#she is not the monster on the hill or not human

[princessisfinethx]

Monster!König x Fem!Vet!Reader! Pt. 4

Perspective change cause the whole Monster!Konig thing gets on my nerves...

Warnings: None, just some light fluff and Monster Konig discovering things.

I'm slowly building up like, how he came to be what he is, and such. I don't think I'll go into details on how I think he was created. But I'll try to fill in gaps and such. I have a wicked crazy idea for later but I have to build up to it *insert the rubbing hands together evilly, here*

König never rode in the actual passenger seat of a vehicle. Last time he was in a vehicle he was hog tied and in the bed of a truck. So this was a nice change no matter how nervous he was. You, decided to show him everything inside your little car to try easing his anxiety. You show him how the windows work, how to turn the A/C on and off, hot and cold. Showed him the radio, the lights inside the car, the seatbelts and how to fasten them and then how to release it. He was intrigued, his tentacles curiously winding and rolling together.

König kept the window down the whole way to your house. He didn't enjoy any of the music so you both listened to the wind as you drove. Your house was secluded in a wooded area but near one of the parks. You had a decent sized home. It was a two bedroom, two bathroom house that had a lake down the hill from it. When you both got out the vehicle, Konig had walked straight to the lake to take a closer look.

You followed him down to the lake and put your hands in your pockets, smiling a little. "Is it as big as the one you live by?" You questioned as you looked up at him. He looked around carefully before finally answering.

"No. It seems like the one here is smaller. And is not connected to any other stream. Why?" He looked at you.

"Oh, well it is connected to a separate stream." You walked a little further and he followed. He watched as you pointed to a small area where the trees opened up, but it was across the lake. "There. The lake is by some camp grounds but there's a stream there. We can visit it later if you want." You look back at him. "But for now, would you like to help me cook some dinner?"

He could feel his tentacles shifting under his mask and he shifted his jaw. But he nodded and followed you back up the hill.

Entering your house was different from the vet hospital. First off, it smelled better. The smell didn't burn his nose. Instead he was surrounded by an artificial smell, something he knew had to have been produced by human. But he didn't find himself hating it. It was a background odor for him to ignore. For now, he inspected your little home. You watched as he wasted no time in looking around your home and gently touching things that fascinated him. You smile a little, curious about his curious nature.

He stopped when he saw a tank near the hallway. It was a large 50 gallon tank but filled with dirt. Some netting surrounded the interior and he looked closer, trying to understand what it was doing here. You came over and opened the top. "Would you like to see my pet hermits?" You gently pulled out a small hermit crab. It had a pretty but spotted shell. "This is Babes. She's pretty nice but she pinches sometimes." You gently set her back down and grabbed the other. "And this is Brownie. She's shy but she's also pretty nice." You held up the other hermit, who had a brown shell on. He couldn't see the hermit but he nodded.

"You name your food?" He asked, puzzled. You laughed in an almost panicked way and shook your head.

"They're not for eating! They're my pets. They were being sold by this man on the side of the road, so I take care of them." You set the hermit back into the terrarium and turned on a small dim lamp for them. "Konig, what all do you know about humans?"

He was surprised by this question and he looked around your living room. Konig had many ideas and assumption about human beings. But, he was worried how you would react to his dislike for most people. He shifted and looked down at you. "Well, they're odd. They keep other animals as 'pets', they burn their food before eating it. They also hate me. When most humans find out about me, they scream or try to hurt me." He watched your reaction carefully. "You're the only human that has not tried to hurt me."

You felt your heart drop at this, and he could see the frown on your lips. You nodded then asked him, "Well, I never saw a reason to hurt you because you didn't hurt me." You smiled a little. "You're also living in the hunting county. So maybe most people just think you're buck or some wild animal...I don't think most would purposely-"

"They do." He stopped you. "They know what I am." He looked away and you felt your stomach drop. You stepped a little closer and reached out to touch his arm. He flinched but you only touched him with your fingertips.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And I'm not going to let anyone try to hurt you. You're not a human being but you're not a monster either." You smiled at him. "C'mon, I'll start cooking for us and I'll tell you about some human traditions."

~~~~

"So, you allow yourself to sit down and let other humans hurt you, for hours and hours, so that you will have lines marked along your skin? Because you like it?" His eyes were stuck on the tattoo you had on your arm.

"Well, that's harder to explain. Some humans really like it, the pain, Some find it comforting and others find it excruciating! It depends on the human. But the reason is also a lot to explain." You sipped your tea. "Some humans like the looks and styles. Some want to have a picture or a design on them to remember something. Like, if someone close to them has died, then they may want to get their name tattooed onto their arm or hand."

He nodded and leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "And you got this to remember someone?"

"No, I got this because I liked it, and I've always wanted to get a tattoo to see if I liked it." You smiled and shrugged your arm. "You can touch it if you want. It's been healed for years now."

He reached out and pressed his large hand on your arm. He was surprised it was smooth there, expecting a bumpy or rough texture. His fingers trailed down your arm to where the tattoo ended and he quickly retracted his hand. "I see."

You watched carefully as your heart sped up. He had a gentle touch, but you could feel his strength in it. You smiled and nodded. "So yeah, but um, I could also tell you about birthdays. Can you guess what those are?" You stood up and went to the stove. You opened the pot and stirred the food inside. Beside you, Konig walked over to lean back against the counter. You noticed he would stay close to you ever since you brought him inside and it made you smile. He reminded you of a small kid, in a sense.

"Birthdays. Is this a day where many humans are birthed alive?" He asked with all seriousness.

You giggled and looked at him. "That's a good guess but no, its usually just one person. So a birthday is the day a person was born. And usually every year they would celebrate it with people they are close with." You hummed. "My birthday already passed, but since I live alone here I just ate a slice of cake and watched a movie." You tapped your finger on the counter. "So, a birthday party is just celebrating that the year has passed and you've lived long enough to have surpassed it."

He nodded and looked at the pot of food. "And how are humans born?"

"Humans are born like, in a live birth. The mother has to pass them through her uterus." You thought about this and made sure he understood. "And human babies are born small and have to be taken care of most of their life. Until they reach adulthood. How were you born?"

Konig thought about this then answered. "I don't know. I only remember living in the lake all my life. My earliest memory is when I was smaller. And I found a small human who was my size. He was clinging to a log and was crying." He itched his neck as he recalled the memory. "I swam up to him and he screamed more. I couldn't talk so I tried to show him I could help him get back to the shore. I guess he understood, because he stopped screaming and he nodded his head. I knew humans didn't breath underwater so I kept him above water. After I got him to shore, he said something to me but I didn't understand." Konig stopped talking and then looked at you. "That is all I remember."

You pouted and tilted your head. "Well what happened after that?"

He shrugged and continued. "He ran away. So I left. I had to hunt for food."

"...Maybe he tried telling you thank you." You suggested. "But, that was a very nice thing you did for that boy. I think you probably scared him but, still. You saved his life."

He shrugged, looking down at you. "Perhaps." He watched as you lifted the spoon from the pot and blew on it. Then you carefully held up the spoon.

"Here, taste this." You said as you held it up some more.

He eyes the food sample before reaching up and dipping his fingers into the spoon, then shoving them under his hood into his mouth. He made a face before shaking his head and then taking a step back. "Ack! What is that? Why is...there's so much-..." He moved his mouth before he looked at you. "Why does this food have so many different tastes?"

You tried to search your brain to figure out what he meant. Then it clicked. "Oh! Flavor you mean? Um, there's spices in it. I used oregano, thyme, basil, paprika, turmeric..." you then tasted the food as well. "Hmm, it tastes fine to me. But I guess you've never had this before? Seasonings I mean."

"No, I've never had these 'seasons' before, on my food." He saw your quiet giggling and he felt his tentacles twitching under his hood. He disliked that he enjoyed your giggling.

"That's a crime in some states." You chuckled and turned the pot off. "Would you like some more to try again? If not, I could grill up some of the fish you gave to me." You wiped your hands on a towel and walked to the cabinet to grab two bowls.

He watched you as you reached up to grab them. His eyes wandered down you back and he felt his chest tighten so he looked away. When he looked at his own arm, Konig suddenly asked, "Who was that man with the dog? He seemed to be mad at you."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the question that seemed to come out of nowhere. You put the two bowls down and looked at him with a concerned look, but it softened. "That was Simon. He was upset because I wouldn't go out with him." You then looked at his healing dog bites as well and frowned. "He's usually a nice man, but he's pushy, and he has some problems. I don't like him because he can become violent when he doesn't get what he wants." Konig asked you to explain what you meant by 'asking out someone'. "So, that means to date someone." When he didn't understand that, you felt your cheek heat up. "Like, when one human wants to get to know another human but more personally, and maybe perhaps intimately. They go on a date, or go out and learn more about each other."

He felt his eyebrows furrow in a slow understanding. "Like, he was trying to mate with you?" His eyes widened. "That is why he brought you those flowers?" His back straightened. "He tried to force you to accept his courting item."

You put your hands up as if to calm him down. "Hey, its not like that. Humans have different ideas from 'mating'. I think anyways..." You chewed your lip. "Like I said, humans go on dates to know each other better before they decide to mate. And humans can decide if they don't want to continue or not. And I refused him."

He listened to your explanation and he nodded. So, human mating rituals were different than his. As he suspected. It was just additional steps. "This sounds like a long process for humans."

You smiled and nodded. "I couldn't explain dating to you tonight. Its too long and complicated. But, I'll fix you some food and I can show you a movie on the tv. Sounds good?"

Konig nodded a little, even though he wasn't sure how a movie or a tv worked. And he would have to ignore the crazy tastes that were in the food to please you. You already worked hard to make him this human dish, and he wouldn't make you work anymore.

I had to find someway to end this cause I wrote too much. There will be more. Obviously. I had a night of free time so, here's your late night snacks. Hope yall enjoy...

Next chapter will have more interesting subjects.

[yournaothings]

The Fight Part One

Dream wasn't a Sans.

He was a Guardian of Positivity made to look like one.

How strange it was to finally see what it was like to fight another version of yourself.

---

@bored-animator

Hello everyone~ Sorry for the long wait!

Oh. That was a long break in between chapters. I kind of did a little summary in this chapter.

I had to be in the right mindset for this one. Rollercoaster of emotions are not fun, but here we are! I'm excited for you all to read this chapter! Please be aware, there is violence and death in this chapter. So, please take care while reading. <3

Characters and their Creators: Nightmare Sans: Jokublog Dream Sans: Jokublog Shattered Dream: galacii

Atara Sol: @cactobutt

The memories played over and over again as if it was a loop. 

She knew they were not her memories, but the one who attacked her; the one who put this spell over her soul that caused her to fall ill. 

A tree full of golden fruit stood tall and proud on top of a hill; at the base were two young skeleton monsters. One with a smile that was as bright as the sun while the other frowned with nervousness. The villagers were once again asking for a share of the delicious Golden Apples; “We can’t let you have the fruit.” The meek skeleton explained. “It is our duty to protect the tree and her fruit.” 

The villagers were unhappy with this, but the brighter skeleton chirped with eagerness that he could aid them. If they couldn’t have the fruit, they would just have to do with the help of one of the Guardians. 

Soon enough it became clear the villagers’ greed got to them and they planned to take the tree whether the Guardians liked it or not. It was a terrible fate; the Negative Guardian was beaten and very near killed. He ate from the tree, an apple that immediately rotten and corrupted as he took a bite. His body breaking as the corruption filled and swallowed his body whole. 

A being like the one who had hurt her. Yet, this one was different. His cyan eye was cruel as he killed all of the villagers. And when his brother came to stop him, he ate a Golden Apple that turned him to stone- the corrupted brother left him and the Multiverse was filled with such darkness. 

Fate was cruel for these two brothers, and it broke her heart to watch. 

The moment the Positive Guardian woke from his stone prison, he was overwhelmed with the power of Negativity and knew he had to stop his brother. With little knowledge, the Positive skeleton ventured out into the Multiverse to hunt for his brother. To stop him. 

On the way, he met so many monsters and humans who helped him on the way. But, nothing could stop him from making that dreadful decision of living through what his brother had. The Positive one ate from the corrupted Apple and the roles were reversed. 

The Positive Guardian became stronger than before, feeding from both Negativity and Positivity. He was angry, yet he wept for the pain his twin brother had faced. From the villagers, the Multiverse, Fate itself. He was angry at his brother for letting him choose this path. He was angry at the villagers for hurting his brother. He would make them pay- 

 “How unfortunate for you, my dear. You are the only one left alive to pay for your ancestors' crimes against my family.” 

It’s not fair. 

It’s not my fault. 

It was so long ago, why attack someone who had nothing to do with that incident? 

It wasn’t fair. 

“I wish I had never been born…” 

“Don’t say that.”

That voice. It was familiar, yet not… 

But, it’s true. If I hadn’t been born, this wouldn’t be happening to me. 

“That’s exactly what he wants you to think. He wants to tear you down until there is nothing left. Don’t let him win.”

The memories faded and once again Norah was in darkness; yet before her was the sun- no. An angel. His presence was comforting and gave her a taste of peace. The darkness all around flinched but did not scramble away. Black tendrils wrapped around her arms, but they were weak and she could see her angel reach out for her. 

“I think it’s time to wake up, Norah. Your family is here with you.”

With the bright light like the sun blocking her view of his face, Norah hadn’t a clue as to who was here saving her. But, she knew he could be trusted. She slowly reached her hand out for his, and when her delicate fingers wrapped around his hand, his closed around hers and he pulled her onto her feet, the tendrils ripping away from her. 

The peace that surrounded her was like a fresh breath of air. He pulled her forward as gently as he could, his arms wrapping around her body and embraced her. He was warm. He was so warm. Norah felt herself ease into his embrace, her eyes closing; She felt painless, peaceful. Her delicate arms wrapped around his middle and she rested her head on his chest. For once in the last… Stars knows how long she was able to rest. 

“I got you, Norah. I got you.”

“It’s time to wake up.”

—---

Norah was in a daze. 

Everything was happening too fast; she was surprised she could even remember how to speak. 

The Skeleton monster who pulled her from her slumber looks so much like her attacker. But, he lacks the black goop that dribbled down his body. Instead, he was as bright as the sun. Her angel. He looked a lot like that young skeleton monster in the memories she was forced to watch. 

You will watch! You will remember what you did to me and my brother!

She remembered how he screamed at her. How angry he was at her- no, not at her. She was sure he saw someone else then. Still, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t to blame. 

“You.. You’re not the doctor, right?” She asked, she had to be sure. “He can disguise himself.” 

The room fell silent, the four humans had to take a moment for that to settle in their minds. Dream tensed, he looked so worried now. “I am not the doctor, Norah. But, the way you describe him… Tell me, have you seen his face?” Norah nodded, and she gestures towards him. “He looks just like you, but with black goo.” 

Felix was up on his feet in an instant, his anger returning fast. “You’re the attacker?!” Dream raised his hands to try and calm Felix down. He was so confused; the only one he knew with black goo was his brother. But, he supposed there could be a possibility someone could shapeshift. But with black goo? 

“I am not the doctor.” He repeated to Felix. “I do not have the corruption she is talking about either.” He turned his attention to Norah then. “Did he tell you his name?” Norah shook her head at that. She paused and closed her eyes as a dizzy spell hit her after such a small motion. “When he is a doctor, he looks like a normal monster. But, when no one is around, he is back to his black goo body with those tendrils behind him. He wears a crown on his head, or… Not a crown, but a circlet? It looks like two hands reaching for each other in the center- ah, like this.” 

Norah demonstrates what she was meaning by bringing her hands together, one with the palm turned up and the other with the palm turned down, both in a cupping motion as if they were reaching to grab onto each other. ((Or to fist bump))

Norah lifted her eyes from her hands to look at Dream and she felt her heart skip a beat before picking up its pace. His face paled and the fearful look he gave wasn’t helping ease her panic. Still, she continued to explain; “His one good eye was golden, like yours. But, he holds no compassion, no happiness in that eye. He said that my ancestors had hurt his family long ago and that I had to pay for their crimes.” 

“What the fuck-?!” Felix shouted, Maria snapped at him to not shout or curse in the hospital. Norah ignored Felix’s outburst as she watched Dream slip into his thoughts. She frowned and as she reached her hand out to touch his shoulder to comfort him, the doctor walked in. 

“Well, this is quite the surprise.” 

Everyone in the room turned their attention to the entryway where the doctor stood. His false smile stretched across his lips as he studied the room.  “What a relief, you are awake, Norah-” 

“Enough pretending, you prick.” Felix snapped, his anger targeted at the doctor now. “We know you’re the one who hurt Norah. Drop the fucking act.” His tone dripped with venom, he sounded ready to fight. To tear the asshole into pieces. 

“I see.” The doctor said gently, his smile falling for a moment, before he grinned cruelly. “What a relief. This play-pretend was getting old.” The six of them watched in horror as the disguise fell away to reveal a skeleton monster; his black goo, the corruption dripped off of his body and the tentacles at his back swayed like a cat’s tail would.  

Just as Norah said, the monster looked exactly like Dream, but with the corruption covering his entire body. Dream noted how the damaged eye socket was opposite of his brother’s. “Who are you?” Dream demanded, stepping in between the monster and the small family. He balled his fists at his sides- he wasn’t all alarmed when his weapons didn’t materialize in his grasp. He left them behind, after all. 

“Dream~” The monster purred, his grin widening. “I was surprised you showed up here. At first, I thought you came to stop me, but when I noticed the depression and sadness, I knew you were simply following the same path I did.” 

“What are you talking about? How do you know about me? Explain yourself!” Dream demanded, panic settling in his soul that he refused to show. However, this monster before him seemed to know exactly what he was hiding.  “Do you not get it, yet?” The monster laughed. “I am you. My name is Dream- well, not exactly. See, I used to be like you. Until my last fight with my corrupted brother. After he accused me of not knowing his pain, I ate the black apple, and my soul shattered; I became corrupted myself while my brother was back to normal.

“So, yes. I am Dream, but I go by a different name now; I am called Shattered Dream.”

“Why have you attacked this innocent woman?” Dream asked with a stern frown. He stood tall, a barrier between the human mage, her family, and this monster. 

Shattered found it interesting that his variant didn’t summon his weapons; and what’s this? No circlet? His cruel smile widened, his tendrils at his back swayed with amusement. “It is truly unfortunate for her. I have tracked down every family that has ever hurt Nightmare. Each one fell easily, without much pain. I was at least merciful with them. But, with her. Sweet little Norah? Her ancestors were the ones responsible for striking Nightmare down. The ones who lied to my face and used me. Fate was cruel to Norah-”

Surprisingly, Dream kicked off the tiled floor and threw a punch at Shattered. The corrupted Guardian didn’t expect Dream to do such a thing. Dream quickly backed away to take his place between Shattered and the mortals, his stance wider and ready for a fight. 

“Heh,” Shattered chuckled as he slowly turned his head to smirk at Dream, he wiped away the little mana that leaked from his wound on his face. “Are you really that angry at me for a mortal you have just met? Dream,” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, his eyes closing as he shook his head. His smirk widened as he looked at Dream with such a wicked gaze. “When will you learn that you gain nothing from helping these fools?” 

“Traveling the Multiverse and saving Universes that never repay you? Always take, take, taking! You’ve not changed! It’s the Apple Event all over again!” Shattered exclaimed, his tentacles whipping behind him as he raised his voice to Dream. 

Norah cowered on her hospital bed, Felix staying as close to her as she could to protect her. Lily and Kai stepped in front of their mother, keeping her behind them in case things got bad. Maria remained in the back, fearful not for herself, but for everyone. For Dream. Each and every mortal remained silent, fearing what the corrupted monster would do if anyone were to break the silence.

Dream’s stern look dipped into a glare. Sweat was beading at his forehead; he was beating himself up mentally for leaving his weapons behind. He didn’t think anything like this would happen! 

“I have retired from my duties as a Guardian, so no. It’s not the Apple Event.” Dream narrows his eyes at Shattered. “What I do with my life is of no concern to you.” 

Shattered raised a corrupted brow. “Oh?” He looked amused. “How strange, you broke the loop, then?” Dream kept his glare set on his features, but he was confused. What loop? Sensing his confusion, Shattered dived into Dream’s emotions, pulling out everything he has been feeling these last few weeks- and oh~ How delicious~ 

Dream gasped when Shattered suddenly teleported behind him, his hands grasping Dream’s shoulders and his tentacles surrounding the Guardian. Dream flinched and attempted to break free, but the tentacles found new purchase elsewhere. “You poor thing. Has Nighty really beaten you down enough to make you think all of that?” 

“Shut up! Get off of me!” Dream shoved Shattered away, but he didn’t budge. “Poor Dreamy~ Do you truly believe that you’re so weak?” Shattered laughed. “In this form, you are weak. But you can become stronger! You can defeat your brother and take over the Multiverse!” He leaned in, whispering in Dream’s ear canal all while Dream struggled against him. “We can work together. We can rule the Multiverse! There are many others like us out there, Dream~ Think of the possibilities!” 

“I said,” Dream growled and with a burst of magic straight from his soul, he shoved Shattered back and across the room. “Get off!” 

Kai was quick to pull his sister and mother out of the way as Shattered flew past them and hit the wall. The impact was strong enough it fractured the thick hospital windows. However, it didn’t hurt Shattered as bad as it did the wall. “Such anger~” He laughs at Dream as his tentacles freed him from the wall and he stood tall, his hands held behind his back as if he wasn’t just thrown across the room. His cruel smirk found its way back on his jaw, he looked pleased. “See? Using that negativity will make you stronger, my dear Dream. If only you had used it against Nighty before, you would have won.”

“Shut up!” Dream snapped at him, his anger finally boiling over. He balled his fists as he confronted his newest enemy. “Anger gets you nowhere! It does not win the fight!” Shattered chuckled and raised a brow. “Oh? So, you plan to lose to me?” Dream’s shoulders relaxed as he inhaled deeply and exhaled. He blinked and tried to focus. “I will stop you, Shattered Dream. But, I will use the magic that was given to me. I will use Positivity to stop you.” 

“Even if I can feed on either?” 

The startled gasp that Dream released was enough for Shattered to know; Dream didn’t know. Shattered’s smirk widened cruelly and his tentacles shot out from behind him, grabbing Dream and slamming him through the windows until he was shot out from the second floor. 

“Dream!” Maria and Lily yelled; Lily and Felix were quick to summon their magic, preparing to fight Shattered. He turned to them and laughed. “How cute, do you honestly believe you can defeat me?” 

“Mom! You and Kai take Norah out of here. Get somewhere safe!” Lily barked the orders, her glare fixed on Shattered. Maria hesitated, but knew she had to get Norah out of here. “Come on, Kai.” She said quickly, her son hurrying over to pull the IV and blood pressure cuff from her before scooping her up and hurrying out with his mother. 

“Foolish.” Shattered laughed. “I will find her. I will always be able to find her, until she takes her last breath.” He smirks at the couple and opens his arms wide, his tentacles splayed out behind him; their pointed sharp tips directed at them. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” 

—

If Dream wasn’t used to Nightmare tossing him around in their fights, this would have been way worse than it is. 

Groaning, Dream slowly pulls himself from the wet bushes that caught his fall. He had scratches and bruises all over his body. The glass had sliced through his sweater and pants. Mana flowed from his wounds as he moved to stand on his feet. 

This wasn’t good. 

Like an idiot, he left his weapons behind. They were so far away- 

He raised his hand and tried to call for them, but nothing happened. “Crap.” He hissed and tried to see where he landed. He didn’t go too far, the glass having stopped him from being shot out across the parking lot of the hospital. Thank the Stars he landed in the bushes. 

“Oh no! The others!” He exclaimed in panic and started to make a run for it, but his leg gave out suddenly and he fell with a yelp of pain. Panting hard, he took a moment to let the pain pass before he rolled over onto his bottom and glanced down at his leg. It didn’t look broken, but it could be fractured.. He could feel his magic begin to heal himself, but he didn’t have time to wait-

“Dream! Oh thank heavens!” 

Startled, Dream raised his gaze and glanced behind him to find Maria and Kai with Norah. “You made it out!” He blabbered in surprise. “W-Where are the others? Felix and Lily?” Kai nodded his head towards the window the Guardian had fallen out of. “They’re facing off that bastard.” Dream gasped and tried to stand up once more. “They’re going to get killed! I have to stop them! I have to lead Shattered away from here! It’s not safe for everyone!” 

“Don’t move, sir!” Dream was surprised to see a few of the nurses come out from the hospital. “We have the authorities on the way. Please, sit down so we can take a look at you!” Dream shook his head. “I can’t do that. I have to stop Shattered Dream before he hurts or kills anyone else.” The nurses weren’t having it either; “Sir, we understand you want to help. But, you fell out of the second floor window. Please let us check you over!” Dream sighed and raised his sweater sleeve to show that he was healing.  “I can heal myself. It’s alright, I’ll be okay. Please, let me do my job.” 

He gently pushed them out of his way as he limped towards the entrance- 

“I see why you’ve retired.”

Dream grew tense as he stopped in place before spinning around to see Shattered had slipped out of the broken window with Felix and Lily caught in his tentacles. “You’ve let them fight your battle and now look at them.” 

“Lily! Felix!” 

“Shit!”

Felix and Lily were unconscious in Shattered’s hold. Both bleeding and bruised up. They really didn’t stand a chance against him. He carelessly tossed them to the ground in front of Dream, his smirk sharpening ever so slowly as he felt the rage build within Dream. 

“Ar-Are they alive?” Maria asked breathlessly as Dream knelt down to check them, his magic immediately soaking into their bodies to begin healing them. “They’re alive, Maria. They’ll be okay.” He sighed in relief before raising his gaze to glare at Shattered. The bastard stood there waiting, watching in amusement. “What are you gaining by hurting these people?” Dream asks. 

“I already explained my reasoning.” Shattered said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m only here for Norah. The others just got in my way.” His own gaze shifted away from Dream and watched Norah cowarded in Kai’s arms and he grins. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to finish my task and leave. I think you’ll be coming along as well, Dream.” The Guardian hissed at Shattered; “Like hell I will!” Without turning away from Shattered, Dream commanded the nurses to get the two unconscious inside, and for Maria and Kai to get as far away as possible. 

He straightened and started to walk towards Shattered, all the while trying to come up with a plan to stop him. Shattered chuckled in amusement and readied his tentacles. “You won’t be able to defeat me like that, I’m afraid. If you can’t summon your weapons, how are you going to stop me?” Dream tightened his fists as he tried not to show Shattered his nervousness- he probably felt it. 

Before he could speak, a strange crystal like portal appeared to Dream’s right ((Shattered left)) and a thick boot came through, stomping onto the wet grassy ground. A young woman about Lily’s height ((without the boots)) stepped through and grinned. “What did I miss?” 

Her hair was two colors, black and red; her bangs were a blood red while the rest a pitch black. She had many piercings on her ears, her nose- there were too many to count. And let’s not get started on her tattoos… Her outfit was rather revealing- a crop top that showed off her midriff, her bellybutton was pierced too and her shorts were well.. Short. Her boots only stopped above her ankles. Dream averted his eyes quickly from her exposed legs, a yellow flush dusting over his cheekbones. 

The woman glanced around the group, taking in the scene before she closes her eyes and nods. “I understand it.” Then, with a sudden burst of rage, she darted forward, a boot raising and slamming hard into Shattered midsection; the corrupted monster choked back a pained sound as he went flying back and hit a parked car, setting the alarm off. 

Spinning around, the woman glared at Dream with fire in her eyes. “You’re next, goldie.” 

Dream gulped as he backed away slowly, trying to explain that he wasn’t the enemy here- 

“Holy fuck, Atara!” Kai snapped, his eyes wide at how powerful that kick was. Norah cried in relief. “Atara!” Her soft voice calmed the enraged woman. “Norah! You’re awake!” 

Atara rushed past Dream and hugged Norah, making sure to not hurt her. “Are you alright? I’ve been so worried! When did you wake up?” Norah laughs softly and smiles wide, tears in her eyes. “I just woke up, thanks to Dream.” She points towards Goldie. Atara glanced over and grinned. “Hey, nice work, goldie!” 

“G-Goldie??” Dream asked, confused. Everything was happening too fast for his liking. 

“What’s the goopy guy’s deal, huh? He hurt my besties?” Atara asks as she crosses her arms and gives a stern glare. Dream glances back towards Shattered who appears to be dazed for the moment, before he moves to stand with the others. “He’s the one hurting Norah and is another version of myself. I need you all to get far away so you won’t get hurt anymore. This is my fight-” 

“Like hell it is!” Atara snapped at Dream, making him flinch at her volume. “He hurt my best friend! I’m going to pound him into the ground! He’ll be part of the fucking asphalt when I’m through with him!” She threatens and pounds her fist into her hand. “He’s strong, Felix and Lily weren’t able to stop him.” Kai explained. “That’s okay. I’m strong. I can do it.” Atara grins; Dream couldn’t help but think of Undyne. This woman was too much like her. 

Turning around, Atara shakes her arms and stretches out, readying herself for a fight. Her look an excited determined one; “Besides, Red won’t let me go to those underground fights anymore. I’m dying to get some punches in!” She explains. Dream is surprised by the name she dropped- “You mean… Underfell Sans?” 

“Yes,” Maria sighs, exasperated. “She is in a relationship with Red. She always says they’re fine, but I worry.” Dream blinks as he looks at her before glancing towards Atara, watching her stomp her way over towards Shattered. ((He was slowly climbing to his feet, anger boiling through his corrupted body))

“You disgusting mortal!” Shattered snapped, his tentacles whipping around from his irritation. “You dare touch me?!” Atara grins eagerly, her fire back in her eyes. “You hurt my friends. I’m just repaying the favor. Come at me, wuss!” With her hands raised, one a fist the other beckoning Shattered to come at her, Atara prepared for a fight. 

Panicked, Dream called after her to wait- to get out of harm's way. What happened next, Dream didn’t expect. Angry, jagged tentacles flew at Atara and she deflected them each with a burst of magic. Upon impact, the sound of shattering glass was heard and if you looked very carefully, if you squinted… It looked as if walls of gems were shattering where the tentacles hit. 

With sadistic glee, Atara charged forwards and threw a punch at Shattered, missing. She kicked at him, and met a tentacle. She spun around and blasted the goopy skeleton with a burst of her magic. Shards of gems embedded themselves into Shattered, slicing through him and cutting down his tentacles. Of course, more grew immediately after, but Atara was keeping up with him. 

“You might have known her mother.” Maria began to speak. “Astraea was a very powerful sorceress. She enchanted crystals and gems and gave them to those in need of their power, as long as it was used for good.” Dream nods, the name is familiar. “The name rings a bell.” He tells Maria. “That is her only child, Atara Sol. She was raised in Underfell, has learned to fight and to be strong. After her mother passed away, she had gone through so much trauma. It has been a few years, but she has finally found her place with those skeleton brothers, Sans, or “Red” as they call him, as her partner.” 

“I can sense her strong soul.” Dream nods. “She shouldn’t be fighting, though. I should be fighting Shattered. And you should be leaving.” Dream lectures Maria and gives her a stern look. Maria couldn’t stop herself from laughing softly. “You have a determined spirit, Dream. But, you don’t understand. We’re here to help. You’re not on your own, Dream. Your friends are here to help you.” 

Dream glanced at Maria, her bright smile warmed his soul. Her positivity gave him strength. 

“Let us help, Dream. It’s the least we can do.” Norah’s soft voice caught his attention and had him turning to look at her. She stood in front of Kai as he helped balance her. She smiled and reached out for his hands, gently taking them in her own and gave them a squeeze. “You get stronger when you feed on Positivity? Let us help keep your strength up, then. Okay?” Her smile was just as bright, even after being asleep for so long. Her eyes sparkled even with the evening sky hovering over them. The parking lot lights were the only lights illuminating them; the clouds above covering the moon and stars. 

Dream sighs, his gaze falling to stare at their joined hands and he gives a firm squeeze back. “Okay, but the moment it gets too dangerous, you leave.” He says, looking up and back in her eyes, then to Kai and Maria. “I won’t have anyone getting hurt while I’m here.” The three nods, agreeing. “We will, Dream.” Maria promises. 

-

Tentacles covered the young woman, pointed tips ready to pierce her skin. With a yell, her magic burst forth and cut down the tentacles and a boot met his chest this time. Shattered was ready and used his freshly grown tentacles to roll himself back up right. He was getting angrier by the minute. This woman seemed to not grow tired! 

His teeth ground against each other as he used his magic to make copies of himself; one copy on his left, one on his right. “Okay, now it’s getting more interesting!” Atara snarked and readily met the first attack.

She used the tentacles to swing up onto them and ran down the length towards the first copycat, her boot meeting his face. His face separated like liquid before it eased back together around her ankle. Startled, Atara tried to pull her foot out before it was too late; the copy’s face stretched out, morphing into a tentacle and it threw Atara away from it. She hit the ground hard, but was quickly back on her feet. Growling out of frustration, she ran towards the copies and used her magic to tear them apart. 

Just like a Hydra, each time she split them in half, more copies appeared and soon she was surrounded. “Fuck!” She growled, having no time to react when tentacles rained down on her and gripped at her body. Holding her in place, they repaid each strike she gave them, and more. When they had their fun, they threw her out of the goopy pit before they returned back to Shattered Dream. 

Dream was at Atara’s side first, quickly checking over her wounds. “Are you okay?” He asked her, his magic already seeking out her wounds to heal. “I’m fine- ow.” She groaned when he accidentally touched a tender spot. “Looks like I’m out.” She said with a weak grin. “I’m tagging you in, now. Kick his ass for me, okay?” 

He couldn’t help but laugh softly. Even after getting beaten, this young woman could still joke around. “I’ll take care of him. Thank you.” He glanced back at Maria and Kai, both hurrying over with Norah. “Take her into the hospital and don’t come back out.” Maria began to argue; “Now, what did we just agree on-” 

“Maria.” With a stern snap of his voice, Dream gave her a serious look. “It’s time to go inside. I will take care of him.” Maria frowned. “Dream, please be safe.” She tells him and he nods. “I will do my best, Maria.” 

“Ugh,” Shattered grumbled as he suddenly appeared beside them. “It’s disgusting- why do you care for such lowly mortals, Dream? Look how fragile they are-” 

The motion was quick and no one knew it was going to happen. 

A tentacle, sharp as a blade, shot between Dream and Atara and plunged deep into Maria’s midsection; the tip poking out from the otherside. 

Shock was the first emotion Dream felt from all of the mortals. Then, rage and fear and panic. Screaming was heard, a mixture of Maria’s name and pure rage. Maria was raised high above them and tossed aside as if nothing but garbage. 

“Weak. That’s what they are, Dream.” Shattered spat, his grin cruel and sadistic. Blood dripped from the tentacle that pierced the caring mother. Rage filled Dream, he was so angry- “You didn’t have to kill her!” Shattered laughed loudly; “Oh, but I did. To prove my point, Dreamy~” 

“Get everyone into the hospital, Kai.” Dream commanded, his voice left no room for arguments. Kai shook as he felt lost; what was he supposed to do? If he left Norah here, she’d die too. But, he couldn’t leave his mother dying on the lawn of the hospital. Then, there was Atara- “Come on, big guy.” Atara’s beaten body was suddenly beside him. “Let’s do what Goldie says. It’s important, let’s do this. For your mother’s sake.” 

Kai trembled as he held back his tears, his sobs that wanted to come. He had to be strong.  Thankfully, a few staff of the hospital were able to come out to help bring the injured into the hospital. Leaving behind Dream and Shattered Dream. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Dream repeated, his anger now under control, yet his glare remained. “And I told you, I did. You’re acting foolish, Dream. Forget about these mortals. You want to become stronger? Leave them, and come with me. I will make you stronger. You will overcome and defeat your brother.” 

Dream remained silent for a moment longer before saying, “My intention isn’t to defeat my brother. It’s to save him. I know he’s in there, waiting to be saved.” 

“Dream!” Shattered shouted, his tentacles slapping on the ground in irritation. “He doesn’t want to be saved! Or have you not figured that out yet?” Shattered snapped, his grin long gone and replaced with a scowl. “It’s too late. Your brother is gone. I will show you that. If you come with me, we’ll go see your brother, and I will put an end to all of this nonsense!” 

“I don’t want your help.” Dream says. “I want you gone. To stop hurting my friends. You may have given up on your brother, but I haven’t.” 

Shattered sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Then you leave me no choice.” Dream was ready this time. The tentacles shot at him, ready to grab him and stab him. He dodged each one as best as he could, receiving more scratches and gashes. But, he carried on. Running towards Shattered, the best he could do for now was blast him with his magic and throw punches. 

He miscalculated an attack and was thrown back again, slamming into the ground. He raised his head to glare at his variant, the goopy version of himself raised high with his tentacles as he looked down on him. “Pathetic. You’re weak, Dream. Stop this now.” 

Refusing to give up, Dream climbed back onto his feet and got back into a fighting stance. Shattered snorted and rolled his eyes. He shrugged and grinned. “Stubborn boy.” His tentacles shot at Dream once again, ready to knock him down for good. 

However, blue strings suddenly wrapped around Shattered, startling the goopy Dream. “What the-?!” His tentacles were caught and strung up, before he was yanked back onto the ground where another goopy version of himself hovered over him. 

“How the tables have turned, brother. Looks like it is I who is saving you from bullies.”

[iwatcheditbegin]

I think it’s really gross and dehumanizing the way quite a few fans are always so insistent that those who get close to Taylor must be using her in some way.

Her name and association naturally attracts attention, but that doesn’t mean everyone who enjoys her company is a clout seeker.

[c1trvswurld]

Finally glad the mouthwashing fandom-at least on here- is finally coming around to see the idea that neither curly or jimmy are completely innocent nor should be babied or completely villainized because to do that you'd need to *checks notes*

Completely ignore how mouthwashing is a story of how systems of abuse are kept in power. Particularly rape culture and the patriarchy that encourages these actions while also encouraging bystander effect from other men close to predators...which is all encouraged under a system like capitalism.

Idk read more of tha rant in tags I got carried away I fear.

[copperjackalope]

Hot take: any pronoun usage is valid with Hermaeus Mora and personally I think it/its works especially well

[peachysunrize]

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[monster-disaster]

I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

_

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

_

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

_

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

_

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

_

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

[emphistic]

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 ❦

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. vampire!Sukuna, historical (medieval) time period, fem!Reader, implied mentions of r-pe (not by Sukuna), drinking blood, inappropriate use of an extra mouth on Sukuna's hand, cunnilingus, eventual smut [MDNI], dacryphilia, overstimulation, rimming, piv

𝐖𝐂. 10.8k (God help)

𝐀𝐍. happy spooky season, people!! ngl, i've been planning this since like september, but i'm as slow as a snail when it comes to writing. available on ao3

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Since your birth, you had been looked down upon with hatred, pity, and in rare circumstances, jealousy. You were born with something called . . . cursed energy? You weren’t sure. It was always a topic spoken and gossiped about between the Village Elders, but, no one ever truly explained it to you. Your mother had died during childbirth—which just gave the villagers more to hate about you—and she had cursed energy, too. So, even the idea of learning about your curse was . . . impossible.

The years of your childhood were stripped away and taken from you. Labor, labor, labor. On the weekdays you worked in the fields, harvesting crops, planting seeds. And on the weekends, or, whenever you were ordered to by your father, you tended to the sheep, shearing their wool for clothes—which you would also have to make by yourself—and feeding them.

You weren’t allowed near the cows or any livestock—as a matter of fact—that were used for anys means of consumption. People murmured in front and behind your back, saying, your hands would poison the food, and cause a catastrophic infection which had the possibility of spreading into other nearby villages and could lead to disease, or worse, death.

It was horrible. Your whole bloodline despised you, and since your mother had left you immediately after your birth, you were left in the care of your father, who wasn’t any better than those damned Village Elders. You weren’t neglected, per se, but you were exploited; so the line in between was definitely a little foggy.

So strange was the fact that being cursed simply wasn’t enough to hoard away all of the nasty men in the village. You were a misfortune to even be seen with in public, and, for some reason, laying with you was suddenly different? You had inherited your mother’s curse, eyes, and beauty. Unfortunate were you. Your father was cruel; maddened by grief and greed. He had promised to more men than he could count that he would sell you off when you came to age.

Sometimes he would price you high, sometimes he would price you low. It depended on who his customer was, and how he felt that day. Of course, greed doesn’t always equal stupidity. Your father may have been a bad man before and after your mother’s death, but he knew that he was never going to actually go through with the process of selling you off to some good-for-nothing son of a bitch.

A sacrifice, that’s what you were.

Not some pig to be auctioned and bought off the streets. Not a slave to be chained to a wall. The Village Elders had been finessing your true purpose in the village since you were conceived. You had cursed energy; there was a monster who lived on the hill; and the years had gone slowly by with the ordeal of famine.

When you turned eighteen years of age, you were to be perfumed with all kinds of fussy smells, dressed in the best garments the village had to offer, and your face was to be decorated with makeup made by grinded flower petals. Why? Because you were a sacrifice, that’s why.

They had stripped you of your dignity just moments before they strapped you to a horse which they rode to the beginning of the high, gloomy mountain which overlooked the village. They dropped you off there, and left you distressed, panting, feeling dirty and ashamed of what you had just lost prior hours before. You were not a woman, not even a human anymore; you were a sacrifice. A fucking sacrifice for the people of what was once your village, your home, your birthplace.

You were fucked, you were utterly and completely fucked. Kicked out of your village, you were scared, cold, and stranded in a forest you had never even known existed. They never let you leave the fences of the village anyways, and now that you finally took in your surroundings, you could see the trees surrounding the empty patch of pulled grass that you sat on. Without food or drink, you sat on the muddy ground for idle hours; you thought yourself close to death, and even considered digging yourself a grave, when, by mercy of some god, you had heard footsteps approaching, the sound of twigs snapping under feet.

Your first thought was that your possible savior had come. But then you remembered why you were here in the first place, and simultaneously noticed the way the birds had gone quiet, and the way not even a single cricket sounded. As a child, you had heard tales of a monster who lived at the top of a dark hill. He had teeth and fangs longer than an ordinary human’s, eyes redder than the Blood Moon, and claws that rivaled even those of a tiger. This . . . monster, this vampire, had a name. The village, surrounding villages, visiting clans from the North, they all called him the King of Curses. Lord Ryomen Sukuna.

At the sudden recollection, you frantically crawled backwards, moving on your elbows and kicking at stray rocks with your feet. The figure was still in the shadows, enveloped by fog and darkness, but you could see it. Tall, strong build, unmoving. And, by God, you swore you could see those damned, twisted looking red eyes that seemed to stare back—not at a helpless human being, but at you. You. You weren’t born yesterday, you knew vampires drank blood from humans, and didn’t come out when the sun was up, but shit, it was well past dark, the moon was encased in clouds and you couldn’t remember—not matter how hard you tried—if vampires ate humans, as well.

As you racked your brain for any strategy of possible survival, your back suddenly hit the stump of a tree behind you, and your movements ceased. You bit your lip, tasting a slight metallic taste on your tongue consequently, and your blood ran cold. This was it. You had nowhere to run, and you sure as hell weren’t going to climb a tree. You were cold, weak, your hips hurt from the assault you suffered and the blood from between your thighs soaked the fabric of your dress. 

. . .Blood!? Damn you for forgetting. This really was the end. Lost, stranded, alone with a vampire who could probably smell your fear and smell the blood on you. Was this really the end for you? It couldn’t be, right? You shuddered, just thinking about it, and mindlessly ground the balls of your feet into the dirt, leaving a mark in the desolate place. If someone came looking for you, if someone ever came looking for you, they’d notice where you had tried to escape, and where you faced your fate.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as footsteps approaching you sounded in the forest. Leaves crunching under what you assumed were heavy, waxed leather boots. There seemed to be a different, strangely soothing air about this monster. Originally, your fight-or-flight response had kicked in, but when you realized there was no escape, you halted in your movements; but now that this vampire was so close to you, you felt a little drowsy, or droopy, even. Your unmoving limbs felt like liquid, and you almost even wondered why you were scared in the first place.

Brining you out of your train of thought, you heard the figure come to a stop, just a few feet before you, and he stooped down low—almost as if in a squatting position—to examine which poor thing had stumbled into his domain whilst he was present.

“You’re dressed far too nicely to be related to that village, and your face is too painted to be a commoner,” he spoke at a leisurely pace, and his voice was more smooth, and cold, than you would assume for a beast. “A princess? No, no. The clans don’t visit until the winter, and they definitely lack any women who don’t look like descendants of pigs. Tell me, girl, who—”

“I—I’m,” you stammered, eyes snapping wide open at the mention of yourself. You feared for your life, and if his lordship wanted an introduction, an introduction he would get. “I’m just a—”

“A sacrifice, that’s what you are. I know. Before you interrupted me, I was going to ask who sent you here. Of course, you don’t need to answer that question. I already know, after all.

“Over there,” he pointed behind you, in the direction of the village, “those puny humans sent you? Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul. Ha! They get more ridiculous every year. Sending me beautiful brides as if I’ll ever help them. I am a beast, not a god. I must say, however, it is amusing how they mock me.”

Formidding, the vampire looked; like a prince, the vampire spoke.

Your eyes curiously looked up and down the monster before you. He wore clothes far nicer than any gentleman’s; his coat and dress shirt were both dark as night, his boots gleamed in the moonlight, his face more handsome than any man you had ever seen—despite not being a man himself, and his eyes. . . Oh, God. There were four of them, and they were all equally red as blood, beautiful as rubies, and sharp as daggers. Entranced you were, though you could feel your heart nearly beating out of your chest in fear. Your body quivered, and despite donning the garments of what a village chief’s daughter would wear, you felt far inferior.

Suddenly, his eyes drifted down to where the blood between your legs had soaked through your robes, and his stare turned cold, eyes narrowing.

“You are . . . injured. Are you aware of that? Or have humans become stupider than they already are? Somehow regressed, perhaps, and lost their sense of feeling pain?”

You shivered under his hard gaze, giving no answer.

“What a foolish creature you are. Have you suddenly become mute?”

“No. No, sir. Err,” you bit your lip, wondering how on earth you should respond while to someone who could end your life right then and there. “I was—The blood is from. . .” Your voice drifted off, and you fell silent.

“Hush, girl. I need not hear about how you lost a duel, or clumsily shot yourself with a bow and arrow. I see enough of that every day I indulge in little wars with your people,” he muttered, laughing to himself. “You humans are all weak, trying to challenge someone like me? — Pfft, it is a victory after I snap my fingers, I dare say. But, I must admit, your spirits are strong; that much is true.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly. “Thank . . . you?”

“Huh, you seem to be surprised by everything,” Sukuna noted, standing back up to his full height. “Was that the first compliment you ever received? I feel sorry for you. Ah, never mind that. Tell me, human, do you wish for death?”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

“It is simple. Would you prefer the gods smite you where you sit on this . . . mud, or would you rather my cook, Uraume, make you into a feast?”

“Is choosing neither an option?”

The beast laughed, “You are smarter than you look. Ha! You creatures surprise me again and again. Amuse me, girl, tell me about yourself.”

You were at a loss for words. Just what in the world were you doing? Entertaining a vampire in the middle of a desolate forest at night? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, you thought.

“I can juggle?”

Dismissing your statement, the vampire waved his hand around in the air. “I didn’t mean that. Tell me how you can make yourself useful to me—besides being a jester, that is—and perhaps I’ll spare your life. It would be quite a shame if I had to kill you; for, you definitely make a funny human.”

“I can . . . herd sheep. You, sir, must eat mutton; am I correct? Oh! and I can produce clothes out of wool—for the winter, sir. I can assure you it will soon be growing cold.” 

“Hmm, that will do. Uraume will teach you everything you’ll need to know. Come along, girl. I will lead you to your new home, where you will take refuge until you seek revenge on your people—when that time arrives, expect my assistance, for it will be a bloodbath. What else?” The vampire seemed to look as if in a train of thought, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Ah, yes. My name is Ryomen Sukuna, but. . . While you live in my estate, you are to acknowledge my lordship, and address me as your lord. For rightfully so, I am.”

You hesitated, but bit your tongue and nodded in the end. This was your only chance at survival. All you had to do to make it out of this forest alive and in one piece was to serve under a vampire in his abode. You thought it should be easy enough; I mean, you had been a servant your whole life; surely this wouldn’t be too different.

“Uhm, sir,” you called out, just as the vampire had begun to turn his back on you and walk towards his home, “pardon me, but, I am unable to . . . walk. My legs and thighs ache.”

The lord had turned around at the sound of his name, and looked at you with a mockingly pitiful expression. “Humans are so weak nowadays. Back when I was younger, I had fought humans who actually stood a chance. Of course, those humans are now dead, but, I must say I am surprised to see how low you creatures have stooped over the years.”

As he spoke, the beast had picked you up with ease, hooked one arm under your knees, and wrapped the other around your back. You squeaked out of surprise; the motion had happened so fast that you felt like a mere sack of potatoes. As if on instinct—and from fear of falling, though you knew the beast was strong—you wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your body closer to his chest.

“Is my strength surprising to you? I can’t say I’m offended, however; the men in your village must not be very burly. Ha! so it really is true, after all; none of you insolent beings hold even a candle to me on the battlefield.”

Now that you two were so close, you could probably infer that your heartbeat was audible and noticeable to the vampire who held you. You just hoped he wouldn’t realize that your body was pumping twice as much blood as usual, and suddenly get the urge to eat you.

As you walked, you could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves and twigs snapping under the vampire’s heavy boots. You looked around a bit, noticing the trees and bushes swaying in the wind of the night, the occasional burping of frogs, squeaks of mice scurrying around, flies flapping their wings. The whole environment was much more serene than you had imagined it would be, and you noted that it only returned that way after it became obvious that Lord Sukuna was not in the mood for killing. Perhaps even the critters here fear the beast, you thought.

The sky had turned a dark shade of indigo; it was a full moon, and the clouds were few in number. This season of the year had fewer bright stars than any of the others, but you could’ve sworn you were able to make out the constellation displaying Princess Cassiopeia strapped to a chair.

Earlier, you had been sweating out of fear, distress, maybe even both, but now, as the breeze swept against your body, and the wind blew your hair out of its previously fixed updo, a shiver ran up your spine, and you tightened your arms around his lordship’s neck.

You noticed something in the distance, and decided it was better to raise the question now, than later, where you would probably be a bother. “I’ve heard—” You paused, realizing it was probably better to rephrase your sentence. “Are there monsters . . . that live here, my lord?”

Sukuna’s lower set of eyes fixed upon your figure. “What, don’t tell me you are scared, woman. Dying whilst living on my estate is simply out of the question. You’re not under the protection of that scummy village you called home; you’re under my protection, now.”

“I. . . I can see glowing eyes peering back at me from beyond the bushes and the shadows,” you pressed. “There are monsters here, aren’t there—?”

“Only goblins and other small nuisances. I can assure you, I am the only beast in this forest that you should rightfully fear.”

That last comment wasn’t as assuring as Sukuna had made it seemed; in fact, for the half hour that you both spent walking back to the estate, you remained silent, questioning whether what you were doing was really the best choice. But, after every paradox you came across, it always ended with the same conclusion—that you had absolutely no choice. You were neither equipped for nor capable of fighting a vampire—whose strength and speed outmatched that of an average human’s.

And so you sat, in Sukuna’s arms, as he carried you through the almost endless forest, across leagues of mud and tall grass, all the way . . . to his estate—where you arrived tired and eyes drooping, after your long day.

Sukuna had stopped in his tracks upon entering the manor; he stood near the front door, as a servant—which you assumed was the Uraume Sukuna had previously mentioned—attended to him immediately after his return. You felt so drowsy, so sleepy, that you could barely make out the words spoken.

“My lord, you have returned from your hunt,” the white-haired servant bowed, “and I presume you have also returned with a consort. Shall I draw a bath for her ladyship, as well?”

You had fallen asleep halfway through your bath. Uraume—whom you had briefly learned was Lord Sukuna’s most trusted subordinate—had drawn you a warm bath, washed away the leftover blood on your body, and dressed you in garments fit for a queen. Never in your life had you been pampered so gingerly, that, you had managed to drift off to Dreamland throughout the course of it. You were then carried to a guest bedroom, where you fell in the arms of Morpheus.

Throughout the night, your dreams were unnecessarily long, dragged out, and so realistic that you woke up several times in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting, and frantic. You saw it. You saw them all. The villagers, the Elders, your father. They probably thought you were dead by this hour, but they were naught but greedy fools. They dragged you to the forest to give your life away as a sacrifice. But you weren’t dead, no; you had been taken in by a generous stranger—the beast whom you were to be sacrificed to.

Had you not been woken up by Uraume in the morning, you would have probably slept until noon the next day.

“I apologize for waking you so abruptly, my lady; you must be tired from yesterday. But his lordship has requested that I show you around the estate—for it is inimitable in size, and a lord’s consort getting lost on his own grounds is indubitably unacceptable.”

You blinked. “O-Oh! That’s . . . alright; I think it shall be a nice activity to explore this grand manor. But—pardon my intrusion on asking—why do you refer to me as a consort?”

Uraume gave a small smile. “Is it not proper to simply address my lord’s wife by her title?”

Your lips parted in surprise, and you rambled on in embarrassment. “I think you are mistaken; I am not Lord Sukuna’s wife, or anything of that sort. I am simply his. . . I am here to make myself useful to him. For, he saved my life, and I am inevitably indebted to him. I owe him my life, and there’s not a chance I’ll be able to go back to my village soon. Being a servant here is not an idea I am opposed to, might I add.”

“Forgive me,” Uraume bowed, an expression of surprise on their face. “I was under the impression that you were both married, given the fact he walked in with you in his arms—a generous act that I’ve never witnessed before.”

“. . .Lord Sukuna has not a wife, I assume, then?” You tilted your head to the side.

“As far as I know, no. There aren’t many women here, either. Most servants, chefs, gardeners, are men. — Merely by coincidence, en passant.”

“Ah,” you hummed, “I see.”

Uraume gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes in their arms. “I have prepared a change of attire for you, and once you have dressed, I shall ready you further, before we take a tour around the abode.”

True to their word, Uraume had prepared you for a long day ahead, and again, you were dressed so luxuriously that even you began to wonder if you were merely a servant to his lordship. In addition, Uraume had related to you your lack of title. You were more than a servant, but less than a wife. In the end, Uraume had concluded that you were to still be referred to as a lady—despite having no relations to royalty—because Lord Sukuna seemed to have no problem with you being addressed that way last night.

“This way, my lady.” Uraume led you out of your bedroom, and down a hallway. “This is the left wing of the manor, where the guest bedrooms, servant bedrooms, and servant corridors are.”

As Uraume droned on and on about your current location, you couldn’t help but notice the beautiful architecture of the estate. 

The walls were high, as so were the windows—which let sunlight seep through the overall dark palace. The doors had been constructed by magnificent carpenters, and were gilded and decorated with precise carvings. Likewise, they were also tall, and reached high above your head; despite the servants and other residents of the estate (except for his lordship) being of average height.

When you entered the right wing of the manor, you instantly noticed the increase of fussy, overornate, and unsurprisingly expensive furniture. Paintings of battle scenes, scenery, properties, and portraits of people you didn’t recognize, nearly covered the walls from head to toe. In empty spaces stood statues and sculptures of heavily embellished gods, warriors, horses, and other creatures.

Occasionally, you and Uraume would enter and explore the libraries which appeared in intervals throughout each hallway you walked. Enormous bookshelves lined the walls, and were filled with books about magic, potions, curses, taming beasts, and other subjects you were not entirely familiar with. There were ladders to reach the top of bookshelves, and there were spiraling stairs to the upper floor of the library—designed as a kind of reading space.

Tucked in corners of some rooms were grand pianos, which seemed to play music even when no one was sitting on the benches and tapping at the keys. Then again, this was the abode of a notorious vampire; ghosts playing the piano are far from the most unconventional thing to be found here, if you really thought about it.

“My lady,” Uraume began, turning to face you once you both had exited one of the libraries, “would you like to talk a walk in the gardens? This time of year, most nature does not grow—as it is Fall. But all of the plants, trees, flowers, and shrubbery located in this estate do. They are grown by magic of the trusted gardeners—who also reside in the left wing.”

The bushes and plants in the garden were all exactly how you had imagined them. Lacking a variety of color, the most you were able to spot in the gardens was black, grey, white, and occasionally, red. The color scheme fit Lord Sukuna to a T, and you wondered if that was the doing of the gardeners, or of the lord’s orders. As you walked between rows of flowers and shrubbery—conversing with Uraume—you noticed a seemingly endless amount of servants jogging to and fro around the whole estate. A few of them noticed you—an unfamiliar woman on the property of his lordship—and gave you neutral expressions, in fear of your unknown rank.

You bit your lip, wondering if they, too, were also spared by Lord Sukuna, and taken in as servants.

“Forgive my rudeness for asking; but how does his lordship afford all of these . . . luxuries? I can not even estimate how much this would all cost.” You asked.

“Ah, right,” began Uraume. “Through his victories, of course. He wins gold, treasure, weapons—which he occasionally trades for even more profit, slaves and servants, et cetera. His wealth is not from his birth; Lord Sukuna has obtained everything he now owns by his own hands. I have incredibly deep reverence for all his feats.”

You nodded, humming in agreement.

When your tour was finished, Uraume had explained to you what your role was to be whilst you stayed at the manor of his lordship. You were of higher rank than ordinary servants, allowed more free rein of the estate, and you ate at the same table as Uraume and Lord Sukuna. 

Throughout your years at the estate, you served as a sort of maid, seldom a chef, and occasionally a gardener. His lordship called for you whenever he pleased, and you would obey whatever his command was.

Of course, before all of this happened, you had to undergo much training. Uraume was a sort of teacher to you; they taught you how to prepare the meat and vegetables in his lordship’s meals before cooking, explained how the abode was supposed to be cleaned and organized, and gave lessons on which plants needed to be tended to, and how. You both had a mentor and mentee dynamic that, over the years, gradually progressed into a friendship, or something of the like.

You understood Uraume more than others—seeing as you two were both closer to Lord Sukuna than the other subordinates—and you respected them as much as you did his lordship. Uraume had taken a liking to you, because of how good of a listener you were whenever they explained a new task to you. Sometimes, whilst waiting for the food to be finished, Uraume would tell you stories from long ago—about Lord Sukuna’s youth—and you would listen, with great attentiveness.

You were unfamiliar with most of the staff on the property, and you were more close with Uraume than the other maids you occasionally encountered. It came with no surprise, however, that most of the other servants looked at you with a negative eye. Lord Sukuna happened to treat you with more kindness than he would the average staff member, and that consequently led to sparks of jealousy throughout the servants corridors. You weren’t bothered, though; you had been looked down upon since birth.

Sometimes, his lordship requested you bathe him—which, at first, you thought was incredibly scandalous for an unmarried woman to touch another man in that way, but Lord Sukuna had corrected you, explaining your job as merely washing his hair and preparing the warm or cold bath water. For, Sukuna had found that he rather enjoyed the feeling of your nimble fingers carding through his hair, and, that very task was what you were doing now. Or, well, what you were on your way to do.

Whilst carrying a bucket of hot water, you had been stopped by a passing servant. He was a man, of average height, messy hair with loose bangs hanging over his forehead, and carried a broom in his callused, experienced hands. He was sweating—from a long day of work, you assumed—and was nervous in approaching you at first. But once he spoke, the words just seemed to pour out like water; smooth, gradual, and natural.

“Pardon me, miss, I have not seen you on these grounds before today. Might I have your name?” He reached out a hand expectantly, and looked at you with deep interest.

You placed your wooden bucket sloshing with water on the floor, and gave your name. Consequently, you slipped your hand onto his, and the male servant raised your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your palm in simple greeting, or so you thought. . .

Previously, you had expected the man to let you be on your way after that, but no. He had stuck you there in conversation for about five more minutes, asking how you knew his lordship, your origin, how you came to work at the estate, and overall, made small talk that you really weren’t that interested in.

You had tried to excuse yourself several times, saying, “His lordship is awaiting my presence.”

But the man merely waved you off each time. 

“Lord Sukuna would certainly understand my need for taking a break in order to converse with a beautiful lady like you. You may have noticed over the years that the maids here are. . . I am not entirely sure how to put this—They are lacking in good features. It’s unfortunate, really, to be a product of such terrible breeding, but I must say, you are divine. A goddess incarnate, if I’d ever seen one.”

Heat had risen to your neck at the compliment, and you—humbly—were in the middle of accepting it, when, you had felt a shadow towering over you that definitely wasn’t there before.

About to turn around, your movements were halted by the sound of a deep voice, belonging to someone that clearly seemed irritated.

“What on earth is taking so long? Last I checked, bringing water to the bathing quarters does not take nearly half an hour.”

Lord Sukuna! you gasped.

You turned to face his lordship, and then turned back around to face the male servant, but to your confusion, he had already gone.

Turning back to Sukuna, you immediately took a deep bow, and recited multiple sincere apologies. “Please, forgive me, my lord. I was simply engaging in conversation with—”

“—With some nobody,” he finished your sentence for you with a scowl. “Yes, I see, now. You have abandoned your duties, and, instead, taken up a pastime in listening to a man ramble nonsense.”

His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, and scanned your face for any hint of fear, but he found none—which left him dumbfounded. You weren’t afraid, no, you were merely guilty of insubordination. Sukuna mentally took a note of that, evidently interested in you even more at his new reading.

“I was distracted, sir. But I understand my wrongdoing and take full accountability for getting caught up in conversation while on my way to your private quarters.”

For a second, you thought you had heard a snort from his lordship, but you soon dismissed that idea after realizing the absurdity of it.

“Acquitted.”

At this, you raised your head, did a once-over on his lordship’s features—curious as to how sincere he was in pardoning you—and retrieved your bucket. “You . . . appear paler than usual, my lord. Are you feeling unwell, by any chance?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, waving you off. “Nonsense.”

Due to Sukuna’s reassuring comment, your observation was soon discarded, but whilst you were washing his lordship’s hair, your concerns had been revived by a prominent sound echoing throughout the bathing quarters. Several coughs, that came in intervals, before concluding.

“My lord,” you began, “am I mistaken in having heard you cough?”

“Of course.”

You let out a soft laugh, believing not even a word of that. “I will be sure to bring incense into your chambers tonight.”

His lordship waved around his hand mindlessly. “Do as you want; however, trust that I am expecting more woolen coats.”

So he was holding that above your head, you noted.

Over the next few days, his lordship’s condition had seemed to worsen. He appeared sickly whenever you passed him in hallways, pushed away meals he often enjoyed, and coughed more often than not. At first, you thought it was a mere cold—seeing as the weather was progressing into winter times. In contrast, Lord Sukuna had started to pale, and his temperature had risen; but, despite the seemingly obvious symptoms, his illness was far from a fever.

It was pointless looking for possible medications; his lordship absolutely despised welcoming the apothecary onto his estate. And so you took matters into your own hands. You had attempted to change the bathing water. Sometimes cold, sometimes scalding. It was all in the name of seeing what would increase his lordship’s health, but all was in vain. Uraume had informed you that Lord Sukuna rarely felt cold or hot; the seasons were all the same for him. So the temperature and the climate are not the catalysts for this illness, you thought.

It just . . . didn’t make sense. His lordship was never affected by weather, and rarely got sick from reasons similar to a human. . . What on earth could this illness be?

“Uraume,” you began, whilst scrubbing bloodied garments on the washboard, “what do you suppose it is?”

“What is it that I am supposing, my lady?”

“His lordship’s illness. I am racking my brain for possible explanations, and I have found none. He is a vampire, a beast; a human such as I am simply not capable of understanding what his condition could be.”

Uraume shook their head, pausing in the middle of their work. “It is not a simple illness, you are correct. But I am not in the place to tell exactly what it is.”

You bit your lip. “How do you mean?”

“Ask his lordship.”

And so you did.

It was a fine evening; the night was young, the air was crisp, and smelled of the incense you spoke of bringing to his lordship’s chambers. You had requested to pay him a visit, and apparently, you were only able to do so late in the night, after most servants had gone to their respective corridors, and the invisible pianists had ceased their playing.

“You asked to see me.” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest, standing face-to-face with you in the middle of his fussily furnished bedroom. “Speak.”

“My lord, what is it that you are sick with, exactly? You have yet to tell me; and there is no way I can be of assistance if you continue to leave me in the dark about your condition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Not once have I ordered you to be of assistance regarding my—” Cough. “—state. You waste your time worrying about me, woman.”

“Pardon my insubordination. But if simply caring for my lord is so inutile,” you pressed, putting a hand on your chest as you spoke, “then I shall spend the rest of my years wasting my time.”

Sukuna laughed, leaning down to your level. “You are just so stubborn, aren’t you? Very well. I shall tell you; it is . . . pretty simple, I dare say. It is a mystery how you are so interested in the fact that I am a vampire that has fallen ill—in need of . . . blood. Is my dear strong-willed lady satisfied now?”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“My lord, if you are only in need of blood . . . shall I get a sheep for you to slaughter?” you proposed.

“No. It is not that simple. Blood is what I crave, but cursed energy is what I need.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of that. Cursed energy. Maybe this was your chance to make yourself useful. You still weren’t entirely sure of what cursed energy was, but you knew it was something that you had, yourself. What a coincidence, you thought.

“So then, how do you usually get this . . . cursed energy?”

“I kill sorcerers.”

You did recall hearing some . . . stories from the drunkards who sat in front of taverns they were kicked out of. Due to their “clear” state of mind, you never paid much attention to them, nor did you care, to be frank. But, you could’ve sworn you heard a tale about a sorcerer with hair white as snow, and eyes blue as the sea, who attempted to take down the formidable King of Curses. You never stuck around the drunkards long enough to hear his fate, and how the story ended, but it was probably best that way.

“So, why don’t you just do that?”

“I have vowed not to lay a single hand on a sorcerer since you came along.”

“And, why’s that?”

“Because they are your kin, woman.”

You knew not what that meant. Kin? You were not a sorcerer; you were human. A sacrifice turned servant. Cooking, gardening, cleaning. Those were your strong suits. But sorcery? Surely his lordship must be joking.

“. . .Pardon?”

Sukuna looked like he was uninterested in indulging your little interview any longer, and hurried to kick you out of his chambers. “This conversation is over. You are dismissed.”

“But, my word! you are still ill, how are you to go on without—?”

“Worry not, human; I am ancient, and I am strong. Surely I can make do for at least a few days more.”

A few days more had passed, and your concern had only seemed to grow. Until, one windy day, you had come up with an idea in the middle of collecting berries. Storming into his lordship’s office was not a common venture for you, but today’s occasion seemed appropriate enough.

“My lord, would you spare some time?”

Sukuna looked up from a pile of letters he had been previously staring at, and gave you an unamused look, almost as if he wasn’t vexed by your interruption. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought of an idea.”

“Elaborate.”

“It is a long story, one I am not very keen on reminiscing about,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your straw-woven basket, “but I was . . . born with cursed energy. And if my memory serves me right, that is just the very thing you need.”

“Are you insinuating I drink your blood?”

“Forgive me; I wouldn’t know if that’s how you wanted to go about this. Are you to perform a ritual on me? A blood oath, perhaps? Excuse my imprudence, my lord, for I am simply not knowledgeable enough in those areas as I would wish to be.” You gave a slight bow.

“Ha! You must be more ill than me to even suggest something like that. I am the great Lord Ryomen. Sukuna the Sinister. King of Curses, girl. Just who do you take me for? I am not Satan.”

“Forgive my insubordination towards your lordship, but,” you casted your eyes downward, hiding a small smile, “some might disagree with that. . .”

“Is that any way to speak to your lord?”

“Pardon me,” you smiled, “I was only joking.”

Sukuna hummed, agreeing. “Of course.”

That was the last conversation you had for the night before you returned to your bedroom.

You had spent the next morning cleaning around the estate, dusting, and replacing water in vases. Whilst in the middle of dusting a mantle, you felt a shadow grow behind you, and, already familiar with the formidable presence, you turned around to come face-to-face with none other than his lordship. Beads of sweat were accumulating on his forehead, his hair was a mess, and his eyes seemed distant and frantic in darting around the room. 

You had never seen his lordship in such an incomposed state, and immediately set down your ostrich feather duster on the table beside you.

“How are you holding up?”

“Terribly. This is . . . unbearable. I. . . I must. . .” His lordship’s eyes narrowed, and seemed to fog up as he got closer and closer to you. He seemed to be in a state of delirium—completely unable to control himself—as he backed you up against the wall, planting two hands beside your head.

“What—What are you doing?”

His lordship’s breath fanned against your skin, as he leaned his face down near your neck, just a breath away from his lips making contact with your clavicle. You squirmed to make an exit from the predicament you found yourself in, but your figure was trapped between the wall and his lordship, unable to leave. 

“. . .Holding back.”

“‘Holding back’?” you repeated. “My lord, pray tell—”

“Fuck,” he grunted. “This would be much easier if I had a less keen sense of smell.”

“Are you—Do you need the blood now?” You blinked, nervously fidgeting with the ties of your corset.

“. . .Another time,” he sighed, abruptly moving back and away from your shaking figure. “My level of restraint is stronger than I had imagined, but it has grown weaker since you turned up.”

With that, he had simply turned his back on you, and walked down another hallway, leaving you flustered, bewildered, and burning hot. You brought a shaking hand up to feel your cheek, and you were warm to the touch. What on earth just happened? you wondered, clutching at your chest in dismay.

Another week had slowly gone by, and his lordship’s condition had yet to subside. Other servants had started to also notice his signs of fatigue and illness, and multiple attempts to help were made, but all were fruitless in the end. Lord Sukuna had made it evident that he wanted no help, and it soon became crystal clear that he was avoiding you lest your nagging.

Disappointment often made its way onto your face whilst you worked; for, you just couldn’t seem to get the thought of his lordship out of your head. He needed help; you could help; but he wouldn’t let you. Why was that? you pondered.

After spending most of your free time in the gardens of the property, you had discovered the secret abundance of cats and kittens that often snuck onto the grounds and played in the grass and shrubbery. Once, you had asked his lordship about it, and whether he would allow that to go on for any longer, but he waved you off. This led to you believing he wanted the animals there—not like you were complaining.

They were cute and cuddly, and came in a variety of breeds, patterns, colors, and sizes. Some were small—just able to fit in your palm. Whilst some were larger—capable of rolling around in your lap. You often sat down and played with them until their eyes grew droopy, and you scurried off to the kitchens in order to fetch them bowls of milk and plates of food.

It was a full moon, on a cold night in the tenth month of the year. Just like always, you had sat down on a wooden bench in the garden’s gazebo, and were playing with the little kittens in your lap and rubbing their little full bellies after mealtime.

“Bless me,” you began, whispering to the little critters, “I might just have to steal one of you for myself. You are just too adorable for your own good, huh?”

You booped a kitten on the nose, and it meowed in response—arching its back. But only seconds later, all of the animals on your lap had perked their ears up, and hurriedly scampered away at the sound of leaves and twigs snapping under approaching footsteps.

“Talking about me?” a familiar, raspy voice joked.

Your head raised, and your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his lordship. “O-Oh! My lord, I—I was not expecting to see you tonight.”

“Neither was I. But I am—” Cough. “—perhaps more ill than before.”

Sukuna had taken a seat beside you on the bench; you both were so close that your shoulders were touching, and you instantly grew tense as Sukuna drew even closer—resting an arm on your hip.

“What, do you need me to tie you down, woman?” Sukuna leaned closer to your face, an unamused expression on his features; his eyes more red than usual. Was it a trick of the moon? “Is that what it will take for you to stop squirming like a worm all the time?”

“It’s just—I am ticklish, sir.”

“I can assure you, you won’t be laughing any time soon.”

“What do you—nngh.”

You were not at all prepared for Sukuna to bite down on your neck with such unimaginable force, and an embarrassingly loud whimper left your lips.

As you felt his fangs—all sharp and long—sink down beneath and break your skin, you gripped and clawed at the wooden bench. Sukuna sucked at your neck, warm blood trickling down your neck, and it felt so . . . scandalous, so erotic, and so dreadfully painful. In the middle of the garden, in the middle of the night; under the gaze of the moon, and light of the stars; you two were alone, and yet, you felt so surrounded.

With another hand on your hip, Sukuna held your head in his hand; and your head lolled around in his grasps. You felt as if in a trance, and your hands scratched at the wood beneath you, gripped onto his lordship’s bicep, all in a feverish attempt to run away from the assault, but you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried. You knew what you were getting into the moment you offered yourself up, but God, did it hurt like a bitch as Sukuna sucked at the wound, drawing out as much blood as possible.

Mindlessly, a sigh left your lips, and your eyes squeezed shut in a selcouth sense of bliss.

It took you a moment’s time before it fully set in that his lordship was drinking your blood. Hell, he was drinking your blood and it hurt, but it felt so . . . good. 

Was this but a dream?

The hairs on the nape of your neck rose; your skin felt tingly and warm to the touch. It was like a fire had been lit inside of you, and his lordship biting and sucking at your neck was just adding fuel to the flame. You had never experienced something like this before; it was so, so intimate. Should you even be doing this?

Your back arched, and you felt like a lifeless doll in his lordship’s grasps as he frequently let out small, sensuous sighs and groans at tasting heaven after having restrained himself for so long.

It was only minutes later that the beast finally released his fangs from your neck, and gingerly set you down on the bench—seeing as you had seemingly fallen too weak to even hold yourself up.

Through teary eyes, you could make out the sight of Sukuna before you—traces of your blood around his mouth, eyes dark with an insatiable lust for blood, and his jaw clenched.

“Feeling regretful?” he joked, swiping at the leftover blood on his lips with his thumb, and licking the liquid clean off. “Don’t worry, I certainly am not.”

It was afternoon the next day when you awoke in the comfort of your bedroom after having passed out the night before. Your head pounded, clothes were wrinkled, and . . . oh, God. You had totally forgotten about everything. Almost as instantly as it clicked in your head, your hand quickly shot up to feel the skin around your neck. But, to your surprise, there was no sign of bruising or any bloody wounds. The only marks left behind that told you what happened the night prior wasn’t a dream were two small holes, from indentations of fangs.

Your mind ran at 150MPH, and your heartbeat quickened. Were you now going to turn into a vampire? Were you, too, also destined to spend the rest of your life immortal? What on earth was this going to mean for you?

Though you were still dazed, you made quick work of putting on the change of clothes left by the foot of your bed by—you assumed it was—Uraume. And, just because you were possibly going to turn into a bloodthirsty vampire didn’t mean you had the day off, so you brushed your hair, splashed ice water from a basin onto your face, and set off to start the day, or, more like, the afternoon.

Like always, you sweeped the hallways, dusted off statues and sculptures, set out bowls of milk for the stray animals outside, and conversed with Uraume every so often.

You were in the middle of heading to the kitchen, when you passed by Lord Sukuna in the hallways en route. He looked well, different from how he was when he was ill—more alive, lack of fatigue in his eyes. But, besides looking more healthy, his eyes looked darker than before, his frown was more prominent than ever, and his features just . . . seemed so sharp. Now, you knew his lordship was an attractive beast, but, today? You found yourself thinking scandalous thoughts.

“My lord,” you murmured, bowing at the waist, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment, no.” 

His voice was velvety as he spoke; every word he said made you feel a strange throbbing sensation between your legs, and you found yourself frequently squeezing your thighs together. There seemed to be an unfamiliar sense of warmth at your core, and you could practically feel the heat rising to your neck. Flustered, you brought a hand to touch your cheek, and you instantly noticed how much you were burning up.

“Okay, then. I—I’ll be going . . . now. Good day,” you said, hurrying away before Sukuna could hear the thumping of your heartbeat increase in volume.

“You creatures are so strange,” Sukuna clicked his tongue, before walking away, as well.

As if it were fate, that was not the last of his lordship you saw that day. You had run into Sukuna at least five more times, which, despite living in the same estate, was not a normal occurrence, since his lordship frequently kept to himself, locked in his office or chambers.

Most of the times you ran into him, you made small talk, before scurrying away after feeling extremely nervous. It wasn’t like you at all; if anything, you and Uraume were the only ones capable of holding a conversation with the lord of the manor. But today just . . . it was off, you were off, your body felt off—you had no explanation for it.

Every time you saw Lord Sukuna, your heart thumped at extreme velocities, and your face flushed, heat rising through your body. It was hard to form proper sentences, and after adjourning your conversations, you found yourself continuing your work clumsily and with incredibly less expertise than before. Uraume noticed it, too. They frequently had to correct you on the way you swept the floors, and had to snap their fingers more often than not in front of your face a few times to bring you back to reality. God, what on earth was the matter with you?

You had used the rest of your evening to try to calm down, but honestly, your attempts were completely fruitless. It was late—a little bit after supper, when you were called on by a right-hand man to pay a visit to his lordship’s chambers. Of course, you couldn’t deny those orders, although you were a little hesitant on obeying.

As you walked through the corridors, and down the abundance of stairs, you counted every breath you took, and tried to slow down the rapid beating of your heart. Your hands gripped the fabric of your skirt with a white-knuckled grip, and you fidgeted with the lace on the edges. It helped that no one was outside of their respective quarters, so that you wouldn’t have to worry about coming across someone who could possibly stress you out even more than you already were.

You had no idea what his lordship could possibly want at so late a time in the evening, and your mind ran through every possibility. Were you getting kicked out? Or, fired? Were you being sent back to your village? No, no, that couldn’t be, you thought. His lordship was a formidable opponent to have, but he certainly wasn’t cruel to those innocent to his wrath. . . Right?

Once you arrived at his lordship’s chambers, staring hesitantly at the grand, ebony-finished doors before you, you were just about to raise your hand to give three consecutive knocks, when a commanding voice—beyond the door—called out to you, seemingly having noticed the presence of your being even before you made any announcement.

“Don’t tarry like a fool. I’m sure my lady knows better than to act like that. Come forth.”

The doors opened, with magic? ghosts? invisible entities? You knew not, but you refrained from any further questioning. The doors shut closed immediately after you stepped foot into the large bedroom, and you moved closer inside—fearful of being hit by the doors. And there, before you—in all his glory, dressed in robes darker than the night—was his lordship, lounging on a luxurious sofa, sipping an ornately designed silver goblet full of red liquid that you hoped was just wine.

“Good evening, my lord,” you said, leaning into a deep bow. “Is something of the matter?”

Sukuna stood up, set his goblet aside, and stalked towards you until the both of you stood toe-to-toe, and your faces were merely centimeters apart. “You want something,” he stated, completely sure of himself. “Spit it out.”

“. . .If I’m not mistaken, you were the one who called me here. If that is so, then, what—what on earth are you talking about, my lord?”

“Don’t be silly; you’ve been walking around all day as tense as a rock, and fidgety as a newborn about to burst into tears. Being shy will get you absolutely nowhere, for, I can smell your arousal dripping off of you.”

“P-Pardon?” Just as you were about to ask what he exactly meant by that, his lordship shoved his hand up your skirt so quickly that you didn’t even see the extra mouth—with its tongue sticking out—form on his hand. “Oh—Ohh.”

Having never been this close with another man before, you covered your mouth in embarrassment to contain the moans and whimpers that slipped out. Your knees soon grew weak, and your weight became unsteady on your own two legs. Clearly desperate for any sense of leverage, your figure fell onto his lordship’s, and you greedily gripped at his biceps for stability as you felt the tongue on his hand prod at your folds before diving right into your growing wetness.

Sukuna acceptedly held you in his arms, with a jeering smile on his face. “Not so bad, huh? All this time you could’ve just told me how much of a whore you were for your lord, but no, you had to go around the estate practically dripping for your master instead.”

“Nnghh, my lord! You. . . Hahh,” your voice trailed off as you gave in to the unfamiliar, strange pleasure you were receiving. This was all so . . . new, to you. The hand-mouth between your legs dipped into depths you didn’t know existed, sucked at areas deep within you, and had you seeing stars as the tongue curled and moved at an alarming speed.

Wasn’t this what a husband and wife did? you wondered. Though, you weren’t exactly complaining, per se. Everything felt so . . . good; from his lordship’s whispering of sweet nothings and degradations in your ear, the cool touch of his other hand tracing circles and other various shapes on the revealed part of your shoulders, all the way to the throbbing between your legs finally being relieved.

A coil formed in your stomach, and you felt a warm, hazy feeling inside. Your face twisted into an expression of extreme pleasure, and you couldn’t suppress the embarrassingly pornographic-sounding moans—which you worried other servants could hear through the walls—that slipped past your kiss-bitten lips.

“My lady tastes even sweeter than her own blood,” Sukuna laughed. “And here I was, thinking such a thing was impossible.”

You couldn’t respond; then again, how could you? Your face was pressed into his lordship’s bare chest, and your hands gripped his robe-covered shoulders—certainly leaving crescent-shaped marks in your way. The pleasure you were receiving was so different than anything you had ever felt before; it seemed otherworldly, almost, and your mouth remained slightly ajar in the feeling of ecstasy.

Subconsciously, you pressed your legs together, trapping the hand-mouth between your thighs—which, mind you, never stopped in its movements even once. It brought you over the edge, and back up again, repeatedly.

The knot in your stomach tightened to impossible lengths, and you squeezed your eyes shut in bliss as you felt yourself release onto his lordship’s hand—right before the hand-mouth licked up everything you had to offer, and more. You were dripping down Sukuna’s hand an incredulous amount, and it made heat rise to your cheeks at realizing how much you were enjoying this.

You were still riding out your high, when, out of the blue, Sukuna leaned down to your neck, and placed a kiss so gingerly onto your shoulder—in the precise spot of where he bit you the night before—that you even wondered if this was the same man you called the King of Curses. It seemed his lordship had taken a liking to interrupting you, since, before you could even get another word out, Sukuna had bitten your shoulder once more, and sucked on the blood dripping down your clavicle as you whimpered and mewled obscenely.

Was this man never satisfied?

The first time his lordship drank your blood, it felt like you were in a trance, but this time, it felt unbelievably good, and your eyes rolled back inside your head in the feeling of euphoria. Moments later, Sukuna pulled back with a shit-eating grin on his face, and blood dripping down his chin.

The both of you stumbled back towards the sofa in tandem, and you found yourself straddling Sukuna’s legs with your hands planted on his shoulders as he laid back against the cushions of the sofa, a smug look on his face.

With inhuman speed, you felt his lordship grip onto your hips as he raised them up before slamming you back down, entering you in one move. Due to it being your first time, your previous release was just enough to act as a lubricant—seeing as his lordship’s size was far from small. You covered your mouth—stifling a scream, as your walls molded to accommodate the immense girth and length of his lordship.

It was all like nothing you had felt before, and you felt so utterly and impossibly full. Losing balance, you fell onto Sukuna, causing the two of you to be flush against one another, your already pushed up tits—courtesy of your corset—pressed against his lordship’s bare chest, and you writhed at the friction.

Noticing your mouth open in an ‘o’ shape, Sukuna let out a cold laugh. “What, don’t tell me vampire cock is going to be your first. What an honor that would be, my fair lady.”

Your only response was a bunch of garbled words and gibberish that didn’t make sense. The tears that ran down your face went unnoticed by you—who was too busy trying to not pass out due to overwhelming bliss.

“Crying? How adorable.”

Although his lordship was not moving at all, you still felt immense pleasure in the mere feeling of his cock buried deep inside your cunt to the hilt. Despite yourself, you subconsciously rolled your hips, and grinded against Sukuna’s crotch, hoping, praying, begging for more movement, or anything, at least. Everything felt too good to end as nothing at all.

As you sensuously rolled your hips, Sukuna grunted, hands flying to grip the fat of your ass. It hurt like a bitch, if you had to be honest. Really hurt. Claws-dug-in-your-skin level of hurt, to be more precise. You let out a whimper as you felt teeth from his hand-mouth bite into the plush skin of your ass cheek, and you just knew it would leave a bruise and prominent mark the next morning. Oh, what an absolute hell it would be to have to sit the next day.

This was so. . . You couldn’t even say the word ‘scandalous’ because this was practically far beyond that. Not once did you ever imagine you would be giving your first to the man you worked for, much less, a vampire.

Just as you were about to be pushed past your limits merely by being stuffed full by cock, you felt the tongue of his lordship’s hand-mouth slither towards your ass, and dance around your back entrance before finally dipping in.

Immediately, a gasp left your lips at the dirty, dirty act, and you mewled—gripping the fronts of Sukuna’s robes—as the average human-sized tongue entered equally as deep as the dick in your cunt. It felt so large, so wet, and so . . . fuck. This was absolutely insane. You were completely full in both holes; the thin fabric of your skirt was soaked; and tears rolled down your cheeks as you gasped for air; but what took you to your final breaking point was the feeling of a rough, abrupt thrust upwards that you swore you could feel in your womb.

“S’kuna—S’kuna—Sukunnghh! Too much—too much; oh, my—mmph! My lord, I . . . ahh.”

You saw stars as you came—his lordship following soon after, filling you up to the brink with his seed—and a plethora of stuttering and repeated moans of his lordship’s name exited your mouth like a prayer. 

“Yeahh, just like that. You got it, sweetheart. You got it,” groaned Sukuna, as he used two fingers to stuff the cum that oozed out right back into your cunt. 

He was utterly obsessed with the idea of being the first man—no, beast—to corrupt you, to fuck you, to rightfully touch you, to show you all you had been missing out on due to that godforsaken village. You were ethereal in his eyes, the only angel that would ever be by his side, the first and last woman to be called his lady; and his lordship could not be any happier. Each day since your arrival, you had loosened his level of restraint and made him rethink being immortal, but God was he satisfied that all his waiting and preying had worked out. 

He had gotten the girl, sunk his teeth in, and successfully held on.

[kastalani123]

Mmmmmmmm, but what if Estelle grows up without knowing about the Greek myths being real?

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, who's hesitant to hold his baby sister for fear of drowning her with blood-drenched hands, who eventually holds her like she's made of glass because the Destroyer is afraid of breaking her, who shoves his face into his pillow to keep his nightmares from waking her up–

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, seventeen years old with the world resting on his shoulders since he was twelve, and ask, "Do you want her to know?"

And he wonders. He thought it'd be a given, that she'd grow up surrounded by monsters and magic, that he'd make fish made of water swim around her to make her laugh, that there would be no secrets as to his life's horror.

But he wonders. He thinks that, maybe, she won't have to grow up afraid of her own shadow. She's mortal, after all. There is no ichor in her veins. There is no guarantee she will be Clear Sighted.

There is no reason she can't live a normal life.

There is no reason she has to be woven into the Fates' tapestry beyond the barest of mentions.

He wonders, and he decides no. No, this one person, this little bundle of giggles, this reason that motivates him to learn healthy coping mechanisms, this little sister of his — she will not be forced to grow up so fast. She will not hesitate making plans for her future in fear of never making it that far. She will not suffer scars from things other than risky bike tricks and tumbling down a hill.

This one person that he can protect, for once in his life. This one person that he will protect, from both of his worlds.

Oh, it's not that she doesn't know anything. He makes sure she knows as many myths as possible, as many ways to protect herself as she can learn, as many people and places that can help her if she ever needs it. She grows up with bedtime stories about winged horses and giant dogs and a number of human-animal hybrids. She dreams of a brother with a scarred lip and a girl who loves too much and a sister who usually thinks of her sibling before herself and a boy who can tame dragons, and sometimes it's like her dreams are real, like she actually knows the characters from her brother's stories. She learns to recognize unfairness and abuse, to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, to make things right even if she has to force unwilling hands to do what she wants with trickery.

She knows so much.

But she never climbs a wall flowing with lava. But she never picks up a sword and dons a set of armor. But she never learns her loved ones' scars don't come from unfortunate accidents. But she never flies through the sky on helpful wings. But she never dives into the depths of the ocean in a bubble of air. But she never gets lost in a house that's always changing its layout to suit its occupants' needs. But she never watches her home in ruin. But she never runs from an inferno consuming the world around her. But she never cradles a friend's body as the life drains from their eyes.

But she never stops being an ordinary mortal.

[vivwritesfics]

Beautiful Monster

Vampire!Max is instantly hooked when he meets a girl that looks like the vampire that turned him. He searches for her, until he finds himself on her sofa, teeth against her neck.

Warnings: max killing (not reader), blood drinking, slightest smut, reader doesn't die but she is lowkey a dumb bitch

Viv's AUgust Event

There was nothing wrong with the house on the hill. It was probably very nice inside, but the rumours that surrounded it, the rumours about the beast inside.

He knew the rumours around him, knew what the children said as they dared each other to ring his doorbell and run away. The curtains were always drawn and the beast rested through the day, emerging at night.

He was so damn beautiful, but he didn't see that (yes, he can see his reflection in the mirror, since his mirror is a modern mirror and not backed with silver). He saw the monster that everybody else should have seen. But everybody else saw an angel.

Well, before they died. That was the only time he emerged from his house; to feed. The pretty girls at the bar happily followed him out to the alleyway, where he sank his sharp teeth into their neck and drained them dry.

She would have followed him out to the alley, would have let him pierce the skin of her neck. But Max couldn't. She looked too much like her.

Like Max's first love. The woman that drew him in and kissed his lips until they were red and swollen. He'd been human back then. His heart had been beating and he was capable of feeling love.

She had bitten his neck and fed him her blood, turning him into the nocturnal beast he was today. A hundred years of solitude, of only emerging when he needed to feed.

At first Max thought it was her. It had to be, there was no other explanation. But he watched this woman carefully. She was alive. A living, breathing being. She wasn't a monster like him.

The first time she approached him, she fluttered her eyelashes and giggled at everything he said. Flirting with him. She wasn't the first woman to do so, but she was the first one to leave him tongue tied.

Normally, Max only danced with her when he had to. He only twirled a girl around the dance floor when he was hungry and she was making him work for it. But when she asked Max to dance, he said yes. He already knew he wouldn't be feeding from her, she looked too much like his first love.

At the end of the night Max was draining another girl in the alleyway before he returned to the house on the hill. But he couldn't get her out of his head.

So much so that he went out again the next night. But she was nowhere to be found. She wasn't at the bar, wasn't anywhere at all. She must have been home, safe from all of the monsters roaming the town, safe from him.

Max went out again the next night, searching for her. She wasn't at that bar, but she was in the park, sitting on a beach with a little dog running around in front of her.

When Max approached, the little dog growled. "Leo!" She scooped the dog up and sat him in her lap.

Max had never been a dog person. Even when he was human, cats preferred him. Things only got worse once he was turned. Dogs growled and barked at him. Cats still tolerated him.

"Is he yours?" Max asked as he slipped into the seat beside her. The way she petted Leo's ears had him quiet in her lap. If it was possible, he would have been glaring at Max.

She shook her head. "He belongs to my friend, but I'm taking care of him while he's out of town."

He released a breath, one he hadn't meant to hold. So what if she owned a dog? She was just some mortal woman who would die in a few hundred years anywhere (when you're living forever, it's easy to forget how long the human lifespan was).

"You were a good dancer," she mused, fingers still absentmindedly petting Leo's head.

"I had a good partner."

What did she taste like, Max found himself wondering. Would her taste be as sweet as her scent? He could feel his fangs appearing as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

He kept them covered as he spoke to her. Well, it wasn't really a conversation. Just the two of them flirting back and forth until she picked him up and took his hand in her own, leading him out of the park.

Max didn't expect to end up on her sofa, with the dog barking away in the kitchen. He kissed her with fervour, his tongue exploring her mouth. In control of the situation, since he couldn't control himself.

She swung herself onto his lap as Max pulled away. It would be so easy to sink his teeth into her neck and drain her dry.

He couldn't stop himself as he started kissing the skin of her neck. She gasped when she felt his pointed teeth against her skin. But she wasn't pulling away, wasn't panicking. Her hips still moved against his, fingers working at the barrier of clothes that separated them.

But then his teeth sank in.

She stilled, breath catching in her throat as Max slowly began to drain her. But then she began to moan.

He knew it was a pleasurable experience for humans, remembered it from when he was still a man. She tasted so damn sweet, body going limp against him. Shit, he had never tasted anything like this.

Breath heaving, he pulled away from her. His tongue flattened against the puncture wounds, licking up what remained. Her hand came to settle on his chest and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"You're a monster," she said between breaths, too exhausted to rock her hips against his. If Max decided to explore what was in her jeans, he would have found an undeniable mess. "A beautiful monster."

She touched his cold cheek and pulled his face towards her own, kissing him.

[rednotebooksworld]

A Fae MonsterFucker Mini-Fic, as a little treat~

Androgynous “pretty Boi” Fae Monster looking for a suitable Mate.. and one Human girl looking to snag herself a Fae husband because she grew up with the old tales of women being whisked away by the terrifying but gorgeous “neighbors” of the old wood~ who were supposedly never seen again, unless someone caught a glimpse of her fully pregnant when walking with her Fae lover..

She’s not to fond of the nosy towns people that live down the hill, her Aunt’s a known Fae fucker too, so can you really blame her for not seeing a down side to this?

The Human girl who lives with her kind but sassy “mouth of a sailor” Auntie, spending most her days in the garden (in perfect view of the forest) while singing songs of Fae Lovers and twirling in her short dresses as she waters her favorite flowers.. knowing the Fae love to dance and spin in circles~

Her aunt smirking at her niece playing up the innocent role, knowing her little plot is working as she notices the circle of mushrooms growing under her niece’s bedroom window.. a Fae Lover has chosen her already.

The brooding Fae who watches the human girl with longing possessive eyes, waiting for the chance to show himself, to trick her into being his and his only.. All he needs is her to willingly give her Name to him, and make a deal~

The Fae seizing his opportunity when he sees her in the woods alone for the first time, a sad look on her pretty face..

He relishes the look of awe in her eyes at his appearance.. a long slender framed body with pale green skin, sharp black nails on his fingers, sharp teeth in his charming smile, long ears, large glowing golden eyes and dark green hair flowing around him in waves as leafs and flowers adorned his locks like gems, dear-like antlers glittering like opal moonstones resting above his brow like a crown, and flowing robes of thin green silk that fell off one shoulder and left little to the imagination.. a splendid sight to be see for sure~

“Sweet, lovely thing~ why the tears? Tell me what ails you.. and I shall make all pleasant as warm honey with your heart~ for a price~”

gently he held her chin up with a single finger, grin turning wide as a Cheshire as she grasped his larger hand softly in her own with pleading doe eyes and rosy cheeks~

“M-My aunt.. she’s sick.. she’s all the family I have.. I.. I don’t know what to do.”

He knelt down as his figure cast a tall shadow over her, as he realized she wore only her lace nightgown, My how perfect she looks gazing up at him so intently like that..

“Give me your Name, my dearest, and swear to me and me alone your first night.. and your first born~ I shall see to it your Aunt recovers and lives all her days healthy and strong… perhaps a long life as well~”

He could feel how she trembled at his words.. but he had yet to see any fear in her as her gaze turned heavy, giving up Her Name to him without hesitation..

“I swear it~ you may take my heart if it pleases you, my lord~”

He growled as she spoke those delicious words to him.. how sweet.. how delicious…. How curious was she~ a fine Mate for him indeed~

He slowly laid her down on her back as he hovered over her, his long luscious hair falling around them as he kissed her tenderly with honeyed passion, her precious moans tingling his ears as he raised a slender hand up her legs, lifting her dress skirt, only to rip her underwear clean off!

He could smell her arousal burning his nose, how sweet and inviting a scent as he bit her lips and grasped her breast as he shoved two fingers in her wet pussy and started stretching her wide with his fingers.. using his fingers to fuck her with skilled precision, only pulling his lips away from their kiss as she cummed on his hand.. her red lips gasping for breath~

“Tell me, my delicious little human~ what sickness has wrought your dear Aunt, that you would have me RAVAGE you~ make you MINE and Ruin you to any other pathetic male that would dare look at you~”

He quickly shoved his thick cock into her tight and dripping pussy right as she opened her mouth.. a guttural shriek the only thing she could muster as he slammed into her three times, filling her till they were hip to hip.. though he refused to move again till she gave him an answer~

She hastily wrapped her arms around his neck, roughly kissing him with pure hunger as she then gripped his horns and intwined her legs with his.. he froze at the look of predatory lust in her eyes.. My what a new and interesting development this turned out to be~

She weekly fained an innocent look, though she no longer bothered to make it convincing..

“Oh~ terrible allergies I’m afraid~ I feared she might never breathe properly again..”

His Golden eyes turned black as his Cheshire grin returned with glee at hearing this.. she..

SHE.. TRICKED.. HIM??

Ooooh ho ho ho ho~ A Mate this clever and patient was truly worth the wait~ he’ll be sure to reward her for that one~

He began pounding her at full force, her head rolling from side to side against the grass below as her grip tightened on his horns~ shoving his face into her neck he started to fill her with his seed~ Breeding her for as long as he desired.. after all.. thay made a deal. He will have her first Born~ and every single child he fucks into her pretty womb after that~

“Clever little Mate~ you wanted to be Bred like this? Didn’t you.. to be made a Fae’s Bride? Answer me! MY MATE! Or else I won’t fuck my brood in you~”

“Y-YES!! YES!!! Oh Yes!! I-I want this!! Please~ Breed me! MY LOVE!! P-PLEASE!!!!”

He purred at her, declaring her Love to him, to a Fae~ before he even finished Mating her~

He decides to do what not many of his kind do anymore.. Truly claims a Human as his one and only Mate~ instead of just Fucking her once.. he’s Fully going to be Breeding her to completion~

His Mate.. His Bride.. His Breeding Mother.. HIS… she’s HIS!!!

By the time she walks out that forest~ her legs tremble with every step, her dress dirty, stained with grass and the smell of sex, though it takes some time to realize she DID NOT in fact spend just a single night with her Fae Lover.. in fact he was Breeding her for a full week straight, and not long after till she starts to notice a new point at the tips of her ears..

She turns around, Smiling lovingly out at the edge of the forest as she rubs her barely round belly.. the Golden eyes of her Love grinning back at her~

Her Aunt soon emerging from their home to congratulate her, as she herself just returned from spending a few nights with her own husband…. The very kelpie that lives in the lake just behind their little cottage…

“… So.. your uncle wants to know if you invited your new Husband over for dinner? Or is he just going to keep fucking you in the woods??”

The girl turned to smile mischievously at her Aunt, unfazed by her later question..

“Yes! I did, He’s coming by a little later, he wanted to grab a few flowers for the baby first.. and also yes he will~ he’s a truly remarkably skilled Lover~ among other things~”

Her Aunt started cackling as she lead her niece inside for a nice warm bath, and then some tea and fruits for the growing babe.

“Oooh~ got a feisty one did you? Good girl! Perhaps that taste runs in the family after all!”

Sheeeesh! This is so good 😭

Hot too 😏

Claps for you 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

[injuries-in-dust]

Just started watching Delicious in Dungeon (about 12 episodes in) and here are my impressions of the characters if we popped them into DND, because that's how my brain works.

Laios - Human, Champion Fighter. Wisdom is his dump stat (poor insight) but he's profient in perception. (Example: identifying different monsters just by the sound of their footsteps.)

Falin - Human, Cleric of the Arcana Domain. I think her wisdom is decent but intelligence is her dump stat. She knows the countryside (survival is wisdom) and she figured the circle of life thing going on in that little cave/dungeon she found in her school years (nature is wisdom.) But she seemed to spend little actual time paying attention in that school.

Marcille - Half elf, Necromancer Wizard. With the Magic Initiate feat to get Cure Wounds from the Cleric spell list. High intelligence, low wisdom. Sage background. She only knows what she's read in books. She didn't even know raspberries were perfectly safe to eat!

Chilchuck - Halfling (lightfoot), Rogue thief.

Senshi - Dwarf (Hill), Gloom Stalker Ranger. With the Chef feat. He's probably a hermit background.

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Sacrifice

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(if i ever write protected know that my acct has been hacked), soulmate color au, hinted character death…, angst, somewhat established relationship–you’ll see, soft sex with logan with a few primal undertones, biting, oral(m&f receiving), a lot of mentions of blood due to the reader’s mutation, light hair pulling, depictions of violence, i think that is all lemme know if i missed anything!

summary: y/n is an omega-level mutant who finds herself on Xavier’s doorstep after an unfortunate encounter. cursed with the knowledge that whomever she loves will one day die by her hand, her heart tries its best to bury itself upon seeing color when she meets logan but the fight proves to be fruitless. 

word count: 8K

logan howlett x female!reader

Heavy lids and a limp in your right leg, you continued the trek up on the side of the winding road covered by abundant fir trees. The cold was biting and your breath fogged in front of you as you hobbled up the hill. You tried to self soothe by hugging your frigid limbs occasionally breathing heat into balled up palms. 

It was agonizing.

Every time you brought your hands up to your face to warm them up, your body shivered at the proximity of the dried blood on your hands. Your fangs extended, gently touching the sides of your tongue before you tried to retract them and your eyes rolled back with a nauseating euphoria rushing through your veins. Your breathing increased, turning into short pants as you ignored the innate feeling to hunt. 

To feed. 

You could sense every animal around you and your limbs twitched in a wicked need to hone in on their scent and drain them of their lifeforce. You needed to feel the luxurious sensation of their blood filling up and sliding down your throat feeling your power rush back to you. 

Your body betrayed you. 

There was a controlled thrashing of your head and limbs as it tried so desperately to lead to where to feed but you knew you needed to enact discipline otherwise Weapon X would forever have the final word. You’d be nothing more than an experiment gone wrong, a mutant turned haywire. You’d be the beast that everyone thought you were before the experimentation. A monster. 

Forced to haunt the shadows as any real sighting of you would invoke distress and trepidation among humans and mutants alike. You were virulent and Hell would freeze over before anyone let you believe otherwise. You stared down at your feet as you ignored the call to feed hoping that if you focused on the steel tips of your boots hard enough you could drown out the hunger.

Raising your head to see if your destination was in your sights, you could see the massive brick building with lights surrounding it as if you were about to enter heaven. Due to your fatigue, the lights were bending and stretching from the main bulb making it look like strobes were beaming out of the building. You laughed to yourself, tears brimming in your eyes as you felt relief wash over you. You tried to run but your powers were severely frenzied. You were exhausted, completely drained by the experiment and your mutations were in such an overdrive that if you tried to access them you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop yourself. 

Sighing, you took another step forward before being completely incapacitated by your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was like someone set you ablaze. Your vision was blurry but it was the only time you saw glimpses of color. Flashing images of the experiment and your current surroundings clouded your vision in a hazy red as you furiously tried to wipe the images from your eyes. 

Continuing to walk through the excruciating affliction you were experiencing you tripped over your own feet, your knees hitting the pavement with such a force that the gravel and rock that was scattered upon it lodged itself into your skin through your jeans. You doubled over in pain letting the searing agony bore holes through your anatomy. 

Maybe I should’ve stayed. 

You feared that you were transforming into the rapscallion demon everyone was terrified of you becoming. You tried to stay upright dragging your knees across the road feeling blood pool into the fabric of your jeans. It seemed colder out now, goosebumps covering your skin and your head longing for the warmth of something that wasn’t just your hair. With every raise of your legs, the weather bitterly reminded you of the rocks scraping your skin, letting the blood pool only to be healed when your opposite leg touched the ground again. 

The entrance of the mansion wasn’t far and you were finally close enough to feel the warmth of the streetlight envelop you but it wasn’t enough to defrost your frozen skin. You wished you could see the colors of the building, feeling that maybe you’d be more motivated to reach the gates and ignore the enervation if you could see all the different hues of the building in the budding colors of dawn. With the red hue in your vision fading, so did your vision itself. You fell onto your hands and dragged your body as close as you could to the front gates before collapsing on the ground, your right hand wrapping gingerly around the iron bars. 

~*~

When you awoke, you were in a lab again. 

Fear. Unbridled fear. 

It encapsulated you. The wires placed on your chest and head, the IV bag hanging on your right side with a small needle stuck in your cubital fossa was all too familiar to what you endured only days before. The bright lights over you only continued to petrify you in your colorblind state. Everything looked so sterile in here which was most certainly an upgrade from the Weapon X facility but you couldn’t shake the terror. 

Sitting up from the table, you realized you were naked, covered only by a sheet. Even though fear rattled your body, you knew you needed to calm down to get a better grasp of where you were at.

Did I do all of that just to get captured again?

Gently taking the IV needle out of your arm, you scanned the room looking for any cameras but you found none. Calming down your breathing, you took off the jelly pads that were stuck to your skin and the monitor on the left side of you stopped the routine beeping of your vitals. You slid yourself off the table and wrapped the sheet around your body like a Greecian toga. After knotting the fabric over your right shoulder you heard faint footsteps clicking on the tile floor and you smelled two bodies. Staring down at the floor you tried to focus on who they were debating whether or not they’d be a threat. As you closed your eyes you heard the light whirring of wheels coming down the hallway outside of the room you were in, your breathing increased ready to be on the defense of whatever was on the other side of that door. 

You walked behind the table you were laid out on moments before, your bare feet sticking to the tile and echoing your steps in the aseptic room. You wanted to give yourself an advantage with a divider if you needed one but something was telling you that you needn’t be so skittish. Your fangs were bared, face contorted in mulishness just in case you needed to flee. As the silver, circular doors breathed out compressed air and opened, a bald man in a wheelchair entered. A slender black woman with short, feathered white hair highlighted with black streaks walked alongside him. 

Your chest heaved in uncertainty and with your body still on the defense, you hissed at the two. You were unaware of the new mutations you had but your eyes changed color, a black rim engulfing most of your sclera leaving little white to show, with a vibrant, luminescent red ring covering your irises. Your fangs flashed in a snarl as you were desperate to save yourself, terrified that you’d be another test. 

The two were oddly calm across your frightened form and seeing their demure nature, it knocked your body into calming down. Your eyes return to their natural state, a vibrant hue that wasn’t natural. Your eyes were a sight, hypnotic to most as the jewel-toned color became the focus point of your face. As you calmed down you realized your fangs didn’t retract. It was usually a passing thought and you were able to blend in with society as best as you could but they weren’t budging. Running your tongue across your top row of teeth you realized that it wasn’t just your canines anymore, but now your incisors were sharpened as well. Your eyes widened slightly in horror, afraid of yourself now. 

“We’re not here to hurt you, but to help.”

You looked around the room looking to see who it was that spoke. 

“Look forward.”

“Who are you people?”

“I’m Charles Xavier. Ororo, but most call her Storm. You’re safe here. Nobody took you elsewhere, you made it to the mansion. I must say though, you made quite an entrance leaving us to find you bloodied and bruised on our doorstep.” 

You bowed your head, ashamed that you couldn’t even walk to the door but left for someone to find you. You were embarrassed that they found you in the state that they did, hoping that they didn’t view you as a brute freak splattered in dried crimson and sweat. 

“I didn’t know where else to go. I tried. I tried to make it past the gates but I was in so much pain. My body gave out on me, please forgive me. For the state in which you found me and for how I just greeted you. I’m not in my right mind.” 

Charles nodded at you with a tight-lipped smile and motioned for you to follow the pair. 

“Come. We have much to discuss.”

Storm handed you folded sweats for you to put on and waited for you to get dressed. As you zipped yourself up in the hoodie, you followed closely behind her with your hands shoved in your pockets and your hood hiding your head. 

~*~

Sitting across Charles at his desk, Storm was leaning against the wall behind you, the door to Charles’ study left ajar. 

“So, my dear what’s your name?”

“Omen.”

“Your birth name?”

“Y/n.”

“So Y/n, why Omen?” 

You sighed, closing your eyes to relive all of the memories of your past.

“Always been a bad omen. People were afraid to look at me, understandably so, I’d be a little freaked out by someone with eyes like these. But…it stemmed from other mutants. I could hide really well amongst humans but when other mutants found out what I am, and what I can do, they treated me like the plague. Like I was a death sentence, they feared me so in turn I fed off of that. I, a portent foreshadowing of mortality, was forced to walk alone in an effort to save myself and those around me. If you see me, well, a bad omen might’ve been sent your way. And that’s how-”

You paused, your nostrils flaring for barely a second.

Someone else was in the room now. 

You didn’t even bother to turn around, you continued to stare at Charles not ready to confront another introduction. You mouthed to Charles. 

Who is that?

“Y/n, this is Logan. Logan this is Y/n, or ‘Omen’ as we’re learning.” 

There was a pit that settled in your stomach, a foreboding that was tantalizing and horrifying all in the same breath. You were fighting an internal war between turning around and hoping that whoever Logan was would leave the room, assuming that he was the reason for this feeling brewing within you. You stayed stiff in the chair, not daring to move. You were hiding your eyes behind your hair as if Logan could see right through you and make the same judgments as everyone else. You hung your head as you heard his footsteps get closer to you before he sat right in front of you on the corner of Charles’ desk. 

“You know it’s rude to not say hello.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath hoping that your words wouldn’t fail you. 

“Hello.”

“Normally, you look at someone when you greet them.” 

Raising your head, that feeling in your gut intensified and as you opened your eyes to properly greet him suddenly the world around you gained a vibrance that you never had the luxury to experience. Your eyes widened and you frantically looked around you as experienced the color of the furniture come to life. Looking down at your hands, you notice the color of your warm skin come to life, no longer bound to the greyscale of before. When you raised your head again you looked to Charles, then back around to Storm before landing on Logan, your eyes wide with shock, adoration, and a bit of fear. Logan was looking at you with the same intensity and suddenly you didn’t feel so weary of looking at him anymore. 

“Hello, Logan.” 

Your brow furrowed, he looked at you in a way you couldn’t quite discern yet, but you didn’t have a hunch that it would be anything negative. Charles leaned forward and Storm came up closer to understand what was happening between you two. 

“Y/n, what’s happening?”

“I-uh, I can see.”

“See what?”

“Color. I can see color.” 

His voice was low and gravelly, it had a sweeter tone to it now.

“So can I.”

Before you could relish in the feeling of finally finding your soulmate, it was quickly shrouded by the fear of what having a lover meant for you. There was a more sinister meaning to your name besides being completely repudiated by all aspects of society. Your mutation meant many things, but in finding your soulmate you’d have to blood bond them which meant dependency for life. The bond would be completely inseparable and invasive. 

It frightened you. 

You’d feel every emotion, every pain, every suffering. You’d be unstoppable together but if ever separated you’d be an extreme danger and with all things considered you were terrified if the experimentation amplified that. You didn’t want to be the killer they made you out to be. You stood up, overwhelmed by the situation.

“I don’t know if I can do this. I need to go. I don’t want to make things worse, I don’t wanna hurt anyone again.”

“Y/n, please. We can’t help you if we don’t know everything. I’m not going to fish through your mind. Sit, please.” 

You glanced at Logan and then back to Charles before speaking again. 

“You were saying that if people saw you that meant a bad omen was sent your way, what did you mean by that?”

“It’s part of the reason why they snatched me up.”

“Who?”

“Weapon X.”

There was a bitter silence that filled the room and you didn’t want to relive it, but you had to. You needed to. If you were to overcome these feelings, this internal war within you, you had to face it. You waited for someone to speak but the silence remained so you broke it resentfully. 

“My mutation makes me an omega-level mutant, the government likes that. They like having murder puppets at their disposal. A genetic war machine, a hitman for hire I was. Weapon X caught wind of my efficiencies in execution and promised me an upgrade I couldn’t refuse. They told me that this experiment they did on me would make the mutation adamantine. They packaged it up in a pretty box, topped with an elaborate pink bow and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I felt useful for once like I finally mattered and had a purpose. I was a natural born killer so might as well stop fighting it, right? I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Tears were beginning to brim at your waterline as you wrestled with your feelings of dejection and the perpetual pit of undesirability. You just wanted to matter and you did, but only as a murderer. 

“You see I was able to control the hunger before, practically ignore it but after the experiment it was insatiable. They put me on a medical table and injected me with some sort of serum but my body, my mutation harnessed it like a bloodthirsty demon that spent years caged in civility. They did what they wanted to do with me, they made me the monster everyone thought I was, the killing machine they needed. What they failed to consider though was if I would comply once the experiment was completed.” 

Tears were now slowly falling from your eyes as you recounted the memory of days before. How rabid and vicious you were. The blind rage and wolfish animal you’d become.

“I slaughtered them. While they completed the transfer, they wanted to wipe my memory–make me a murderous android and that’s not what I was promised. I was promised unbridled control over my abilities. So as I lay on that table, wires coming out of all my limbs, I ripped them out, an intemperate bloodlust surging through me.”

You stared down at your hands imagining the fresh blood that was once splattered all over them and how delicious it felt to be in a power like that. 

“All I had to do was look at them and I could make their blood do whatever I wanted. Hemokinesis, they were completely at my will. Crimson splattered the facility as I ripped through their veins or made weapons of their insides. I had enhanced strength and speed now making me a fiendish nightmare. I ate every bullet, laughing at their futile attempts to stop me or my now regenerative abilities. They created a monster and now they wanted to bury it. Very Frankenstein of them except like the creature created by Mary Shelley, I lived. In a more violent nature but I lived.” 

You swiped your tongue over your teeth before bringing your pointer finger to the side of your mouth to stretch the skin and show your fangs. They were sharper now and you were starting to prefer it. As you recounted the events of earlier this week, you almost stopped feeling sorry for yourself and stopped feeling so scared as you came to terms with how powerful you’d become. 

“The mutation was always blood manipulation but never at this intensity. I had heightened senses, or bloodsense as I like to call it.”

“Why bloodsense?”

“Well, it’s not like an animal. I can’t smell people for their scents but I can smell their blood. It gives me access to their location, a new presence, and even their emotional state. Which is why the government found me useful, I was better than a sniper scope.”

You sighed. 

“Problem now was, I was hungry. Normally, I would’ve controlled myself, controlled the thirst, but whatever they did to me I couldn’t help it. Whoever was left and not entirely splattered into pieces, I sunk my teeth into. I can’t describe the euphoria I felt draining them. I would heal before but at a slower rate, now if I feed it’s almost instant.” 

Looking around the room, you thought before you spoke. 

“After I felt the threat was gone and I returned to my body, I ran. I couldn’t believe the massacre in front of me, I had never been unhinged like that and it scared me. I heard about this place before through them, they wanted to shut it down, eradicate all the mutants here.” 

Logan spoke and it startled you slightly. 

“So, you were gonna be a mutant killer.” 

“Not exactly. I thought I could con them into making me more powerful and running away to warn you guys, to help. I suppose I did but not in the way I intended” 

You laughed, finally finding some humor in the unfortunate reality you were sitting in. 

“On the way up here I was able to fight it. The urges. I think at the moment I was just so new and so frightened of what was happening to me that I spiraled out of control. I don’t think I need to feed on people I just need access to some type of blood. I was trying to train myself to focus on the animals on the journey up here. I think I can do it just with some more practice.” 

You fidgeted with your fingers before looking up at Charles doubt suddenly flooding your mind. 

“Do you think I’ll be of use here? Or am I just a lost cause?”

Logan piped up first. 

“I think Dracula here will be of great use to us, just gotta give her some adjustment time.” 

Your eyes darted up to Logan, feeling as though the comment was more than a joke but contemptuous. You could sense the amusement coming off of him knowing that he riled you up a bit. Rejection flooded your brainwaves as you thought about how cruel other mutants had been towards you. You’d think your “soulmate” would’ve behaved a little differently but it seems no extenuating circumstances would ever be granted for you. 

“Logan!” Storm scolded. 

“No mutant is ever a lost cause, y/n. We all can learn and be helped. We just have to be willing, which you seem more than apt to do.” 

You nodded, the tears coming back to your waterline as you felt acceptance. Genuine acceptance for you, not just your mutation but for you. 

“We’ll get you training by tomorrow. Time mustn’t be wasted. Logan show her to the open room across the hall from yours, I need to speak with Ororo. We’ll have y/n settled in by this evening.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow at Charles before looking at you motioning you to follow him. You stood up from the chair, following oddly close behind him, unable to control the intrinsic need to be near him. 

“You always walk this close?”

“Not usually. You’re an outlier.” 

He chuckled somewhat amused by your response. His gait held such confidence and it was something that you wished you had yourself. Maybe the bond wouldn’t be so bad, maybe you could learn from him, and maybe the more you learned about him and his powers the less you would have to feel about your interactions. The mansion was so massive that you thought the walk to your new home would never end. Logan broke the silence between you two right before you reached the door to your room. 

“Soulmates, huh?” 

“Guess so.” You felt heat rising to your face somewhat embarrassed by the admission even though it was true. 

“Pretty cute for a killer.” 

You were stunned. You were at such a loss that your mouth opened and closed searching hopelessly for words that would never form. Logan smirked at your silence and turned around to walk into his room. 

“If you need anything just come knock. If I’m not there I’m sure you can sniff me out.” 

You shook your head, finding the way that he spoke to you unbelievable but you also couldn’t deny that you found it somewhat humorous. You were glad that he was able to make light of something that you were so hardened about. Turning around to enter your room, you were met with a bare dorm. Sheets and simple furniture you were determined to make it look more like home during your time here. Lying down on the bed you stared at the ceiling taking in all of the colors around amazed by the simplest of hues.

~*~

You adjusted quite nicely, acclimating to the rules of the X-men relatively easily. They had simulated training which helped you hone in on your new abilities and unleash them when necessary. You were careful not to overexert yourself so you could limit your blood intake but oftentimes you needed to satiate the hunger in the dead of night when no one could be the wiser, running out into the trees and finding small animals to feed on, a deer if you were lucky. 

You didn’t feel so ashamed anymore and you honestly felt lucky for the first time in your life. You felt like you had a family, a home, but most importantly that you belonged. Walking in the front door, you were carrying a bulk of grocery bags in both of your hands. You finally had the time to purchase some items for your room. As you pushed through the door, Logan happened to be walking down the hall and made his way over to you holding his hand out to grab some of the bags. 

“Jesus, you know you can ask for help around here.” 

“Didn’t wanna bother anyone. I also didn’t think I was gonna buy so much shit.” You laughed. “It’s all going in my room if you wanna follow me.” 

“Think I’ll just stand here and hold them actually.” 

You smiled and walked to your room with Logan not far behind. As you opened your door you dropped all the bags at the foot of your bed relieved to have the weight off of your fingers. Logan did the same before placing a hand on his hip and looking around the room. 

“You want some help putting this stuff up?” 

“That’d actually be great, thank you Lo–Logan, sorry.”

“Y’can call me Lo, bub. Call me whatever you want.”

You felt meek in his presence but were ultimately glad that he gave you permission for a nickname. The two of you had grown fairly close with one another over the last few months and you were elated. There was something so pure and unfeigned about the connection that was forming between you two that you forgot about all the horrors of a soulmate. You were more than overjoyed to have found your other half and them not be fearful of you, even though you tried to seem nonchalant about your feelings. 

You were seen by Logan you were just trying to find a way to fully see him. He was hard to crack but as the days went by he was loosening up more and more and it seemed like you were privy to sides of him no one else was. There were urges within you that were becoming harder to control and the urge to bond with Logan was difficult to ignore. There was this innate hunger that was growing within you and you knew it was a partial side effect of the experimentation but you also understood the possible danger you would be even without the upgrade in your powers. 

When you looked at him, an insatiable hunger caped your entire being and you wanted nothing more than to have him your way. To make him need you the way you needed him. To incapacitate him with desire. You wanted to watch him dissolve into nothing underneath you and dominate your body with the next breath. 

You watched his muscles stretch and relax delicately underneath his skin as he grabbed the items out of your bags, holding them up to inspect before laying them on your bed waiting for direction from you. The only direction that clouded your mind was how you could get him to lay you on the bed. Your brain fogged with desire; you had no shame as your eyes stayed fixated on him. 

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.”

“I think I prefer the real-life option.” You smiled at him and you lost the meekness that you felt earlier. Something settled in your bones while he was standing in your room with you that let you breathe a little easier. Logan was safe, protective, and yours whether he liked it or not. You tried to hide the verity of your emotions but Logan had caught on within the first few weeks of spending time with you. He just preferred the entertainment of making you squirm and letting you think that you had it under control. 

Staring at your barren walls you were trying to envision the plan for your room before Logan’s voice brought you from your thoughts. 

“The Downward Spiral? Aren’t you a little young to be a Reznor fan?”

“Never too young to enjoy music, plus aren’t you a little old to know about anything other than Cash and Big Band music?” You cocked your brow waiting for his face to fall at your jab and when it did you let out a hearty laugh. 

“Where do you want it?”

“You can just roll it up, I wanna get a frame for it. Don’t wanna put holes in it. But I do need help hanging up this tablecloth. I’m gonna make it like a short curtain, you’ll see.” 

Taking the lace fabric out of the bag, you stretched your arms as far as they could go before deciding that you had plenty of fabric to drape it like you wanted. Turning around to Logan you pointed to the piano stool you had shoved under the keyboard in the corner of your room. 

“Can you bring that over?”

As Logan brought the stool over you grabbed a few push pins from the container on your bedside table and swaddled them in your hand. Stepping on the stool you stretched your arms to reach the center point of the wall above your window and made a preemptive hole before nestling the fabric against the wall and securing it with the pushpin. 

“Why don’t you let me help you?”

“I got it! Just make sure the stool stays steady, please.”

You did have it until you didn’t. 

You were getting ready to put the last push pin in and even though your shoes were gripping the stool you felt somewhat unsteady about your position. Stretching to get the last pin in the wall, the stool wobbled and you almost fell and would’ve if Logan didn’t catch you. His large hand cradled your waist while his other hand landed on the curve of your ass before swiftly moving down to your thigh and his foot stepping on the leg of the stool steadying it again. 

A surge of heat blasted through your body and simmered as Logan continued to hold your body steady while you shoved the last push pin into the wall. Stepping down, you turned around to face Logan getting ready to thank him before you realized the proximity of your bodies. He towered over you, and the energy that radiated off of him was virile but oddly soft. There was a gentle heat being shared between your bodies and as you looked up at him you felt so demure beneath him, ready to just give your all to him. 

There was a hesitance before you spoke, afraid that the vibration of your voice in the stillness would ruin the moment. 

“Thank you.”

“Told you you should’ve let me do it.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been able to catch me. I think we both win here.”

“Oh, you like that? Me saving you?”

“Think I could get used to it, yeah.”

Your faces were inches from each other now, lips begging to be against each other but there was a restraint coming from the both of you. Like magnets on the wrong side, neither one of you wanted to give in but your bodies exhorted the desire brewing to be acted upon. Logan’s hands found purchase around your cheeks, cupping your face and breathing out a small “fuck it” before he caught your lips in an impassioned kiss. Your arms hastily wrapped around his neck, your fingers pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck. Your hands soon traced to cup his face before resting on his built chest, your fingers toying with the chest hair that peeked out of his wife beater. 

A low growl rumbled in his throat as you bit his lip and pulled the skin away from the warmth of his mouth. Logan’s hand roamed down the curves of your body before guiding you to the edge of your bed where you flopped into the sheets and scooted to the middle of the bed to take in his form. There was a lecherous famine boiling in your bones and you looked at Logan with such an intensity it sent a shiver through his limbs. When your eyes grazed down his body you landed on the tent forming in his jeans and the thought of what lurked beneath the denim had your pussy clenching around air. 

Logan crawled over you and placed a few kisses near the sweet spot on your neck which had you rolling into him reveling in the feeling. As he hovered over your body he brought his knee up in between your thighs pressing a delicious amount of serene pressure against your core. Logan kissed all over your body and you wanted to continue the euphoria but hesitation was eclipsing your desire. Logan could sense you retracting and scanned your features to try and understand. 

“Listen, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, bub”

“No, no–I want to. It’s just.” You trailed off and Logan raised his brows waiting for you to continue. 

“It’s just, if we do this, you’re bound to me until death.” 

“You saw color when you saw me right?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the issue?”

You almost wanted to sabotage this. To tell him the worst of the worst and advise him to run away, pretend that you never existed. But you couldn’t. As much as you wanted to save yourself the heartbreak and tragedy, you feared love was painting over that panic leaving you to wrestle with the inevitable sacrifice you’d have to make. 

“My mutation binds us, intertwining our fates, and weaving us into one. It’s more than soulmates it's a blood bond. It happened with my parents but their circumstances were different. They didn’t choose a life of government executions and eradicating villains, there was no imminent threat of death.” 

His brow furrowed waiting for you to finish. 

“It’s innate–an irresistible need to claim you, mark you as my own. It’s a frenzied scene of passion and with a soulmate, the cauldron of emotions threatens to control me. Once this is done, we are bound beyond flesh. Our minds merged, and every memory–cherished or forgotten will be laid bare. I’ll feel every pulse of your thoughts, every feeling that ravages your soul and you, mine. You will become my life.”

“I’m not really seeing a problem here, sweetheart.”

“The problem is death. With this bond, every wound, and every pain will be felt as if it were our own. Our own agonies amplified. And God forbid if one of us dies, we will feel every second of that excruciating agony. There’s no autonomy. There is no freedom in loving me and should we ever be separated I–we’d be defenseless Logan.”

You paused, finding the courage within yourself to bear the worst. 

“There’s something else. My eldritch cross to bear.” 

“What’s that?”

“I will slowly kill you.”

His brows unfurled and he brought his hand up to your cheek as you closed your eyes with the confession. 

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe your mutation will counter mine and you’ll be able to regenerate fast enough before my influence roots. Or perhaps it’ll just take longer for you, but death came for my father and he understood the sacrifice he was making by loving my mother. He cherished and learned to love the reality he’d have with us, for us. I just don’t know if I can be that selfish.”

With tears threatening to spill you looked up at Logan, the fear you were swallowing for months now coming to the surface. 

“I don’t wanna kill you, Lo.”

Logan sighed and moved to sit next to you grabbing your hand in his, tracing over the grooves of your palms. 

This was it. 

You found him and you lost him all within a confession of something you couldn’t control. Your powers ameliorated for destruction you were left to bathe in the aftermath and be forced to solitude once again.

Taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss, he finally spoke. 

“Sweetheart, nothing can kill me.” 

Your head turned to face him, your face contorted in confusion before he continued. 

“And if loving you brings about my end, then God dammit it’ll be a death worth the sacrifice. I’ve lived lifetimes y/n, don’t deny yourself to save me. Ion need saving, I need you.”

Beneath the watery clouds of tears that glossed over your eyes, stars and hearts rested within them as you processed Logan’s words. There was no fear, no hate, no promise of abandonment from him, and while on instinct it scared you, you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity in his arms. This was more than seeing color, this was a testament to souls spending lifetimes to find each other, to reignite their flame and rival the brilliance of stars. 

The tears that fell were no longer out of fear but admiration and joy. Moving to straddle his lap, you cradled his face memorizing his features before playing with a few strands of hair that were falling on his forehead. 

“Why you crying, bub?”

“Just happy I found you.”

Placing an ardent kiss on his lips, you locked them between yours for a few moments savoring the sanctuary you had found in him. Pulling away you pecked his lips a few more times before staring into his eyes that shimmered with autumn hues of adoration for you. 

“You still want me, baby?”

“Always gonna want you, sweetheart.” 

You smiled before kissing him again and uttering a soft “lemme make you feel good.” before peppering kisses across his skin. The scruff of his facial hair tickled your cheek as you freckled kisses along his neck, hitting the sweet spot under his ear that had him sighing soft moans into the air. Trailing your hands down his chest they rested on his abs before you traced the outline of his belt buckle with your fingertips. Looking up at Logan you silently asked for permission before continuing your movements and he granted you sanction over him by wrapping his thumb and forefinger around your chin to bring you in for a kiss. 

Rolling your hips into his, you sighed fervidly into him feeling him tent beneath you. Pulling away from his lips, you palmed your hand over the stretching denim encasing his lap and locked eyes with him. You couldn’t quite explain it but you wanted to watch every emotion of his unfold in front of you. Eyes fixated on him like a silver screen projecting your favorite film, you relied on your sense of touch to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. Eyes falling to his chest you noticed his breathing becoming heavier as if he was holding himself back. 

Snaking down his body, you rolled his pants down with you just enough so that his cock could spring free from its confinements. He was picturesque in every sense of the word. His cock was the perfect length and was nested in a bed of untamed umber hair, his tip a flesh rose color that was leaking arousal.

Licking your hand, you brought it down to wrap around his length, the tip of your thumb and middle finger barely touching and you stroked up and down. Sliding your head down to the base, you flattened your tongue and licked a fat stripe up to his tip, dribbling a bead of spit onto the head. 

You looked at Logan through your lashes as you took as much of him as you could into his mouth. The sensation of your mouth wrapping around him had him gripping the sheets of your bed as you bobbed your tongue in and out of your mouth across his length. His moans slowly become more vocal, filling the atmosphere with a sexual symphony. 

Low groans and strangled breaths escaped his throat as you continued to suck him off. Logan took one hand off of the sheets to gather your hair out of your face. creating a makeshift ponytail with your locks, his hand resting on your head following your movements. Sucking in your cheeks, Logan let out a groan that sent pulses to your pussy and encouraged you to bring him to his zenith. 

Moving your hand in tandem with your mouth you felt him fulminate your mouth with his seed, the taste a salty piquancy of flavor. Swallowing every drop you continued to suck his orgasm out of him, his stomach caving in with zeal as you overstimulated him. Coming off of him with a pop, you wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb before Logan pulled you in for a kiss, groaning at the taste of himself as your tongues fought for dominance. 

Logan’s hands roamed the trunk of your body before landing on the swell of your breasts kneading the skin like a cat. Pulling away from your lips he rolled your bodies over so that he was on top. Ridding himself of his jeans and tank top, his nose traced the line of your pants the scent of your arousal pouring out through the fabric. Carefully unbuttoning them, he rolled them down your legs along with your underwear. 

Nuzzling his nose against the fatty rise of where intimacy finds its home, he breathed in your scent a primaeval urge seizing control over him. 

“Lemme take care of you.”

Logan’s hands followed the curve of your sides before situating his body in between your legs. Wrapping his hands around your hips, he swiped a few kitten licks at your center before flattening his tongue and devouring you like his last meal. The scruff of his beard tickled the inside of your thighs and the vigor with which his tongue was lapping at your petals had you rolling and writhing beneath him. You were squirming with pleasure, frantically searching for something to ground your body outside of the euphoria that was gushing through your bones. 

Your hand was hesitant to rest in his hair, not wanting to ruin the perfectly sculpted duck tail, but digging your nails in the sheets wasn’t enough to steady your arousal. Giving into your resolve, your hands threaded themselves into his surprisingly soft locks, given the style. As you gripped at his tendrils, he moaned against your skin, the vibrations sending frenzied waves of pleasure through your haven. 

Your moans were becoming more frequent, breathy, and low in timbre. As you came closer to your peak you began chanting Logan’s name like a prayer, desperate for salvation. Release. 

It came in an electrifying wave. A rapture seizing your body at an intensity you’d never felt before. It inflamed you and you wanted nothing more than to make Logan as yours in any way possible. The sexual paroxysm that caged your being was impossible to ignore now and your body moved before your mind could resist. 

You flipped your bodies again so that Logan was flat on his back. Ripping your shirt off over your head, you motioned for him to scoot back so his back would be against the headboard. Crawling over his body there was a libidinous heat running through you and it felt like something else was controlling your movements. You were just watching from the passenger's seat. Straddling his legs, you perched yourself over his cock holding it at the base. 

“Inescapably, eternally, you’re bound to me.” Your voice was dripping in seduction but you said it almost as a warning, a bitter reminder of what was to come and before you had the chance to drift your mind elsewhere Logan’s voice brought you back. 

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

You kissed him, smiling into it before you pulled away gasping at the stretch of his cock while you lowered yourself on him. The stretch was ambrosian, your honeyed hole sucking him in greedily as you became flesh with the base, his pubes tickling the tip of your clit. You bounced on him with vehement hunger, your sexual desire throwing you into a zealous delirium. The feeling of his cock stretching you out was something you fantasized for weeks; your imagination did little justice for the actual feeling. 

Giving your legs a break, you moved to rock your hips against his, stimulating your precious bundle of nerves against him. Wrapping your arms around his neck you licked a stripe up the side of his neck before letting your head rest in the crevice where his shoulder and neck met. His large, calloused hands held your hips and helped rock you against him, occasionally detouring up your back and gripping at your skin. 

It was like the veins in his neck were screaming out your name and your fangs began to tingle in your mouth, a sharp pain shooting through your gums. You let the tip of one of your fangs poke at his skin, a guttural moan leaving his throat before the craving of the bond, of the feed eclipsed any trace of logic within you. Fangs bared, cock still sheathed in your cherubic cavern, you sink your teeth into his neck. The intoxicating taste of salty iron washed over your tongue and slid down your throat covetously. 

You need not drain him to the point of death, but just enough to memorize the taste of him for the years to come. Logan moaned out his nails digging into your skin before flipping you on your back. In the movement, you removed your teeth from his neck, carmine staining your lips and the tips of your teeth. 

“Thought you didn’t wanna kill me, baby?”

“Thought you couldn’t die.”

In the prurient haze you were in, the harrowing anxiety from before had vanished, replaced by a fleeting sense of primacy. That feeling was soon wilted as you were shadowed by the dominance of the man above you. 

“I’m gonna fuck that right out of you, sweetheart.”

Swollen with erotic pride you laughed, a wordless challenge for him to conquer. Lining his tip back with your entrance, the stretch was more noticeable on your back and you could feel his tip pressing gentle whispers against your cervix. You were rolling your hips to meet his thrusts and Logan wrapped his arms around your body holding your flesh against his, the sweat on your bodies plastering you to one another in a heinous display of desire. 

His thrusts became urgent like it would be the last time he was inside of you. His moans were louder and the heat from his breaths was leaving a sheen of condensation on the crest of your ear. 

“Fill me up, Logan. I wanna feel all of you.”

You dug your nails into the skin of his back leaving deep red trails in their wake. Wrapping your legs around his waist your hole preemptively squeezed around him as you felt your orgasm build in your lower half. 

“You’re fuckin mine, y/n. Never gettin’ rid of me now.” 

His hips stuttered against you before you felt his balls pulsing against your puffy lips as he flooded your grotto with his thick, alabaster seed. The warmth of his cum filling your pussy left goosebumps to flutter across your skin and he continued fucking you through his orgasm. He overstimulated himself until he felt you pulse around his length, indulging in your juices spilling down the shaft of his cock. 

Pulling out of you, you quickly closed your legs not wanting to get up just yet to rid yourself of his cum. Logan rolled onto his back and you turned on your side placing your hand on his chest before looking up at him ardently. There wasn’t a flaw about him and your mind began to imagine what the rest of your life would look like. You were about to fall victim to your thoughts before Logan’s voice brought you back to mind. 

“So when do I start dying?” 

You slapped his chest lightly. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, when do I start dying.” 

“Hopefully never, bub. Hopefully never.  Whenever you do, I won’t be far behind.” 

© yeonjuns-beanie ‘24

[revelboo]

Over it Now

Jazz x Reader- hurt

• Tires screaming on wet asphalt, Jazz rounds a lazy curving stretch of country road, pushing his speed into the redline in frustration. Because it’s his fault and this is the only way he can vent out the poisonous taste of failure. He’s supposed to know everything, be one step ahead of the Decepticons all the time. Optimus won’t say a word, but he has to be disappointed. He’s disappointed in himself. He speeds up, losing himself in reckless anger.

• Elbow deep in soapy water, you hesitate when you hear the crash. It sounds too close and you grab a towel, heading outside. For a moment all you can hear is the sound of frogs in the woods, the world peaceful. Then you see it.

• Breath locking in your lungs, you stare at the distant, fitful glow. People always take the curve too fast, but this lunatic was going so fast his car is down inside the woods well off the road for you to be able to see it from your porch. And then without really thinking, you’re running down the hill, feeling the rain-wet grass soaking your sneakers through.

• You fight your way through the brambles and undergrowth. Even with the swollen moon overhead, you can’t really see much except that glow. Headlights? It can’t be fire, it’s blue. “You okay?” Yelling as you keep pushing forward, you hear something. The sound of groaning metal and a loud crack.

• Fantastic, just a perfect end to a perfect day. Transforming so he can shove against the small tree that is partially on top of him, Jazz groans. But at least it can’t possibly get worse he decides, pushing clear of the tree to send it rolling. A sharp, pained cry is the universe’s response. Because of course it can.

• You’d frozen, staring at the impossibility of the wrecked car unfolding itself into a huge robot and then heaving the downed tree away like it’s a stick. There’s no time dodge, as it rolls into your leg and you crumple with a scream. Tears streaming down your face, you try to drag yourself away as the monstrous robot looms over you, big hands reaching for you. And you black out before the horror looming over you can tear you limb from limb.

• When you come to in the hospital, you lunge and nearly roll yourself right out of the bed as panic sparks through you. Your mind is a confused tangle of fear and pain and monsters. A nurse appears to push you gently, but firmly back down. Apparently your leg is broken and someone dropped you off, dumped you, unconscious at the ER entrance. It’s a miracle an ambulance didn’t run you over. You can only stare at the woman, whole heartedly agreeing with the censure in her voice as she fusses with your IV. What had really happened?

• Certainly not what your brain was insistently screaming happened, because that’s crazy. There hadn’t been a giant robot. You get an Uber to bring you home as soon as they clear you, and your hands won’t stop shaking the whole ride. Pretending you’re not about to have a nervous breakdown when the driver helps you with your new crutches, you struggle to the front door and let yourself in.

• Making your awkward, undignified way through the house, your skin prickles as you pass the French doors in the living room. There’s a car you don’t recognize parked beside yours, a sporty looking thing. White with blue and red stripes that scream not only speed, but money.

• And pity joins the guilt as the little human unlocks the glass doors and limps outside to stare at him. He hasn’t meant to hurt anyone and he’s broken you. Hadn’t even known you were there. Well, this is his fault. He can own up to it. Transforming, he just manages to catch the human in his servos as they keel over. Again. Scrap.

• Groaning, your head lolls back against a hard and warm surface. Something else shifts against you, under you, touching your jaw to gently turn your head. Your world moving like you’re on a boat. Squinting against the throbbing in your head, you stare up at a huge face staring right back at you from way too close. And you scream.

Next

[nvuy]

poor provincial town — il capitano

summary. your father disappears suddenly, so you set off in search, and discover something much worse than the monsters you were warned about in your quiet little village.

notes. nvuy actually writing something holy shit we lost. it’s a beauty and the beast spin off. i want this man so badly i will trudge across the sahara desert just to lick off his sweat to cure my unbridled thirst.

warnings. 16+, mature themes, you can interpret capitano as yandere but he’s also implied to not be human (riding on the draconic capitano headcanons here) so in general he’s just a weirdo, he’s probably ooc because yeah, gn reader (any usage of the word ‘man’ is just another word for ‘human’), mentions of violence, threatening, violent threats can also be interpreted as sexy i guess, mentions of death, AU sort of because beauty and the beast spin off.

Your father had gone missing.

The news had shaken you to your core, and despite the wrangling on from the poor terrible and boring provincial town that you hailed from, you planned to set out almost immediately in search of him.

The people had warned you of wolves in the forest, flesh eating bugs that crawled in the winter snow, and men with pointy sharp teeth and large claws that could slice you to ribbons. All horror stories from children’s books; the same nightmares you had when you were little. Raging beasts within the trees to make sense of the shadows that moved strangely in the night.

You were warned, denied, almost locked away in your home for protection. But, you moved. You set out, for your father was already old and frail as he was. You couldn’t imagine him being lost to the woods. Not your father. He was wiser than to step out by himself, and especially so deep within the trees.

“It does not make sense for you to venture by yourself. Trekking through the woods is not for people such as you.” The older lady of the town library told you one day. “What lies out there… I could not tell you.”

You took the book from her hands and pressed your fingers into the hard cover. Your nails left a permanent dint in the laminate. “I do not fear death.”

“Not death,” she corrected. “Death is not what lingers.” She then glanced up at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Death is beautiful. What you should be afraid of are people.” She looked back down at you before a sad grin grew onto her lips. “Speak not to strangers, for you may provide dinner for the beasts that roam the woods.”

She did say beasts, you know. Monsters with fangs and fur and hooves that knew nothing but to bite and eat, eat, eat.

But there are various sorts of beasts. Charming, handsome quiet beasts. Kind and polite and patient.

“It is the gentle beasts that are the most dangerous of all.” The older lady sighed deeply, perturbed. She fidgeted in her seat behind the counter. “If you do leave, bring a weapon.”

You cannot fight, though you did pocket a small dagger.

And then you set off. Through the woods, down hills, across rivers, trying to piece together a narrative as to why your father had disappeared. It was winter — though, it did always snow here — and the winds were much more biting than usual. Thankfully, you had brought layers, and the thick hood that wrapped over your head did its job in banishing most of the cold.

It did not stop the lingering gazes of the creatures that crept along the trees, and lingered within the shadows.

You are soaked in snow and wind and cold, but you press on.

You eventually stumbled upon a castle. A grand one, with cracked and broken windows, thorny leafless bushes that surround the forked fencing, and a door so giant your hand can barely wrap around the handle. It is the only source of shelter for miles.

He must be here. Your father was ill. He needed a roof to sleep under. And possibly, despite its state, the castle could have food hidden away if looked for thoroughly.

You push open the doors, wincing from the loud creaking that alerts your presence to anyone residing inside. It looks abandoned. The once polished floors and mangled and ruined, and it a single candle flickers with life. The chandelier sits on the floor, smashed to pieces, and glass spills from every corner.

It is dark, and cold, but it is shelter.

So, you search.

High and low, wandering through the endless halls, trying to trace your steps. You search upstairs first. There are many levels, perhaps maybe five or six, and as you look, you find different rooms. Grand empty ballrooms, bathrooms that once had plated gold edging to every corner and crevice, bedrooms with torn sheets and broken wardrobes. Most rooms were empty — you cannot imagine being able to fill every single one.

Then, you search downstairs. You hadn’t wanted to go below the ground, but your father did not answer to any hushed whisper you called, and you were beginning to lose hope.

The deeper you go, the more you feel trapped.

There are cellars down here, and they stretch on beyond what your eye can see.

The cellars are dark and twisted and cold. It smells of mildew and mould, and every step you take emits a splash from the puddles. The walls are brick and cracked and covered in moss so old it has turned black with time. There are no little white flowers along the vines.

You step further along the wet stone, feeling along the wall blindly. Your nails scrape along, and you try to even your breathing. It’s cold. It’s cold. Frost and snow still clings to your clothes.

That’s when you spot your father rotting away in a cell, and you quickly take his hands through the bars. He’s frail and older now, and so much sicker from being locked away for so long.

You cry out pathetically when he struggles to curl his fingers around yours. Frostbite has taken the tips, and his skin has morphed to an ugly purple and black.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me,” he tells you. Then, he glances down the dark hall. He cannot see anything, for shadows linger across the walls like spiders crawling upon silvery silken webbing, but he knows there is something out there. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

You dismiss his concern. “You’re freezing.” You squeeze your hands tight over his thin skin before you shed off your hood and hand it to him through the bars. “Who did this to you?”

“You need to leave,” your father pleads.

“‘Leave?’” you echo. You try to see through what little light there is for a keyhole. You do not have a key, but the iron is rusted and weak, and you’re sure you can find something to smash the door through with. “I cannot leave. Not without you.”

You search around. You try to steady your racing heart, breathing deeply through your nose. Fog passes from your lips with each breath. Water drips from somewhere, and the constant ticking and creaking of the old bricks make you nervous.

You’re concerned the entire floor will collapse, so you work quick.

The cellars are empty and abandoned. Most of the doors are open, and there’s no keys in sight. There are no weapons, either, nor any long poles to smash the door down.

You panic.

It’s hopeless.

This place is completely empty.

You turn back to your father and try weakly pulling at the door. It does not budge. “Who locked you in here?”

“A beast,” he replies. It is said in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of even uttering the word. “It tore me off my path and brought me here.”

But beasts can’t be real. They’re just fairytales; stories your mother told you when you were little so you wouldn’t wander off by yourself. “Did it hurt you?”

“No. Not yet.” He glances down the hall again. “But it may hurt you.”

“I am not leaving without you. I have searched for days.” You stand up to search for something again, but you know deep down it is futile.

There is nothing.

There’s nothing here.

You want to weep, but that will not help.

It’s hopeless. It’s all so twisted and horrific. There is no beast here. There cannot be. You would have stumbled upon it by now. It would have sliced you to ribbons by now. It would have locked you away with your father by now.

“Listen to me,” your father whispers. “Return to the village and call for the soldiers.”

You shake your head.

“They will not listen to me. They think I’m crazy.” And they do. You briskly wipe at your tears and kneel down in front of the bars again. Then, helplessly you bash at the bars, and the sound echoes down the halls. “How do I get you out?”

Your father tries to quiet your sobbing. “Go back to the village. Find General Zasha, speak with the soldiers.” He grabs your hands through the bars. “The General will listen to you.”

“He will not.”

“He will.” Your father nods once, confident. “I know a man in love when I see it.” Your father kisses your knuckles once before he lets go. “I will be alright.”

He will not be, but you stumble to your feet and back away from the cellars.

And then you leave. You say not a parting word to your father. You pray and hope he remains alive for another few days. You can do nothing else but trek back up the stairs and return to the main halls.

You know they must have been beautiful once. Now everything is old and withered and etched away.

In another world, another life, just maybe, you would have loved to roam the halls of a castle and spoiled endlessly.

You walk slowly, beaten down, cold and alone. Your bones ache with exhaustion, but you will not rest here. You are determined to return to the village and speak to the general, even if you despise him with every inch of your heart.

Your hand reaches for the door handle.

“What’s this?”

And then there is a blade at your throat.

“Another thief roaming my halls?”

You swallow, but all that does is press the blade further into your skin. The discomfort sends you into a panic, and your breathing stutters. Your hand remains wrapped around the handle, but you cannot will yourself to move.

Escape is futile.

You should not have come here.

The blade is removed swiftly. So swiftly that the sharp end glides along your throat and leaves a shallow cut. It stings, and you try not to cry out in fear. Sweat pools down your neck and twists into the new cut. You hiss silently at the pain.

“What did you steal?”

You do not turn around. “Nothing. I am no thief.”

“Then you know the man I locked away.” His voice is deep, and it echoes in the hall. “Otherwise, you would never have come at all.”

You turn slowly, aware he is still armed.

It is a sword he holds, though it is hidden away beneath a large feathered and fur coat that rests upon his shoulders. Long black hair falls from beneath a mask that covers his face, and the shadows below disguise his skin, and anything that can identify him.

He is taller than you. Much taller, and much bigger. You cannot fight him.

“Why did you lock away my father?”

“Your father is a thief,” he replies easily. “And thieves remain thieves until they rot.”

There is no noise. It is just you, and him, and the constant dripping of water from your hair.

“My father is not a thief, beast,” you argue. “You are locking away a sick man.”

“I am no beast,” he denies. “I am man.”

“A man with a blade is no different to a beast.” He must be a beast. There is no reason as to why he would reside in a place such as this. “I will bring back an army.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you will.” It sounds condescending, and you scrunch your face up when he leans down to scrutinise you. “That is if you can leave my grounds alive.”

“You will die before you lay a hand on me.”

You pull out the dagger residing in your pocket. It is a desperate attempt to create space between you, but the knife only manages to garner a simple tilt of his head.

It’s small, barely deadly, but if angled right, you could take out an eye. But the thought of that makes you crumble; you don’t fight.

The man simply tuts. “You are not even worth a chance to spar.” He simply plucks the weapon from your hands. “How you survived out there is both a mystery and a miracle.”

“I am not weak,” you say. You don’t feel it’s true.

“Stubborn. You are stubborn.”

Your finger twitches in frustration. “Free my father from his cell.”

“Bring your army,” he answers. “It has been a while since I’ve been faced with a challenge.”

“You will lose your head before you even unsheathe your weapon.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you have to trust yourself. Just this once. “You cannot take on one hundred men.”

“I have once. I will do it again.”

“I will be honoured to have your severed head hanging as decoration in my bedroom,” you sneer. “You will not win this. Your arrogance will be your downfall.” You try to twist and make for the door again, but he holds steady on your wrist. “Unhand me.”

The man, or the beast, or whatever he is, does not falter.

“You are small. Whatever army you bring will be smaller.” He pulls once at your wrist and that silences your struggling. It hurts and stings in warning. “Puny. Is this the best you can do? What if you were to run into a real beast?”

“Let go of me!” you try.

His grip tightens. You fear your bones will snap into pieces. You’re unsure if the skin beneath his gloves belongs to a man or a beast. The tips are sharpened and metallic, and you’re sure they can pierce into your flesh.

He leans in close. Too close.

Close enough you can barely identify the outline of lips drowned out by the shadows that swamp his features. A big man, much too big for you, and he terrifies you beyond your nightmares.

You will dream of him.

Terribly.

“Let go of me,” you plead quietly.

“Let us strike a deal,” he whispers.

“I will make no deals with any man,” you defy.

You see a smile and a flash of sharp teeth.

“I am no man, nor beast,” he responds. “Send your men. Send one thousand. Send every man that has ever walked this plain.” He grabs you even tighter, and if the mask did not obstruct his face, your lips would have touched his, and the scar that runs across the vermillion. You share his breath, and you smell blood and ash. “I will kill them all.”

You feel he tells the truth.

Still, you insist. “You will die.”

“If I do so perish, then the wager is in your favour. Have whatever you wish from this place. Destroy it, restore it, it is yours.”

You want to tell him you do not want this terrible castle. You want your father home, but you are aware he knows this. You open your mouth to speak, but a hand abandons one of your wrists to grab your face and squeeze just enough to keep you quiet.

His claws press into your flesh. You try to wretch yourself free and rake your nails down his arm.

“And if I kill every man you send, I will return your father.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“I will have you instead.” He twists you further towards him, and your lips touch. “I will decorate these halls with the heads of every man of your village, and I will ruin you.”

That is a promise. You know it is. You can tell from how he whispers it, and how his grip has slackened into something more gentle than it was before.

“You cannot–” Nothing comes forth from your lips.

“I can.” He lets go of your other wrist and twists his claws into your hair. “It has been so long since I have tasted the flesh on mortal bone.”

The man, whatever he is, releases you finally, and you startle backwards against the door. Blindly, you feel for the handle behind you, trying to keep your breathing even as you finally grip onto the cold metal.

The door swings open behind you and you step outside of the castle. The cold hits you instantly, and you double over in the icy strong winds. You abandoned your hood to your father, and have nothing to shield your eyes. They sting with tears and snow.

Something drapes over your shoulders, heavy and warm.

It’s a coat. The same feathered and furred coat, though it is not laid onto you out of concern or politeness. It is possession, and complete control, ownership when the beast grasps your chin from behind you one last time.

You stare out in fear into the forest ahead.

“Flee, little one.” You feel his lips on your ear. “Time slips away as the clock ticks forward. The world will stop for you, if I so choose it to wait.”

He is warm. Warm against your back, and it provides temporary, ill-fitting relief into your skin.

“I await your return, blade honed, and hungering for your skin.”

You slip from his grasp. “If I don’t return?”

“Your father will draw his final breaths in my cellar,” he tells you, “and once he does, I will chase you to the ends of the earth to deliver the good news.”

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson��s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

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