you need to relax, you are making this more painful than it has to be.”

She would have scoffed at the irony, if he had not been defling her. As he began to thrust, she allowed her eyes to open, her vision watery as she stared up the blood red canopy. The silver curtain of Aemond’s hair moved in her peripheral vision as he grunted and panted, using her body for his own pleasure.

The pain subsided, and she was unsure of whether it was because she had become accustomed to the feeling of being fucked somewhere so forbidden, or if she had simply grown numb to it. As her body slackened beneath his, Aemond’s movements grew quicker and more intense.

“Yes, better,” he muttered, moaning softly.

It sickened her the way that her body responded to his – her untouched cunny clenched around nothing, her pearl practically throbbed with the need to be touched. She attempted to ignore it, not wanting him to know that there was any part of her that liked this. This was not about her pleasure, he would not grant her relief if she drew his attention to her desire, he would simply use it to humiliate her further.

As his hips began to stutter, his movements becoming more erratic, he pulled free of her, stroking himself to completion as thick ropes of pearly spend landed warm against her belly accompanied by his groan of satisfaction. Finally finished, he collapsed beside her, panting heavily.

They did not utter a word to each other, simply laid there in silence as her mind raced with all the ways she would get him back. Perhaps she would place a pillow over his face as he slept, then claim he had simply stopped breathing during the night. They were supposed to produce an heir, and nothing that had transpired this evening would result in that, which meant she would have to endure this all over again. The idea made her stomach turn, and the sensation of his now cold seed splattered against her bare skin felt unbearable. She needed to wash it off, to be rid of the evidence of her defilement. Aemond’s breaths had evened out, so she assumed he had fallen asleep. As she rose up on her elbows, preparing to climb out of the bed and clean herself off, she looked over at him, her throat constricting at the sight that lay beside her.

Aemond lay flat on his back, silver hair fanned out across his pillow. One hand lay over his heart while the other stretched out towards the edge of the mattress. His eye was unblinking as it stared up at the canopy, but it was not that that drew her attention – instead, it was the single tear that tracked its way slowly down his unscarred cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

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[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART THREE)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part two here / Melos masterlist Azriel/female reader - 6.6k words - AO3 Tags - 18+ mdni, explicit content, hurt/comfort, caretaking, possessive behavior, usual warning for Azriel's self loathing. Brief suicidal ideation. Azriel willing to rip anyone to shreds for threatening his mate, complicated IC dynamics, Amren sucks. Oral sex - fem receiving, little bit of edging, Dom/sub undertones, praise kink. canon compliant.

Fear.

It slams into him, shakes the bond so violently he almost drops out of the sky, forces him off course over the jagged peak of Illyria, urging him to follow the intensity of your panic towards Velaris. Gone is his assignment, his contact awaiting his visit, his work. One objective rises above it all.

You. 

The Palace of Bone and Salt is in shambles, but he hardly notices. Somewhere it registers in the back of his mind there’s been a quake, there are injuries, damage, but none of it matters.

The only thing that matters is his mate in front of him, trembling, eyes wide and glazed over, blood trickling down your face and blooming across your ribs. There’s a roaring sound between his ears, dread and rage and agony all compounding into a mounting explosion, and for a moment, he worries he might level the city for its crime of harming you.

Feyre is tense, and Cassian watches him warily. “What happened?”

“We found her under there,” he points to a dilapidated merchant’s stall, his stomach roiling at the sight of it, heavy stone counter cracked in half, wood and glass scattered across the ground, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

Not shock. Trapped in memories.

There’s a haunted look in your eye, a flicker of nightmares.

His brave girl. 

He holds himself at bay, holds himself back from shooting into the sky with you cradled to his chest, carrying you as fast as the wind will allow to Madja, or pulling you into a cloud of shadow so he can arrive uninvited in her living room.

“She needs a healer.” His jaw has never been clenched so tight. The smell of your blood is making him sick.

“We know,” Feyre tries to reassure him, but at the same time angles her body to block his path. Cassian shakes his head, because he knows, just as Feyre should, standing between a male and his mate is a very bad idea. He loves Feyre, but his affection for her is nothing compared to what he feels for you, and her behavior in this moment, is reckless. “Az,” she tries to caution him, tone pitching low, serious, “maybe you should back-“

Remove her, the shadows snap, she is in our way.

“You need a healer.” He pretends she doesn’t exist, pushes his anger as far away as he can manage, and addresses you instead. You shake your head.

“I need to go. Home. I need to go… home.” Cassian snorts. Azriel wonders if it’s possible to break his jaw in one punch.

You’re slipping, unsteady on your feet, going somewhere in your mind he cannot follow and his panic ratches upward as he says your name and you don’t respond.

“Feyre,” Cassian murmurs, “step back.” She stiffens, but listens, and he surges forward, unable to keep away any longer.

His heart sings as he cups your cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched you since his hands brought you harm, and he chokes on a breath as you lean into his touch, satin against scars. “Look at me,” he soothes, trying to draw you back to the present, but it’s a losing battle. You’re going to pass out, and you’re scared, he can read it all so clearly, scared to slip away in the dark, scared to succumb to the nightmare in your mind. “It’s okay.” I’m here, he wants to scream, you’re not alone. You fist his shirt and blink like you’re trying to clear the fog from your head, but it’s not enough.

In one moment, you’re here, you’re with him.

And in the next, you’re collapsing in his arms.

Time is so fickle.

There’s not enough of it now. For so long, his existence was a plague, an endless agony rife with shame, a life undeserving. He dreamt, multiple times, of falling out of the sky and into the Sidra, sinking to the bottom and letting the cold water fill his lungs. He never wanted more, not truly. He had no need for time.

Now, it’s all he wants. More time for more chances to tell you how sorry he is and kneel at your feet, beg you for forgiveness. More time to know you. To love you. Time to learn your likes and dislikes, what makes your nose wrinkle, what adds a skip to your step. Time to take you flying, to trek through the forest with you on an endless scavenger hunt, watch as you bite your lip and furrow your brow at Moonflower’s worktable.

If the Mother would give him another chance. 

If you would.

Time is fickle, because for months, he’s begged it to slow down, and now, he’s pleading with it to speed up, bring him to the moment where you wake.

Madja assured him you would make a full recovery within a day or two. She left a healing salve for the gash in your side, and some sleeping draught in case you were too uncomfortable to rest. You were exhausted, she told him, far weaker than she was comfortable with, body and magic wrung dry.

“Try to get her to eat something,” she said, “and then make sure she sleeps. She needs it. A lot of it.” 

The guilt is insurmountable. It chews away at his insides, burrows itself deep beneath his skin like a disease, rotting his flesh and mind. All he sees is your face, terrified, tormented, first in his dungeon and again, in the Palace. He sees you shuddering amongst the ruin, eyes rolling back in your head, collapsing in his arms. He can still hear your gasps, your pleas from that night, the steady thump of your heart slowing as he took your air, again and again. It’s these memories, these moments igniting in his chest, pain so visceral it aches, the agony of his mate’s suffering tearing him apart from the inside out. No matter the end of his story, of yours, there will always be this cordolium within him, this stark regret plaguing his every step. You’re so beautiful it possesses the power to break him, a strange, beautiful creature, breathtaking from the tip of your nose to the depths of your mind, and he’s a monster, lurking in your nightmares.

A beauty, and a beast.

You whimper and twitch in the blankets, hands fisted, limbs stiff. “Shhh,” he strokes the apple of your cheek. He's been able to settle you somehow, lull you back to peace thanks to the music spinning between your soul and his, threads knitting around the frail, fledging bond, pushing you to take comfort in him as you rest. It's more than he could ever ask for. “You’re okay, sweet girl. You’re safe.” Your sleep has been fitful, at best, and he wonders if he’s the one haunting you, or something else.

He's still in the chair beside the bed when you begin to blink groggily, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. You’re clouded with confusion, echoes of apprehension strumming down the bond, and he meets it, tempering it with reassurance in hope it reaches the other side. “Hey,” he murmurs, holding perfectly still like you’re a small animal and he’s the predator determined not to spook you as you push up onto your elbows with a groan. “Careful. The wound in your side is pretty raw.”

“Where am I?” you croak, and he reaches for the glass of water waiting on the table.

“My house. I didn’t think you’d take kindly to me breaking into yours.” Mostly true. He can’t deny there’s a warm hum of satisfaction purring in his chest at having you here, in his bed, safe within his walls, and he was too unsettled by the thought of bringing you to the River House, or the House of Wind, even though Feyre tried to insist.

Over the course of his life, Azriel’s loyalty, his dedication to his family, his court, has been instinctual, engrained in him down to the core, and his drive to protect his loved ones, Velaris, has been one of his defining features for centuries.

But this instinct has now shifted to you, and you are still an unknown to his High Lord.

“You brought me to your house…” You glance around, unsure. He knows how it seems. A venomous trap laid by him to ensnare you, to hold you here, by his side, forever. A way to feed poison into your veins, stun you, paralyze you, so he can steal you away, shield you from the world.

“You needed a healer, and rest. This was the logical option." You hold his gaze. It’s one of those instances, one of many, where there’s nothing else but you and him, nothing else that matters, nothing that even comes close. He wishes they could last forever. “I had to make sure you’re okay.” He braces for your wrath, the tart, sweet contrast of a raspberry, pinching the pockets of his cheeks and rolling across his tongue. He had a taste of it in the Middle, with the swamp, and now he craves it. Your fight, your cunning. Clever witchling. 

Your expression sours at the salve. “How bad is it?”

“A piece of marble crushed your ribs, and the jagged edge ripped your skin open. Madja says you’ll be healed in a day, but your body is exhausted and slowing the process. She left a sleep tonic, if you need it.” He murmurs, walking the line of too much and too little delicately, desperate to avoid crushing this fragile truce.

You shift, wincing, small yelp slipping free from between your teeth, and he stills you, brushing his hand along your arm before he can stop himself. “Easy.” The touch is electric, a live wire arcing through the room, crackling in the air, and he draws away out of fear, worry he’ll startle you. “We should get you home,” he says softly, and you nod. He won’t try to force it, push this farther. You won’t be comfortable here, and he’s cradling this burgeoning peace, fanning its flame, encouraging it to grow, trying to keep from ruining it. Working at something he's not sure he can achieve. 

“Yeah I… I think that’s a good idea.” You sit up slowly, leaning to one side to alleviate the pressure on your ribs. “How far is it? To my house?” He frowns.

“Far. We’re on the other side of the city. Do you think you can winnow?”

“I don’t know.” You try to wriggle closer to the side of the bed, but it’s fleeting, and your shoulders slump with defeat.

“I can take you, if you’d like.” You glance at his wings.  

“With those?”

“No, I wouldn’t fly with you in this cold.”

“With the shadows then.” You look down at your lap, and the weight of his choices crash like a wave upon his shoulders. The last time he took you through shadow, it was to the chamber, and then back. He swallows.

“It’s the quickest way.” You fix your gaze across the room, sweeping over his dresser, the nook lined with bookshelves and overstuffed velvet chairs, the chest of weapons on the opposite side. Charcoal grey drapes frame the floor to ceiling windows, aquamarine and citrine refracting through the stained-glass onto the deep, nearly black, green walls and polished wide plank wood floors.

“This is your room.” Your fingertips glide across the sheets, black satin, and his cheeks grow hot. 

“Yes.”

“It fits you.” Your lips tilt into the thinnest crescent moon, something akin to a tiny smile, and optimism soars in his heart.

You hold out your hand, the tattoo a mirror to his, the ink and magic of salvation, his contrition, the thing he now bows to, idolatrously.

Without it, he’d be lost.

You take a long, deep breath and uncurl your fingers, opening your palm. The small sliver of trust knocking his entire existence askew.

The meaning of this-

This trust you deign to place in him now, when you’re vulnerable, when your magic is feeble and your physical strength is sapped, is an infinitesimal gift, divinity defying all.

Unworthy. Another thing you’re giving him that he’s unworthy of.

The threads sing, weaving notes together, highs and lows, one side of a fugue, one side still waiting.

Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you graze your fingertips against his. “You’ll take me home then?”

He’s not sure he can leave you here.

She’s in pain, the shadows bemoan as they carefully flutter at your ankles. You’re too fatigued to notice, too busy contemplating the stairs with trepidation. Climbing them is a daunting task, one he fears you may fail. You’re hurting, completely exhausted, and he’s powerless. He can’t fix it or take it away, like everything else that’s happened. Your eyes are nearly dead, drained, and the shadows flitter around you anxiously. She cannot hold herself up. 

I know.                                                                   

“Can I help you up the stairs?” You shake your head vehemently, and like you’re trying to prove something, attempt to take the first step on shaky legs, gripping tight to the banister like it will keep you steady.

Your knees give out immediately, and his self-restraint vanishes. He lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, petrichor and oakmoss flooding his senses, and you don't even flinch. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, “let me help.”

“I’m tired,” you whisper, voice smaller than he’s ever heard, and he tightens his hold.

“I know. Let’s get you into bed, alright?” Weak limbed and limp, you slump against him, giving yourself over. More trust, more of these things he does not deserve. 

“Madja said your bandage won’t need to be changed before you’re healed, so you won’t have to worry about that tomorrow.” He carefully guides you back against your pillows, trying to ignore how caring for you, holding you, being here with you ignites a swath of feelings in him, possessiveness, protective instincts, obsession. Devotion. The rage, the hatred, the darkness haunting him slips into silence, drowned out by the music, the melody overtaking all.

“Okay,” you mumble, trailing off into a yawn as you squint at him. He wants to stay right here, sitting on the edge of your bed, his hip against your thigh, the neutral, barely there contact chasing off the stygian sullenness waiting to welcome him back to its embrace.

Don’t push it. 

He stands. You follow the movement, head tipping back, exposing your throat. Such a vulnerable place, one he greatly wants to drag his lips across. “I’ll let you sleep.” He says instead, stifling the pleasure surging in his blood at the way your eyes track him. He swears he seems a flicker of sadness there, but it’s gone before he can truly process it, hold on it, commit it to memory. When you don’t say anything else, he nods, drawing a sable shroud around his shoulders, readying to step into-

“Azriel,” he freezes, catching your gaze, “thank you.”

“Of course.” He’d do anything for you, little witch. Anything you asked. 

“I’ll see you next week?” There’s a tinge of trepidation on your tongue but it’s not fear. It’s uncertainty. His lips lift into a smile, a genuine one, one that only exists around you.

“Next week.”

He’s summoned almost immediately, and arrives in Rhys’ office to find an audience of his brother and Feyre, Amren, Cassian. The only one missing is Mor.

He quiets himself. Hides everything inside, pulls the shadows close, reinforces the walls around his mind. “What is it?”

“What is it?” Rhys hisses, anger flashing through the room’s thickened fog of magic. “What is it?” Azriel slips into the mask, the one he perfected long ago, and crosses his arms. A mirror image of the father he hated.

“Your mate is a witch.” He looks to Cassian, who shakes his head. He didn’t do it, didn’t betray the secret, this turbulent reality.

It was bad enough they discovered he had a mate in the first place, but disappearing for two weeks, without communication, has its consequences, and he has a hard time denying Feyre anything. When she asked where he had been, what had caused him to leave so suddenly without word, everything came out.

Almost everything. 

“She’s not a witch, her mother was.”

“So she’s only half a witch,” Amren says drily, rolling her eyes. The shadows rumble, rankle with rage. 

“I could smell it, Az, but she’s done nothing wrong. We don’t want to interrogate her.” Feyre looks at him with sympathy, and he only regards her with that same cool stare. Rhys who appears to be of a different mind, snarls at him.

“You will bring her to me, immediately, and I will determine what kind of-“

“No. She is none of your concern.” He will not play this game. He will not give Rhys a single second with you, if this is his intention.

“She is a witch, living in my Court!”

“And do you not trust my ability to evaluate a threat?” It takes everything, everything he has, to keep his tone measured. Cassian’s eyes dart between the two of them and then clears his throat.

“He tortured her, Rhys.”

“I don’t care,” he snaps, “he is blinded by a mating bond.” He turns his attention back to Azriel, raw power crackling through the air between them. “You will bring her to me, or I will retrieve her myself, and you will not like what happens if I do.”

The room explodes in shadow. Midnight closes in from all sides, climbing the walls, crawling across the floor.

The bond thirsts for battle and blood, for his brother’s head, and Azriel’s vision tunnels, soaked in crimson, in wrath, malevolence worthy of a smote god.

Amren stands. Cassian takes a step forward.

“You would threaten my mate? Is this what we’ve come to?” He’s descended past reason now, encased in an icy coffin of fury, and his siphons gleam, the killing power inside him salivating at the potential for violence. For destruction.

His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

To protect you, to protect his mate, he’d become anything, a brute, a nightmare, it makes no difference.

“Az, let’s-“

“Cassian.” He seethes, refusing to take his eyes from Rhys, “while you may be more amenable to how your mate is treated by our brother, I am not.” Guilt flashes in Rhys’ gaze, and a breath catches in Feyre’s throat with a small, strangled sound.

“This is ridiculous. Just bring the girl and be done with it.” Amren snorts, casually inspecting her fingernails to appear as if she’s unaffected, but Azriel knows better. The shadows know her heart, her truths, how she mourns the loss of what she once was, how she loathes the fact that she’s High Fae. How she’s all too aware of her weakened state, hiding behind her posturing and assumed infinite wisdom that's slowly becoming irrelevant. Like her.

“Amren. Shut up.” Cassian bites out, his siphons casting a rubied glow around the room, mixing with Azriel’s cobalt blue, painting them together into deep purple hues.

“You will never touch my mate, Rhys. Never.” His brother’s face sparks with surprise and then his lip curls.

“Or what?”

“Rhys!” Feyre whips towards him, horror and disappointment settled into the furrow of her brow. “This is enough.” She looks at Azriel. “We trust your judgement Az, of course we do, and Rhys forgets I met her in the Palace saving a child’s life.” She hisses, her own power pulsing between the brothers, creating a physical barrier.

It’s not wrapped tight to Azriel, but to Rhys.

It seems his brother has been outranked.

We can break it, the shadows croon.

No. 

This is his family, dysfunctional as it may be, as tumultuous it may be, they are still his.

Rhys is still his brother. His High Lord.

“Let’s take a breath, cool off.” Feyre coaxes, nudging at the fortress of Azriel’s mind. Go. I will speak to him.

Don’t bother. 

He will listen to reason, just… give it some time. 

He spares Rhys one more glance as his wings flex and shakes his head. “I am disappointed in you, brother. I had hoped by now you would have learned from your mistakes.”

He expects another challenge of some sort. “No swamp today?”

“No swamp.” You lead him to your workspace in the back of Moonflower, a light, airy space with shelves and shelves full of herbs, flowers, plants growing from glass jars, and hunk of rocks, precious metals, strips of steel haphazardly tucked beside them, all chaotic, all disorganized. Like your home, it’s fitting. “I figured you could hang out with me while I work.” It’s a trial in its own way, daring him to protest, to vanish, to be bored by you, disinterested.

He won’t. He’d never.

“What are you making?” The table is full of stuff. Books, a mortar and pestle, a brass scale. There’s a long, sharp knife next to a thick stalk of something purple that smells like lemon, flanked by two glass beakers, and a heaping pile of salt. A raised metal circle holds a sphere over open flame, its contents a cyan rich liquid just on the cusp of a boil.

“Today I’m trying to finish a batch of contraceptive tea, and a cleanser.”

“A cleanser?”

“It’s an elixir that pulls poison from the body. All the healers in Velaris keep it stocked. Works well for a hangover too.” You bless him with another smile, the second one today, and he tucks it away for when sleep struggles to come and he needs something to cling to.

You pin him with assessing eyes. Anything could roll from your tongue, a question, a request to fulfill the bargain, a demand to never see him again, and the precipice is agony. He wonders if this is how it would be to fall without wings, drop out of the sky and plummet towards the mountains, jump from a cliff and crash into the sea. Would his heart pound the same, lungs scream the same? Would he experience peace, the same he feels in your presence, would his past flash before his eyes, would his family, or you? Conflict shivers from behind your walls towards him, twisting through the bond. “You owe me an explanation, and while I… I do need to hear it, desperately... there are other things that weigh on me. The fact that you know well enough about me but I know very little about you." You draw a pattern through the heap of salt, suddenly distant. It passes, and you blow out a long breath. "Azriel… who are you?” He frowns.

“I am… the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, I’m-“

“No. What are you, if not those things, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster. Who are you?”

“I…” the answer doesn’t come and there’s suddenly a nest of cotton muffling sound and thought, spinning tangled webs throughout his brain. Who is he? 

“I'm clever,” you lift your nose and smirk, tracing the rim of the glass beaker to make low whistle tones, “and a friend. I make a very good honeysuckle whiskey cocktail, and I love to read. I’m a hunter too, of fungi and moss, the occasional crystal. I'm an alchemist, I balance nature and magic. I’m a daughter.” Your voice hitches on the last word, vowels pulled apart at the edges, longing lingering on your lips. It pains you. Another puzzle in the long list of surprises, another riddle you’ve posed without an answer, a truth he struggles to find. “Try,” you whisper, ever watchful.

“I’m a bastard.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, the stain upon his life since the day he was born. “And an Illyrian,” a brute, a monster, “I’m exceptionally skilled at causing pain and killing. I am warrior, a fighter. I have turned suffering into art. I am…” he doesn’t look at you. You’re the only thing capable of making him feel real fear, fear of your pain or suffering or anguish, the fear of your rejection, the fear of your disgust, and he can’t bring himself to see it on your face. “I am alone.” He braces for the pity, the same sharp sympathy given to him by his family.

“Well. Those are awful.” His gaze snaps to yours. You’re aggravated, and curious.

Always curious, our girl. 

She is, isn’t she? 

“You’re a brother, aren’t you? And an uncle?” He nods. “So, not alone. And you’re a bastard, probably mocked for it, hurt for it, but here you are, so I imagine you’re perseverant, strong. Strong in the physical sense too.” You peek at his shoulders, his arms, traveling down his chest before redirecting your attention to his face, somewhat abashed. “U-um, you’re-“

“Clever. Like you.”  

“Clever, like me. Brave too, I think, and probably devoted, loyal, considering your line of work.”

“Yes,” he whispers, symphony rising, notes colliding with perfect pitch, ringing in ears, a celestial rhythm waiting for the crescendo to match.

“Loved.” It’s a blazing star shooting across the sky, a buttery sweet sentiment melting in his mouth, loved.

“You didn’t list it for yourself.”

“Because it didn’t belong.” Loved? You don’t consider yourself loved?

“Why?”

“Because there is no one left. I am a good friend, a great one, but my secret prevents others from being a good friend to me. You cannot be loved if you are not known, not truly.” It crashes into him, the severity of your words. You cannot be loved if you are not known, not truly. 

Is he known? Truly known? Is he loved? 

Molten silver bubbles over from the sphere to a beaker, polychrome and pearl trickling down the sides, sizzling into a powder at the bottom. “Ah!” You jerk away from the table, bringing your hand to your chest, and he goes cold, shadows vibrating.

“What?” He’s around the corner and in front of you immediately,  

“It’s nothing, the silver just dripped on me.” You burned yourself. His chest tightens. 

“Let me see.” He cradles your hand in his, shadows quivering around your fingertip as he pulls you over to the tap. He turns the handle to the right temperature, cool but not cold, before putting your blistered skin under the spigot. If he’s fast enough, he can stop it from scarring, stop it from marring your lovely skin, prevent it from being with you for the rest of your life. “How does that feel?”

“Good.” You’re not looking at the water splashing down into the copper sink, or the burn. Instead, you're studying him, contemplating, considering.

“Do you have any cream here? Or maybe one of the salves you make...” He trails off, trying to think about what he’s seen in the shop out front, but everything he means to ask dies in his throat when you wrap your other hand around his.

“I’m okay, Azriel.” Right. Of course you are. It’s a small burn, not even the width of your fingertip. Suddenly, he feels very, very foolish, exposed, and he ties a cloak of obsidian around his shoulders, pulling the tendrils down around his forearms.

“Sorry, I-“

“I know.” You caress the shadows curling around his elbow, dancing through them with grace, inspecting, studying. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper, and his throat tightens.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing.” You shake your head.

“There is… there has to be because I should you hate you, shouldn’t I?”

“You should.” You should do more than hate him, you should fear him, detest him, run from him.

“But I don’t. I don’t hate you, I’m not scared, and I don’t think it’s the safety net of the bargain. I don’t… I don’t understand it. I’m not frightened of you, but I am… I’m frightened of this.” Your palm flattens over your heart. He should tell you; he should confess-

but then he could lose you. 

“I should tell you to leave, but all I want to tell you is you’re not alone.” He tries to dig his heels into the ground against the magnetism dragging him downward, farther and farther until he’s holding your face, nearly nose to nose, counting your breaths, each speck in your irises. Decision and indecision hums down the bond, an endless tug of war you fight, a battle he wants so badly to win for you. You push up onto your tiptoes- 

and then crash your lips to his. 

It’s hungry, lush, teeming with life like your beloved forest. You unknowingly push it all through the bond, desire, confusion, worry, each feeling a chord, a note, trying to complete the song. He’s losing himself in it, veering off the path and diving headfirst into the unknown, too incensed to think for a moment before he wrests his discipline back into place.

Stop.

Control.

He rests his forehead against yours as he draws a measured breath.

His. He’ll show you what it means. To be his.

“You are perfect,” he presses a ghostly kiss to the corner of your mouth, “brilliant, kind, brave. You are far more than I deserve, a blessing I never knew could exist. A goddess I would worship my entire life.” An endless pool of hesitance and longing eddies in your eyes, a paradox he knows too well, and he prepares to step away, disappear, run. 

But you reach for him with a whisper.

“Worship me then.”

Fervor. Frenzy. It all explodes, detonates through him to you, whipping down the bond again and again, madness ebbing at the edge of his mind.

His. His, his, his. 

The two of you collide, and he’s rough, unintentionally, but it’s met blow for blow in a distorted dance, hands, fingers, mouths everywhere, his tongue against yours. It’s not enough, your touch under his shirt, traveling up to his shoulders, a leisurely stroll becoming a hectic sprint, encouraging him, knitting your fingers in his hair, nipping at his jaw. He plucks the ribbon tying the neckline of your dress together, your breasts spilling out into his hands.

“Azriel,” you’re whimpering, rolling your hips against the thigh he’s nudged between your legs, shivering as drags his thumbs across your nipples and follows with his teeth, sharp for the sweet, “don’t tease.”

Wild one. 

The shadows sweep everything off the worktable, and he lays you back, hiking the skirt up over your belly, dragging soft kisses on your skin beneath your navel as he spreads your knees wide, wide enough to accommodate his shoulders, exposing a pair of black panties, weeping pussy waiting for him underneath.

He has no patience and twists his fingers in the hem, tearing the fabric away from your body. “Cauldron,” he murmurs, running his knuckles up and down your seam, enjoying how you shiver each time he teases a little pressure against your clit. “Look at you-  beautiful everywhere.” Dawn in a drizzle, your scent makes his mouth water, and his cock aches, painfully heavy. This is not about him, it’s about you, as all things are now.

He'll have plenty of time, he prays, plenty of time inside you, plenty of time to bury his cock in your slick, warm cunt. 

He kneels. Kneels at the altar, kneels for you. This is veneration, the cleansing of his soul. He’ll make himself worthy, through fire, through ash.

You, you, it’s all you. 

The bond is insatiable, it shrieks like a banshee in the night, his side slamming against yours again and again, hungry and hunting, trying to crash through the sky-high brambles blocking its path.

His. His. Hishishishis- 

“Azriel,” you whimper, practically vibrating, fidgeting on the table, fingers gripping the edge. You go taut as he pulls your thighs over his shoulders and leans in to finally put his mouth on you, tasting, flicking his tongue over your swollen pearl. He’s too broad between your knees, the width of him leaving you completely exposed, every nerve ending on display, every drop of dew ready for him to drink. The size difference is startling, pleasing, and he rumbles his approval into your cunt, tracing your clit with a pointed tongue.

He wants to make you come so badly, but the fiend in him wants to play. “Can you take a finger?” You manage to rasp out a yes, and he feeds you one, unable to look at away at how you clench around it, pressing up past the knuckle, making you sing for him. “That’s it,” he works slowly, pushing and pulling as you arch on the table, toes curling against his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh, “good girl.” You’re tight, tight enough a second finger fills you, tight enough you squeak a little when he kicks them upward, searching for the spot, the one likely to make to go limp.

“Az,” you tug at his hair, and he kisses your pussy, mouth soaked, almost drowning in silken sap, fresh rain, salted earth, the strange and beautiful taste of you.

“Just a bit more,” he finds the textured velvet space and strokes, pinning your hip to the table with his free hand. “There it is, be still,” he croons, pleased when you listen, stammering something like yes and please, panting between syllables. Your nails scratch against the wood, walls clutching his fingers as you writhe, greedy, insatiable, wild as nature intended you to be.

He circles your clit with his tongue and your knees instinctively try to jolt closed, but he shakes his head, correcting you, commanding or coaching, lines too blurred to tell the difference. “Keep your legs open, sweet girl, nice and wide for me so I can make you come.”

 “P-please, please.” Your spine arches and you grip the hand on your hip tight, rising to the crest of the wave he knows is about to crash down. He balances you there, just on the swell, pushing harder on the spot inside you, listening to the way your breath catches. “Ah, fuck, it’s t-too much-” you kick your feet and hiccup, head rolled to the side, eyes wide and brighter than the full moon, tears starting to gather on your lashes.

He'll eat you alive, lick you clean right to the bone, inhale you. Swallow you. Keep you inside himself forever, keep you safe and sheltered. Hidden away.  

“I know, I know,” he coos. Normally he’d make you wait, drag it out until you were a mess far past this while he edged you into madness, but now is not the right time, the right moment.

Still. His blood yearns for it. For your tears, for the way you’d cry as he bounced you on his cock, as his body buried yours into his mattress, as he split you open, fucked you full of his cum.

But for now, this will have to do.

“Poor thing. Does it ache, sweetheart? Do you need to come?”

“Y-yeah, I need it please… I need… I need you.” I need you. If this is all he gets, if this is all he’s earned and it crumbles afterwards, he’ll hold onto those words, treasuring them with his last breath. I need you. He kisses your thigh and then sweeps over your clit, licking and lapping, coaxing your release until you break apart, clapping a hand over your mouth to smother your strangled scream. He praises you- my good girl, look at you, did so well, so perfect- and wrings every last drop of it from your body, only rising from between your legs once you’ve stopped twitching.

Your face is slack, sloped in a small delirious smile, and he licks his fingers clean, kisses the inside of your knee. “Are you with me?”

“Mhmm.” You try to hop down and end up stumbling forward, face planting directly into his chest. His arms come around you on instinct, cupping the back of your head, cradling it, skimming his nose along your hair and breathing as deep as he can, filling his lungs with forest and fauna, fresh snow in the twilight of the first winters day.

Don’t let go, don’t.

Everything in him is warm, at peace. Idyllic.

Your hand creeps across his thigh. “I can…”

“No,” he pulls your fingers to his mouth and presses a kiss to each one, slowly, savoring, “not today.”  An easy smile spreads across his face at the sight of your blown pupils, swollen lips, but the bond thrums with confusion, unease.

“Do you not want me to…”

“I want to have you in any way conceivable, witchling,” he strokes your cheek, “but not here.” Your worktable is in shambles, and as if you forgot, you grimace and huff, pulling away. “I can help-“

“No, it’s fine.” The things scattered to each end begin to arrange themselves, finding their rightful places, glass beakers and molten silver, crushed bundles of herbs and finely ground powders all returning to how they were as if nothing ever happened, tinge of damp foliage and peeling birch rolling around you in a cloud.

“Neat trick.”

“It’s not a trick,” you protest, affronted, and his stomach drops.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ The side of your mouth quirks playfully, and he closes the gap, curls an arm around your waist as you place your palms on his chest, laughing. Just the brief sound of your happiness might kill him, stop his heart. He finds the curve of your ass instinctively and squeezes, kneads the flesh hard enough you suck in a sharp breath.

“Little brat.” He could take you right now. He wants to. Flip your dress up all over again and bend you over the table, pressing your cheek to the wood and kicking your legs open. You’d still be wet, wanting, pussy swollen and tight, milking his cock as he made you come on it until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer.

Not now. 

This, whatever this is, this step forward, this rebuilding of what could have been, is fragile, so incredibly tenuous it terrifies him. A small light trying to swell in a sea of sombrous fog, fighting for a chance to shine.

Anything could snuff it out.

“Our next… meeting won’t be until the very end of next week.” The sun is setting over the city, bathing it in a spectrum of opalescence orange-gold streaked with violet, it’s beauty paling in comparison to the brilliance of yours.

“Why?”

“I’m travelling.”  A ripple of tension cascades along his spine. He planned other things for this conversation, hoped to broach the subject of the Solstice ball and ask you to accompany him, but now…

“Where?” The bond rumbles in apprehension, echoing from both sides, his wings rustling in response.

“Spring.” Absolutely not.

“No.” You glare at him.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“I’m aware.” He should soften his tone, tread carefully, but the monster inside, the one fused to the bond overrides sensibility, caution, showing his true colors. Brute. Bastard. Illyrian. 

“I-“

“I’ll go with you.” Balance. You sigh.

“I am fine on my own, Azriel.”

“I know.” But he’s not. “As you said earlier, I still owe you an explanation.” That gives you pause, your scrutiny harsh and piercing, more lethal than the fine point of a blade.

Finally, you acquiesce with a nod. “You do.”

“Let’s use that time for it then.” Please. He’s always pleading, digging a deeper hole, dragging himself across broken glass.

The bond is tightrope, one strung from his soul to yours. He tugs it towards his side, trying to drag yours from the vadon, flush your indecipherable thoughts free from the forest of your mind.

Eventually, your hard-bitten expression turns conciliatory and though you cross your arms in front of your chest, you bite out an agreement, teeth gnashed, defiance glittering in your gaze.

“Fine.”

[jjenthusee]

Like Him

Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: What hurts more? The initial burn or what comes after?

A/N: IM BAAAACK and to celebrate i wanted to give u some soul ripping angst as i get back into writing again :D every time i write about AK jason i always think of my pooks @heavysighing-dreamyeyes 💐💐 i hope you all enjoyyyy

Tags: hurt/no comfort, ANGSTTT, warnings: description of injuries, scars

Word Count: 1.2k

Every step was agony. You felt every pull, every pinch, every tense muscle screaming at you to stop.

But you couldn’t risk it.

“Jason, please. Stop walking away from me.”

It was ironic. You are pleading with him to stop moving and to stop emotionally pushing you away. Now he was ignoring you completely.

You were locked away by his goons, tied to a chair for hours while your legs numbed, taking hit after hit to your face that had you dizzy and bruised.

You thought you completely lost it when your long dead friend reappeared to you as the crazed man taking over Gotham City.

It wouldn’t hurt to laugh hysterically after all that was revealed in the last two hours, but pain was keeping you awake and in reality.

You tried to walk behind him, stumbling and irritating the deep ache in your right leg.

Due to your injuries, speed wasn’t an option. Momentum was the real reason why you were still able to practically drag your leg forward. Feeling every streak of sweat prickle down your forehead, sticking your hair to your neck.

You tried to straighten your back, feeling your bones crack as you weakly adjusted to standing upright fully again.

“Look at me.” You spoke with as much precision as you could command your voice to. Trying to pair a steady voice to a feeble stance.

You felt yourself shake from the last remaining strength in your arms and legs as you continued to push a one-sided conversation with Jason.

It was jarring to think you were trying to talk to the Arkham Knight, the one person that was single handedly creating one of the worst nights in Gotham City you’ve had to endure. But you were also talking to your best friend, your boyish childhood savior turned trusted ally. It was a twisted struggle on how to reach out to him, trying to figure out who you were reaching out to.

“Jason—“

“Don’t call me that!” He yelled, the anger reddening his face as he turned his head to you. The visible “J” scarring his face turned to face you directly.

This was the Arkham Knight, the one commanding such a distasteful voice as he peered down at you. Embracing the military grade armor coating his skin.

The scarred skin surrounding the letter was appearing pinker the longer his rage was lingering.

“I am—not your enemy.” You hunched forward, choking rather than breathing in as you spoke while simultaneously trying to balance some of your weight off your weak leg. It hurt like hell as you clenched your jaw to the pain.

“You sound so much like him. I can’t stand to listen to you.” Jason turned his back to you, pacing forward. No visible scar catching your eyes.

“I am not Bruce.” You spit out, feeling blood mix in with the saliva in your mouth.

“‘Course not! But I’m going to fix what he’s done and if you are going to stand in my way, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to interrupt me ever again!” He turned so fast, you blinked as the “J” barely flashed before you, but you only saw his clear, spotless cheek, the side with no scar.

“You don’t mean that.” You exhaled, calmly closing your eyes as you held your side, careful to not press against your bruised ribs. Talking was already irritating them enough.

“What do you know?! You. Don’t. Know. Me. So, stop pretending like you do!”

“You know that’s not true. Ugh—“ You fell to your knee, unable to catch your fall as you banged it into the steel floor. Pain throbbed down to your foot. “It just sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.” You groaned out, stubbornly not backing down. You may have been on the floor, but you felt higher than Jason was.

“I have nothing to prove, especially not to you.” Jason was ready to pull his opened helmet down, hoping to mask away his face, but it only looked like he was running away.

“Then why am I still not tied to the chair stained with my blood?! Why bother to untie me?” You yelled from your sprawled position, much too vulnerable, but you were heavily pressuring and facing the armored man with enough artillery to take your life away with a simple trigger.

“‘Cause you are useless to me.” Jason started to walk away again. No longer interested in your angry yells.

“It’s ‘cause I mean something to you, Jason!”

“Shut up!” Jason turned and pounded his feet to the ground as he ran back to you. He pulled out his handgun, directly aiming the sight onto you, the end of the barrel covering your entire left eye.

Your eyes widened as you looked into the endless abyss of what became of the Arkham Knight.

Watching his finger itch at the possibility of pressing further and making a choice he could never come back from.

But you saw it.

The look in his eyes.

You met his gaze directly as your eyes relaxed. Glancing at the visible side of Jason’s face with whatever sight you had left in your right eye. The deep “J” also in view. Burning your pupil as you stared up at him but never looking away.

“I never stopped asking Bruce what happened.” You gravely explained, each word ripping into your throat, croaking out every painful word as you watched his face contort the longer you spoke. “Every fucking day, I couldn’t believe that he never found you. I’ve hated Bruce everyday for it. I miss you, Jason.”

The pistol shook. You didn’t know if it was from your eyes watering or from his own emotions, but you leaned forward.

Your back hunched from the painful posture you endured while tied up. Pushing the ache aside, you pressed the muzzle of the gun on your face, your skin sensitive to how hot the barrel was from firing many rounds throughout the night.

The pain seared around your eye, burning into the skin underneath your bottom lashes and eyebrow.

If Jason was scarred, you also wanted to physically burn this night onto your skin.

“Don’t leave. I need you, Jason.” You cried. “You deserve to live. I want to help you live.”

The pain on your face stopped, leaving a burn behind. It pricked your skin relentlessly.

The salty tears burned even more.

As you melted into the floor, your legs hurting, your eye hurting, Jason let the weight of his handgun pull his hand down to his side. Gazing down to you as he watched the gash on your face form.

His stomach twisted severely. He wanted to puke at the brand he made. The same one he gave him.

You may have pushed your face into the muzzle, but Jason held it. He held every gravely second it was pressed into your undamaged, unmarked skin.

Everything he was not.

He reached out his armored hand, extending his fingers to almost touch the swollen skin, but as you hiccuped in a breath to get any air into your lungs, he pulled his hand away. Like he would be burned back.

Jason crouched down to you, getting his face closer to yours, so you could hear him loud and clear.

“Now we’re both mangled.” Jason whispered, watching every twitch of your face as his words split your heart. Feeling his own scar burn as he traced yours with his eyes before he lifted himself back to his full height to walk away. To finish what he started and to ruthlessly leave you ruined by his own words and not your injuries. “Never come back. I never want to see you again.”

[banananutmuffin28]

Don't Go (I'll Stop You Before You Do)

Pairing: Se-mi x GN! Reader | Player 380 x GN! Reader

Synopsis: There's a glint of steel in the far right corner. The lights flicker on and off, but you manage to catch a glimpse of Se-Mi's face as hands wrap around her throat, as the weapon sinks into her skin.

She screams, and you run.

A/N: I wrote this on a whim! So sorry if my writing is a little subpar here, I was SO eager to get it out! I tried my best, though! (I love Se-Mi so much it hurts).

A man twice your size walks up to you, his face twisted into a ghoulish smile. You take a step back, eyes trained on the fork in his tight fists.

You try not to focus on the blood that oozed from the tip.

The lights flicker on for just a split second, illuminating his bared, yellow teeth.

He was a large, brawny thing. Muscles bulged from his bloody tracker, and he had to bend over slightly to meet your gaze. His hair was slicken with sweat--he was covered in it, really. It trailed down his veiny neck, past a tattoo of a design you couldn't quite make out, and fell onto your shoulder.

You bit back a scream.

He leaned back, amused at your expression. He didn't seem to care about the contestants fighting behind him, rather, it seemed as if he relished in it.

Lazily, he tapped the tag taped to your tracker.

"You really shouldn't have picked X if you didn't want to get hurt," He drawled. "In fact..."

The man stepped back, and continued talking, though you soon drowned out his words. Instead. you flickered your eyes around you, trying to devise a plan to escape his clutch. You couldn't stay here. You had to make sure that she's okay. You had to-

Pain exploded in your cheek.

With a gasp, you scramble backward, wincing when your back collided with the cold steel wall. Hot, sharp pain stung your right cheek and tears pooled in the corners of your eyes.

The man leaned in, trailing his fork on your neck.

"You listen to me when I talk to you, you hear?"

Hate broiled within you, and your face curled into a sneer. You shift your body to the side, hands pushing his fork back as you knee him in the crotch.

"Go fuck yourself."

The man howled, his legs buckling beneath him. He ripped his hand away from your grasp and swung his fork around wildly.

"Why you little-"

A burst of pain escaped from your shoulder, making you scream in agony. The man wedged the weapon deeper into your flesh, twisting and turning until you collapsed onto the floor.

Meaty fists plummeted against your skull again and again, each new crunch spiraling you further and further into the depths of unconsciousness.

Desperately, you roll to the side and begin wrenching the fork from his hands, fighting to keep your eyes open.

This was your only chance. You couldn't overpower him, and you can't let yourself die while Se-Mi's fate was still left unknown. You had to go to her no matter what.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but you slammed your head against his before any words could escape.

His grip loosened ever so slightly, letting you pry the fork from his hands.

Quickly, you begin stabbing the weapon into his neck, his face--anywhere that looked important.

Soon, blood was pouring from his wounds and his movements grew sluggish. The metallic liquid permeated every one of your senses, and you were afraid it would brand itself into your very soul. With a final stab, the man fell to the floor and didn't get back up. You let out a shaky sigh and crawled away from the man.

Fearfully, you looked around.

Everything felt like it was...more muted, as if you were merely a fish watching the chaos unfold from below. Your head hurt like hell, and each breath you took didn't seem to give quite as much air as it should. The wound in your shoulder was something else entirely, choosing to make itself known with every little movement you made.

Quickly, you tear a piece of cloth from the limp man and wrapped it around the wound.

Like hell were you going to bleed out now.

You look around the room, gripping the utensil with so much force that you were surprised it didn't crumble in your hands.

Where the fuck is Se-Mi?

You let out a breath and scrambled in the direction of her bunk. You supposed you were somewhat fortunate that the man ambushed you in bed, as you didn't need as much sight to devise where she was.

The further you ran, the harder fear gripped your heart. Fallen bodies lay strewn across the floor, accompanying equally as many splotches of blood.

What if one of them is her?

You shove that thought to the furthest corner of your mind.

No, Se-Mi was one of the strongest women you knew. She wouldn't let someone kill her so easily. And, she had Min-Su to protect her!

Right?

When you reached her corner of the bunk beds, you looked around wildly.

Men and women alike grappled against each other, too busy in their own fights to pay you any mind. An elderly man was clubbing his opponent with a metal pipe, a woman was slamming her own against the floor, while another group entirely cornered a lone contestant.

"Se-Mi!" You scream, loud enough to make your sore vocal cords hate you. "Where the hell are you?"

There was no answer.

"Fuck, Se-Mi, please!" You yell.

Suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe, to see. You didn't know if it was due to the lack of blood or the stupid flighty panic pounding in your chest, but whatever it was it was sapping the strength away from your legs and rendering your ability to stand upright near impossible.

A flash of Se-Mi's bloody face appeared in your mind, almost mockingly. Above her stood Thanos and his lackey, drenched in her blood and grinning from ear to ear.

No, no, no-

You can't let that happen. You won't.

Se-Mi was the only light you still hand in this damned tunnel of the world. You couldn't fail her, not now.

You had to-

And, just then, you hear something that makes your heart drop.

It was your name, whispered oh so softly that you were afraid you had imagined it. But then, you hear it again and again, and soon you were running towards the voice, uncaring of who you pushed past.

You glared into the darkness, as if your gaze could part away the dimness to reveal your beloved. If you could see just a little further, then maybe you could spot her and kill whatever bastard was hurting her.

Panting, you stop for a moment and crane your gaze to the right and-

There's a glint of steel in the far right corner. The lights flicker on and off, but you catch a glimpse of Se-Mi's face as hands wrap around her throat, as the weapon sinks into her skin.

She screams, and you run.

You run faster than you thought you were ever capable of. Your surroundings blur, the screams of the others become muffled, and in your mind it was just you, Se-Mi, and the man who was stabbing something into her jugular.

"Get off of her you asshole!" You hiss, hooking your arms around his armpits and pulling him back. In the corner of your eye, you see Se-Mi yank herself away from the (fork? glass shard? You couldn't quite tell) object and sink into the floor.

Angrily, Nam-gyu whips his head towards you and sneers. "Why, if it isn't Se-Mi's little bitch. I'm surprised you didn't come running to her aid the second I plunged that shard into her. Thought you were lying dead in a pool of blood or some shit." Hastily, he yanks your head back. "After all, you wouldn't ever abandon your master, now would you?"

"Just shut up, you asshole," You spat out, and slammed your fork onto his chest. He moved away at the last second, letting the weapon swing in the air instead.

You let out a curse as you begin to lose balance, but turn your body to the side just enough to lock his neck in your elbow. You lean against one of the pillars holding the mattresses upright and begin to squeeze, cutting his airflow.

The sight of his panicked eyes made you smirk.

"And you're one to talk," You spat out, pulling his hair to slam his head against the metal beam. "You've been following Thanos around like a lost fucking dog. I'm surprised you can make decisions without him around."

You pause, and take a quick glance around the room.

"Where the hell is he, anyway?"

There's a sharp intake of breath as Nam-gyu stills.

And then he bites your shoulder.

Swallowing back a sob, you release your hold on his neck and step backward. Whatever small blood clot that managed to form breaks, allowing the dam to break loose. Nam-gyu pushes you onto the floor, voice cracking as he kicks your ribs.

"He's fucking dead! Your side fucking killed him!"

His hands grab your collar, and he pulls you close enough for you to see the veins bulging out of his neck.

"And now, I'm going to kill you too--"

Nam-gyu doesn't get to finish his sentence.

What were once words instead turns into choked gurgles. Blood spills from his mouth, and his eyes roll back into his skull. A thick glass shard protrudes from his throat, deep enough that you knew he was a dead man walking. Another, smaller shard soon follows, spraying you with his blood.

Before long, his limp body was thrown to the side, and his filthy presence was instead replaced with a comforting one.

Se-Mi nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly. Her arms wrapped around your waist, and though your ribs and shoulder screamed in protest, you couldn't bring yourself to pull her away.

"...Thank you," She murmured, and you melted into her touch.

"It's nothing, really," You say, suddenly feeling bashful.

"No, it was everything." Se-Mi pulled away to look at you, cupping your face in her hand. "I would've died if it wasn't for you."

"What about Min-Su?" You furrow your brows, looking around. "Where is he?"

Se-Mi let out a shaky sigh, stilling in your embrace.

"It...doesn't matter."

"But it does! Why the hell would he--"

Se-Mi gently flicked your forehead, rendering your brain momentarily speechless. "Hush now," She whispered, arms bringing you close to her once more. "All that matters now is keeping you and I safe. You're bleeding."

Delicately, she rips a chunk of her tracker to use as a make-shift band-aid, tying it around your shoulder and knotting it twice. Then, she pulls you to a safe corner of the room and begins fussing over cuts you don't remember getting.

Basking in her attention, you turn your gaze to her neck and cup the wound. Though the bleeding had stopped, the size and brutality of the wound made your heart ache. It was long and ugly, like someone had taken a miniature saw and brandished it against her jugular.

Worry wormed its way into your heart.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt too much when you move?"

"I'm fine--"

"No, you are not!" Frowning, you break from her hold and press a kiss to her neck. Your gaze turns downward, noticing a gash on her leg. "You really shouldn't ignore your own needs, Se-Mi."

Protectively, you wipe the blood away from her calf and kiss her nose.

"I'm your partner, Se-Mi. We promised to protect each other, okay?"

Se-Mi smiles, and leans into your touch. She places a hand in your hair and kisses you softly. You whine and kiss her back, savoring the sweet taste of her lips.

"I know, I'm sorry" She whispers when the two of you pull away at last. "I love you."

With a smile, you intertwine your hand in hers.

"I love you too."

You didn't know what hellish nightmare would happen tomorrow, but what you knew for certain was that you would face it with her, together.

[bitchlessdino]

stolen entries (m)

airing: fem!Reader x stalker!joshua

Genre: thriller, smut, stalking au

Word count: 10k

tags: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON’T FOLLOW IN THE READERS FOOTSTEPS AND STAY SAFE. rated R for life RUINING, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND READ WARNINGS TO AVOID ANY TRIGGERING SUBJECTS, stalking, wrong just very morally black!joshua, dark imagery including but not limited to: implied and mentions of murder/threat, mentions of manipulation, mentions of blood, window sex and implied fear of falling out, possessive!joshua, pet names (angel, darling, ect), hair pulling, spanking, blowjobs/cunnilingus with consumption, face fucking, degradation, praise kink

Summary: Diary entries of a man in love. Joshua knew he loved you the moment he laid his eyes on you and had to have you, even if it meant enduring the echoes of every intimate detail of every sexual encounter you’d had before him. But he knew you were worth the wait. He was worth the wait.

author note: thank you @diamonddaze01 @wongyuseokie @tomodachiii @miabebe for betareading! mental health is great thank you for asking, im really excited to have been working on this and everyone involved in betaing have been so incredibly helpful. i hope yall enjoy and thank you again for your patience. <3

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

Entry #3 - November 30th: White suits you.

You look so perfect the way you do. Perfect in white. Perfect in lace. Perfect. Perfect. Forgive me, darling, for being redundant. But that’s all you look to me. Perfect. 

What wasn’t perfect was who you had in your room.

How perfectly imperfect.

But what was perfect was those sounds. So lewd. So perfect. Decadent. Enchanting you are, my dear. I wish I had been the reason for those sounds, but for now, I can only live vicariously through November 30th. He will only be known as November 30th. He doesn't deserve a name.

But, in a way, I should thank him. He’s satiating you now. He’s getting you ready for me as I’m getting ready for you.

Be patient, my sweet.

Entry #15 - December 15th: You like how it hurts.

 I don’t like this one. He’s rude. Doesn’t even open the door for you. Doesn’t say thank you or please when he asks for something. Just dumps you into bed like you’re a ragdoll.

For some reason, you like that. You like that it hurts. You like it so much you scream his name. I’m forced to learn it. 

Seokmin. 

Seokmin. Seokmin. Seokmin. 

Awful name. Awful on the tongue. I’d be better on the tongue.

But instead, he’s striking you. And I see red. In more ways than one. And you should be in agony, and I’d rescue you. But you’re laughing. You’re begging for more. You’re not fighting him to stop. You enjoy it too much. 

So I’m watching again. But I’m not gonna like it. I don't like him.

But you like it. That’s what matters. I despise December 15th—what he does to you, how much you like it, and how much I could do so much better.

Entry #32 - January 1st: You like to teach.

Happy New Year, darling. You started off with someone young. Someone talkative. An amateur. You’re drunk, however, so I'm sure you’ll regret it in the morning.

But for now, you’re enjoying yourself yet again, and by god is it messy. He’s very messy. He touches you like he’s never had experience before, and you let him. I should resent you, but in no way can. You’re precious. My experimental little darling. I’m addicted to you. I must have you, and neither this Chan, Seokmin, nor Jeonghan can stop me.

But for now, I'm grateful the boy cut it short. Like the late bloomer is. How incompetent. But you made it a teaching opportunity. You’re quite good at it. And you made the boy work to your advantage. That’s so sexy. So you. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re also clever. Just like I knew you’d be. January 1st is a good kid. But he should stay in his lane before I push him into one.

Entry #45 January 13th: Dirty talk is a must.

This one is rather peculiar. Overly confident. And rather…annoying. Like a puppy without a leash. Drunk on ego and hard liquor with names I don’t even bother to pronounce. He’s pretentious and it’s clear in the way he undresses himself for you.

He treats you like he’s the only man in the world, and you’re simply beneath him, but I know you’re so much more. Yet, you encourage it. You encourage his… delusion that he’s this outstanding work of art.

You love how he narrates, how he talks to you as if you’re incompetent—degrading even—and you egg him on. “Good girl” this, “bad slut” that. It’s contradictory, but you enjoy it nonetheless. You get off on such obscenity. You’re euphoric from it. Although I hate to do such a thing and call you rancid names, I’ll have to ponder more creative versions.

Nonetheless, you like a bit of chatter, don’t you? Well, January 13th will have nothing on me, my little Angel.

Entry #78 - February 15th: You can keep going until you’re in ruin.

You’ve had a lonely month, and I do apologize, my darling, especially since it’s partially my fault. It is not my time just yet to have you. I must discipline myself first. Condition myself to cater to your every whim. And you have a lot of them.

You’re greedy. This one was utterly restless, I almost felt bad. His stamina had nothing on yours, darling, and I see that you can bite more than you can chew. You’re insatiable. I lost track of the hours that night. My knees, scraped raw and red against the rough concrete floor, as I stayed hidden in the shadows, waiting for you to finish, which you did. Again. Again. Again. Again. 

I was starting to abhor this February 15th. What country did he save in his past life that earned him such devoted attention? Was he just that amazing? Did he make you 1000% satisfied? Would I have to kill him for that kind of love? Skin him and string him up like Christmas lights? It would be nice to prepare for the holidays early, wouldn’t it?

I’ll refrain for now. For your sake. But to keep up with you, my condition needs to multiply tenfold. I need to be able to be ready. Do what I need to to make indubitably and utterly mine.

M I N E.

Entry # 124 - April 1st: Toys are for adults too.

The joke was on me thinking you’ve changed your ways. Making love, or should I say primal sex, seemed to be something in the back of your head, but that wasn’t the case.

Instead, you fucked someone. A comedian nonetheless, and after he had finished his stand-up. You sat your pretty ass on the stool beside him, twirling your pretty strands of hair, batting your pretty lashes on that pretty face of yours. Just because it was April Fool's day doesn't mean you had to be the fool, my love. That was reckless. 

But I suppose I learned something about you. Something you like in bed that you haven’t exhibited in others is that although you love a good laugh, it wasn’t fit for the bedroom. Sometimes, toys aren’t just a trickster's accessory but a vixen’s too. They are just simply different. Distinctly different.

Though a comedian’s job is to speak, you had him—well—gagged. Ball-gagged, no less. That was... intriguing. Enticing, to say the least, and you turned the whole performance into something far more captivating. There’s always something new I’m learning about you, love. And I can’t wait to show you what I’m capable of when I finally get my hands on you—and your toys.

Entry # 200 - June 14th: You could do it anywhere.

Keeping up with your summer antics wasn’t easy. Considering every precaution I’ve taken and every obstacle I’ve faced, I did everything from double-checking flight numbers to calculating the perfect distance to stay hidden. If only you could appreciate my efforts, love. I had to make sure my hiding place remained undetected—always just far enough to stay out of sight, but close enough to ensure your safety.

And while I thought a vacation with your family was the last place you’d do looking, you wound up somehow in your brother’s best friend’s bed. Seungcheol, was it? You really have no fear, do you? All while your family was all downstairs, you were getting your desserts while everyone was preparing for dinner, wondering where you were.

Or when it was time to go down by the beach and you had a little adventure in the dressing room of ‘Martha’s Swimsuit Boutique.’ The employees blamed the sounds on the old building fixtures or whatever was happening next door, but I knew what was happening in there. Hell, every person with working ears knew what was happening in there. 

Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to forget you, to stop loving you, to forget you and how much you’ve hurt me. But I can't. No matter how much I want to or how many times I try, you're in my blood now. You're in my head, under my skin, and I can't rip you out. I don’t even want to.

You’re a part of me I can’t remove, like a vital organ. I just want you. I need you. I breathe you. If you want to do so much, I would take you right there on the dining table and wouldn’t care who watched, just to please you. Feel, taste, pound every part of you, from the red in your veins to cum that would flood in between my gums.

I  D O N T  K N O W  H O W  M U C H  L O N G E R  I  C A N  W A I T.

Entry # 237 - July 20th: At the end of the day, you want love too.

There’s no need to cry. He was never meant to have you is all. I must commend your brother. He beat that boy harder than I expected him to, but then again I would do a lot worse.

He didn’t deserve to have your heart. He was an idiot. I would never be like him. And you’ll realize that soon enough.

I would show you so much more. I can be so much more. I am so much more. My darling, I would travel to the next galaxy to have you, give you all that you desire, and make it so that the only tears you shed are the ones in bed when I prove to you how much you’re mine as much as I am yours.

Entry # 242 - July 25th: Today is the day.

Preemptively, I decided to go with a scent you’re familiar with. You've held out for weeks, even months, since your miraculous escape on July 20th. You’re stronger now, more confident, self-assured. very mindful, very demure. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist saying it—just like you’ve repeated since locking yourself away. It’s cute, really. This whole ‘recovery’ thing, it suits you.

It’s like you were made to pique my interest and appetite. Even right now, as you’re outside the window of this restaurant, unsure if you want to enter because this was the one you’d frequent so often with him. Your favorite place to be since you were a little one. 

I still can’t believe you decided to move back home. As if he hadn’t hurt you enough, you breathe the air he does? Watching him engage with the pretty blonde on his arm will not heal you, my sweet Angel. It is wrecking you. You should’ve left when you had planned to then.

I picked up my life and ran after you because I worried so much. I worried what would happen if I weren’t around to be with you. To make sure you’re okay. But I won’t have to anymore.

Today, I pretended to pick up a book you dropped to make eye contact with you, slipping a secret message I left on a Post-it inside. I hope you read it. I hope you reciprocate. And if you don’t, it had been all for nothing.

I’d be nothing.

Entry # 243 - July 26th: I love you.

You answered back, just like I thought you would.

“Hi :)” you said, with that cute emoji thing you do. How adorable. 

For a moment I was worried, you wouldn’t but only a moment I promise. I would never doubt you. I have entire faith in you, you’d realize what this is. The fire I have burning for you. 

I’m glad you’re giving us the chance to realize what we’re meant to be. I can’t wait for our first date. I’m so excited, I don’t even know what to write for today. I just want to live in the bliss of knowing that you finally see me. See me.

Entry # 244 - July 27th: You couldn't wait, and I almost gave in.

You tried kissing me. Put your hand on my thigh. Brushing against my–

I can’t be impatient. This journey can’t be rushed. No matter how much I want to push your head into the mattress and split you in half as you’re calling out my name.

The sooner I give in, the easier it is to make me a rebound. And I am no rebound.

I am meant to be your eternal. Your other half. Your perfect opposite.

Sleeping with you as soon as tonight would’ve tainted our beginning. You mean so much more to me than that. 

Just know I want you so bad. I want to get to know you. I want to see you. For our future to start, we need to start this off right. You’ve signed up for a slow burn, my darling.

We are worth the wait.

Entry # 255 - August 7th: I love you more than I realize.

We are so good together. Even if the bag boy decides to flirt with you in front of me, and even if you entertain it a little, thinking I wouldn’t see.

You’re trying to punish me for being disciplined. It’s funny. The things I could do to punish you for testing my patience. Don’t pretend to be all innocent when you bend your ass towards me, leaning up against the conveyer belt to show off both your…assets. Give a show to me and that loud vest-wearing scum.

You think you’re so clever. So sneaky. And maybe you are. You’ve made quite the effort to conceal the truth about your previous relations. I like to think you’re doing it for me. For my sake. Because you’re so considerate. But I know the truth my darling. I know all I need to know about you. But I appreciate your efforts.

You really do love me. And somehow, I love you even more.

Entry # 297 - September 18th: You miss him.

You saw him today, and although you hid it, I could see it in your eyes. You miss him still. Like he was a scar etched into you, or a blood stain that was impossible to get out. 

Did I have to kill him to rid you of thoughts of him? End your suffering by ending his life. It would be easy. So so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so easy.

I just can’t stand the way you look at him. A mere boy when a man like me is beside you.

Making you wait feels almost impossible now. Who the hell am I kidding? I’m the one who's waiting.

I just had to do one last thing before. Just one more thing. By then it would be final. And it would just be us. Forever.

-

You had been seeing Joshua for just a few months, but he was different from the guys you’ve met before. A genuinely good guy. Gentlemanly, even. You found it cute and maybe hot–absolutely hot. Nothing more attractive than knowing a man can keep his hands to himself.

But now, you found yourself wondering if he had not initiated because of something else. Since you’ve met, he’s always been the perfect gentleman, polite and thoughtful in a refreshing and frustrating way. It’s rare to meet a man who doesn’t leap at the chance to get you into bed, and while you found his restraint enticing and irresistible, it also left you questioning whether he’s just being courteous—or if he’s doing it on purpose to ward you off.

You’ve given Joshua every hint imaginable. The thong peeking out from your jeans when you bent over, the casual unbuttoning of your top whenever his eyes drifted your way—each move deliberate, strategic. You even threw in your signature look, those smoldering eyes that always did the trick, scanning his body as if you could ravage him whole, and you would. It had a flawless track record. Until Joshua, that is.

It made you want him more. Like he was making you wait, beg for his attention. Made you forget for a moment you were crying over Seungcheol some time ago. As if your heart didn’t shatter into a million pieces shortly before meeting Joshua.

Even when you saw Seungcheol briefly–so briefly–a part of you still missed your ex, but you craved being in Joshua’s arms more. Like medicine. Joshua was your medicine.

God, you needed him so fucking viscerally.

That’s when you decided. No more beating around the bush this time. It’s been four months too long. You had to have this man.

You decided to make a surprise appearance at his place–the address you just happened to "discover" on his driver’s license when he wasn’t paying attention. And, of course, you showed up wearing something kind of insane.

You know those movie scenes where the sexy love interest throws on an oversized trench coat with barely anything underneath, or sometimes nothing at all? Yeah, well... you decided to try that. And now you’re waiting outside of his apartment building in the autumn weather–freezing your literal ass off–waiting for him to get home to give him the surprise of his life.

It had been over an hour, and with each exhale, your breath hung in the air, a visible reminder of the cold.  You hugged your coat tighter around your body, clutching it like it was the only barrier between you and freezing to death. And honestly, it might as well have been. Standing outside his building in practically nothing had your heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

Here you were trying to be all cutesy, sexy, and fun, and this damn man wasn’t even home. Were you out of your mind?

The anxiety was creeping in. The biting autumn air had found every exposed inch of your skin, and your confidence was sinking fast. Just when you were ready to leave this cringe-fest waiting to happen, and retreat to the warmth of your own home, you heard footsteps approaching from down the street. Your pulse quickened as you glanced up, and there he was, walking towards you in a long dark coat and sweater.

Joshua’s eyes met yours, his expression shifting from confusion to slow realization as registered you from his distance, watching you stand there bundled in your trench coat with something obviously beneath it. His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowed, but there was no judgment—just surprise, and more so curiosity.

You instinctively tightened your grip on the coat, pulling it closer around your nearly bare body as you leaned against the wooden front door that had been stubbornly keeping you outside. “Hey,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling slightly in the cold, watching your breath materialize in the air as a delicate cloud of frost.

“Hi?” His tone was cautious but amused as if he was trying to piece together exactly what was waiting at his doorstep. He shoved his leather-gloved hands into the pockets of his own coat, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “This is...unexpected. What are you doing here?”

You let out a shaky laugh, nerves bubbling up as you shifted on your feet, your bare thighs scraping against one another as they clenched. “Yeah, so... there’s a really good explanation for all of this, but, um...” You glanced down at yourself, then back up at him, feeling more exposed than ever. “Can I come in first?”

His place was disturbingly neat—psychopathically neat. It was the kind of spotless where everything seemed too perfect, like someone with more than a few screws loose needed complete control over their space. Every surface gleamed, not a speck of dust or a misplaced item in sight.

“Want something warm? Tea, maybe?” He politely offered with a warm smile.

You found yourself mirroring his smile, a giddy excitement bubbling inside you like a teenager with a crush. With a light skip, you made your way back toward him, the trench coat swaying around you like an oversized brown paper bag—so tempting to just shed it. “That sounds really nice. Anything would be good.”

“Okay. I’ll put on some Earl Grey for you.” His lingering smile was the last thing you see before he disappeared in the kitchen, giving you the opportunity to learn more about the owner of the home.

Nothing was out of place. The walls were a sterile beige, devoid of any warmth or personality, while the furniture radiated with an unsettling shine that suggested it had never truly been used. Not a single wrapper marred the coffee table, nor was there a crumb in sight—everything was meticulously arranged as if he harbored an unyielding aversion to disorder. It felt more like a stage set than a home, the kind of place that made you wonder if anyone actually lived here, especially given the spontaneity of your intrusion.

Your blood ran cold. The longer you scanned the room, the more strange it felt to be standing there. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as unease settled in. You suddenly found yourself questioning why he was taking so long with the tea.

Your toes curled in discomfort as you glanced over to where Joshua had disappeared, and just then, he emerged from the kitchen, two mugs of steaming hot tea in either hand. He set them down on the coffee table with a practiced ease and settled onto the pristine couch behind him. “Have a seat. We can wait while the tea steeps.”

You nodded, a tight look on your face, and lowered yourself onto the couch beside him, accepting a cup and sipping on its deeply rich content. “Thank you.”

“Now, what brought you over here? I’m surprised you managed to find out where I lived...considering I never told you,” he said, his expression blank as he nursed his cup in his hands.

“Well,” you began, swallowing hard as the heat from the tea scalded your tongue and burned its way down your throat. “I’m not quite sure how to explain this, but…I found your driver’s license when it fell out of your wallet on one of our dates, and I kind of memorized your address? I thought I’d surprise you.” You paused, a nervous laugh escaping. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

He set his tea at the corner of the coffee table, and clasped his hands together, a teasing glint in his eyes hearing your confession. “Well... I commend you for not only your bravery in the doing and admitting fault, but it’s not that weird, actually. It’s kind of flattering.”

“Really? But I invaded your privacy. That’s invasive—almost illegal, isn’t it?” 

For a fleeting moment, you swore you saw his fists clench, but then one of his hands slid over yours, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckle, quickening your heart rate. “But if I say it’s okay, then it’s okay. Right?”

Also, setting your tea aside, your other hand instinctively fell on top of his, the earlier discomfort and worry fading into the background. “I guess so.”

He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “You look cold. Would you like a hug to warm you up?”

“S-sure,” you managed to stutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you accepted his invitation.

As his arms enveloped you, you felt the raw strength he kept hidden beneath the layers of clothing. The warmth radiated from his body, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he tightened his embrace around you, holding you protectively–possessively even. You breathed in his scent, registering his cologne you were all too familiar with and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. For a moment, every trace of anxiety disappeared. Joshua had a way of making you feel secure again, of restoring that sense of safety you hadn't realized was what you were in search of.

You leaned into it, your breath fanning over the skin of his neck as your hand roamed up his back, eager to peel off his physical and mental layers keeping you from devouring him with reckless abandon. You wanted to pull him closer, to feel the reassuring weight of his body against yours, like your own personal shield. The conflicting urge to consume him entirely, to the point of exhaustion, while simultaneously cherishing every part of him was a dilemma you never anticipated facing—especially so soon after a breakup. Joshua stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t even begin to explain, no matter how hard you tried.

When he let you go, the absence of his warmth was immediate, but the kind smile on his face remained as if reassuring you that everything was fine. “Better?”

“Yeah. That was nice,” you whispered, still holding his hands, both large and perfect.

“Good. Now. What was this surprise that couldn’t wait for a text or phone call?”

Now, a wave of nerves washed over you once more.

Your hands fiddled with the straps keeping your attire in place, and you hesitated before standing before him, mustering up the final bit of courage you had left in place of your dignity. “Well, I wasn’t quite sure if you were just being the polite gentleman who could ‘do no wrong’ or if you’d been completely oblivious to the hints I’ve been throwing your way since our first date. But I’m here making it as clear as possible for you, Joshua Hong.”

With a determined tug, you loosened the tie that held your closure in place, letting it slip from its knot and revealing the reason you felt goosebumps up your legs. Your breasts bulged out of the lacy fabric, leaving almost nothing to the imagination and hugging parts of your body the man before you had only seen in passing through a window. The pillowy flesh spilling from your decorated underwear left him with a sensation that wrapped around Joshua’s throat and clenched.

He couldn’t feel himself breathing, drinking in your exposed skin, admiring the bright white of the lingerie complimenting your skin as it clung on to you seamlessly, while the trench coat finally found itself where it belonged on the ground. He sank the couch behind him as you came closer, wordlessly tracing every curve, dotting every mole, noting every mark or scar as you loomed over him in feigned innocence. The only air he could draw was his ragged breath, his hands aching to touch you.

“I would love nothing more than to have your hands all over me,” You said with a sultry edge, dripping with obvious intent.

Your knee dug into the couch's cushion, the other following and taking residence in Joshua’s lap as he simply watched. His eyes softly blinked back up at you as you settled into him, having him melt under every word you spoke.

“Is that so?” He asked calmly, physically refraining himself, and ignoring the dark thoughts clouding his logic.

You threw your arms around his neck, gazing down at him as you shifted in his lap. “I do. It’s all I can ever think about anymore. Ever since these last four months.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, like steam escaping from a kettle.

“Is that all you have to say?” 

“...Am I supposed to say something more?”

“How about–I don’t know. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to say that the whole time,’ or ‘I feel the exact same way, tongue wrestle me until we pass out.’ Give me something,” You begged.

He shrugged, playing up his ignorance. “Doesn’t sound like me? Does it?”

“Is this really all you can talk about? A girl in her best lacy underwear–in white mind you–sitting in your lap like she’s accepting ones in a night club, and you’re fixated on your characterization?”

He shrugged again as if taunting you, the smile on his face growing sinister at your agitation. “I have poor depth perception.”

You groaned, your body feeling heavy as you slumped against him, ready to slide off his lap in defeat. “I give up.”

But just as you were about to peel away from him, you felt a firm pair of hands steady you, anchoring you in place. Joshua’s eyes sharpened as his grip tightened, fitting your body in the curves of his palms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You blinked back at him, confused yet oddly at home in his touch, despite the rapid beat of your heart suggesting otherwise. “I thought–I kinda thought you wanted nothing to do with me,” you reluctantly answered.

His cool palm slid against your flushed skin, trailing up your body and igniting a path of fire that battled the waves of chills following up your spine. Instinctively, you fell forward, involuntarily pressing your lace-clad chest against the cashmere of his sweater and finding purchase back around his broad shoulders, which looked bigger than usual. A soft squeak passed your lips as he tugged you towards, fitting your bodies together like pieces of a puzzle.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” His hands grasped the sides of your thighs as he tucked them around his torso, not once breaking eye contact. 

You felt a cold sweat trickle down your skin, your body stiffening as you focused solely on the soothing tenor of Joshua’s voice. “I always see how you look at me, Angel.” His fingers carded through your hair, pushing it to one side and delicately grazing over the fullness of your breast. “And I love how you look at me.”

“Josh,” Your voice emerged softer than you expected, almost tinged with a plea as you drew closer.

“And believe me when I say this, darling, I’ll always want something to do with you. I want everything to do with you…if you let me.”

You felt his hand somewhere you’ve only ever imagined: at the hook of your bra before he slowly started to unlatch it, the straps falling off your shoulders as your support came undone. You were grateful to be pressed so close to him. Otherwise, your entire upper body would be entirely nude. Entirely exposed. You tucked your arm over your chest, gaze dropping at the perceived proximity until Joshua gently moved you by the chin to meet his eyes.

“Don’t.” He quietly demanded, purposefully moving away, and the undergarment fell from your body, your nipples christened by the chill air conditioning. “So perfect.”

His hand hovered over their shape, only ghosting over them but not nearly touching, yet either bud tensed at their mere presence. You exhaled shakily, your breath uneven and impatient, as your eyes suddenly drifted away, overwhelmed by an unexpected rush from his uncharacteristic attention.

“You don’t want to know how much I imagined putting you in my mouth.” His pursed lips landed on your collarbone in an open mouth kiss, gently pulling you between his lips.

You softly moaned, unfurling your digits before they slid up his neck. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t do anything but—you felt his mouth latch onto you, teeth burying into your flesh. You parted your lip in another moan, instinctively reacting to the familiar concoction of pain and pleasure exhibited by previous partners, but this was Joshua. Gentlemanly Joshua.

He bared his hand flat against your back, dipping your body towards the coffee table and pressing urgent kisses to the hollow of your neck, lingering against the pulse of your throat and digging his hips into your pelvis. Your hand roamed over his body, cradling his head and pressing him closer against you as your knee hooked around his waist. 

Joshua swung his hand behind you, knocking over the mugs with a loud crash, sending tea spilling everywhere on the ground as the flat surface of the coffee table urgently met your exposed back. It stung how cold it initially was until the weight of his body stunned you, leaving you impervious to everything else. He grabbed your side, wrestling with the skin of your clavicle as his hand ran harshly over your erect buds, grinding them under his palm.

In between your legs, you felt warmth—the kind that makes a show when you could only think of being rammed at 100 miles an hour—and you felt it soak in the fabric of the lace, flossed between your folds when you were desperate for friction. “Joshua, please…” you cried.

He shoved away the useless bra now just hanging off your body before his lips curled around the curve of your breasts, kissing their underside as his thumbs fiddled with their sensitivity. Your knees bent towards you, your hips pulsating against his thigh as his tongue taunted you, flicking over the texture of your nipples and nipping at the tips as he pulled with his teeth.  You whimpered, body falling limp on the table as he nursed you between his lips, his eyes piercing back at you lewdly as an occasional moan would leave his lips.

“Tell me how you like it. Teach me.” He spoke with a quiet, commanding authority.

“Y-you seem to be doing a good job so far.”

He smiled, running his hand through your hair before it gripped between his knuckles, sending a rush of ache from your scalp. Your eyes shot up to meet his, a blend of fear and arousal flashing through them, but you were quickly soothed by the gaze he held, sultry and unshakable. “Should I be mean then?” He offered.

You let out a brief yelp after his hand swatted over your plush thigh, your flesh spilling between his fingers as he squeezed. The bridge of his nose touched your speechless expression, lips tracing over your face with a deep exhale. “Give you the kind of things you want? What I learned about you?”

“What have y-you learned?” you hesitated to ask.

His eyes glazed over you, seeing you melt at a simple glance before tenderly pressing his lips to yours, only sampling. You mewled in the depths of your throat, lips falling open as you kissed him for the first time, succumbing to the pillowy texture of his lips. His eyes partially open, he fixed his eyes on your features, how they contorted with his touch, reacting involuntarily to the rocking of his body against you. He was obsessed with the mere image of you.

“What I’ve learned, hmm,” he quietly pondered. 

Giving him time to think, your hand cupped over his attached to your thigh, guiding it under you and around your ass, letting his digits outline the curve of your body. He chuckled and brought the other hand parallel, following his carnal urge to clutch you tightly in his grip. A smile melted on your face briefly, enjoying the sensation of his hands before he roughly pulled down your underwear before you could even gasp, leaving you truly naked. 

“I’ve learned that when you want something, you take it.” His hands come down to the bottom of his sweater and pull it along with what’s underneath off of him. 

His glistening tan reflected back at you, beads of perspiration coating his skin—likely a result of months of tension finally unfolding. As you took him in for the first time, the way the light and shadows sculpted his form accentuated his physique, leaving you stunned and curious about what else he might’ve been hiding from you.

“So take what you want from me, Angel.” 

God, you really could swallow him whole in a single gulp.

You repositioned yourself, planted your knees on the table, and tugged him by his belt. Your once pleading eyes became determined as you fixated on tearing off his pants, starting by unbuckling his belt at the waist. Your eyes fluttered, seeing the bulge through his briefs, twitching in your presence while you fit a finger at the top hem. A sigh escaped you; glance briefly up at Joshua’s expression–full of patient anticipation–before wrapping your hands around his aroused girth.

“...You’ve been waiting for me,” you began to realize, seeing the cock firm up in your grasp.

He let out an amused hum, stroking the side of your head. “I wanted to make sure you wanted me.”

“Of course, I wanted you.” Your hand ran along his shaft, veins pulsing on the ball of your palm, and you pressed the head to your lips. “I just wanted you to show me you wanted me.”

Joshua’s groans barely escaped as your lips curved around the tip and more than gently kissed. His hand clasped around your head, moving it so your eyes could face his, seeing him come apart in front of you. From just your teasing. “Darling, if I did that…I’d never know when to stop.”

“Joshua. I’d never ask you to stop.”

His hand cupped your face, and you melted into his palm–absolutely reveling in the blind infatuation on your face before he made you face his arousal, cock grazing your chin before he pressed it past your lips. Your lips stretched around him like a rubber band, expanding to conquer his size but not with ease. Your hand covered his base and enveloping his length as much as you could.

“Angel,” he grunted.

He claimed the back of your head, leading your pace as you took him. Your hands clasped around his hips, fastening yourself to him. You could already feel your drool drip alongside your chin, becoming sloppy as you were fixated on his complexion: blissed with parted lips, looking at you like he’d been touched for the first time.

Your moans vibrated around him as he thrusted into you, momentarily breaching the air of his pelvis before he pulled you back, flicking his hips into your mouth and overcome with ecstasy. “My good little Angel,” he groans, breath hitching in his throat. “Taking my cock like you were made for me.”

He tugged your hair tighter as you felt the hilt hit the back of your throat, and you thought to yourself how much It would’ve hurt if you weren’t otherwise drunk with bliss. You buried him deep inside you, holding him with both hands, sobbing on him with such anguish that people would assume you hadn’t been fed for days. 

Joshua’s pretty lips got caught in his pretty teeth, and the darkness in his eyes deepened to a richer, more intense black as a sense of reckless abandon enveloped him. “God…look at you…good little slut like you likes taking cock like mine, doesn’t she?”

The sensation of your mouth massaged him heavenly, having you taste the heady tang of his skin on your tongue while your nose tickled against his groin. He clutched your head, your whimpers and cries pulsating around his girth, fucking your mouth until you hit the base. You looked up, pliant and willing, as tears swelled in your eyes, cheeks hot to the touch, and a thick sheen of slobber over your lips. 

You’re precious. And his. All his.

He pried either of your hands off him and restrained them above your head, carrying the weight of his control in his hips, crushing your mouth against his lap. While one hand had stabilized your wrists, the other back fell back in your hair, fucking your pretty mouth until he couldn’t anymore.

Joshua felt his name muffled around his cock, staring back at you as you repeated his name, desperation echoing from your throat, but not to stop–oh no, he recognized this stare. He held you towards him, cutting your airways with hardly a second to breathe. Your eyes fluttered. Pupils began to roll to the back of your head as his cock slid down your throat, bottoming out inside you for the first time.

“You want my cum, don’t you? You’re so damn obvious you do,” he taunted in an unfamiliar tone, foreign to you but nonetheless welcome.

You hummed confirmation around the girth, practically whining with full cheeks.

“Angel, you know what it means when I do, right?” he loomed over you, as your mouth was still pressed against him in an abrupt halt, still tasting all of him. “Do you understand what you’re getting into? The second I cum inside you–mouth or cunt–you’re mine. Are you ready for that responsibility?”

You nodded, impatience singeing your tongue.

“Really?” The fingers threaded through your hair pulled you off, giving you the sharpest intake of oxygen before you fell right back where you belonged with a slam. The pain in your throat caused it to go hoarse, and the tears once swelling in your eyes streamed down your face. “You better mean it, darling. Words aren’t just a promise to me; they’re a vow.”

His final thrusts were steady but harsh, pressing his size inside of you until you gagged, and finally, when he was merciful, you felt his hot stream coat your throat. His hips found their falter, plunging in and out of you–the cum dribbling down your chin until he finally let you go, prying you off him and giving you a moment of rest sprawled on the coffee table.

But only a moment.

His hands wordlessly caressed you, body drained from release, but mind hungry for your essence. Every word he’s ever said in this exchange, he’s meant with every fiber of his being, down to his very core.

“Tired, darling? We’re only getting started.”

You softly chuckled, a tired smile reappearing for the first time in a while. “I’m in for a lot with you, aren’t I?” you asked, strain evident in your voice.

“You’re asking that question far too little too late, Angel.”

His lips puckered to met yours in a gentle kiss, then another, then another. You held him against you, not minding how disheveled you looked with your pulled hair and mascara streaks staining your cheeks, it was your turn. 

Joshua found your body easily in your liplock, gliding his hands up and down your body in rushed motions as if memorizing you by touch. Your dips, your curves, your angles. There wasn’t one part of you he dared to miss. And you smiled, you chuckled, so lust blind to see the symptoms forming before your very eyes as if they weren’t already there. He swallowed your laughter, tasting victory on your tongue, and nuzzled in the crook of your lips. “Can I do the things I'm willing to do for you–what I’m willing to do to you?”

You cupped his face, an impish grin on your face. “Stop asking and fuck me like you love me, Joshua.”

Gladly. 

He held either of your legs at his side, fingers aligning your folds and splitting in half. If they didn’t already look big, they most certainly felt big. A single digit only traced along your slit, and your hips buckled, fluttering at the sliver of taste. 

“I’ve barely grazed you, and you’re like a flood down there,” he quietly teased, pushing in his index halfway. 

You clenched around him, then around nothing, and he repeated, effortlessly stealing your breath with every move. You anchored yourself to the edge of the table. “You know exactly why, Josh.” You whimpered.

He then pushes in the full digit–reaching deeper than you expected–and you convulse around him. Your head snapped back, the phantom strings of Joshua’s nasty habits–already acquainted with your body–pulling you in without warning. “Oh my god.”

“You’re so easy to please. As if I know everything about your body without you telling me.” He thrusted his finger, cultivating a rhythm he knew would be perfect for his little darling.

“It’s as if…we’ve known each other forever.” You stated in your countless, staggered breaths.

“Forever…” he plunged another finger, feeling you flutter around him delightfully, “with you?”

His smile, that unsettling perfect smile, pressed a tender kiss against your lips. “I rather like that. Me and you. Forever.”

You quietly laughed before tugging him into a deeper liplock, gently slotting your finger through his hair, not worried about ruining its pristine as you pulled him closer. “I’ll take you and me forever.”

“Now, angel–” you took the hand he had inside you to guide him faster, deeper, your language becoming gasps and moans in a matter of seconds.

He didn’t bother finishing his thought, too enraptured by your demanding hunger, that he pressed on further, feeding you his digits as you swallowed each one by one. His thumb caressed your pulsating bud for extra good measure, taking pleasure at how often you shake when he does, and rammed his fingers deeper in you, finally hearing what his name sounds like in a state of bliss.

He’s overcome with pride–nay–overcome with triumph. The way you look at him with such an utterly lewd expression, your delicious scent a thick film on your body that he couldn’t help but want to lick and devour and engorge. He didn’t need to have another orgasm for another second if it meant seeing you come apart the way you were right now. 

“Joshua!” you cried, body shaking as if you were glitching, having an out-of-body experience, and you undid yourself the way he did: utterly and perfectly euphoric.

You creamed his digits with nectar, milky and fair, and he didn’t wait a second for them to enter his mouth, knuckles deep. His eyes fell shut from elation, moaning around his hands, and he caught even the slightest drop down his wrists. 

You were fucking–

“Magnificent.” He swallowed your lips once more, hungrily, arousal rushing down to his body again. “Perfect, my sweet little angel.”

“...forever. Me and you.” You repeated, not getting pass the conversation that was interrupted what felt like a millennia ago. “I’ll take you for forever. And that’s a vow for me, too.”

Joshua never expected this, such a scene of ease and pristine, seeing his future lie limp and happy and fucked. You had never looked so beautiful. After all the men you’ve met, all the bodies you’ve collided with, all the dicks you’ve sucked, you always had a glow. It’s why he tolerated such things, but to see that glow after him. It was the most radiating version of you. And to know you’ll have him. He was the happiest man alive.

“Oh, my darling.” He pulled you up from the table to sit you back in his lap, parting away your hair to clearly see your face smiling back at him even with the fatigue. “You are the most perfect thing.” he shook his head in disbelief, unsure how he got so lucky.

“Let me take you to bed, hmm?”

You quietly nodded, admiring him back all the same.

You wrapped your legs around him tightly, before lifting you both up from the ground and walked into his bedroom–just as unnervingly neat as his living room. Or should you say how neat it was. The bedroom presented its same beige aura, hardly a spec of dust in place, but the one extraordinary thing about it was the light casting from the window, beckoning over the entire city. 

The second Joshua tossed your naked body on his bed, you immediately got back up, pressing your palms to the window to gaze down upon everyone through it. “You can actually see everything from up here! Wow.”

You heard Joshua chuckle behind you with his footsteps towards you to follow. “You like it, Angel?”

“It’s beautiful.” The glint in your eyes sparkled brighter than any star above you. “I’ve lived here almost my whole life and I’ve never seen it like this. I can even see my house from here! That's crazy.”

Joshua let out an indistinguishable scoff, immediately covering his mouth before coming behind you, his hand settling on your hips. “I got lucky with the lease. Best I’ve ever seen. I never thought to appreciate this view, but now I have a reason to.” 

His kiss bloomed a familiar warmth across your face, and you leaned into his embrace, taking his arms around you as you shared the impeccable view. The city lights illuminated the streets, their people, their livelihood, and you never would’ve imagined seeing it if you hadn’t found Joshua’s address. 

You belonged here somehow, as if it was meant for you. It truly did feel special. Joshua made it special.

You brushed your backside to his groin, feeling something already prod your side and you swore you felt yourself purr. Bodies still connected, you leaned into the glass, knee digging into the cushions of the window nook. Joshua followed after you knowingly, hand pawing your thigh as his lips drew to your ear, nipping at the tips. 

Your moan, deliciously loud, was all the signal Joshua needed to keep going. He mouthed against your neck, one hand crawling over your chest and another reclaiming your sensitive heat. You doubled over slightly, palming and smearing your fingerprints into the flawlessly clear glass, its chill not disrupting the heat festering your body in the slightest. 

Joshua had your body thrum in reaction to his fingers, hips wriggling to his touch, and he heightened the strokes on your already throbbing heat. “Josh, please.”

He groaned into the crook of your neck, the outline of his erect cock distinctly recognizable against your lower back. “I want to show whoever’s watching what you’ve done to me, Angel.” he slammed his fingers upright inside you before returning to his regulated pace. “Show what pretty little slut you become when you’re within reach of me.”

“Anything, Josh, anything. Anything for you to fuck me.”

He snickered, an empty darkness echoing inside the tone. “You asked for it.”

His body slammed up against you, hungrily biting along your skin as he nestled his cock between your slit as he entered. You sooner realized how fingers did his size no justice as they filled your cunt with strain. Your ass perked up behind him, not a moment longer before you were forced to adjust to his size with full thrust, holding you by your neck as his other arm cuffed you by your elbows.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, falling and bouncing back against him as his raw cock took you demandingly.

“This pussy,” he growled, his hand striking the full shape of your ass cheek where it still stung, “I’ve dreamt of this pussy.”

He buried himself in you, hitting the hilt deep with your core to the point your vision flickered back to your skull. Your legs parted wide, backing yourself against him until you were accepting every inch. “Fuck that feels so fucking good, don’t fucking stop.”

“Yeah? My slutty angel likes my cock pounding into her pretty pussy?”

“Yes, please, Josh, please give it to me. I love how you give it to me so good.”

“You beg like that,” he gritted his teeth. “I’ll have to properly deliver.”

You looked back at him and smiled, hair falling over your face and his thrusts made you a vision of lust, somehow gracefully breathtaking with his cock buried deep inside you. “You and me forever, right? Don’t stop now.”

Joshua was throbbing, practically beaming at your answer, and before you knew it, your chest was greeted with the frost-bitten window, now flattening against your breasts. Groaning upon impact, the tempered glass tensed your nipples, bringing them both to a hard point, now freezing and pebbling you from your arms to your legs. 

Joshua’s body pinned you in place, and you felt his unnerving arousal slide up and down between your cheeks and pushing back up inside you. “I’ll show just how much you’re mine to the world.” His voice was still gentle yet demanding. “Only because you asked for it.”

His flat palm struck you again, pushing up your body and letting the echoes of your collision play in surround sound. Your body, already sore from earlier, knew no rest as you took him deeper, the cold intensifying the pleasure rushing through your body. Your hips swiveled, playing with his cock like a personal toy, and you braced the window in front of you willingly, blasting on an indefinite high.

“Thinking about how someone can see you up here?” He whispered. “Taking my cock like the precious little angel you are? Or letting me fuck you like the nasty fucking slut you are?”

You gingerly nodded, hugging the glass desperately to feel him deeper inside you.“Yes—fuck—I want someone to see us. The thought gets me so wet.”

“So vocal, angel,” he tugged the back of your head, devouring your lips. “My dirty little angel.”

He held your arms behind you, pressing your whole torso against the window, and every snap of his waist had you bending more and more to his will. Every inch of his body had you flushed against him, feeling him present you to the world below like a goddamn masterpiece.

His body slammed again, shaking the glass and flickering fear into your eyes briefly before he reassured you by catching your waist in his hands. “Scared?”

“A little,” you stammered.

“I’ve got you, angel. Just enjoy it.”

And you did, endlessly as his pace picked up again, and by the number of times he’s pushed you, flipped you, rammed you against the window, you were no longer scared of falling through. The fragility of the glass was no longer of concern. You had Joshua to distract you from the life-threatening circumstances with every inch of his being.  You had Joshua to protect you from the infinite possibilities of something were to go wrong with the window in front of you shattering. You had Joshua to feel safe no matter how scared and unsure you were. You had Joshua.

Joshua. Joshua. Joshua.

“Joshua, you’re gonna make me cum,” you mewled in his lap. Your ass took its turn to be displayed as your flesh pressed against the thick glass, bouncing on his cock that stiffened up to no bounds inside you.

“Are you? Your pretty pussy is gonna come all over my cock?” His voice now rushed, heightened, signaling how ready he was to burst like fucking dam.

Your nod carried urgency, your hands clasping against his face in desperate pleas, admiring that face you’ve grown fond of, how you could see both light and darkness in them, filling you to the brim with an inexplicable euphoria that you craved with everybody you’ve ever encountered. “I want it. I want to come all over your cock and feel you come inside me too…Make me feel so good so full.”

“Yeah,” he moaned, hand threading through your hair tightly, you hummed in confirmation, bouncing harder as you dared take him by his full length. “This the best cock you ever had? The best one to put my hot cum inside you.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “No one else…no one else can fuck me like you like this. I want you to fill me with all your hot cum.”

“S-shit,” he cried, tugging your back by the wrists, and fucking up into you, the window behind you christened with your sweat and slick arousal.

He ached to cover all his bases, pounding you to malleable dough, he filled your walls with his oozing determination, and his screams of release followed when he shot his promise inside you. His hips faltered in deep, thorough pumps, claiming your body in his hands with intense anguish as he inhaled your skin in his tight, unwavering embrace.

You felt the warmth inside and out of you, like a rapid stream of water—only more viscous and rewarding as your hips bucked, twitching in Joshua’s locking hold, hardly breathing with the way he held you. You wrapped around him just as tight, letting go of him the last thing on your mind and savoring the trembling descent of your peaks.

There are then only sounds of your exchanged breathing, slowly coming down to Earth. 

He lowered his forearms, bracing you from your lower back, and carefully lifted you from the nook to carefully lay you against his bed that felt like heaven enveloping your body. He crawled on top of you still, descending lingering kisses all along your body before his lips reached your tired heat, not even thinking of pleasuring you but doing it anyway as he lapped up the final remnants of tonight’s events.

His hums were pleasant vibration, wordlessly tasting every ounce of cum—yours or his, it didn’t matter—and swallowing it like a full meal, gently caressing your swollen clit. He couldn’t have enough of you, letting the brain fog control him until you started screaming in pleasure again.

You had to pull him by threads of his hair to stop, overstimulated by his unwavering hunger, and for a second that darkness was back in his eyes the deepest you had ever seen until they softened in concern, his grip loosening. “You okay?” he wafted in with concern.

“Yeah, it felt good, I just…you’re gonna kill me,” you lightly joked.

He softly laughed, leveraging him up and facing chest to chest with you, devouring your lips with that lingering tang of dominance still on his tongue. “Never…” he whispered with a smile, before he inhaled you for a moment longer, swallowing your moans, caressing your body.

He finally found his self-restraint and let you rest, offering to run a warm bath in the hallway bathroom. You turned to him, taking his hand in gratitude. “That would be really nice.”

“I’ll start one up for you.” 

As he leaves, you sink into the bed, reveling in the sheets worn from your presence, and hear the water run in another room, smelling of the clean seat of soap, and nothing has ever felt so right.

“I’ll carry you,” he stated before picking you up from your neck and back to your knees into the bathroom that was another vision of perfection, lit candles marking your path. 

You gushed in disbelief, your body finally dipping to the perfect temperature as you were surrounded with rose petals and bubbles. Almost as if he planned this. Like he knew what to do and how to exactly do it.

“How is it?” He asked, hospitality being of second nature. “Warm enough? Water deep enough?”

You gripped the edge of the tub to gaze back at him, bent down to meet your level with a soft, adoring smile as the water splashed against you soothed your aching body. “Who are you, Joshua Hong?”

He snickered, kissing the top of your head without answer. “I’m gonna let you be on your own for a moment, to really give your rest and after I clean up outside, maybe I’ll join you. Just…don’t go anywhere.”

You nodded, initiating a chaste kiss on his lips. “I won't.”

“Good girl.” His smile had never gotten so big, kissing you back with double the force before he got up to leave.

“Leave the door open,” you requested, “just in case you wanted…a nice image welcoming you back.”

“Alright,” he said, eyes lingering on your state before finally taking his leave.

Joshua had his fun in the sun, clinging to every second of this perfect night, but he needed to clean up one more thing before it could truly end perfectly. The kitchen, if you could see it, was clean and pristine as the rest of the house goddamn near was until you helped him wreck it, except one thing just of place.

He glanced at the hunting knife in the sink, carelessly rinsed after he didn’t think he had time to properly clean in your company. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, realizing how long the metal had soaked in the water. He reached into the cabinet for cleaning supplies, his mind racing.

Dousing a rag with isopropyl, he carefully wiped every surface, hoping no streaks were left on the metal, almost failing to notice the blood ironically staining the stainless steel of his sink, to which he scrubbed and scrubbed with conviction. He couldn’t help but be grateful for your lack of awareness, the thought of entering his kitchen not crossing your mind a moment this entire visit. It’s why he loved you. You didn’t ask unnecessary questions. You kept to yourself for the most part despite your rendezvouses. And you weren’t trouble. He couldn’t wait to return to you. His perfectly oblivious angel.

Meanwhile, you soaked in the water, smelling its essential oil and lathering up the bubbles on your body. In the corner of your eye, a door catches your attention, having not noticed it since entering the apartment. The only door with a keypadlock that seemed to require a code, protecting whatever’s inside or keeping whoever unwanted out. Your thoughts lingered for a moment, wondering what he wanted to keep hidden from plain sight. Hobbies? Priceless items? Murder weapons? Your mind spiraled through every possibility, leaving an itch you couldn’t quite reach to scratch.

But before another second passes, you’re reunited with the man who’s been consuming your thoughts, a smile of relief returning to your face.

“Hi, everything good down there?” You gazed back up at him.

“Yeah, sorry I took so long,” he sighed, the weight on his shoulders palpable until the tension eased away as he slid into the tub beside you.

You moved closer, collapsing into his chest and nuzzling against him, the warmth of his embrace far better than any hot bath. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

His hand gently stroked the back of your head, smoothing the damp tendrils on your shoulders as he glanced down at you, then at the mirror reflecting your intertwined bodies. The image before him was a vision of what the rest of his life would look like. As he correctly foretold. As he meticulously planned. Everything falling into place.

“Me too.”

Your eyes still flickered toward the door with the keypad, curiosity gnawing at you, but you pushed it aside. Whatever was hidden behind that door no longer mattered. Joshua was all that mattered now. You were irrevocably his, as he was irrevocably yours. 

Whatever secrets he had, he could keep them.

[venusbyline]

Overwhelmed ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 31, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: knife play + CNC

— summary: Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

— word count: 1.8k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 31st day, female!reader, boyfriend!Reid, post-prison!Reid, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, knife play, consensual non-consent (CNC), kidnapping roleplay, rape roleplay, safeword use, dry humping, dry sex, aftercare, rope bondage, dumbification, curse words, crying, subspace, bittersweet ending, rough sex, spit, choking, asphyxiation, sadism, slight dark content, mild angst, mild fluff, soft!Reid, dom!Reid, sub!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"Oh, what a naughty girl you are. Did you really think you could get away from me so easily?"

Spencer's words echoed through the room and you whimpered immediately, your panties stuffed into your mouth as a way to muffle the sounds you had been making since Spencer caught you over hours ago, your body cold from the loneliness inside the empty room, the only other thing there being the chair beneath you, your hands and legs tied by a rope whose material was good enough to keep you still even after you tried to squirm when he approached.

"Don't be so hard on me, princess." Spencer teased, chuckling as he walked over until he knelt in front of you, his large hand caressing your cheek. "It could have been worse, couldn't it? When I kidnapped you, I could have been more... Rough." His voice sounded so sweet it turned your stomach and you closed your eyes. Oh, you perfectly remembered about the kidnapping. You were leaving work and all you least expected while you were walking in the parking lot was that you would feel someone grabbing and immobilizing you from behind, the alcohol rag in your nostrils making it difficult for you to escape, until you finally passed out.

Spencer played with your cheek, caressing the skin like you were a doll. A living doll. God, you could even picture him turning you into something like that if you could not escape. "You're so beautiful. Your boyfriend must be such a lucky guy to have you all to himself... A little doll for him to have fun with every night." You opened your eyes when you heard the sentence, your pupils dilating after assimilating what he meant, and it took you a few seconds to react, returning to scream against the fabric of your panties. Spencer ignored the muffled sounds and let his hand trail down your neck, his fingertips brushing your jugular. "I'd like to have you as my doll. What do you think about that, princess?"

You stared at him with the best look of disgust you could muster, hearing Spencer's soft chuckle before he scoffed. "Poor little thing, I almost forget that you can't talk like that." He continued stroking your neck, but his free hand went to your mouth, removing your panties and smirking at the sight of you choking on the sudden intake of air through your mouth, your lungs burning more with each cough. "Better now?" Despite the mean voice, you noticed how Spencer was checking you out, waiting for a verbal response.

After continuing to cough for a while, you managed to mumble. "F-fuck you. You fucking and sick psycho."

Spencer's facial expression was almost comical, his brown eyes wide and his lips parted, trying to think of something clever to say. However, even the genius man with his extremely high and above average IQ was not prepared for your very angry tone and your swearing.

You take advantage of his momentary distraction to spit in his face, and that was what makes him snap out of his trance. Spencer growled, wiping the trail of saliva on his face with the cotton fabric of your panties and looked at you with fire in his eyes. The hand that was playing with your neck closed around it, your eyes widening as you feel the air being denied to you for the second time.

"Fucking slut. I was really trying to be nice to you." Spencer growled again. "Is this how you treat your little boyfriend? Spitting in his face like a wild badass? I don't think so..." Spencer's jaw clenched and he released your throat then. He considered shoving the panties in your face again, until he found a better use for the fabric, stuffing it inside his pocket.

You barely had time to register what was happening. One moment, you were coughing, your throat sore from the asphyxiation, and the next, you were a mess of moans and low screams, rubbing yourself against something hard that you were not sure what it was until you looked down.

Your pussy was simply rubbing against the tip of the handle of Spencer's knife, something he was keeping in his pants pocket along with the leather glove he nimbly put on when you were still struggling to breathe. He took advantage of the strength of the glove's fabric to hold the blade and stimulate your swollen clit with the wooden handle, your legs tied to the chair making your thighs press together, also making the friction more intense for you and more fun for Spencer to watch. "Poor little thing..."

Spencer's mockery caused a sudden agony in your brain, your insides churning as your body writhed against the knife again. All of that seemed too much. Maybe it was because of the exhaustion of lying motionless in the chair, maybe it was because the ropes were too tight, maybe it was also because Spencer was starting to rub the knife too hard.

You could not tell what was happening to your body and inside your mind, but you suddenly snapped. "STOP IT, PLEASE!" You cried out, trying in vain to stop your clit from continuing to pulse against the knife held by Spencer.

Spencer froze when he heard your voice, so fragile and painful. These words normally would not be enough to completely stop the roleplay. They were words always said during the roles. However, Spencer was not an idiot. He knew his girlfriend like the back of his own hand and knew something was wrong. Your scream sounded much more broken than most other times.

"Color?" Spencer asked, moving the knife away from your field of vision, still keeping it in his hand. "Baby, what's the color right now?"

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath when your clit stopped being so abused, tears flowing as you tried to think about your color system. Did you just want a brief break so the two of you could continue after you breathing for a few more moments? Did you want to stop the roles completely? Could you hold on a little longer? Were you too exhausted? Was Spencer mad at you? "Red. Or yellow. Or red... I don't know, Spencie. Please... I just wanna stop it." Your sob broke Spencer's heart, your tears being like salt in the wound. He did not take long to throw the knife on the floor, whispering an apology when you were startled by the sound of the blade hitting the floor.

"It's okay, baby. You're fine. We're fine. It's over. Now it's just me. Your Spencie, your boyfriend." Spencer muttered as he undid the tight knots he had made to immobilize your arms and legs. "You were so good to me, baby. You're always good. I'm so proud of you..."

You shook your head, tears still streaming down your face. You did not feel good enough for Spencer at that moment. Even though it was just your brain playing tricks on you, you could not help but feel useless. Why could not you hold on just a little longer? Both of you always played like that when Spencer was feeling bad about the prison memories. It was a way to help him fight the traumas he had acquired and his slightly dark side that had awakened. You did not know if it was actually a healthy sexual thing to do, but Spencer refused to talk about that part with the therapist.

Anyway, Spencer had your consent. It was something the two of you had already talked about and debated about his boundaries and yours. Sometimes the roleplay had a brief script to be followed and everything varied depending on the needs of both of you. In that week, you and Spencer had decided to go again for something more like an obsessive stalker and a taken girl. Spencer really had a thing for that kink, and you mentally wondered if he pictured your fake boyfriend in the roleplay as the past version of himself.

It was not anything you had not already done. It was always the controversial "consensual non-consent" roleplay. Spencer always gave his all to act perfectly, warning you in advance the day before that something like this would happen that night. You could blame it on tiredness from work, because you had actually forgotten about it when Spencer "kidnapped" you, even though you had followed his commands throughout the afternoon about parking your car away from the security cameras so no one would think he was really kidnapping you. He definitely did not need more time in prison for another mistake by the authorities.

"I-I'm so sorry..." You managed to mumble a few minutes later, the only words in your mind since Spencer untied you, picked you up and ran a warm bath for you.

"There's nothing to worry about, baby." Spencer said, running the sponge gently over your skin, taking extra care with your wrists, which were quite red and bruised due the ropes. "I overdid it this time. I left you waiting too long alone in the room and—"

You interrupted him when you realized he was blaming himself. "Stop it, Spencer. You did everything like we always do. I could have taken more... I just... I felt overwhelmed this time. It all felt like too much. I had too much stress at work and I even forgot a little about what would happen today." Your eyes opened to look at him, noticing that he also had a few tears in those beautiful and big sad eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry. I should have noticed." You shook your head again and Spencer sighed at your stubbornness, taking your wrist gently and placing a few soft kisses on your raw skin. "I'll make it up to you, I promise, baby."

You wanted to say that he did not need to make up anything. That he had not done anything wrong. You had used the color system as you should. You had said your safeword like you were supposed to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him and that he did not need to feel guilty about that situation. There were so many things to be said, clarified and reflected on, but both of you knew that was not the time yet. Spencer could deal with your silence for a while longer. He would bathe you carefully as you relaxed in the bathtub. He would apply ointment to your bruises, and apply body oil to the rest of your skin. He would dry your hair and lay you down on your large and soft bed, only leaving the room for a few quick minutes to get you some tea. Then, Spencer would let you rest and sleep, until your body and mind returned to stability and the two of you could talk about everything that had happened.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[wholoveseggs]

Hey girl, I love you and your stories <3

Can I maybe request an enemies to lovers with a female reader and Elijah, which leads to a threesome between her Elijah and Klaus. Maybe with a little punishment and very kinky maybe with a little light bondage and just light beds in general, I'll leave the details up to you

thank you already <333

Captive

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader} You are being held captive by a group of nasty witches, being tortured, starved of blood and interrogated night and day... You've lost all hope, until two old enemies show up to save you, and you spend the evening reminiscing and making up for lost time.

♡♡ Thank you lovely anon! Its been so long since I did a ménage à trois with the boys & it's always so much fun to write! ♡♡

7.1k words {hehe} - Warnings: smut, lots of drinking, Klaus being a little shit, oral sex {m! and f! receiving}, a little bondage, praise kink, a little punishment, slight dom!Elijah and Klaus, blood sharing, rough sex, double penetration, overstimulation && aftercare ...

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05

In the dark, dingy cell; there was no way to tell the passage of time. Not that you were in any condition to care about that.

It had been so long, you had forgotten the feeling of sunlight kissing you skin, the smell of flowers in the wind, the sound of birds chirping in the morning, the taste of rich red wine, the laughter of friends. The last few days- weeks? months?- were spent in a haze. Time had become a distant concept.

All you knew now was cold, stale, dirty water, and the constant pain of hunger, and the agony of torture.

At first you blamed your captors, with their unrelenting desire to grab at power. Then you blamed your stupidity, your lack of caution. But most of all you blamed the Mikaelsons, for they were who the witches had targeted. They were the ones you were being tortured for.

If only you had not made such enemies, if only you hadn't gotten involved, you could have lived your immortal life without consequence, without guilt. You would have avoided all the pain, all the torture. Indulging in men of that caliber always came with a price, you just didn't expect it to happen to you.

In a way, it was a mercy that your body had long since given out. That you had become too weak, too hungry, to do much more than lay against the dirty floor, staring blankly ahead. Soon your limbs would stop working, only dust left in your veins. You would desiccate and die a slow, painful death, the only relief would be your own insanity.

It was there, in that dark place, where you accepted your fate. The witch's spells kept you trapped, you were too weak to even crawl out the door, and there was no one who knew where you were, no one who would come for you.

That is, until you felt the cold chill of the witch's magic suddenly disappear, like a weight lifted from your shoulders. Then the sound of fighting outside, the screams of the witches and their death rattles, and the door creaking open. And a cold laugh you never thought you would hear again.

"Isn't this a sight?" Klaus said, crouching down outside of the cell, leaning close to the ground to meet your eyes, "I never thought I'd see you in such a state, little fox."

His tone was light, almost mocking, and his grin was as cold as ever. You blinked a few times, hoping you were imagining things, that the delirium had finally set in. You had experienced plenty of hallucinations since the witch's had captured you.

But he didn't disappear. He stayed, watching you, like a snake waiting to strike.

"She looks awful," He mused, looking you over.

"And she smell even worse," another voice chimed in, his soft lilting accent completely unfamiliar, and yet somehow familiar at the same time.

"You've let yourself go, sweetheart," Klaus teased.

"Are you going to sit and gawk, or are you going to rescue the poor girl," The second man said, his voice growing closer as he joined Klaus.

It was Elijah, his way with words unmistakable, even in the attempt at an American accent he spoke with now.

"I was actually thinking about killing her, would it be easier?" Klaus replied, his grin widening, "What do you think brother, is she a lost cause?"

Elijah peered through the bars, his dark eyes taking you in. You wanted to hide, or scream, or cry. His face bringing back a thousand buried memories, all the reasons why you had tried so hard to forget him.

"I'd say she's quite beyond salvation," he said, "but you know I could never resist a damsel in distress, even one as ugly as this."

That hurt, even though you certainly deserved it. Many great fables are written about the tragic love affairs of humans, but nothing compared to the heartbreaks between vampires.

Klaus laughed at the pain in your eyes, the way they watered ever so slightly, despite how weak and dehydrated you were. But he reached out and grabbed the iron gate, tearing it off the hinges with a grunt.

"I think we're past pleasantries, don't you agree, love?" He asked, striding into the cell and lifting you up.

The moment his hands touched your skin, you knew it was real. That by some divine miracle you were rescued and it was by the worst possible people.

"You should really take a bath, it's unbecoming for a lady to smell like a sewer." Elijah commented, watching the way you were limp in Klaus' arms.

You choked out a half laugh, half sob, every small movement felt like sandpaper rubbing against your skin. You swallowed hard and it felt like a knife had been forced down your throat.

"Fuck you," you wheezed.

"There she is!" Klaus said, holding you bridal style, "We were wondering if you had actually died."

Elijah reached out and placed a hand on your head, smoothing out your hair and giving you a gentle smile. You leaned into the touch, the first kindness you had felt in so long.

Klaus carried you out of the cell, and into the room above. He sat down in an old wooden chair, the same one you had been tortured in countless times. Your breathing hitched and you tried to struggle, but he held you tight, pressing his face into your neck.

"Relax," he said, "I'm not going to kill you … yet."

The threat hung in the air, and Elijah rolled his eyes at his brothers' dramatics. You felt the tip of his tongue lick up your neck, and his fangs graze your skin, before pulling away.

"Any of them still kickin'?" He asked Elijah, who was peering around the room.

"One, she's alive. Barely," he replied, his gaze falling on a witch laying face down on the floor, her neck was at a weird angle, no doubt snapped by Elijah.

He dragged her to the middle of the room, her body limp, but you could hear the faint beating of her heart, her blood still pumping. She was still clinging to the last threads of existence. Her blood smelled divine, the sound of her heartbeat was music to your ears.

"Here's a deal," Klaus said, pulling your attention back to him, "I give you her blood, and you answer our questions. Sound fair?"

Your lips were chapped and your throat was dry, but you forced out an answer, "Yes, please."

You hadn't begged for anything the entire time the witches had imprisoned you. Not for freedom, not for mercy, not for blood, not even for your own life. But in that moment, all of your pride had been stripped away, and there was nothing left but desperation.

Elijah lifted the witch up, biting down on her wrist and offering it to you. The taste of fresh blood filled your mouth, and you moaned, gulping down as much as you could. But the relief didn't last long, as he pulled away.

"Enough," he said, his grip tight, "can't have you drinking too much."

You felt life returning to your limbs, your bones tingling as you were able to wiggle them, your skin turning from a gray pallor to its usual color. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough to take the edge off.

"Now, let's start with the obvious," Elijah said, "Why are you here?"

"On vacation," you replied sarcastically, your voice hoarse, but not as quiet as before.

Elijah didn't say anything, instead he gave you a cold stare, daring you to make another joke. You shrunk away, but not much. It had been so long since you had been with them, but the way they made you feel, was ingrained into your bones.

"The witches, what do they want from you? I will not ask you again," He asked, the anger behind his words making you nervous.

"They wanted you two," you said, "they knew we had...history."

"History?" Klaus said, chuckling, "that's a very bland word for what we had."

You bit your tongue. He wasn't wrong, but you weren't willing to admit that to them.

"They thought I could get to you, so they tortured me," you explained.

"And could you? Get to us?" Elijah asked, his eyes narrowed.

You didn't respond, instead you looked down. The truth was, you had been avoiding them for centuries and to do that, you always kept tabs on them. So yes, if you wanted to, you could have gotten to them, but that would have meant reopening old wounds, and the last thing you wanted was to feel that pain all over again.

"We could always compel the answer out of you," Elijah mused.

You shook your head. It wasn't that they couldn't, but that they didn't need to. You were already at their mercy, and had no desire to fight them.

"I... I kept your secrets, no matter how much they tortured me," You said, "I never told them anything."

"How noble," Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, "your loyalty is truly inspiring, sweetheart."

His grip tightened on your body, his fingers digging into your skin. It was starting to make you angry. Yes, they had saved you, but the way they spoke to you, the way they were acting, it was too much.

"Fuck off," you snapped, "I could have given them anything, and yet, here I am, starving and tortured. So maybe a little respect would be nice, you prick."

Elijah let out a short, sharp laugh, while Klaus glared at you. But after a moment he grinned and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver up your spine.

"You were always so bold," Klaus said, "you never were afraid of me."

"She's a fool then," Elijah replied.

"Well, what is life without a few fools, brother?" Klaus asked.

"Boring," you replied, earning a smirk from both of them.

Elijah leaned down, grabbing the witch by the hair and placing her head on your lap. She was so close to dying, you could hear her heartbeat getting weaker and weaker. You looked down at her, the smell of her blood filling the air, and licked your lips.

"Drink up now, you've earned it," he said, stroking the back of her head.

You sank your teeth into her neck, the taste of her blood filling your mouth, as you greedily sucked up as much as you could. Nothing tasted better than draining the life out of a witch.

When you finished, you tossed the body aside, licking your lips and wiping your mouth. You were finally able to relax, your stomach full, your skin returning to a healthy color. You stood up, steady and sure on your feet for the first time in months.

"Where do you think you're going?" Klaus asked, reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

"A hotel, I'm thinking luxury suite, room service, a month long spa treatment, the works," you replied, "thanks for the save, I'm off."

You tried to pull your arm away, but his grip tightened, yanking you towards him.

"Such hubris, little fox," he said, his voice cold and menacing, "you don't really think we're going to just let you go, do you?"

You struggled in his grasp, but it was no use. He was too strong, and you were still too weak. You looked to Elijah, a silent plea, but he just shrugged, an amused smile on his lips.

"What the hell do you mean?" You asked.

"Well, there is the fact that you owe us a favor, but also," he said, leaning forward, his mouth brushing your ear, "I still think your lying,"

And with that, he reached for your neck and with one swift move he snapped it. You didn't even have a chance to react, and as you fell to the ground, the world fading away.

When you woke up, you were somewhere else, on a large, incredibly comfortable sofa, the smell of leather and wood in the air. The light was dim, and it took you a moment to get your bearings. You heard a crackling fire, the sounds of music playing from somewhere, and the voices of the Mikaelson's arguing.

"I don't believe she was lying," Elijah said.

"Really, I'm surprised at you brother," Klaus replied, "considering how she ended things with you,"

Elijah sighed and didn't respond. You couldn't see him, but you imagined him adjusting his suit, and the way his jaw twitched when he was annoyed.

"I'm not inclined to trust her either," Elijah said, "But I think holding her captive is pointless,"

"She's a risk," Klaus argued, "and she's not leaving till I'm sure she's not lying."

You sat up and glanced around, trying to see where they were. It was a large living room, the furniture was ornate and expensive, with antique looking paintings on the wall, and bookshelves lining every surface. There was a coffee table next to the sofa you were on, and your eyes landed on a fresh horror that was laying there.

You let out a blood curdling scream, one that echoed in the space and made Klaus and Elijah appear almost instantly. You were still staring, frozen in place, unable to look away.

A human head was sitting on the table, his skin pale and his eyes wide and lifeless. It was one of the witches that had tortured you, and it was sitting there, staring at you.

"Jesus Christ, is that necessary?" You snapped, pointing at the head.

Klaus grinned, looking down at the head, and shrugging, "I thought you would appreciate the gesture,"

"I don't!" You exclaimed.

"Perhaps you could have done something a little less barbaric," Elijah suggested.

"Oh come now brother, where's the fun in that," Klaus replied, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

"It's a peace offering," Klaus replied, walking over and lifting the head up, tossing it from one hand to the other, "do you like it?"

"No!" You yelled, covering your eyes and trying not to gag, "I want it gone, get rid of it,"

"Oh, come on little fox, don't be so uptight," He replied, his voice low and dangerous, "I remember when you used to enjoy this sort of thing,"

An awkward tension filled the room. Elijah cleared his throat and Klaus laughed.

"Too far?" He asked.

"Just a bit," Elijah replied.

"Sorry, my bad," he said, turning his attention back to you, "now, let's discuss how you're going to repay us."

"What, not even a hello, or how are you?" You asked, standing up.

Elijah gently pushed you back down onto the sofa. He sat down next to you, giving you a small smile, and placing a hand on your knee. You felt your heart skip a beat, and you cursed yourself for the reaction. You had been the one to ruin things with him, and yet, being near him again, it made you wish you hadn't.

"This happy reunion calls for wine!" Klaus called, he chucked the head somewhere out of sight and strided over to a mini bar, pulling out a bottle and glasses, "unfortunately I don't have anything fancy at this particular bar, but this is a decent 1990s vintage, which I think is passable,"

"I don't drink anything after the 1900s," Elijah replied, leaning back against the sofa.

Klaus scoffed, but didn't reply, instead he poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp.

"Fine," he grumbled, "make me go to the cellar, like some sort of servant,"

"If the shoe fits," Elijah quipped.

You watched the exchange, trying to process everything that had happened. They were different now, their accents and mannerisms, not to mention their appearances. But the easy banter between them, and the way they were able to get under each other's skin, that hadn't changed one bit.

"Are you two ever not at each other's throats?" You asked, leaning back, "seriously, you are worse than an old married couple."

"Far worse," Klaus yelled, before disappearing down a hallway, off to retrieve the good wine.

"Don't mind him," Elijah said, turning to you, "he's never been very appreciative of fine cuisine."

"I know. He's a heathen," you replied, smiling.

Elijah didn't return the smile, his gaze fixed on you, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dark and intense, and the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable you felt.

"You've changed," he said.

"So have you," you replied, "it's been centuries and I wasn't exactly eager to run into either of you again."

He didn't respond. The silence hung in the air, neither of you wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. What had happened, was painful, and neither of you had really moved on.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip. A million lies flashed through your mind. The truth was cruel, and you didn't want to admit it, but it was the only option.

"Because I was bored," you admitted, "and I didn't know any other way to handle it, so I turned it all off,"

"And found a far more vigorous lover in the process," Klaus said, suddenly appearing with an older bottle of wine.

He handed it to Elijah, who looked over the label and nodded. Klaus gave you a wink and sat down on the chair across from the two of you.

Elijah didn't speak, and you couldn't read his expression. He looked hurt, and his gaze turned away from you. Guilt was a feeling you spent a lot a time accepting back into your life, but to witness the consequences, that was far worse.

"Whoops, still a sore subject I see," Klaus teased.

"Niklaus, shut up," Elijah snapped.

Klaus threw his hands up in mock surrender, and didn't say anything, a satisfied smile on his face. He was just as much to blame as you, but clearly he had no remorse and was loving the awkwardness of the moment.

Elijah uncorked the wine and poured a glass for all three of you. The tension in the room was still palpable, and as much as you wanted to apologize, you knew that nothing would fix what you had done.

"To reunions, and bloody witches," Klaus said, raising his glass, "to past lovers and new enemies, to the future, whatever that may bring,"

He chuckled and took a long drink. You and Elijah didn't move, still looking away from each other.

"Oh, come on, I'm not doing this whole thing alone," Klaus said, glaring at the two of you, "let's play a game,"

"You know, I'm not really in the mood for a game," you said, crossing your arms.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not asking," Klaus replied, his voice dripping with false kindness, "now, the rules are simple, tell the truth or take a drink,"

"We are not children," Elijah protested, "we don't need games to imbibe,"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Klaus said, "so, what shall we ask first? Hmmm... oh, how about, why were you in New Orleans?"

You stared at him, unsure if you should just answer, or try to get out of the game. He was looking at you, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. You could feel his anger, and the last thing you wanted was to piss him off.

"I needed an answer to a question," you replied, "it's… important to me,"

Klaus and Elijah exchanged a glance, both of them curious about what you meant.

"How intriguing," Klaus said, leaning back, "and what was this question?"

"Doesn't work that way," you replied, a smile creeping onto your face, "it's your turn,"

"Clever girl," Klaus replied, grinning.

"My turn," Elijah said, turning to Klaus, "where did you find this bottle,"

"Why does that matter?" Klaus replied, annoyed.

"I don't remember seeing that year in the cellar," Elijah replied, taking a sip.

"Perhaps it was from your secret stash…" Klaus asked, smirking, "the one I'm not supposed to know about?"

Elijah glared at him, and you stifled a laugh. Their arguments were always funny, and this was no exception.

"Well, I was feeling sentimental, so I grabbed one of the better years," Klaus explained, "what's the harm in a little nostalgia,"

Elijah didn't say anything, his gaze turning back to the glass, swirling the wine around.

"My turn," you said, "how did you find me?"

"Simple," Klaus said, "we have spies everywhere, and witches are the most gossiping creatures on the planet. When I heard they were torturing a lovely little vampire that matched your description, well… we just had to see for ourselves,"

You were shocked, that they had gone out of their way to find you. You hadn't expected them to care, or even remember you, and to know they had saved you just because they could, it was a strange feeling.

"But, why bother saving me?" You asked, genuinely curious, "you don't owe me anything, not after how I left things,”

They both fell silent, exchanging a glance that seemed to have an entire conversation within it. After a moment, Elijah spoke.

"It's always better to know where our enemies stand," he said, "you are a useful asset, and a potential enemy,"

"And," Klaus added, "we love killing witches who get too big for their boots,"

Elijah glared at him and then sighed, "That too,"

You didn't say anything, their reasoning making perfect sense. You had a history with the two of them, but that didn't mean you were friends.

Elijah's arm stretched behind you, casually resting on the back of the couch. His fingers brushed your shoulder and you felt your breath catch. His hand was warm and you could feel his thumb stroke your shoulder.

"What did the witches ask you?" he said, his voice soft and low. “Tell us the whole truth,”

His hand moved subtly to the back of your neck, a quiet threat, one that didn't require words. You understood the unspoken message and knew that if you didn't give him an answer he was happy with, then you would end up the same way as the head that was somewhere in the house.

"They asked about your weaknesses, how to kill you," you admitted, "I told them to go fuck themselves and in return they upped to torture severely,”

Klaus snorted, clearly impressed. He poured himself another glass, while Elijah gave you a satisfied nod.

"Why the loyalty? We haven't spoken in centuries," Elijah asked, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck, "I seem to remember you hating us both,"

You picked up your glass and took a long drink, not saying anything.

"Not a fan of the question?" He asked.

"It's not loyalty, but self preservation," you said, shrugging, "the wrath of witches is one thing, but you two? That's a death wish,"

Klaus laughed and held up his glass, "well played, sweetheart,"

Elijah didn't remove his hand, his fingers lightly caressing the nape of your neck, his gaze never wavering from yours.

"My turn," you said, trying not to squirm under his touch, "why not kill me? You are clearly afraid I hold secrets you rather I didn't,"

"Call it … Nostalgia," Klaus said, a wicked grin on his face, "I do so love to reminisce, and if I am being honest, you are one of the more fun memories,"

"Ah yes, your one weakness, sentimental attachment to those you've slept with," you quipped, taking another drink, the alcohol warming your throat.

"I guess it's the one thread of our humanity we've never been able to shake," Klaus admitted.

You raised your glass and downed the rest of it, setting the glass down with a small clink. Elijah refilled it, his hand now resting on your lower back. You tried to ignore it, but every touch made you more aware of him, and less able to concentrate.

"Let's make a deal," Klaus said, his expression serious, "we will let you go, if you answer why you are in New Orleans,"

You bit your lip, wondering if they would even believe you.

"I'm here because..." you paused, looking down at the ground, "I heard a witch here can help with... Fertility,"

They both froze, a stunned look on their faces.

"A baby?" Elijah asked, his eyes wide.

"Is that what you've been chasing all these centuries?" Klaus asked, clearly surprised.

You looked up at both of them, two of the oldest beings to walk this earth. Them, of all people, you hoped would understand your reasons.

"I've experienced everything I've ever wanted too in my long life," you began, your hands twisting in your lap, "climbed the tallest mountains, swam in the deepest oceans, drank with Kings of long forgotten empires, fucked and fed from the greatest artists, poets, warriors and philosophers the world has ever known... but now I wish for only one thing,"

You stopped, swallowing a lump in your throat, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"To be a mother," you whispered, "to impart my wisdom on someone, and love them more than anything. To show them the beauty of the world and watch them grow up, have children of their own, and carry on a legacy. It's the one thing I haven't done, and the one thing I want most in the world,"

You thought that Klaus would laugh, perhaps even mock you, but he didn't, instead his expression was sympathetic, and Elijah's was one of understanding.

"You are not the wild, reckless creature that we used to know," Klaus said, "you have changed,"

"And so have you," you replied.

The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Elijah asked, his arm now firmly around your waist.

"All I found was a chains and a cell," you replied, "I was a fool, blinded by hope. All that awaited me was pain,"

Klaus poured you another drink, they couldn't help you, but at least they could offer you a distraction.

The night quickly dissolved into a drunken revelry. The three of you laughing and drinking, the old days a source of amusement. Your belly was full of blood and wine, and the tension between the three of you had dissipated.

"Now that I have determined you aren't a threat, it's time to get down to the real questions," Klaus said, "who is the better lover? Me or my dear brother,"

"Seriously?" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes.

"What?" He replied, "I'm just curious, I promise I won't get jealous,"

"I'm not answering that," you said.

"Yes, well, I would rather not hear the answer," Elijah interjected.

"You are no fun," Klaus replied, and then leaned forward, his gaze intense, "I'm going to assume it's me,"

"Interesting assumption," you said, raising an eyebrow, "but if we're talking about skills, there is a clear winner,"

Elijah grinned, and Klaus shot you an offended look. You laughed and finished the rest of the wine, setting the glass on the table.

"And I've always preferred passion over... Enthusiasm," you said, a hint of teasing in your voice.

Elijah didn't look up from his drink, his face neutral, but you could tell he was smiling. Klaus huffed, and crossed his arms.

"I would be delighted to remind you," Klaus said, leaning forward and placing a hand on your thigh, "just say the word, and we can retire to a more comfortable location."

You grabbed his wrist and twisted, until you felt his bones shatter. He cried out in pain, then quickly recovered, the bones snapping back into place.

"That's not how this works," you replied, smiling sweetly.

He stared at you, his expression changing from shock to a pleased smile.

"Still the same fire, I see," he replied, "a good reminder of the past,"

"If I were to sleep with either of you again, it would be on my terms, certainly not when I'm held captive," you snapped.

"Who said anything about holding you captive," Klaus replied, "if we were, you would still be shackled to the wall,"

"Some might enjoy that sort of thing," Elijah remarked, his cheeks were a bit rosy from drink and you enjoyed how it made him seem less cold.

"Have you done that sort of thing Elijah?" You teased, "I never would have taken you for a deviant,"

He shrugged, a sly smile on his face, "I don't divulge such things,"

"Oh, please, you can tell us," Klaus said, "unless you haven't, and are simply trying to pretend like you have,"

"Or perhaps he has and is ashamed of the things he's done," you added, laughing.

Elijah glared at the two of you, the playful glint in his eyes giving him away. He simply stood up and held out his hand to you, the confidence in his stance and the way he looked at you sent a jolt of heat through your body.

"The only way to know for sure, is to experience it for yourself," he said, his tone seductive, "I'll leave the choice up to you,"

You stared at him, a sudden desire coursing through your veins. This was a terrible idea, but at the same time, a chance to have a night of freedom and pleasure after months of torture was an offer you couldn't resist.

"If I say no, am I free to go?" You challenged, meeting his gaze.

"You were never a prisoner," he replied, "the only person keeping you here is yourself,"

He was right. They hadn't chained you, or compelled you, and now that the threat of danger was gone, there was nothing stopping you from walking out the door. But that was not what you wanted, and the look in his eyes was too enticing.

"Alright, but I need a shower first, I still smell of dungeon and witch piss," you said, standing up and taking his hand, "and you better not disappoint,"

He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was intense, and you clung to his shoulders, melting into his embrace.

Klaus scoffed, he loathed being left out.

"Really?" he grumbled, pouring himself another glass. "Can you keep the noise to a minimum, I would prefer to have a little sleep tonight,"

You let out a soft giggle, "oh, don't pout, you can come too,"

Klaus raised an eyebrow, looking to his brother for an answer. Elijah nodded, a smirk on his face.

"If she insists," Elijah said, his voice smooth, "you know I've never been good at denying her,"

Klaus immediately got to his feet, throwing his glass of wine into the fireplace. The flames leapt up, the red embers glowing, illuminating the room in a fiery light. He walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist, his lips brushing your ear, his hand cupping your ass.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've fantasized about having you in bed again?" He whispered, his breath hot against your neck.

You smiled and pushed him away, enjoying his expression of surprise.

"Well, then, why are we still standing here," you said, sauntering out of the room, "the night won't last forever,"

Elijah caught up with you in the hallway, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you up against the wall. He kissed you, his hands sliding down to your thighs and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and ran your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss.

He carried you all the way to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. The room was dark, and the bed was large and covered in dark silk sheets. He pointed to his bathroom, and you pulled your tattered clothes off, leaving them on the floor.

You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get warm. You felt his arms wrap around you and turned around, letting him press you up against the tile. He kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of bare skin, his touch igniting a fire within you.

Klaus quickly joined you, he had undressed in the other room, and stood naked in the doorway. You smiled at him, enjoying the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

Elijah pulled away from you to undress and you watched as his shirt was unbuttoned and fell to the ground. His pants followed, and your eyes roamed his body, admiring his muscular frame. The two of them were opposites in many ways, but they both had a beauty to them, and right now you could hardly choose which one you wanted more.

You took both their hands and pulled them under the steamy water, running your hands across their skin. Their bodies were warm and firm, their skin soft under your fingertips. You kissed Elijah, while Klaus kissed and licked your breasts, his hands wandering between your legs.

You could feel his fingers brush against your wet core, his thumb pressing against your clit. He slowly circled the sensitive nub, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your hands wandered down to Elijah's cock, gently stroking the hard length.

Elijah kissed you, his lips trailing down your neck, his hand gently caressing your breasts. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of their hands on your body.

Their touch was overwhelming, hands and mouths everywhere, and it was only when the water started to turn cold that you all stepped out, laughing and breathless.

Elijah pulled you on to his bed, and you fell on to his chest. His lips found yours and you lost yourself in his kiss. You felt the bed dip and Klaus pressed his lips against your shoulder, his hands running along your thighs. He kissed his way down your spine, his hands pushing your ass up in the air.

His lips trailed along the curve of your lower back, his fingers tracing the line of your hip. He placed a soft kiss on your inner thigh and you moaned, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

You felt his tongue flick across your pussy and you gasped, arching your back. He chuckled and began licking and sucking, his tongue expertly teasing your clit.

Elijah's hands cupped your face and you turned your attention back to him. His eyes were blown wide with lust, his gaze fixed on yours. You kissed him, the taste of the wine still lingering on his lips. His cock was hard against your stomach and you could feel his desire pulsing through his veins.

Your hand trailed down his chest, and you wrapped your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking the thick shaft. His eyebrows arched in pleasure, and you could feel his muscles tighten.

You kissed your way down his chest until you were level with his cock. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, enjoying the sound of his low moans. A gentle hum left your throat and you felt him shudder.

You took him in your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair. His grip tightened and you increased your pace, taking his length deeper.

Klaus moved away for a moment, and you could see Elijah observing whatever he was doing, a dark smile spreading across his face. You felt the bed dip as Klaus returned, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back.

A moment later, the soft leather of a belt wrapped around them, and he secured the belt, tight enough that you couldn't move, but not too tight that it hurt.

Elijah's eyes met yours, and a wicked smile played across his lips. "Do you enjoy being tied up? Being helpless and at our mercy?" He asked, his voice a deep growl.

You nodded eagerly, taking him further into your mouth. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, his hips thrusting forward. You could feel him hit the back of your throat and gagged, your eyes watering.

Klaus kissed your lower back, then positioned himself at your entrance. You gasped as he slowly slid inside, the stretch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, then slowly began to move.

You moaned, the sensation of being filled by both of them overwhelming. They began to move in a steady rhythm, Klaus thrusting into you while Elijah fucked your mouth. You were helpless, pinned between them, unable to do anything but submit.

The sound of their pleasure sent a shiver of delight through you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elijah's breathing became ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened. You knew he was close, so you focused on pleasuring him, moving all the way down and swallowing.

He let out a low groan and came, his hot release spilling into your mouth. You swallowed every drop, then pulled away, gasping for air. You smiled up at him, his expression one of bliss.

Klaus continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing. He leaned forward and bit into your shoulder, his fangs sinking deep. You cried out in pain and pleasure, your body shuddering. His bloodlust combined with his own pleasure, the feeling overwhelming, but just as you were about to cum, he stopped.

You let out a whine, and he chuckled, his hands squeezing your ass.

"I don't think I'm quite ready for this to end," he murmured, pulling out.

Elijah's hands moved down to your arms, pulling you forward and guiding you onto his lap. You straddled him, your hands still bound behind your back, and his cock brushed against your wet core.

"Do you remember how you used to love riding me?" He whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You nodded, eager for him to fill you. He grinned and lifted your hips, slowly lowering you onto his cock. He gripped your hips and began to move you up and down. You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder and grinding your hips.

Klaus positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand trail down your back. His fingers traced the line of your ass, and then he spread your cheeks, exposing your other hole.

"You are such a pretty little thing," he murmured, pressing a finger against your ass, "all tied up and at our mercy,"

He slid a finger inside, the tight ring of muscle giving way. You moaned, the feeling of being filled by both of them overwhelming.

Klaus coated his cock with a lubricant and pressed it against your ass. Elijah held you still, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss. You could feel the tip of Klaus' cock pushing into your ass and whimpered, the stretch bordering on painful.

Klaus slowly sank into you, letting out a low groan. He began to thrust, his movements slow and deep. The feeling of both of them inside you was almost too much, and you moaned, your body trembling.

"Are you enjoying this, love?" Klaus asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," you whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Elijah kissed along your jaw, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements, rocking you back and forth on their cocks.

You felt the heat of their bodies pressed against yours, and their hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, and teasing. The smell of their sweat and desire was intoxicating, and you were lost in the pleasure, your mind spinning.

Klaus pulled on your wrists, his mouth colliding with the side of your neck. You cried out as he bit into you, his fangs piercing your skin. Elijah kissed the other side, mirroring his brother's bite.

The combination of the pleasure and pain was too much, and you came, your orgasm crashing through your body. You writhed in their arms, your body trembling, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

They kept you pinned between them, bouncing you up and down, their movements rough and animalistic. The belt came loose, and your hands came free.

You wrapped your arms around Elijah's neck as another orgasm hit, this one even more intense than the last. He smiled at the look of pure bliss on your face and kissed you, his hands tangled in your hair.

Klaus groaned, pressing himself deep as he came, then he slowly pulled out, kissing the nape of your neck.

Elijah soon followed, his eyes meeting yours as he shuddered, spilling into you. You collapsed against him, exhausted and sated. He gently stroked your hair, his gaze soft and loving.

"I forgot how good you are at that," you mumbled, your eyes drifting closed.

He chuckled, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your skin. You snuggled against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

Klaus laid down next to the two of you, his eyes bright, and a smile on his face. "What about me? Any thoughts?" He asked, and you giggled, the alcohol still coursing through your system.

"You were pretty good, too," you replied, reaching out and patting his arm.

He grinned, his hand coming to rest on the top of your thigh. "I don't know why we didn't do this earlier, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble," he said.

Elijah nodded, a small smirk on his lips, "you may be right,"

"I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did," you said softly, running your hands through Elijah's hair, "and thank you for coming to save me,"

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, then helped you off his lap, and onto the bed, covering the three of you with a silk sheet.

"Do you mind if I stay here a while? It's been so long since I've had a good night's sleep," you mumbled, your fingers curling into Elijah's chest, holding him tight.

He didn't reply, just pulled you closer, his hand stroking your back, lulling you to sleep.

"We've got all the time in the world, love," Klaus said softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll make sure no more nasty witches get their hands on you,"

It had been so long since you had felt so content, you could feel the warmth of their skin, smell their cologne, hear the beat of their hearts. You could taste the blood and whiskey in the air, and it felt right, like you had come home.

[novaursa]

i can has a sad request? Rhaenyra lose her only daughter to childbirth….

Marry the reader to aemond or cregan or jace but she will deliver a healthy boy. And the cost is her life. And Rhaenyra lose her mother because childbirth now she has to deal with her only daughter.

Heir to Grief

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You give birth to Jace’s and yours first child, but fate decided you would never see him grow.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: I've chosen Jace, because it makes this only more tragic.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The labor comes upon you like a storm. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, a wave of pain crashing against your body, relentless and powerful. You grip the sheets beneath you, the fabric soaked with your sweat. Your chambers are filled with the sounds of midwives rushing about, offering reassurances, though their words barely reach you. In the haze of agony, Jacaerys is beside you, his face pale, brow furrowed in worry. His hand tightly clutches yours, his knuckles white with the strain, as though he can take on some of your pain if he holds you tightly enough.

“Breathe, Y/N. You’re doing well, you’re strong,” he murmurs, voice trembling despite his effort to stay calm. You try to focus on him, on the sound of his voice, on the love in his eyes. Your brother, your husband, your Jace.

But the pain is all-encompassing, stealing your breath away. It feels as if your body is being torn apart from the inside. Another contraction surges, and you scream, unable to hold it in. The sound startles Jace, but he quickly steadies himself, brushing your damp hair from your face.

"You have to push now," one of the midwives instructs, her tone firm but kind. “The babe is coming.”

Your vision blurs with tears, but you nod. You have to do this. For his love growing inside of you, for the child who will be your and Jace’s firstborn. You feel a surge of resolve, even as your body strains and protests with every movement.

"That's it," Jacaerys whispers, his voice barely holding together. “He’s almost here.”

You push with all your remaining strength, a scream ripping from your throat as you feel the pressure begin to ease. Then, in a rush of warmth and wetness, the baby is born. His cries fill the room almost instantly, piercing through the fog of pain and exhaustion that clings to you.

“A boy,” the midwife announces with a tired smile, wrapping the child in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

You stare down at your son, blinking back tears of relief and overwhelming love. His skin is warm, his little fists curling and uncurling as he cries out in confusion at the world he’s just been thrust into. He’s beautiful, with tufts of dark hair and the unmistakable eyes of a Targaryen. Your heart swells at the sight of him, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

Jacaerys leans in close, gazing down at the babe with wonder. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, “You’ve done it, Y/N. He’s perfect.”

The baby in your arms stirs, his cries quieting as he nestles against your chest. You can feel Jacaerys’s hand trembling as he reaches out to touch the boy's tiny fingers. But then, you feel it—the coldness creeping into your limbs, the strange, sinking sensation deep in your stomach. Your vision swims, and you suddenly feel much too weak, the weight of your son growing heavier in your arms.

“Jace…” you manage to whisper, your voice thin and weak. "Something's wrong."

His eyes snap to your face, concern flooding them as he notices the pallor of your skin, the way your body seems to be trembling. "Y/N? What's—?"

The midwives are at your side in an instant, their hands moving quickly, their voices hurried. You hear them talking about the bleeding, too much bleeding. Panic rises in Jacaerys’s eyes, his grip on you tightening as if he can somehow anchor you to this world.

“No… no, no,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Y/N, stay with me. Please, stay with me.”

The world around you fades in and out. You can hear the baby’s soft whimpers, feel the warmth of Jacaerys’s hands on yours, but it’s all slipping away from you. Your body feels so cold now, so tired.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You force yourself to look at him, wanting to hold on to the sight of his face, the man you love. “I… I love you, Jace. Take care of him… of our son.”

“No, don’t say that,” Jacaerys pleads, tears welling in his eyes. “You’ll be fine. You have to be fine. Please, Y/N… don’t leave me.”

But you can feel it. The life slipping from you, the darkness closing in. You want to stay, you want to fight, but your body is giving up, the blood continuing to flow no matter what the midwives do.

The last thing you see is Jacaerys’s tear-streaked face before everything goes dark.

Rhaenyra stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at your still form, her face frozen in grief. Her only daughter. Gone, just like that. She feels as though the world has ripped a part of her soul away, a pain she knows all too well. It’s the same pain she felt when she lost her mother.

“Not her…” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice shaking. “Not my daughter…”

She moves forward, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch your cold cheek, but the reality of your death is too much. Tears spill from her eyes as she collapses beside your bed, her head bowed. “Why… why does the Mother take my own this way?”

Jacaerys stands at the other side of the bed, cradling the baby—your baby—in his arms, his face twisted with guilt and sorrow. He hasn’t spoken since you passed. He can’t. There’s nothing he could say, nothing that could undo what’s happened.

“It’s my fault,” he finally says, his voice broken. “I killed her. I asked too much of her. If I hadn’t—”

“Stop,” Rhaenyra snaps, though her voice is hoarse. She looks up at her son, her own heart breaking at the sight of his despair. “This wasn’t your fault, Jace.”

But he doesn’t listen. He can’t hear her through the weight of his guilt. He clutches the babe closer, his tears falling onto the child’s dark hair. “She’s gone… because of me.”

Rhaenyra reaches out, her hand resting on his arm. Her heart is shattered, but she knows she must be strong for him, for the child you left behind. “You have a son, Jace. Her son. You must live for him now.”

Jacaerys lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the baby’s brow, but it does nothing to ease the ache in his chest.