#that word makes me feel unclean

[eemamminy-art]

Oh..... ): today I learned, even if you have a word in your filtered tags or filtered post content, if someone puts that word in tags on a reblog you'll still see it in your activity feed...

[the-maddened-hatter]

Just for funsies:

Bonus: Tell me in the tags what YOUR autism traitor trait is if you have one! :D

[elliesbff]

“i need you.” — abby anderson

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this second part, i’ve been going through a lot mentally and have just been trying to get my head around things. i genuinely hope this teeters to your satisfaction ♡ thank you for all the likes on pt 1 !

summary: after tending to neglected needs, it takes 5 words to turn the tables. notes: nsfw, scissoring, oral sex, (r!receiving) fingering, (r! receiving) slight dacryphilia, a bit of hair pulling, softdom!abby, sub!reader. wc: 2,793 | tags: none

read pt 1 of " i need you " here!

moments prior,

abby’s braid slid graciously past her shoulder as she pulled away from your short lived embraced, already missing the warmth of her sun kissed skin. it seemed like she was in a hurry, scurrying out of the gym in the blink of an eye. as you took a moment to gather yourself, you realised that she’d left her bottle behind, and her bench remained uncleaned. you stood there dumbfounded, what could she have planned that was more important than gymnasium hygiene? after all, it was her that taught all you know.

when you were nothing but a baby wolf, abby took notice of you as a new recruit and instantly saw potential in you, taking you under her wing and training you like hell to fulfil your true abilities. although you were nowhere near as burly or as experienced in combat as her, you were quite good with weaponry and crafting, as well as adapting to your surroundings, making do with what you had on you during critical times.

she calls you ‘the scavenger’ when you were not present. it was her unique way of honouring how far you’d come since joining the WLF, how she paved the way for the indestructible soldier she firmly believes you’ll grow up to be one day. it’s also just her adorable little nickname for you that she beckons nobody uses in her place.

she has the upmost faith in you. growing closer with each patrol, each gym session, and sometimes just casually hanging about the FOB or at each others rooms. your friendship was something others envied; it was pure, full of trust and built upon mutual respect. but those closest to you knew it meant more than what first meets the eye.

abby was out of sight in the blink of an eye, you look around in a suspicious daze, trying to follow her whereabouts. she was quick, but not quicker than you.

you had a long-overdue session to finish, but abby looked relatively… uneasy. something was wrong, and you could feel it. the line between instincts and curiosity began to blur as your feet developed a mind of their own, your duffel bag and towel long gone as you’d already turned the corner outside the gymnasium.

maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was overkill to automatically assume the worst was happening to her. but if something was really up with abby, you wouldn’t live it down if you didn’t initiate help.

the look on abby’s face as you stared at her through the firmly rimmed glass, her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowing only ever illuminating her intense eyes — a million thoughts a minute ran through your mind, instinctively charging for two heavy silver doors and up a random stairwell. you could smell the scent of pine and sweat — that was definitely abby.

all reasoning for your unexplainable shenanigans flew out the window as you approached abby’s room, a series of shuffles followed by a supposed muffled voice echoed from the opposite side.

your hand hesitantly reached up to knock, only to realise the door was never locked to begin with. abby could never be that careless, — maybe manny, but regardless — she would sometimes recall times where she’d have to remind him to lock up before leaving during your sessions at the gym. she’d never make a mistake she so harshly scolded people for.

your face inches closer to the door, the cool solid wood sending a kiss of shivers across your exposed shoulders as it welcomingly swayed open.

with each step, the unintelligible noises grew much clearer, and it was becoming more palpable as to what that was entailing.

you’re heart only dropped to your gut at the sound of your name, uttered by a helpless, whining mess.

“please… please.”

the door conditionally, and gently swayed closed on its own behind you, a little clck locking the door in full as you took a couple steps closer. was this a figment of your twisted imagination? the soft whimpers and subsequent cries of your name begged to differ. it was no secret now. abby had a thing for you. you were almost too afraid to move as each whine only grew more vehement.

with a couple more stalled footsteps, you froze at the sight of abby, completely ruining herself at the fate of her own hand.

your eyes widened instantly, the warm air prickling your eyes as would salt water. seeing her all ruined over the thought of you was enough to lift your hands over your mouth in keen disbelief.

you attempted to gather yourself, debating whether or not confronting her on this was the best idea — but no normal person would just walk away and forget this ever happened — forgetting the image of abby anderson, issac’s top scar killer, ramming her slick-covered fingers inside her wet cunt all while repeating your name under a dumbed spell? it’s not something that can just leave your mind at the drop of a hat. it certainly wouldn’t later, neither.

while lost in your thoughts, your tense arms dropped to your sides as your feet followed closer, the sound of your boots shuffling against the smooth concrete floor not catching her attention,

“abby?”

you watched as her oceanic eyes shot open, the abby you once believed would simply chuckle and brush off the idea of this, now scurried to find something, anything to cover her herculean figure, freckled arms still just poking out the sides.

it took more than an ounce of self control to not let yourself run wild at the fact that the abby anderson had a rather strong fancy for you, not to mention she was fucking herself to the thought of you.

as your initial astonishment subsided, your body beamed with want. seeing abby flushed and heated clouded your acclaimed critical thinking.

“…can i have a turn?” slipped from your lips after tending to abby’s own neglected desires.

and here you were, moments passing almost at the speed of light. you laid flat on your back, tits perked up from the arch of your back with abby towered over you. her estranged braid slid off her shoulder with her eyes staring you down. your neck generously splayed with bruises and bite-marks, only reminding you that she’s been wanting this for god knows how long. unbeknownst to her, you did too, you just never believed you’d live to ever experience it.

her hand lightly grazed over your tit, meticulously attending to your swollen nipple. her thumb teased at it, rubbing the area in circles to provoke a much anticipated and equally expected reaction. with her hand on your chest and her lips returning to attack your already purpled skin, you stifled a whine, bottom lip bit between your teeth. she kissed along your throat, from the point of your jaw to the crook of your neck.

she continued toying with your body as her tongue traversed to your waist, laying another round of sloppy kisses to your hip bones and abdomen.

it was like your skin grew ten times more tender whilst under her touch, each breath of hers against your skin feeling like a gentle tickle, accompanied by her large and surprisingly delicate hands palming your tits, it was growing to be too much, too much being your style, anyways.

her hand left your chest to firmly grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to her lap. she took her already soaked fingers, prodding at your pussy like you’d done previously. your breaths grew shakier with each flick of your clit.

her eyes returned to that intense, fiercely glare from back at the gym, so that’s why she was so concentrated, or rather in her own dreamland.

her tongue laid a generous coat of saliva along her lips, staring at your pussy like the starved woman she was. for how long she’d ached for this, you had no clue. this was bound to be a moment to remember.

your cunts were practically hugging each other, the feeling of being so close to her pussy only added fuel to the fire that gleamed in your core. the longer abby stared, just taking in your breathtaking body, the stronger the feeling of being exposed grew.

her head dives below your eye view, feeling her nose bump at your clit. she savours it, her tongue peeling out at an antagonisingly slow pace as she glares at you through her arched brows. she could taste it all, her juices mixed with yours..

your hand gently took rest within her blonde locks, hooking into the back of her braid.

“abby,”

you huffed, sounding more like a plead than anything. with each soft, trembling breath, she’d drag her tongue along your cunt in sync.

her face would dig further into you, arms slithering to wrap themselves around your thighs. even if you begged for her to slow down, your needy hole that clenched around nothing, desperate to be touched, told her otherwise.

abby would stare at you longingly, finally able to die happy between your tensing thighs as she rapidly swabbed your clit with your tongue, dragging it along in circles and the likes.

your body jerked at the sudden change in pace, back arching instinctively off the bed. the whole lower half of your body fired up, tingly and numb. her muffled grunts sent you haywire, violently gripping onto her hair. she was like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking and lapping around that sweet spot like her life depended on it.

“stop squirming.” abby would demand as she shoved your hips back onto the mattress, not once detaching herself from you.

you could barely comprehend anything she’d say as she was practically suffocating herself between your thighs, and you’d both be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

abby teased your cunt with her fingers, carefully slipping her thick digits inside of you. your legs squeezed around her head at the sensation of feeling so full. her fingers, let alone hands, were thicker than yours. and they felt much more fulfilling.

your moans would blend harmoniously, both equally experiencing pleasure from the other as you climbed the ladder of your climax.

abby’s suppressed grunts would only ring through your ears. where was the abby that was so shamelessly call out your name moments ago?

your grip on her hair tightened, practically dragging her face along your cunt to accumulate as much friction as your body desired. her fingers would work wonders, unforgivingly pumping in and out of you as her tongue would rub against your clit. each time she would flick against it you’d jolt, back arched with a shy hand over your mouth.

in a matter of seconds, abby had pulled away — both her tongue and fingers. just as you were about to reach the peak, you’d tumble down with your high dropping in seconds.

“wh.. why’d you stop?” you breathed out, tears that rimmed your eyes beginning to dissipate.

as if abby could read your thoughts, she placed a leg over yours, dragging your helpless body closer to her. your cunts were mere centimetres apart, the slick that built up from your pleasure mixing with hers.

“wanted to rile you up..” she muttered, her beautifully eager smile spreading from ear to ear as she strategically began kneading her pussy against yours. abby let out a stifled whimper, her perfectly toned arms pulling your leg almost over her shoulder.

you whined as she slowly dragged her pussy back and forth. the only thing ruminating through your mind in the moment was how you wished you’d done this sooner. way sooner. if given the opportunity any earlier, you’d have jumped at it like an animal in heat.

tears generously coated your plump cheeks as abby picked up the pace, she muttered curses under her breath with each drag of her swollen cunt. it was evident she was close, her arms would needily latch onto yours in an attempt to pull you closer than you already were.

the sounds of timid whines and skin slapping echoed through the room. you hoped that nobody would mention a peculiar series of moans to you or abby the next day. but all you could focus on was her slick engulfed thighs, her chest and the hickeys that’d covered her tits. her neck that was equally as bruised, and her face that contorted into a smile once she noticed you were staring.

“this feel good?” she asks, a sudden grunt spilling from her lips a second after.

all you could do was nod. you were afraid once you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop. abby, abby, abby, abby, was all you could think of. how strong she was and how easily she could throw you around if she wanted to, how easily you could tug on her braid while she fucked you dumb. it drove you insane how she wanted you and nobody else. she fucked herself to the thought of you and nobody else.

she disapprovingly shook her head, slapping your thigh playfully.

“mm mm, i don’t take nods, use that pretty mouth,” abby grinned, her cunt grinding viciously fast against your own. you whined dumbly, the pleasure overpowering your body. you felt numbing tingles along each cell of your body.

you whined shamelessly loud, “it feels.. so good.” abby’s face enlightened, her hips picking up pace from your undying cooperation. anything for her to keep going.

she squeezed a handful of your thigh and massaged it, letting out her pent up urges that she was only able to let out now.

you dumbly mumbled a bunch of nonsense yes’, keep going’s and abby’s, initially climbing the tower of climax yet again. and abby was, too. as much as she tried to hide it, nothing could excuse how her hips would dig into your abdomen from how quick she practically humped your cunt.

abby held your thighs close to her, gaining the upper hand in creating more friction. her clit would bump against yours almost ever second. both your whines enveloped the air around you as the coil inside you snapped, your pleasure releasing out into a white pool underneath you.

but abby was far from finished.

she pulled your hips closer, with pussies rubbing against each other and whines echoing through the walls. you wouldn’t doubt for a second that someone could hear you.

with more than a couple grunts and calls for your name, abby came down from her own high, her hips faulting and slowly grudging to a stop.

you both panted relentlessly. you swore if she kept going you would’ve came a second time at the snap of a finger.

trying to regain your breaths, abby lets out a chuckle.

she doesn’t say anything, but she shakily pulls herself off of you, propping herself up by her elbow next to you.

a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you as the reality of both your actions settled in. there was no hiding your attraction to one another now, none of this would’ve happened otherwise.

the never ending pining, hanging out one on one every chance you got and saying it was ‘just to train you’. you don’t know why you were surprised at the fact that abby would think about these things behind closed, or more so unlocked doors.

“..so?” abby’s voice was soft and meek, her hand fidgeting alongside her waist as her head rested on her other hand.

you hesitantly locked eyes with her, your previous shyness fading away as she planted a kiss to your forehead. something as cheesy and cute as a forehead kiss was enough to make you blush, subsiding all the things you both just did.

“..that was better than i expected.” you finally replied. abby’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to the side.

“oh, so you thought it’d be bad?” she kids in a sly tone, that familiar smile returning once more.

you playfully punched her arm in response, the both of you knowing in reality, it felt like heaven on earth.

“does it look like it was bad?” you poke back, pointing to all the hickeys and bite marks along both your bodies.

only now did you realise how much of a mess you made. there was cum all over the bedsheets, saliva all over your cunts and what not — this place was really overdue for a cleanup.

you chuckle as you examine the aftermath.

“we should clean up..”

“we?” abby questions.

“i don’t mind, i made it too, no?”

abby couldn’t argue with that. she sighs, pulling you up and off the bed so you could both clean up. not without peppering your body with kisses first.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Form of Affection

22/12: Swimming & Face Fucking - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.9k~ | Warnings: face fucking (obvi), dark!ish Aemond, kinslaying (mood), dirty talk, praise, degradation, threatening/obsessive behaviour A/N: This takes place in the Form of Gratitude universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He'd given up hunting, but it still didn't stop him from visiting her.

She no longer raised her bow and arrow when she heard footsteps on her cobbled path. Similarly, Aemond had abandoned transport by way of the horse, instead alerting her to his arrival by the dense flapping of Vhagar’s wings.

Now, when she hears it, she waits outside her front door, arms crossed, smirking that he'd come to see her so soon after their last little tryst.

When he wasn’t buried between her thighs, sometimes Aemond craved her company in other ways. By way of hunting with her (hunting her sometimes), exploring the Kingswood until the sun touched the hills and more often, shedding their clothes and going for a swim in the nearby freshwater lake, made warm by the pleasant weather.

Usually, they swim, cleanse, kiss, and he wraps his strong arm around her and sheathes himself inside her, having his fill and only stopping once he was sated. 

She was good to him. Submitted to his desires when he wanted. Comforted him when he needed. And did not question.

Today was different. 

Today there was a weight on his shoulders like no other.

He’d woken a different person. A kinslayer.

Aemond sighs as he feels her breasts at his back, her slender arms wrapping around him to drift her soft fingertips across his scarred chest. But he does not lift his gaze. The moon shone down on them, reflected off the sapphire of his missing eye now that his eyepatch was discarded with his clothes.

“You are more melancholic than usual”, she muses, her nose gliding up the skin of his neck.

He scoffed, “And I am usually melancholic? Such emotions are beneath that of a Prince”.

He felt her body tense at his back, and he didn't need to look to know he'd offended her, but did not possess the courage to apologise.

“You are cruel when you're like this. It is how I know”, she adds with a soft sigh, making him feel worse, “there is something you are not telling me”.

Even the memory haunts him. He can still hear it, the way Vhagar’s jaw ripped through skin and bone like a knife through paper. 

Nevermind having to admit out loud, the horrific act he'd committed. The one that had his mother flinching from his sights.

“I am a kinslayer”, he states simply, “My nephew, Luke.”

She is quiet. 

And the silence spreads like a virus.

He expects her to drift away from him, taking her warmth with her, too shocked to really say anything, and leave, never to be seen again. Never to know her sweet loving embrace.

But she stays, and if anything, tightens her hold around him, her warm breath on his jaw, batting against the water droplet that sinks across his skin.

“And how do you feel?”

He's perplexed at just how calm she is. Whether it's a front or not, she's awfully good at it.

“I feel…unclean”, he answers, voice wavering, “like any person who looks upon me sees nothing but a mere monster”.

“I do not see a monster”.

“That does not matter”.

Again, she knows better than to not take it to heart. She can't disagree, her good opinion of him does not matter.

“He is the one who took your eye”, she muses, turning her face into the crook of his neck, the sloshing of water following her movements, “is he not?”

Aemond's tongue suddenly feels heavy, “Yes.”

“While your other family simply watched, and did nothing to assist?”

He swallows, a mild annoyance simmering, “Yes.”

He heard her breath before she spoke, the nerves making her shaky, “forgive me. I do not see why you should feel remorseful.”

“Because it has started a war.”

“A war that, forgive me, would have occurred regardless. I understand you may feel guilt. In my view it is no use looking back on the past. You can only protect your family now.”

Aemond could only scoff incredulously, “With Aegon as king I have a better chance of my eye growing back.”

“Well then why not you?” she asks, her volume lowering.

He barely turns his head to her, “what?”

The coldness of the early evening nips at his shoulders as she pulls away, the water around her trickling as she moves dreamily to look at him fully. Aemond feels himself half blink as he watches her expression, and the feeling of her fingers against his cheek.

Her beautiful full lips are parted, eyes studying the body she can see that is not submerged.

Her gaze flits back up to him, as her fingers disappear beneath the water, one soft digit trailing down his chest.

“It is you who should be king”

Silence.

The weight of what she'd said, what she'd suggested.

It was treason, and both knew it.

Aemond swallowed, chest feeling tight as a bowstring.

She is not at all perturbed by what she's said, not thinking about the consequences of them. Instead she ponders on.

“I am a commoner, my Prince. I know what he does. Where his interests lie”, she utters, an urgency to her tone. Aemond's stomach muscles tense as her hand passes over it, stepping past the fine hairs at his navel.

“It is you who was born to rule Westeros…”, she whispers, her front pressed near to his, breasts and nipples perk from the chill.

He stares idly at the droplet making its way between her breasts as her hand wraps around his cock, seeing her smirk at the realisation that her words have made him impossibly hard.

“...and you will”.

His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching with barely-contained emotion that was difficult to pin down.

Anger. Lust. Irritation. Desire.

They were all batting around in his head, trying to find where to fit.

He grabs her face, tugging her towards him so harshly she let out a little squeak, her grip on him never faltering, “Treasonous little cunt, aren't you?”

He doesn't know what he expected. For her to be scared perhaps.

But maybe there was a darkness in her that was discovered in him just days before. Lurking. Because she smirked. Giving his length a few calculated pumps.

“I told you before, where my loyalties lie.”

Her voice was like honey. Catching him in its trap. And her movements only intensified it.

“And what if I wed Floris Baratheon? Hm? Where will your loyalties lie then?”

She laughs breathily, “Then you wed Floris Baratheon. But, on your wedding night, I dare say, it is me you will be thinking of as you bury yourself inside that plain-faced idiot, searching for fulfillment you will never have. Not like you do with me.”

“You sound so sure”, he muses threateningly.

“Prove me wrong then.”

He sighs and tips his head back, feeling achingly hard. Her movements are too slow to grant him any kind of meaningful pleasure, but the touch all the same ignites a flame within.

“I can think of a better use for your cunt mouth”

The hand moves from her face to her hair, and he revels in the whine she lets out when he drags her from the depths to the shallow bank of the edge of the great lake. In the moonlight, shrouded in blue, their bodies look ethereal with the light bouncing off their damp skin.

He'd fucking hate that smug little smile on her face as he drags her to her knees in front of him, if he didn't fucking love it so much.

“Open.”

She bit her lip, holding back her smile at how wound tight she'd managed to make him and only wished to take it further by outright denying him, cock hard and weeping before her.

A choked moan left her as warmth bloomed on her cheek hard, Aemond's hand followed and grabbed her jaw meanly, pulling her face up to meet his gaze. His fingers curled into the flesh of her face, parting her lips, all while his other hand held his length by the base littered with silver curls, and pressed the tip to her lips.

Her eyes glimmered with excitement, feeling a throb between her thighs as he slid into her mouth slowly, his cock hot and heavy on her tongue. There was a dull ache on her cheek where he'd struck her, but it was exciting all the same.

Aemond moaned loudly when he felt her gag on him, her throat trying to close around his length and tears collecting around the rim of her beautiful eyes.

“That's it…”, he cooed quietly, pressing all the way into her warm, wet mouth until his hips were pressed to her.

“-you think I should be king, hm? - a king needs his cock warmed -”

He could tell she was trying to say something around his length but couldn't, and he wanted to laugh at her attempt as he thrusted so deeply into her mouth, her throat moved along with it, prodding the back of her throat mercilessly.

The little slut was writhing there, taking his cock into her mouth like a cunt would, pressing her thighs together to alleviate how badly she wanted to be fucked.

“- what's that? - I can't hear you -”, he smirked at her. Her eyes now shut with streams of moisture forming lines down her face.

“-that’s it-” he whispers softly, “-much better with my cock in your mouth-”

Once he begins fucking in earnest, he feels her warm hands on his thighs for balance. His fingers tug at her moist hair for leverage, tugging her back on his length.

His stomach muscles tighten as her cheeks hollow, increasing the friction on him. Every nerve feels alight the more he bottoms out inside her mouth.

“-fuck- it's such a waste, I've been dreaming of that perfect cunt all day -” he breathes heavily, “-be a good girl and take it-”

She makes a sound skin to a whine when she tastes his seed, shooting hot ropes onto her tongue and back of her throat, coating her mouth with it as he continues his ceaseless pace, prolonging his pleasure.

Aemond moans loudly, the sound lost in the dense forest, granting himself a few more shallow thrusts before he stills, emptying himself on her tongue and watching as a line of spend dribbles down the side of her mouth and onto her breasts.

He sighs in contentment. She is being good and hasn't moved an inch.

With a wet smack, he pulls his softening cock from her mouth, smirking at the way he coats her lips as they glisten in the moonlight.

She opens her bleary eyes finally to him, and doesn't even need to be told. She swallows, a sigh following after to prove she has swallowed all of it.

He hums. A thumb reaching for her chin to push the seed that had leaked out back into her mouth. She sucks on the digit hungrily, and he nearly moans out at the feeling of her wet tongue.

He pulls it out and cups her face lovingly, her eyelashes fluttering as she leans into his touch.

“Come back to the Keep with me”, he demands simply, like it is the easiest thing in the world.

“What?” 

“If I'm going to have to wed, bed and breed Floris fucking Baratheon, I'll need you close to me.”

With the heady taste of him on her tongue still, she swallows and considers for a moment. 

“I will not allow the sweetest cunt in the realm to sleep on the outskirts of the fucking Kingswood. You will be mine.”

His words are sweet. 

It would promise safety from vagabonds, rapists and hunters, for certain. And she had to admit, she did miss him whenever he departed on Vhagar, summoned back to the Keep.

So, she smiles at him, leaning forward to press her temple against his body.

“Yes, my King.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[sashi-ya]

𝑺𝑬𝑿 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑭𝑨𝑺𝑻 「cuts of freedom: part 6」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: I know I said this will be the last, but guess what? I couldn't let this story go just yet! also, sorry for the delay, I've been really busy these last few weeks. But, to compensate, here you have a mostly smut chapter before -what i think will be- the last chap! enjoy 💖 tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. mentions and depictions of wounded skin, cuts, bruises and dried blood. sex for breakfast. shower/bathtub sex. oral. impregnation kink. wc: 3k // part 1: cuts of freedom // part 2: かんぱい！// part 3: stuffed // part 4: side B: relax // part 5: mirror, mirror... // masterlist

“Can I answer you that tomorrow night?” “Yes… take your time”

While your bodies still shivers to reverberating shocks and aftershocks of climax, and your skin burns melting one against the other, those words feel like the sharp blades that once gave you freedom… now, they are painfully severing every string of little hope left inside, mixed with ecstasy. Trapped, once again…

Soshiro’s foreheard rests on your shoulder, his hands gripping the countertop as he normalizes his breathing.

Your hands gradually stop the soft caresses you were giving to his back, and your legs stop pressing his body against yours. Your muscles still tremble, spasms left with blushed cheeks…

“Let’s go to bed, come on” he murmurs, lifting you up to help you stand. “Yes…” you whisper back, feeling perhaps the warmth of words telling you that at least for tonight you two will be actually sleeping together.

Sweet and soft, and despite the fact of him wanting you to be naked forever, he closes the yukata around your waist. Soshiro then lifts your hair up, untucking it off the inside of your clothes.

He grabs your hand and both return to his messy bed; still warm from your concupiscent actions before that detrimental call.

Soshiro flops on his bed, squinting as he -once again- forgets about the wounds scatter all around his body.

“Be careful, Soshiro…” you say, hopping into the bed to take care of him. Probably, there isn’t much you could do to ease his pain, but he definitely enjoyed the “baby” treatment.

“Would you take care of me, (Name)?” he asks, smiling with his sharp teeth. Happiness being genuine, and at the same time feeling like he had found something he has been longing for a very long time.

You take some air, of course you will take care of him. Of course you want it, too.

A sudden thought, suddenly, crossed your mind as you asked yourself whether he deserved an answer right now or not… why do you have to wait for one, but he doesn’t?

You, however, couldn’t lie to him… despite anything you could say or do, you are far too infatuated with him to let your pride win, and chose instead a softer way to let him know you are completely his…

“Yes… always, fukutaichou” you mumble; adressing him as your superior didn’t leave him satisfied, but Soshiro is shrewd enough to understand why you used such word instead of his name.

He suddenly bursts out laughing, snatching you -in a much delicate way he is used to snatch Kafka- to “humble” you down.

“Don’t get that cocky! You are still a brat to me, my sweet little officer! Obbey your vice captain!”  he scoffs, forcing you to bury your nose into the crook of his neck.

Oh, how wonderful he smells. The scent of that skin, this time uncleaned and a little sweaty, brings you to the deepest pit of sinfulness. You can’t help but take a big breathe of such perfume, forcing him to shiver just a little.

This time, even Soshiro won’t say a thing. He, himself, felt a little shy to such neediness show off coming from you. Instead, the modern samurai that slashes his way through difficulties, limits only to hug you even closer to his body.

Slender and beautiful fingers sliding down the indentations of your spine, up and down the curves, in slight touch. It makes you shrudder just a little, and a sensation of pure pleasure coming from your core instantly spreads to every corner of your insides.

Your right leg rests on top of his, your hip turns just enough for your sex to land on his thigh. Your cheek, plastered against his pecs; And your hand landing on his left shoulder. Like those nights you slept guilty considering your pillow his body, this time you do with the warmth of his strong flesh.

For some time, you simply forget about everything, and only bodily sensations -specially exhaustion- take over.

Soon the both of you set sail to the oneireic waters of sleeping seas…

A sweer kiss on your forhead filters through the still sleepy conscious of yours. You slowly open your eyes, letting the sun soak in into your pupils, but there aren’t any traces of it.

“What time is it?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. “Five thirty, my sleeping beauty… go back to sleep” Soshiro informs you, energetic and ready for a new day. You, however, the least you feel like is that way.

Some minutes pass and you finally gain strenght to stand up.  You sit on his bed. The silky yukata sliding off your shoulder, slowly down your arm. Your hair, a mess. Your eyes, squinted. Soshiro, is nowhere near you.

“What…?” you ask yourself, closing the yukata properly and thinking that you could most definitely use the shower.

You hear some noises coming from outside the room, enough to make you curious. Truth is, you would have preferred to wake up right next to him.

Bare feet touch the cold floor, taking you to the source of the sounds. There he is, right in front of you, wearing his classic black compression shirt while holding a short blade on each hand.

Focused, like he always does when training, Soshiro breathes ready to attack. An imagery you’ve been told happens quite often on the base. Now, you are the one ready to enjoy it.

“Wh- what… is there a Kaiju emergency? Do we have to go back?” you ask, shaking your sleepiness as best as possible.

Soshiro instantly puts his blades down. He turns around, with a drop of sweat garnishing his temple… your legs almost failing to such spectacle.

“No, I was just training like every morning… specially since tonight we have plans and I won’t be able to” “Training? With your wounds?!... uh…plans?”

He laughed it off, putting his blades into its sheaths and walking up to you. No matter how hurt he might be, how tired or worried he is like a machine… and its fuel it’s the need for your flesh.

“Let’s take a bath” he commands, this time sounding more like your superior than your… boyfriend?

“Yes!” you insitinctevly answer, causing even more laughter in your vice captain.

His hand wraped around yours, pulling you to follow him to the bathroom. You walk behind like a little girl, trusting him without knowing what awaits for you next.

Despite you knowing his bathroom, you still haven’t reach for the “shower” part of it. A pleasant surprise awaits to see it is not just a shower, but also a very luxurious yet minimalistic tub.

“I need this to relax my muscles after training” he murmurs, sensing you what you -actually- were thinking about the place.

“Of course…” you answer in awe, watching him open the faucets to fill the tub with lukewarm water.

A couple of minutes later, he takes his shirt off as well as the shorts he was wearing, nudity on its full bloom... exposing his tiny waist still makes you shiver and wet, but you instantly stop the lustful thoughts when he finally takes his bandages off.

Some dried blood still covers cuts that have been patched up with Izumo tecs techniques. Those scars have also blueish and purple spots around, as wells as big bruises on his back. The price of overheating and taking the suit to the max, has to be this… not every member of the JAKDF is able to tolerate such terrible damage.

“Soshiro…” you breathe, worried. You slowly walk towards him, taking a closer look at those injuries. “You should rest, not fight, not train and specially not… fuck” you continue, depositing a finger ever so slightly near the start of one of the wounds on his chest.

“It is… difficult to resist, even the touch of your fingertip makes me incredibly needy of you” he susurrates, grabbing your wrist to take it to his lips and plant a kiss.

You swallow. You just can’t… you don’t have the heart to see those injuries and still indulge once again into his hot sex.

“Please…” you painfuly express; as if a moaning slipped out of your mouth, you are not sure if you are only suffering for him or if you are torn in between a guilt dillema of succumbing to intercourse while knowing he is in pain or resist it.

He smirks, letting just the tip of one of his fangs shine with a weak orangey light barely filtering the little bathroom window. His hand unties the shash around your waist to let the silk covering slide down the floor…

“What are you begging for, (Name)? why are you saying “please” for?” he teases you in such sexy way, you feel the need to bite your lower lip.

And your lower lip is exactly what he pinches in between his fingers, so delicate, so lustful and perverted. His fingertips barely wet with your saliva go down your chin, lifting it up, pulling you towards his lips, clashing with yours like in slow motion.

“Mh…? You haven’t answered me yet, babe… though I might know what you are asking for, you are dripping wet…” he mutters, lips against your lips, his free hand reaching down your core.

He smiles against your mouth, grazing it with his sharp fangs. It takes nothing to manipulate your body that seems to move on its own, following him into the water.

“Soshiro we shouldn’t… you are not fully recovered” “Ok, ok… I promise I’ll behave…”

Soshiro carefully lets you sit down in the tub first with your back against one of the walls. And then he follows, sitting in between your spread legs, allowing his perfectly sculped back to rest on your chest.

You are absolutely satisfied with this, in fact it feels like a dream… to have him this way… Soshiro is not heavy, his weight is not crushing you, in fact it feels like a pleasant pressure on your body. He is lean, and still muscular. He is not built big, but he has the strenght of a demon.

Your hand comes out of the water, that in fact comes as a blessing for your sore muscles, and reaches for his bigger wound. You don’t touch, you just graze.

“Does it hurt, Soshiro?” you ask, whispering right into his right ear. “Ngh… how do you expect me to behave this way?” he complains, as your warm breath caresses his earlobe and your palm right on the healthy parts of his chest.

You would lie if you said you aren’t secretly enjoying a little torture, a little bit of the taste of dominance.

“I could give you some releif…” you susurre, planting a peck on his nape. “Oh… could you?” he smirks, devileshly. Though, his voice trembles despite the hard attempt to remain dominant.

You hum, nodding while your hand slides down his lower stomach. It makes him flinch just a little when your palm graces his injuries with the delicacy of a feather.

You can’t help but scoff a little bit as the moment your hand surrounds his hardness makes him moan sexily. His cheeks turn pink, Soshiro is probably not used to being pleasured this way…

“Relax, fuku taichou…” you murmur as you begin pumping unhurriedly, and so deliciously.

He lets the back of his head fall on top of your shoulder, enjoying the jerking off motions that prove to be of great expertise coming from you.

“Mhh… I might need you every night after training babe…” he moans, smiling in pleasure and looking you from the side with just a little bit of his purple eye showing.

“Every night, Soshiro? I wouldn’t mind… but what will the rest think of my absesence?” you ask, unaware of the following revelations.

“Well, babe… it’s probably time they know” he lets heavy words scape his lips, making you stop for barely some seconds those delicious hand motions.

You resume, however, the pumping quickly enough for him to notice any type of reaction. Not sure if you wanted to brush it off because you couldn’t process it, or because you swear you hear him wrong. There must be something inside you telling you that’s too good to be true.

Oh, but Soshiro notices very well… there isn’t a keener soldier than him.

He smirks, knowing that little hint about whats coming for you, left you startled. And what you thought had only been a couple of seconds of awe, were in reality a fatal blow to turn the dominance back to him.

He doesn’t really need to say much, he lifts your hand from his body and turning around just enough yo clearly get the message. Standing up, he guides you to sit on the edge of the tub.

With his body still inside the water, Soshiro urges you to spread your legs. He relishes and gloats to your entrance being fully on display right in front of his face; breakfast is served prior to him, and he is going to feast on such delicacy.

Tongue dances in between your folds, drinking from your honeys, slurping on your wetness. Your knuckles turn white from holding for dear life on that edge, while your body shivers, accepting you have lost a silent fight… now there is only one thing left to do; enjoy.

When you feel brave enough, just a single hand holds you while the other tangles in Soshiro’s purple hair. Pulling the closer you get to climax, letting him know it’s time to finish the work with his hardness deep inside your core.

Hoshina fukutaichou stands up, drips of water traveling his deliciously beaten up body, giving you the perfect show off of a warrior ready to impale you…

Pumping two times, his hands getting coated with precum, his shaft getting even harder, a single vein popping…

“Don’t understimate the strenght of your vice captain, I already told you that…” he lets you know you are about to get fucked as hard as always despite any wounds. And maybe, even, harder.

Your toes curl, and your back arches. The way in which he rams into you can be only compared to a Kaiju attack, a blow dealt with the violence of deadly intentions but tinted in lustful desperation.

His thrusts are fast but precise; every time he goes inside, he does it deeper and harder. Your eyes turn white from pleasure, with walls clenching around his saft, milking, pumping, wanting to get once again bathed by the Hoshina seed.

“You keep stroking me with your cunt… ngh… what you want, (Name)? You. wanna. Get. Pregnant. From. Me? Hmmm??” he spits, biting your lip after. He pulls and kisses, and lets his tongue violate your mouth. Saliva driping down, as you are unable to close your mouth, there is so much to moan about.

“Soshiro… I… fuck… yes, fuck…” you are only able to answer, you don’t have a chance to say no either way.

“It will be my pleasure, babe” he answers back, bestialy burying his fangs into your neck as he lets his hips go as fast as his sex desires. Giving his body the natural freedom of using intercourse for its main purporse.

Shooting creamy release into your core sets the deal, once again taking the risk; once again primal prevailed reasoning. And oh, how good it felt.

“Now let’s have something for breakfast, we are running late… plus, you need to go back to the base to get ready for tonight” “Yes, fukutaicho... though, what’s with tonight? I’ve been wanting to ask about it” “Didn’t I told you I was going to answer the question you had last night? I always keep my word, honey” “Oh…”

[to be continued]

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin. 

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain. 

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 3

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: none for this one, I think

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Unedited for now! Holy moly, sorry for taking so long on this one. I was kinda drowning in uni work the past week. The next chapter should come sooner, I hope. Also just wanted to say thank you so much to those who take the time to comment!! I really really appreciate the kind words. You guys are super sweet. Mwa mwa.

The inky black fireworks exploded in the distance as you were led back into the underground chambers of the arena. Your eyes are relieved to escape the infrared sun. Heavy doors open for you once more. The na-Baron stands, chest exposed, skin slick with sweat under the artificial light. His blown-out eyes hone in on you as you enter. He makes his way to you holding the blood-stained handkerchief.

"Did you enjoy the show, my lady?" His chest heaves and you feel his heavy breaths as he leans into your ear, voice even more raspy, "Aren't you something, little hawk."

He holds the cloth up as if giving it to you but when you reach for the handkerchief he snatches it away.

You sigh and lift your veil, a sweet smile plastered on your face, "A most impressive demonstration, na-Baron. You are as formidable as they say."

Feyd-Rautha takes a moment to scan your face. He doesn't know what your game is but he wants to play.

His breathing has settled. He raises a hand to reach for your cheek but you move past him. You walk towards a table displaying knives laid over a cloth. You pick one up to examine. The blades remain uncleaned, the blood from earlier in the day already beginning to dry. You sense they will be kept that way.

"You have good form. Clean, precise," you say, holding the dagger in a reverse grip, edge out. "You enjoy it, don't you?"

From behind, you feel Feyd-Rautha close the distance between you once again.

"Perhaps you enjoy it a little too much," you turn to him, "I'm sure you let him disarm you on purpose. For the show."

Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and allows himself a small smile. "You should return to the fortress, my lady. I have duties to attend to," he touches your armed hand and gently takes the knife from you, "and my uncle would like to see you."

Despite being shielded from the black sun, you elect to keep your veil for your lunch with the Baron. You excuse the chill running down your spine as the coldness of the high, stony walls of Fortress Harko as Iassa escorts you to the dining hall. Iassa kept her head bowed, you noticed, hands folded in front of her. She didn't need to look ahead to know the way.

When you arrive, large doors open to the sight of the Baron floating at the head of the table. There was only one other seat at the side of the table a few feet from him. Despite that, there was a full spread of food which his servants were already feeding him.

You had done your best to avoid the Baron in your short time here, but it seems this meeting was inevitable.

"Lady Atreides," his eyes turn toward you lazily. "Come. Eat."

"Good afternoon, Baron," you curtsy as you enter. Iassa bows to you and waits outside. You take your seat, "will it only be us, my lord? This seems a lavish spread for only two people."

"Are you calling me a glutton, girl?" he spats.

Your heart takes a beat as you try not to stare at his grotesquely large body.

"We are Harkonnen," his husky laugh rings through the room. "We may lavish as much as we please."

You exhale the breath you were holding and let out a small laugh. Of course. They were the richest house in the Landsraad. The Harkonnens must be accustomed to excess.

"Soon, child, you will be Harkonnen as well," he says in that gravelly voice that is so uncomfortably similar to Feyd-Rautha's. "Is that what you want?"

The question takes you aback. No one has ever asked you this question before. This betrothal has been decided for so long, you've never even thought to ask the question yourself. It was all you'd known. Your duty. You had never bothered to imagine what your life would have been if you weren't destined to marry the Harkonnen heir.

You regain your composure, "Baron, it is my honor to unite our Great-"

"Drop the act, child!" he barks. "Perhaps you fear me, but if you are to become 'family', I will not have the patience for charades. Speak plainly. Do you want to marry my nephew?"

This has been a most unusual exchange. At least compared to what you're used to. Always taught to be sweet and pleasant. You suppose you had nothing to lose, considering the Baron killing you would start an all-out war. You take a moment to think, and then a deep breath.

"I am a woman, dear Baron. There is not much for me in this life. Indeed, tales of your house's savagery are well-known throughout the systems, and in Caladan more than most. But had I not been betrothed to your nephew, I would only be married off to some other lord or count or whatever, gentler than Feyd-Rautha they may be," you swallow. "Perhaps, I could have been trained a Bene Gesserit sister. However, to become the wife of the heir to one of the most powerful houses in the known universe—there are worse fates."

The Baron stares, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He waves his servants away. "Eat, child. Waste not the food of one of the most powerful houses in the known universe."

He begins to glide towards the doors on his side of the hall and his servants scurry to lay down their forks and follow after him.

You look to the remaining servants in the dining hall, then to the mounds of food on the table. Your first dinner on Giedi Prime had felt suffocating with all the nobles around and Feyd-Rautha smugly breathing down your neck. You pile your plate high.

In your quarters, Iassa helps you out of your clothes and into a warm bath. You don't wait for her and begin scrubbing your skin with a rag yourself. Between the heat from the morning gladiator fights and your tense conversation with the Baron, you were happy to wash the sweat off your body.

"Is this alright, my lady?" Iassa is trying to wash your hair with the lightest touch, "Does it hurt you?"

"No, no. It's quite alright." You take over and she moves to begin scrubbing your legs.

You're grateful you brought bottles of your own hair soaps. You notice Iassa is intently observing how you washed your hair and you appreciate her wanting to learn. Although, you surmise she might not have a choice. Her black choker seems to stand out even more against her pale skin.

"How was your day, Iassa?" you say as you lather your hair.

She pauses in confusion. "It was quite alright, my lady," her voice is soft and polite.

"Do they treat you well?" you knew it was a futile question.

"I am property of House Harkonnen, my lady," she says as she pours more water into the grey stone bath, "I am treated appropriately."

"Yes, but do you mean appropriately as in well or appropriately as in—" your desperate attempt to make a friend seems to be slipping through your fingers. You let out an exasperated sigh, "I know it's only been a few days but, do I treat you well, Iassa?"

She takes a moment and smiles up at you, "My lady has been most gracious." You see in her eyes she means it.

"You were right about the na-Baron," you say, "he is formidable indeed."

"I'm pleased my lady was impressed," she wraps a robe around you as you rise from the bath.

"Well, I don't know about impressed," you say as you step out, "he is a decent fighter, certainly. Perhaps it is a difference in the fighting styles of our worlds."

After helping you dress, Iassa bows and leaves you to retire. Her grey robes flowing behind her.

Once alone, you find your father's dagger in your belongings. The Baron's earlier question comes back to you. Is that what you want? To marry Fayd-Rautha? That night, you sleep clutching the knife close to your heart.

When you awake the following morning, you are greeted by a servant girl bringing you breakfast.

"Where is Iassa?" you ask.

"She has been relieved, my lady," the girl looks even younger than Iassa, "I am Zora."

Your brow furrows, "What does that mean, 'relieved'?"

When Zora remains silent, you get up from the bed.

On the dark grey of your vanity, you notice a black strip of leather. A choker identical to your new servant's but it was unmistakable who it belonged to. Your mind ran through the whys and your blood began to boil.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove

[dathen]

So it’s easy to fill in what Agatha refuses to tell Mina about Jonathan’s ramblings as just general vampire stuff, but I think we get a lot of clues about what secret she’s keeping, and it’s not that.

For one, she doesn’t tiptoe around saying it included talk of “blood and demons.” Mentioning vampires is no worse than mentioning demons, so if that was the Big Secret between him and God then she’s already betrayed that trust. Also, the villagers at the beginning of the book whispered of vampires and witches and the like, so it’s not some unspeakable word Agatha won’t repeat.

And then there’s this:

Sister Agatha . . . tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her trust. . . . She opened up the subject again, and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself.”

At first this may seem like a non sequiter, but if you take it in the context as a response to what Jonathan was raving about, it feels very pointed. I feel that this is brought up because she said it to Jonathan himself. That his ramblings were of guilt and despair over what happened to him, that now he’s unclean—just like Mina will weep over later after she falls into Dracula’s power.

Put the pieces together, and you have Sister Agatha saying that what she heard during Jonathan’s fevers are secrets she can’t betray his confidence for, even to his wife; that it’s likely something he felt guilt over and had to be told is not his fault; and that it’s of a topic so dark that Sister Agatha hesitates to repeat it.

It all adds up to Jonathan’s ramblings being about being violated by Dracula: metaphorically for certain through the blood drinking, possibly also sexually. It makes Agatha’s insistence that it wasn’t his fault make much more sense, but also makes her care that much more powerful. Even today it’s rare to get a narrative sympathetic to survivors of assault, let alone male survivors.

(Others have also spoken of how Saint Agatha is the patron saint of rape survivors: who they could pray to for support and intercession when they’re suffering. If purposeful, that would be a VERY heavy-handed allegory in her care for Jonathan. But even if not, all the other context is there.)

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Roomies - Edmund Pevensie x Reader Modern AU!

Word count: 4.2k

I just had a glorious idea about a modern Narnia AU. I'm not British so lmao. Football in this means Soccer. slay

Fem identifying reader. Mention of having long hair.

Summary: Edmund is an asshole AND your roommate. But he also happens to be a really attractive asshole roommate. And apparently, a really possessive one too.

Warnings: Language, smut, mutual pining, SO SWEET at the end!!

I'm down bad for him

"What time will you be back today?" You and Edmund were in the kitchen, eating breakfast before your day of classes began.

You glanced at him, shirtless in all his glory, eating a piece of toast. He was leaning on the counter, watching you butter your own.

"My writing class was canceled so I will be back around 1." Edmund audibly sighs, a sign that he will definitely have company over at that time. "Don't ask me to stay on campus. Just because you can't keep it in your pants doesn't mean I should be exiled from my own home."

Edmund pushes himself off of the counter, chuckling to himself.

"I wasn't gonna ask you anything. I just didn't think you'd be one to listen though." Before you could respond, he was gone.

Several hours later, you pulled into your parking spot in front of your and Edmund's apartment. You had since forgotten about your earlier conversation until you opened your front door to hear the oh-so-delightful noises of Edmund's newest friend moaning at the top of her lungs.

You have to stop yourself from gagging.

"Jesus." The time was 1:30. You had given him thirty extra minutes. "I fucking hate him." This was untrue, as you really did not hate the handsome man who you lived with. Underneath your facade of disdain and disgust, lay your actual feelings toward your roommate. Ever since he took his sister Lucy's spot in the lease for her year abroad, you developed a minor, (major!!!), crush on him. And your feelings of disgust? Totally not jealousy!

You had spent the better half of the last five months trying not to listen to him and his lady friends in his room and pining over him from yours.

How could you not be attracted to Edmund Pevensie? A pre-law major with dark hair and dark eyes, and a dashing smile. Not to mention the spatter of freckles that covered his body, toned from years of playing football. Jesus, you were down so bad for your flatmate.

You set your stuff down on the couch in your shared living space and turned to the sink where his dishes lay, unclean. Still able to hear the actions of the lovely people downstairs, you turn your music up all the way to drown out the noise before unloading the dishwasher and loading it again with his dishes.

Minutes later, the front door opens and closes, signifying that Edmund's friend has left. You turn your music down and focused on the plate you are scrubbing, dried mac and cheese would not come out in the dishwasher, as Edmund walked up the stairs.

"Ah. So you are home." His accent makes you smile the slightest bit. You can see him in your peripheral, shirtless with grey sweats low on his hips. You move your eyes away quickly. "Did you enjoy what you heard, darling?" Rolling your eyes, you look at him, not giving into the flutter of your heart when he called you darling.

"You're a pig, Pevensie." You weren't anticipating his next move and were startled when his lips were suddenly on your cheek.

"You love me."

"Ew!" Glaring at him, you wipe the wetness from his lips off of your face and then wipe your hand on a paper towel only to find him grinning at you. You do a once-over of his uncovered torso, which you could now see was adorned with scratches and bruises. "Go put a shirt on." Edmund glances down, smile widening, before looking back at you.

"And cover up the view? Nah." You move to put the plate you had been washing away in the cabinet and then suddenly, Edmund is behind you, his body only inches from yours.

You try to ignore the heat radiating off of his bare skin and how his fingers brush yours when he reaches above you to grab a bowl. He steps away quickly and if he noticed a change in your demeanor, he didn't bring it up. You left the kitchen area, grabbed your backpack, and went to your room.

How in the world did he have this effect on you? As soon as your door was closed and you were safe in the comfort of your bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief. A buzz pulled your attention from your feelings toward Edmund to your phone.

r u going to the party tn???

It was your friend Alyssa, whom you had met freshman year in your Intro to Psychology class.

You know I don't like parties.

You flop on your bed, awaiting her pleading response. In truth, you didn't hate parties, you just didn't see the point in going out and getting drunk with strangers when you could get drunk in the pleasure of your own home.

im coming over at 8 and we are getting ready together

You knew there wouldn't be a point in fighting her on the topic since sooner or later she would have convinced you to go.

Hours later, after Edmund had left for his evening classes, and also the party you presumed, Alyssa knocked on your front door and seconds later walked into your room.

"Is he here?" You sit up on your bed, your book falling onto your comforter beside you.

"No." Alyssa had gone straight into your closet, pulling out an outfit for you to wear.

"Good. That way he won't know you are going tonight." Your eyebrow quirks up.

"What does that mean?"

She turned to you, a smirk gracing her tanned face.

"We both know that if your roomie knew you were going tonight, he would have texted all his little friends to keep away from you."

This was true and it was annoying, but one night while drunk, you had let it slip to him that you were a virgin. Since then, Edmund had made sure that no guys would talk to you at parties.

You made no effort to argue and reached over to pick up what she had chosen for you to wear. It was simple, a pair of faux leather pants and a black lace corset. (the urban one iykyk)

"Alyssa, I haven't worn this top out-"

"All the more reason to wear it tonight! C'mon! It will be fun! Besides, maybe Ed will finally take notice of your feelings and how hot you are."

"Alyssa!" She smiles.

"Ok fine. But maybe you'll meet another guy. Since our good friend hasn't had time to scare anyone away."

The idea intrigues you, maybe you'd have a good time tonight.

You notice what she is wearing, a pair of straight-leg jeans and a black tank top. She looks amazing, as always. You get up to sit at your desk to begin applying your makeup.

"So what do you suppose he will do when he sees you looking all sexy?"

"Nothing?" Your reply earns you an eyebrow raise.

"Nothing? You don't think he's gonna react at all?"

You shrug, leaning forward to perfect your winged eyeliner.

"There is nothing he can do now. If he wants to try and ruin my night, he can go ahead. If I'm going to this party, I intend on having a good time." Alyssa giggles.

"Maybe even get laid?" You whip around in your chair to glare at her.

"Seriously?" Her laughter grows.

"Hey, if not by Edmund, you're bound to find someone at this party!"

Your heart beats faster at the thought.

...

You and Alyssa arrive at the party at around eleven. It has been going on for about an hour so it had grown quite large. The other girls around you are dressed similarly to you, bringing some comfort into the oddness you felt about your appearance. Alyssa had requested you wear your hair down and straight and you obliged.

To be honest, you did look amazing. The corset had been a perfect fit, makes your chest look fantastic, and the pants fit you like a glove, hugging your ass so well that when you saw yourself in the mirror, you were surprised. The look was completed with your dark green platform converse, which somehow made you feel comfortable.

While walking through the crowd of people, you keep your eye out for a certain raven-haired boy, but couldn't seem to find him.

"Hey, don't think about him. Just have a good time." Alyssa nudges your arm and you nod, disregarding the looming thought of Edmund's reaction to your appearance at the party.

"You're right. I'm gonna go get a drink." You leave her in a room filled with sweaty university students to find the kitchen, where you presumed the alcohol to be.

To be honest? You felt great. You looked great and with no Edmund around, you had nothing to worry about. If you wanted to flirt with a cute guy, you would.

You round the corner and spot the kitchen, and a pack of Trulys, and made a beeline for the drinks. As you fish a black cherry seltzer out of the box you hear someone call your name.

"Y/N!" You turn abruptly and came face to face with a familiar face.

Sam, a friend of Edmund's from football, smiling at you.

"How are you?" Sam is very attractive, with blond hair and sparkly blue eyes, he's the complete opposite of Edmund.

"I'm alright." You smile at him.

"I didn't expect you to be here."

"Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute decision." You take a swig of your drink as he smiles down at you.

"Well, I'm glad. I was hoping I would be able to speak to you at some point. Ed's always telling the team to stay away from you." You roll your eyes.

"Sorry about that, I don't know why he does that. Is he here tonight?" Sam nods.

"Yeah, he's somewhere around here." Sam glances around, as if nervous that he'd get in trouble for talking to you. "Do you wanna dance?"

"Sure!" Sam takes your hand and leads you back into the room where you left Alyssa, back to the loud music and dancing. It is then that you see Edmund for the first time.

He's walking down the stairs holding hands with a pretty blonde girl who is dressed in a dark green slip dress. You wrap your arms around Sam and pull him into your body. His hands settle on your hips, fingers hooking onto your belt loops and pulling you closer.

You make eye contact with Edmund and his eyes widen and then narrow at the sight of you with Sam. You can see him mouth something to the girl he is with but instead of paying attention to him, you focus on Sam.

The two of you dance to the music and you forget about Edmund. You realize you have run out of your drink and tap Sam's shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just need another drink! Give me like fifteen minutes. I need to check on my friend, too." You smile at him before returning to the kitchen, where you happen to find Alyssa.

"Hi!" Lord, she is drunk. "I've missed you! Where have you been?" You giggle at her antics, pouring yourself a shot of vodka, the burning causing you to make a face as you take it.

"I've been dancing! With a guy named Sam from the football team!"

Her eyes widen in shock and she grins at you.

"OMG. Fucking finally!" She takes the initiative to pour you, and her, another shot.

...

Ten minutes later, and maybe 4 more shots later, you and Alyssa are drunk off of your asses.

"So you're telling me that if Sam wanted to take you home tonight, you'd say no?" Her arm is clasped around your forearm.

"Yes." You can't contain your giggling.

"But why? He's so hot and obviously into you!"

Your face flushes as you think of the real reason you don't want to spend the night with Sam.

"You know why." You take a sip of your newly opened Truly and glare at her.

A deadpan look blooms on her face.

"I forgot." Your eyes roll.

"Because I like someone else!" Alyssa gets really excited at this news.

"WHO?" You shush her, her voice well above the other chatter in the small kitchen you are in.

"You know who!" Her face contorts into confusion.

"No, I don't."

"It's..." You look around, suddenly very aware through your drunken haze, just to make sure there aren't any lurkers to hear your conversation. "It's Edmund!" You whisper.

"Oh! I did know that!" She giggles and takes a sip of her drink. "Yeah, I remember how you said you were jealous of all of the girls he fucked and how you wished he would-"

"Jesus Christ, Alyssa! Shut up!" She continues.

"just fuck you already!" Your face is red and you are mortified. Anyone passing by could have heard what you had been talking about. "Don't worry babe. Everyone here is way too drunk to even remember this conversation. I'm too drunk to remember this conversation!" A small smile graces your lips. "So, how do you want him to do it?" You hit her arm.

"Alyssa!"

"What? I wanna hear about your Edmund fantasies!" Your blush deepens. "C'mon!"

"Fuck- fine. I've always imagined him..." You cannot believe you are speaking your deepest secret aloud, at a party nonetheless. "I don't know. Cornering me in the kitchen." Alyssa squeals.

"Counter sex!" The girl is fucking giddy at the thought of you getting some action in your kitchen. You roll your eyes but nod.

"I guess..." Suddenly, you remember the nice boy you had been dancing with. "Shit! I have to go find Sam! He probably thinks I ditched him. Will you be ok?" She smiles and nods at you.

You trek back into the masses to find the blonde guy and he's right where you left him. You catch his eyes and smile.

"Hey! I'm so sorry. I found my friend and we ended up talking for a bit. I didn't mean to leave you here." He doesn't respond right away and looks away from your eyes, glancing around. "Is everything ok? You look uncomfortable."

"Listen, you are really nice but I don't think this is gonna work out." Confusion wipes across your face.

"What the hell? We were just dancing!" You don't understand what you could have done to make him act this way.

"It's not you, really. It's just-" You cut him off, suddenly very aware of what was happening.

"He told you to leave me alone, didn't he?" Sam looks apologetic as he nods.

"I'm sorry, I really like you." You run a hand through your hair.

"I'm so fucking done with this." You leave Sam and look around for the dark mess of hair you know so well. You're pissed. Even though you weren't going to do anything with Sam, you were still glad to have the option. You decided then and there that you were done with Edmund deciding things for you.

You found him in the kitchen, drinking a beer and laughing with some of his football mates.

"Edmund!" His head turns to you and he grins. "Stop fucking with me!" You somehow have the courage to get all up in his face. His stupid, Goddamn handsome face. "Stop telling any guy I see to stop talking to me. It's my fucking life. Stay out of it."

Edmund licks his lips and his gaze rakes down your body, making you very aware of the fact you are in lingerie in front of your roommate.

"Whatever you say, darling." His friends laugh and you leave before Edmund can see your face heat up. You find Alyssa dancing in the other room and pull her aside.

"I'm ready to leave whenever you are. I can't be around him right now." She nods frantically.

"Omg. Ok. Yeah, let's go!"

The two of you leave the party and begin the, thankfully short, walk to Alyssa's place.

"Do you wanna stay the night?" You thought about what would happen if you went home, would Edmund be home tonight? Would he not? You remember the blonde from earlier.

"No, I'll get an Uber home. I don't think he's going to be home anytime soon and I'd like to sleep in my own bed." Alyssa nods and the two of you talk until your Uber arrives.

"Text me when you get home." You nod and hug her.

"I'm sorry for making you leave early."

"No! If one of us wants to leave, we leave. That's the rule." She ushers you out of her door. "Sleep well!" A grin appears on her face. "With visions of Edmund dancing in your head!"

"Fuck off!" You glare before getting into the car.

As you expect, Edmund is not at the apartment when you get back and you are able to go to your room without him and blondie interfering. A small bubbling of jealousy and anger blooms in your gut when you think about what he is probably doing right now. With her. Shaking it off, you brush your teeth and slip into bed before falling asleep.

...

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. Groaning as you roll out of bed, you close your blinds to make your room dimmer. As you go upstairs you listen for any movement in Edmund's room, praying he isn't home yet. You breathe a sigh of relief when you're greeted with silence on the other side.

As you walk up the stairs, you halt in your tracks as you see him sitting on the couch. Clad in grey sweats and nothing else, he makes your heart flutter, even though you are pissed at him. You don't engage with him at all, avoiding his gaze as you walk to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

While opening the bottle of Advil you hear Edmund move from the couch. You take the meds and open the dishwasher to put your glass inside. When you stand, Edmund is behind you, his hands set on the counter, effectively caging you in. Your breath catches in your throat.

"So, is this how you imagined it?" His voice is right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Me fucking you in the kitchen?" Your eyes widen in shock. His lips graze your neck as he murmurs... "Answer me." Your words are stuck in your throat, thoughts going wild in your head.

Had he heard you and Alyssa last night?

You are brought out of your thoughts when Edmund dips his head further down and kisses where your neck meets your shoulder. "C'mon hun, let me make make you feel good." His lips travel up to your throat and you melt back into his body. He whispers in your ear, "Please?"

His hands leave the counter to rest on your waist, his fingers just slightly touching your bare skin where your shirt had been riding up moments before.

"Don't make me beg, love." He turns you around, bringing his body closer to you. You don't reply, too flustered with his actions to say anything. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Ok, fine. I'll beg." He grins.

Edmund's hands reach down to pick you up, setting you on the counter. He steps in between your legs, setting his hands on your thighs while his thumbs draw circles on your bare skin.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about surprising you in the shower? Just so I could see you naked?" His gaze is still trained on your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've heard you touching yourself in your room? Wishing it was me who was making you feel that way?" He looks down at your lips and then back up to your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this moment? Last night? After I saw you dancing with Sam in that outfit... You looked stunning, my love." He moves to be right above your face, his lips so close they could touch yours. "So many Goddamn times, baby. So please," He pouts the slightest bit. "Let me make you feel good."

Kiss me.

As if he could read your mind, he does. Your hands fly to his hair and pull him into you even more, his lower half fully against you.

And oh.

Oh.

You pull away, looking down at his hips with wide eyes. Edmund laughs.

"Darling this is what you do to me. Every." He kisses your shoulder. "Bloody." Your neck. "Day." Your jaw. He pulls away so you are able to see him. His perfect hair, and his perfect smile, and his perfect freckles.

And the fucking devil in his eyes.

"So are you going to let me act on your fantasies? Or are we just going to go back to you thinking about me when you touch yourself at night and me pretending not to get off on it?" You lean forward to kiss him again and he leans back, running his tongue over his lips. "Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?" A deep blush blooms on your cheeks.

"Yes." It's barely above a whisper but it's audible. When he hears your response, he smiles again.

"Fucking finally."

His lips return to yours and his grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you against him again. You tighten your thighs around him, reveling in the taste of his lips.

"Oh my God." He murmurs against your lips. Your hands travel down his neck and to his bare shoulders and your nails dig into his skin just a bit, making him hiss in sweet pain.

"Fuck." His hands start to pull at your shorts. "Off. Now." You lift yourself up so he can pull them down, along with your underwear. He groans as he looks down. "Bloody hell." One of his hands wipes over his face, taking you in. His bottom lip pulls in between his teeth as he looks into your eyes again. "Darling, I'd absolutely love to taste you but I'm afraid I'll explode if I don't fuck you soon." His fingers find his waistband and he pauses at your wide eyes. "Do you want to do it?"

Holy Hell you can feel the effects of his words on the surface below you. He gently grabs your hands, setting them on his hips. "Go ahead." You do as your told and push the fabric down his thighs. You look away, not quite ready to take witness to your roommates dick.

"I need you to say it one more time. Do you want this?" You look into his eyes.

"Yes." He smiles, his lips on yours and brings himself to your core.

"Take a deep breath, my love." When you do, Edmund pushes into you. The pain takes you by surprise and you let out a grunt of pain. He catches your lips with his and draws patterns on your skin with his free hand. Your nails dig into his back once again and he groans into your mouth when he bottoms out. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last long." He begins moving very slowly. The pain slowly becomes pleasure. "I wanna make this good for you."

You drop your head to his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Ed it's-." His mouth is close to your ear making you hear all of the sounds he's making. "Fuck!"

"Holy shit."

"Ed-" You gasp, hands on his shoulders, as he stops moving.

"Please don't make me stop. I've been wanting this for so long." He lays his forehead on your shoulder and you can tell it's taking every ounce of his self-control not to move.

"No- I was just gonna ask if..." You pause to catch your breath. "if you could go faster.

"Jesus. You're perfect." His breath on your skin makes you flush again and then, the wonderful sensation you had felt moments before begins again.

"You're doing so well, love. So well."

Edmund begins to pick up his pace and you whine into his neck.

"Oh-" Edmund's fingers are suddenly on your clit, forcing your thighs to tighten around his. Your hips rock into his as you feel yourself begin to near your high. With his fingers on your clit, his bruising grip on your thighs, and his fucking dick inside of you, it takes only a few more seconds before you are releasing around him. Edmund moans after feeling you squeeze around him and it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard.

"You're so fucking perfect."

He releases soon after and he catches his breath.

He pulls away, looking at your face.

"Are you ok?" You smile.

Despite his asshole actions of the past 24 hours, Edmund does truly care about you. He's always taken care of you. He always made sure you had dinner, would always cover you with a blanket if you had fallen asleep upstairs, always made you tea and soup when you were sick.

"I'm perfectly fine." You grin at him.

You remember all of his comments to you, all of the pet-names he's called you.

"Ed, how long? How long have you wanted this?" He grins back at you.

"My love it was you the moment Lucy brought you home to visit during Christmas."

"Edmund that was three years ago!" His smile grows.

He dips down to kiss you.

"I'm a patient man."

Wait i heart them

I hope that was enjoyable l o l.

[azulock]

this has been sitting in my drafts for sooooo loooong, it's mostly born from how mean people can be in this fandom about poor Oli looking the way he does. I love his messy 'I don't have my life together' look, it's very relatable, but today we putting him under tha razor!

summary. when Oliver finds himself forced to get a clean shave for some important club event he tries to rope you into doing the work for him. and you do it, cause he is too charming and you can't resist spoiling this man

pairing. Oliver Aiku x reader

wordcount. 2,6k

warnings. some slight mention of nsfw stuff but veeeery slight, it's mostly domestic fluff, just pure distilled domesticity shot straight into your veins, you've been warned

helping hand.

"Really Oliver, you pestering me during work hours to do that for you?"

Giving one last hard stare at your screen, you groaned and swiveled you chair around to face the man currently breaking the peace in your office. With hair still damp from his shower, Oliver stood bare foot before you - a trail of wet footsteps clear behind him. God, you'd lost count of how many times you'd told him he'd end up sick if he kept doing that.

"Oh come on, it's not that big of a deal," he insisted, cutting off your thoughts, pouting as you fitted him with a steely gaze. "I neeeeed you."

You roll your eyes at his whiny antics - and complete disregard for your work life. It was almost funny to see a grown man pout like this, especially when you contrasted the silly expression with this statuesque of a man. You couldn't help but let your eyes roam free for a moment, taking in the sight of him. Water droplets still rolled down his strong torso, taking your gaze to the short hair trailing down his lower abs, to the point where his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. Shit, he was diverting your attention.

"Oliver," you sigh, rubbing your eyes to try and exorcise the images stealing your focus, "you've been doing that by yourself your entire adult life, you don't need me."

"That's not true, it goes way better when you do it for me," Oliver whined again, and even in his husky tone, you could hear it, the begging, so shameless.

At this moment he looked every bit like a dog, a ragged mutt pleading for attention at his owner's feet. Hell, he was even trying to shoot you the best puppy eyes he could muster, pout returning to those pretty lips. You'd say it was ridiculous, but maybe it was the smell of soap or maybe the warmth emanating from his skin, but something was making you want to give in.

"That's nonsense," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to convince yourself to not let him sway you. "I'm not a barber, and you've been shaving your own damn self for years. I'm pretty sure you can keep your eternal stubble under control on your own."

"Well, I could," Oliver shrugged, remaining unfazed by the exasperation in your voice. "Though, this time I'm gonna have to shave it clean."

"What?" Suddenly, you were fully immersed in the topic, even though you felt like you'd fallen into a trap.

Oliver had to contain his smile when you suddenly went from nonchalant to interested. It was really cute. He knew you liked feeling the scruff around his face, which he always thought was absolutely endearing. Now, sadly, he'd have to part ways with it, albeit temporarily.

"You remember tomorrow's party? Well, the team's president is an old school kinda guy. He's gonna get pissed if he sees the team's captain shows up looking so unclean for an important event," he answers with a full body sigh, eyebrows arching high as he raises his shoulders.

"That's ridiculous," your words cut so dry that Oliver can't help but laugh at the barely contained disgust in your tone.

"Well, I think so too. But I like my position right now, if the old man wants me clean for the party, I can make the sacrifice," he answered with a wave of his hand, stepping closer to your chair before leaning in, using his hands to prop his body onto your armrests. "But it could be less painful if you helped me."

You sat in silence, staring him down for a long minute as he leaned in close, that charming smile never faltering. From this close, you could smell the conditioner on his hair and feel his breath on your skin. Shit, you could feel yourself falling for it. Rubbing a hand over your face, you slumped further down the chair, sighing as you went.

"Fine," you groaned, looking back up to his beaming face. "Go soak the soap and the brush, I'll be right there."

Closing the distance between you, Oliver met your lips with his in a short kiss before pulling back in a breath, his skin still damp and warm from the shower. "Already done that, I'll go get myself a chair."

You hummed as he got up, lifting your body heavily off of the chair after he'd disappeared into the hallway. You spoiled him too much, you were sure of it, but you guessed he had the same type of charm as a big dog who still believes they are lap sized. It was hard to say no to that.

Following the wet footsteps, you found yourself in your en suite bathroom, Oliver sitting on a high chair he'd taken from the kitchen counter. At least he'd left everything ready, so all you had left to do was commit the dismal crime of doing away with his stubble. A pity, you'd miss the feeling of it on your skin. For however many days the shave would last, that is.

Picking the plastic bowl of shaving soap, you started moving the barber brush in circular motions to begin lathering it up. Taking a step forward, you approached Oliver as your hands worked, shaking your head as he snaked an arm around your waist.

"You are spoiled," you mumbled, feeling him laugh as he looked at you both in the mirror, your gaze following his.

"Maybe," he hummed, "but I spoil you plenty too."

"Well, here we go I guess," you said with a chuckle, making him straighten to give you a better access to his face and neck.

When the soft brush touches his face Oliver hums, closing his eyes as you begin spreading the soap over his jaw. It felt nice, both the gentle smell of lemon grass and the feeling of having you taking care of him. Yeah, he was spoiled, he knew it, but could he really be blamed for liking being pampered?

Oliver was only human after all, and having to unwillingly part ways with his facial hair was not his favorite thing. So it only made sense that he'd try to squeeze whichever little joy he could from this situation. And having you do that for him was joy enough on his book. Between feeling the warmth coming from your body and the comfortable silence that had settled, he could almost forget he was being forced to do this.

Opening his eyes he found your face close to his, gaze set in concentration as you moved the brush around his neck, finishing lathering it up. It was beautiful, really, sometimes you'd focus on something so much you wouldn't even see the things around you. Cute, and he couldn't resist the urge to take advantage of that, lowering his lips to meet yours in a quick peck.

"Oliver," you exclaimed as he laughed, "you gotta cooperate, you bastard. Now I got soap on my face," you grunted, looking at the mirror and then back to him.

"Just a little bit," he chuckled, reaching out to clean your face with his hand as you sneered at him.

You shook your head and turned to put the brush back, watching from the mirror as he still chuckled at you. Pestering you when you were focused never seemed to stop amusing him. And to boot, you couldn't deny there was something infuriatingly endearing about it. Or maybe you were just blinded by the casual charm of his smile - again.

Picking up the safety razor, you turn back to him again. "Now, you better behave if you don't wanna have to clean your blood off of the white floor."

"So mean," Oliver pouts before smiling that heart shattering smile again. "Alright, I'm in your hands then."

You roll your eyes as he straightens up, hands gripping the sides of the chair. When the blade first meets his face you feel Oliver shiver at the cold touch of the metal, but as quick as it happens, it's gone. You move your wrist and the blade glides down his warm skin in short strokes, following the grain of the hair on his stubble. Oh, it's gonna be so sad to see it gone. Especially knowing how a good part of Oliver's appeal came from how he looked at least a little like a mess. You couldn't even recall the face of his club's president, but you now hated the old man.

There is ease in the silence that settles as you carefully work the sharp blade along his face and neck. Only the rough sound of metal scraping against the hair and skin fills the bathroom as an oddly well-behaved Oliver sits in stillness. It feels almost suspicious, even, but you guessed he had no interest in showing up to the party with a cut on his face. Not that you believed even that could do much harm to his good looks.

When that first pass is done you turn to the sink and wash the razor before picking up the brush start the cycle and lather his face again. Though, just as you turn back he catches you off guard, forward and capturing your lips in a quick kiss - but he almost topples his chair over in the process. Desperately you steady him up, pushing his large frame back by his shoulders.

For a moment there the scare takes the best of you, brows furrowing in a scowl, ready to chastise Oliver for the stupidy. But then he starts laughing, the warm and husky sound enveloping you as they echo off the walls, breaking your defenses. You laugh along, slapping his shoulder but leaning against him for a short moment. Sometimes he could be an idiot, but that too was part of the appeal.

Once you both recover you go back to your work, lathering his face, putting the brush back in place, picking up the razor, and bringing it to touch his face. This time you move it cross grain, once more enjoying the sound of the metal moving over his skin. It's all peaceful, for at least half of the process until Oliver grows bored, his large hand finding your bare leg, fingers traveling over the back of your thigh until they reach the hem of your shorts.

You grunt in warning and he only hums quietly in what sounded like a mocking acknowledgment. Oliver disregards your death glare completely, his palm touching your thigh, rough fingers massaging your skin as they move. Even then he doesn't stay put, hand traveling up and groping your ass, kneading the flesh under your shorts just as your reach his neck. For a moment you consider giving into the desire to leave just a little gash on his skin, but you manage to resist.

Just as you try to turn back again he he uses the hand on your ass to pull you closer in. You don't even have time to protest as his lips crash against yours - and you can already notice the strangeness of not feeling his stubble. Still, he doesn't give you much time to think on it, tongue slipping past your lips and exploring the wet insides of your mouth. He tastes like coffee, and you can't help but let the taste lure you in, the sensations enveloping you, warmth rising in your face until then it's gone.

His lips part from yours with a quick peck and you are already missing the kiss - what a bastard, teasing you like that. You huff and shake your head when Oliver winks at you, slapping your ass as you turn around and repeat your previous motions of washing the razor and grabbing the brush again.

You lather his face, then throw the brush in the sink before picking up the razor and letting it touch his skin for a final pass, this time against the grain. Oliver hums when you lean in and it sends shivers down your spine, his hand finding your leg again but this time he just let it dance over your thigh absentmindedly. You find comfort in the warmth of his palm and in the ritualistic nature of this whole thing - it's a soothing type of repetitive task.

This time the blade hugs close to his skin, and when you get to his neck you can feel his steady pulse. Sitting so still, so calm, the beating of his heart feels strangely slow, yet heavy and powerful. You know it's the telltale sign of that athletic resistance and ungodly endurance, but the slow rhythm never ceases to seem almost eerie.

When you finish you run a hand over his face, feeling the smooth, still damp skin. It's strange, but you take solace in knowing it's temporary. Soon enough it'll be gone, though not without leaving Oliver itchy for at least a day, and you always found it funny how bothered he was by that. He smiles at you and you can feel it go straight between your legs - fuck, you are sure he did that on purpose.

But you don't give the pleasure of attention, instead turning around to rest the razor on the stone sink. You hear Oliver yawn from behind you, and watch from the mirror as he stretches as you pick a towel from the rack. Turning back to him you pat his face dry, and as if he wasn't already being spoiled enough, you rub the aftershave lotion on his skin. When it's all done Oliver climbs down from the chair and pulls you in by the waist, placing a soft kiss on your lips before you both turn to the mirror.

"There you go," you say, resting your hip against the sink as Oliver leans in, "how you feeling?"

"Like I'm seven years younger," he responds, touching his face with his free hand. "Which is a nightmare, actually," he pouts.

"Oh, come on, it's only temporary. You gonna be back to having the stubble and looking great again in just a few days."

"Hey," he grunts, squinting his eyes at you, "what do you mean by that? You talk like I'm not handsome anymore," he almost growls in a joking threat, a smile playing at his lips as he cages you against the stone counter, hands on each side of your body. "What's up with that, huh?"

You chuckle as Oliver says the question low in your ear right before assaulting your face with soft kisses. You laugh, grabbing at his shoulders as he snakes a hand around your waist. He's rubbing his face against yours and you can't help but notice how odd it is not to feel the stubble you'd grown so used to.

"Oliver," you laugh, dual colored eyes looking up at you as he peppers kisses over your neck, "this is so strange, your face is so smooth."

"Ah, but you gonna have to deal with it," you laugh as he rubs his face against yours almost like a cat before taking his lips to yours and placing a quick peck. "You gotta make up to me for saying something so mean."

"I've just done your shaving for you, ain't that enough?"

"Nah, I can think of something better."

He pulls you in closer, rubbing his pelvis against yours, letting you feel the large bulge under the the fabric of his sweatpants. Of course, he was like that, it didn't surprise you at all. But you guessed you could spoil him just a little bit more, as a reward for behaving so well even under such difficult circumstances. Yeah, he deserved a bit more pampering, why not?

now for a word from our sponsors: @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife

[lis-likes-fics]

Let Me Show You the Light

Pairings: Jonathan Crane x Reader Word Count: 10k words (i don't know either) Kink: Mirror Sex Warnings: NSFW, noncon (honestly, this kinda ended being dub at the end? dunno how that happened... warning still applies), dark content loss of virginity, humiliation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dumbification, depictions of horror, use of fear toxin, insanity, mention of murder/death... A/N: Okay, I enjoyed writing this way too much. This was like...filthy. But you know what, we ball. Enjoy, I wrote this in two days! Also A/N: PS, I made a few changes to the taglist, so please send me a message or go to the taglist doc to make any necessary changes (or just to add yourself!) Link in my bio and at the bottom of this post!

Someone's watching you.

You can feel the heat on the back of your head. It's a warmth that gathers there and makes you look over your shoulder in search of that phantom you could never seem to catch.

And it's not just out in the open either. It's a constant hair-stands-on-end. It's on your way to work, to the coffee shop, to the store, back home. It's in your kitchen, in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bathroom.

You feel…unclean. Everything you do in the comfort and privacy of your own home is being watched by this strange ghost haunting your every move. And you stop as you look behind yourself again because you feel it.

Someone's watching you.

You startle as the crowd of the Gotham city streets scurries around you and eventually delivers you a victim to run into. "I'm so sorry!" you say quickly as you are shoved back slightly, steadying yourself as you reach bend down to pick up the briefcase that had been knocked from the man's hand.

"It's quite alright. It seems I wasn't paying attention," he offers, bending down to pick it up instead.

Your hands touch as you both grab the handle at the same time. You quickly pull it away. You look up for the first time at the person you'd run into and recognize him almost immediately. You've never really met him in person, but you've learned a lot about him through the happenings at the precinct.

"Dr. Crane," you say as you pick up the suitcase and straighten your posture. You quickly hand it over to him.

"That's me," he says, nodding. He looks over you for just a split second, as if he's admiring you as he takes you. There's something cold about his gaze that makes you want to shudder, but you refrain. "May I ask your name?"

You give it, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He holds his hand out and you hesitantly take it. He shakes it, holding your hand a moment too long and making your skin crawl as he tilts his chin to the side. "Very nice to meet you," he smiles. "May I ask where you're headed? I would love to walk with you if you wouldn't mind."

You clear your throat, "Actually, I think we were headed opposite ways. I'm headed to the precinct for work."

"Ah. A secretary? Assistant?" he wonders.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to check the time. You really shouldn't be seen talking to someone like Jonathan Crane, not with the rumors and bad dealings floating about his name. This city was bent enough, you couldn't be lost to something like this. But showing disrespect to a potential threat wouldn't be a grand idea either…

"Um, no," you smile tightly. "I'm a crime analyst."

His brows raise as he nods, though the new information doesn't reach his eyes. "Well, then. Until we meet again. Safe travels."

You nod shortly and he brushes past you on his way. You look over your shoulder as he disappears into the crowd.

As you turn and begin your walk again, the feeling sticks to your skin like a cold sweat on a winter's day. Someone's watching you.

~

You meet Jonathan Crane for the second time at a bookshop.

With the lingering feeling looming over you like a shadow, things are beginning to feel like they're getting out of hand. You search the aisles slowly, almost absently, as your finger grazes the spines of different published authors in the nonfiction section. You pick a book from its place on the shelf and flinch when you turn and find someone standing behind you.

You clutch your hand to your chest as you steady your beating heart. "You scared me," you chuckle nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

You look up and nearly freeze at the sight of a smiling Jonathan Crane standing before you once more, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he looks at you almost apologetically.

You swallow thickly, taking a tiny step back. "Dr. Crane."

He seems to recognize you then as he nods gently. "We meet again." You hum. "What brings you to this side of the bookshop? I didn't take you for a nonfiction kind of girl."

You tilt your head. "No? What did you take me for?"

He shrugs, "Paranormal? A little bit of romance here and there?"

You maintain your tight smile, shifting between your feet as you nod gently. He's not right, but he's not wrong. However, the most unsettling thing about it isn't even that he's a little right… it is the fact that you've met this one time and it was a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Either he took one hell of a guess or there was something going on there that wouldn't be very pleasant for you. Given the heat burning on your skin from your constant paranoid surveillance, you'd guess the latter.

"Good guess," is all you say.

He glances down at the book tucked underneath your arm and hums. "What's that you've got?"

You look down at it and take it into your hands again. You look over the cover and hand it over. He takes it, and his fingers brush over yours. You shudder uncomfortably, pulling your hand away and hoping he doesn't notice the way you rub your hand on your side. He does, but you don't know that as he spends too much time reading the title.

"The Art of Intuition," he reads. "Sounds like an interesting read."

You nod, "I'm hoping. It's for…work, so…"

He furrows his brows, "You said you worked as an intelligence analyst?"

You nod again, more firmly this time as you take the book back. "Yes… Well, intuition is important for everything, isn't it?"

He nods along and hums. "That, it is."

You clear your throat, "What about you? What are you reading?"

He looks at his own book, as though he'd just realized it was there. He passes it on to you as you had done.

The Power of Fear and How to Conquer It

You stare at the title a moment longer than you should, feeling clammy and warm and very unsafe as you hand the book back. "Sounds like it'll keep you busy."

He nods. "It will."

The way he says it washes you in a cold feeling. The hairs along your arms stand on end and you nearly shudder. You should leave.

You smile as kindly as you can manage, taking a step away from him and nodding. "I should probably get going."

You turn to leave. He grabs your arm. Though he wasn't harsh, you still turn quickly with an almost startled look to you as you wonder what he'll do. You're safe, right? In the middle of this store? You look around you, but there is nothing around but books that would become the readers to the story unfolding before them.

"Wait," he laughs gently.

You speak almost immediately, the words blurting out of your mouth. "Please let go of me."

He does, much to your relief, as he fixes his glasses. "Forgive me." You hum and look away from his face. "I've actually been thinking about you."

You don't like the way it sounds when he says it. It gives a foreboding feeling that just makes you squirm. "I wanted to say this before but I didn't want to be…strange."

Too late.

"You told me your name. I couldn't help but recognize it." Oh, no. "Your father is Boucher, isn't he?"

How did he know that?

"How do you know that?" you ask, taking another step back. "I changed my last name so no one would know that."

"Well," he begins, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "That shows up on file, and he's one of my patients, so I've seen your name in said files before. Both of them."

You clasp your hands together in front of you as you bow your head, not looking up at him and hating the way he feels so intimidating as he watches you. "Yes," you clear your throat. He notices the way your voice drops, the disdain almost betrayed in your tone. "My father is Boucher. My birth name is Boucher."

He smiles. "Interesting."

You look up, snappy. "Why?"

"I work in psychology. It's my job to find everything interesting," he says lightly, noticing your defense and seeming…amused by it.

You don't like it.

"Yeah, well, that bastard killed my mother, and I am no longer associated with him. So, if you don't mind, I'm not Boucher and I would like to be going now. Thank you." You turn to leave, and he grabs your arm again. You spin around, and you snap again.

"Stop touching me," you blurt. Your skin crawls with the feeling, like bugs on your skin where his hand touches your arm. When he still doesn't let go of you, you look at him again and yank your arm away to no avail. Suddenly, you startle as you look him straight in the eye and almost shrink. He can see the switch, the way your anger dissolves into that of apprehension, almost fear. You can see the switch in his eyes, too. His amusement has worsened.

Your heart drops to your gut and pounds in your throat. "Please stop touching me." You've gotten almost desperate in the past second and Crane's cold eyes watch every little emotion pass through you like he's watching you under a microscope.

After a moment, he lets go of you. For a second, you think he looks pleased. Like he was conducting an experiment, and he proved his theory true. You put distance between the both of you as soon as you're able and grab your arm. He didn't hurt you, but you've officially been spooked. You don't meet his gaze.

"Forgive me again," he says. You don't feel like he's genuine, but you could be biased. "I seem to have offended you. That wasn't my intention." Was he lying? You feel like he's lying, but you refuse to look at him as he watches you. "Do you live far? How about I take you home?"

You do live a little far from here. You took a cab to get to the bookshop, but you don't feel comfortable getting in a car with him.

"Please," he says, putting more effort into removing the lack of emotion from his voice as he steps closer. You take a step back but catch the way he places his hands behind his back. No touching. An olive branch. He watches as you visibly relax a little. "Let me make it up to you."

You finally look up at his face again. There's a little bit of warmth in his eyes, and you can't tell if it's real or not. Still, he doesn't try to touch you again and he's offering you a smile. Part of you feels like you're being tricked, the book still tucked under your arm burning a hole there. But the other part of you feels like it's just your trust issues getting the better of you—as they often do. You take a moment to think.

And then you sigh as you let go of your arm and speak again. "One condition."

"Of course," he nods.

"Please don't touch me again."

His arms flex at his sides like he's re-establishing his hands being behind his back. "As you wish."

You sigh again and nod. "Okay."

He smiles, and you have to look away before you give into your trust issues again and forfeit his offer. His smile isn't pleased in the way it's meant to be. It feels like he's caught a fish on his hook, and he's reeling it in for dinner. You check out your books.

Dr. Crane leads you to his car, a black Buick LeSabre that looks like it has seen a couple of years, a couple dents here and scratches there giving character to the otherwise sleek thing.

He opens the passenger's door and lets you in. It's your last chance to say no but you get in anyway. You're in too deep, you already accepted.

He smiles, pleased. He takes his seat and starts driving. For the first few minutes, it's deadly quiet. Neither of you say anything—you're still pissy from before. Crane glances at you and decides to break the silence.

"Are you still upset?" he wonders unintelligently.

You glare at him out of the corner of your eye and then look away. Choosing to be a little kinder than you feel, you contain the sarcasm you can feel biting at your teeth. "Yes."

He sighs. "I apologize for my behavior. I didn't mean to frighten you."

You scoff, shaking your head as you look out of the window to see the world of Gotham pass by you. "Yes, you did."

He hums. "How do you know?"

I could see it in your eyes. It feels offensive to say, like you are accusing him of being insane. As you glance at him, you decide to reword your sentence.

"Just felt like it," you dismiss. You rub a hand along your arm, uncomfortable at the idea of being so vulnerable as to displaying fear to this man, this man who seemed to inspire so much distrust and unsafety in you. "And, anyway, I wasn't scared."

You miss the way his hands clench around the steering wheel. "No?"

"No," you shake your head. "Just…disturbed. You were being strange."

He clears his throat. "Like I said, it wasn't my intention." His voice has shifted, but you feel like he's finally telling you the truth. Disturbing you wasn't his intention.

You hum, and that's the last thing said between the two of you for the remaining few minutes of the car ride.

Your home comes into view and you sigh. This whole ordeal would be over in just a few seconds. He drives up to your house, and you make quick work of removing your seat belt and reaching for the door.

But the door is locked.

You look at him tentatively, trying not to let on how desperate you've become to leave his presence as quickly as possible. "Could you unlock the door?" you ask, your voice surprisingly level.

He turns to you to look at you. His smile comes after. "Of course."

The lock clicks, and you open the door immediately. You get out and stand at the door, relief floods you to be safely out of reach. "Thanks for the ride," you mutter half-heartedly.

"Of course," he repeats. "Until we meet again." He speaks your name, and you hate the way it makes you feel. Unclean. Impure.

You close the door.

As you watch his car disappear down the street, your blood runs cold with the icy burn of horror and you feel sick to your stomach.

You never gave him your address.

~

Someone's watching you.

All day, even within the safety of the precinct, you felt someone's eyes on you at every moment. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly searching for a spector you could not find. But no one was looking at you. No one's eyes met yours unless you were in the middle of an interaction with another person.

You weren't safe. Something was going to happen. You could feel it–

You return to the present at the sight of another human being in front of you. You give a tight smile to the person perched at the edge of your desk and nod. "Gordon."

He greets you the same, glancing over your desk to see what you're working on. He has files in his hands, and you watch him set them on your desk in a place vacant of work.

"I need you to analyze these for me," he says.

You nod, "That's my job."

"Yeah," he says, looking you up and down and noticing the way you glance around a little. "You okay? You look a little jumpy."

You look at him quickly and nod, another tight smile covering your lips. "Oh, yeah. Felt a little off today, but I'm okay."

"Anything I need to help with?" he tries.

You shake your head. "No," you say. "No, I'm okay. Thanks."

He hums before he just nods along with you. "Okay. Be careful out there, Bou–"

You look at him, and he looks away.

"Sorry." He quickly corrects himself and walks away.

Gordon means well. Your father was arrested when he was first starting out, so he was here when it was still a huge deal. He knew all about you and the case. Everyone did.

Your name change came as soon as you started your job at the precinct. Everyone was so used to calling you Boucher's kid, some—like Gordon—are still adjusting.

But it doesn't matter. It's passing, and the whole ordeal will be behind you soon. Buried in the past forever.

You stay at the precinct for a while. It isn't safe anywhere, but at least you were surrounded by people who knew how to operate a gun better than you.

When those people finally begin going home, so do you. You pack your things and take a breath as you clock out and leave.

It's late as you're headed home, and you suddenly regret deciding to stay so long. It's dark out, and the only lights are the ugly orange street lamps shining on the damp ground and the blaring ones from a few passing cars. You clutch your purse and walk faster.

The feeling gets worse the longer it takes to get home. It's hot on the back of your head, it's cold along your arms, it has your heart dropping to your stomach and burning there as it pounds. Somebody's watching you. Somebody's watching you. Somebody is watching you.

You finally make it home. Fishing your keys from your purse, you manage to unlock the door without fumbling with them and dropping them to the ground like you see in those stupid horror movies that make your paranoia worse.

You unlock your door and step inside.

You're forced into a coughing fit as a heavy smoke envelopes you. You hold your arm up to your face as you swipe at the air in an attempt to clear it.

Your eyes and lungs burn as you fight to breathe, trying to see through the haze as your heart races in your chest so hard, you feel like it'll tear its way through your ribcage and fall to the ground with a sickening splat.

You close your door after stumbling fully inside, turning around to lock it and struggling to do even that. You turn and catch yourself on the stand next to the door, overestimating the reach and knocking the glass bowl that held your keys to the ground. It shatters, and you nearly scream at the startling sound.

You look up into your dark home and see a million eyes staring back at you. Shadows leap out at you from the corners, light from outside glints off huge, sharp butcher knives flying toward you. Sickly crows sprout from pictures in the walls and scream, a cacophony of "Boucher" and "butcher" filling the room with the shrill shrieks of a dying woman.

It takes a long time to separate from the front door. You stand on shaking legs, carrying yourself through the house and falling to the floor on more than one occasion, startling each time as you find yourself covered in more and more blood, the color so dark it appears black in your vision.

You don't know if you're crying when you feel the hot tears streaming down your cheeks or if you've managed to get blood on your face as well. You smear it over your cheeks just to see. With red already covering your hands, you're still not sure.

You get to your bedroom and flip on the light, but the bright flash blinds you as you shield your eyes and turn it off again. Eyes ooze out of the walls like millions of ogres watching you hold your weak body up against the wall.

"We meet again."

A dark, distorted voice echoes off the walls and fills your soul like a demon from hell possessing your body.

Your first instinct is the beg. For safety, for relief, for help, anything. You just want it to stop.

"Please," you cry. "Please, please, please."

You look up at the figure watching you, dressed in a slightly damaged suit and his face…his face is covered with a burlap sack remnant of that of a scarecrow. He tilts his head as he stands and makes his way toward you with a taunting pace.

"Am I scaring you now?"

"Please, please," is all you could muster as you look away from him.

"Look at me!" he roars.

You slowly bring your gaze back up as his shoes come into view. You look up at the man before you, one you are beginning to suspect is very real and the source of your fear as you stare at the sack over his face. Black ooze comes pouring from the tears that make up his mouth and fifty eyes are blinking back at you like a heavily rooted potato.

A hand finds the top of your head and you wince at the heavy, clammy feeling of it as you find your voice and beg a little louder. "Please! Please, no, please."

"Aww…you don't like when I touch you?" His hand smooths down your cheek and you try to swat it away from no avail. His sing-songy voice continues to echo in your ears with the groaning sound of a broken down animatronic. "What did Daddy do to you?"

You try to catch your breath as you lean down, pressing your forehead to the floor to try and ground yourself.

He raises a finger. “I can answer that question. Would you like me to?” You shake your head meekly. He ignores you.

You watch hazily as he backs away from you, finally taking his hand off your cheek and giving you air, even if you are still heaving for breath. He turns his back on you to stand by your bedside table, picking a file up from it and turning back to you. The burlap sack continues to blink at you as he speaks, and you feel sick to your stomach just looking at it.

The ground is sinking away, and the walls are breathing. You’re sitting on a stretch of darkness and void, and you’re going to start falling at any second.

“Please,” you whisper uselessly again. “He…lp. Please hel…help.”

“Hush,” he whispers, not in an upset way. It’s almost sassy. Then he lets out a dramatic sigh as he tilts his sacked head. “You know what? I’m going to have to take this off. It’s quite hard to read in this mask.”

He pulls the mask over his head and takes in a breath, looking back down at you with a face that runs your blood cold and stops your heart in your chest. “Much better,” he says, the distortion gone but the horror still present.

Jonathan Crane looks down at you, watching you struggle to clear your mind of the terrifying images flashing behind your eyes like a million million nightmares plaguing your thoughts. “I can see you better now. Isn’t that just perfect?”

He picks his glasses from the table beside him and readjusts the files in his hands after putting them on. “Let’s see,” he says, licking the tip of his finger to open the manilla folder and reveal its mysterious contents. “Yada, yada, yada…and bingo.”

He points to something on the papers in the folder and looks at you, his lips spreading in a grin that doesn’t stop widening, like his mouth is going to slip off his face. You blink away from him. He starts reading something off—a name, a patient number, and a date… Your therapist’s name, your patient number, and one of the date’s marked from a past appointment…

“‘Ms. Boucher’—this was before the name change, I suppose—‘finally chooses to open up about aversion to physical touch. She references instances from childhood memories with her father, times of hardship or general dismay when he provided her comfort. All comfort is described as physical, rather than verbal—holding a hand, sharing a hug, rubbing a back. Mr. Boucher never did well with verbal communication.’”

Crane glances at you, curled up on the ground as your head spins still, reeling with the revelation of everything you’re hearing as personal information that was never meant to get out. “Interesting stuff.” He keeps reading.

“Ms. Boucher recounts the night of her mother’s incident and the aftermath when her father came to her. Once again gives vague memories of a hug and a rubbed back, but no further detail was given due to distorted memories of the incident. Patient’s aversion is likely associated with distrust and suspicion because of the father’s behavior with physical affection. Patient experiences physical contact as a trick of virtue.”

He looks at you and smiles with teeth, rows and rows of sharp teeth that gleam in the light. He snaps his jaw at you in a teasing bite but you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Aw,” he fawns mockingly. “Are you traumatized, sweetheart? Did watching your father slaughter your mother with a butcher knife fuck up that little brain of yours?” He looks at the file again and scans it, muttering to himself as he goes along. “Other symptoms include irritability, trust issues, PTSD—obviously—sensitivity to sound, blah, blah, blah.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying. The sound only reaches your ears now, out of place with the rest of the sounds around you—the droning, the taunting, the screaming, the blinking of a million eyes in the walls, the brandishing of a million knives in the kitchen.

Again, you beg him. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore.

“What?” Crane asks, looking down at you and raising a brow. “Was I just getting to the good part? Was that a please…keep reading?” When you gave no response, other than a startle flinch and cry at a deformed crow flapping around your head and disappearing.

“I’ll keep going then,” he nods, pleased. He keeps glancing back and forth between you and the file and he seems almost giddy. “Oh, I’m so excited now. I haven’t read this far yet, I wanted to do it with you.” He flips the page and hums. “Hm…let’s see…”

He scans the pages uninterestedly, gliding his finger along it and flicking the pages as he wanders back and forth between one end of the room and the other. “Oh, here’s a good part,” he says, sinking on the floor next to you as you clutch your head. He taps the top of your head to grab your attention, making you look up so he can see your exhausted face still stricken with copious amounts of fear, “Hey, pay attention. I don't want to repeat myself.”

He opens the file wide and begins reading. “Patient admits to having issues with intimacy. Her aversion to physical touch conflicting with her desperate need for it creates complications within both her romantic and sexual lives. She explains the issue is so ‘pathetic’, she remains…” He stops reading and looks at you again, his lips parted and his eyes wide with shock and interest. “...’she remains a virgin to this day’.”

In all honesty…you are not paying much attention to him. You’re staring wide-eyed at the floor, which has become a black void that stresses on for miles and miles. You swear you can see the eyes and teeth of angry leviathans glinting up from the bottom, ready to swallow you whole at a moment’s notice.

He takes your chin in the palm of his hand and tilts your head up to look at him. The sound that comes out of you out of the pure horror of it makes you sound like you’ve just been gutted. “Oh, sweetheart… If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

He takes hold of you and lifts you to your feet. He has to hoist you, as your whole body feels limp, and you don’t know how to make it move without fully believing you’ll fall into the abyss below you. You gasp and stare wide eyed at Crane as one of his hands wraps around your throat and under your chin and the other holds the top of your head. You grab at his wrist and claw at his hand, trying desperately to remove his touch from you and failing horribly. He isn’t hurting you, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like it.

“I wonder how I didn’t pick up on it sooner…” he hums. “I’ve been watching you for months, and not once did you ever meet with a potential date of any kind. I kind of just assumed you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

Your heart leaps out of your mouth. You swear, you saw it fall to the ground like you’d thought before when whatever mist had begun all of this first started. Your blood freezes in your veins. You could swear your skin has turned blue.

He’s been watching you for months. His were the eyes that watched your every move, that followed you to work, to your bedroom, to your shower. His were the eyes that kept you company in the early of the morning and the late of the night. His were the eyes that haunted your waking hours, inspiring each glance over your shoulder, each extra click of your locks. He’s been watching you.

“Y-you,” you whimper. “You…you’re…you’re the one. You…”

“Shh,” he says, silencing you as you tremble in his hands. “I thought it was cute when you bought that book. The Art of Intuition… You could feel me, couldn’t you? You could feel my eyes on you at every moment of the day… Well, not every moment. I’ve got cameras in your house, I was able to hack into the ones at the precinct. I had to keep up with my little Boucher. I wanted to see if she could turn into her father, if she needed a little nudge like he did to go over the edge… I thought my fear toxin might do that but…no… I got something much more enticing.”

He brings you close to his face, his glasses melding with his skin as his eyes stare back at you like black pits surrounded by pure white. He’s staring at your face, so drenched with pure terror that you can’t do anything but stare. He smiles wide, his expression crazed.

“Look at you,” he says, nearly moaning out the words as he shakes his head. “You look so gorgeous like this. You’re so…delicious.” He nearly growls when he says that, actually leaning closer to your face and taking your lip between his teeth gingerly. You cry out, though he doesn’t actually bite you. “I could just eat you up. Oh, you should see yourself.”

You’re crying without tears now, though your face is soaked with them. You haven’t blinked in hours (it’s been a couple minutes), and the sounds are leaving your throat like a rough sob. His eyes have disappeared and his glasses are only giving aid to pits of skin where his eyes should be. His mouth is sewn shut with ugly, black cross-stitchings, and his nose is gone, giving him a dip in his face like a skeleton.

He begins walking you toward the mirror that you definitely had not placed there. He must have taken it from inside your closet and hung it up prior to your arrival. You take a good, long look at yourself, and you’ve never felt like you’ve wanted to sink into the pit so strongly before.

You’ve never seen this woman before in your entire life. Her face is monstrous, though you don’t know why. She was an echo of you, except she looks nothing like you and she’s covered in blood. You know nothing and everything about her, and you just know she knows everything about you. You’re so terrified of this strange woman, the knives still brandishing themselves with their shrill shrieks in the kitchen are sounding quite useful now as the sudden urge to defend yourself fills you.

You feel the need to scream rise in your throat, and this is an urge you can’t contain as a sharp cry leaves your throat at the sight of this person being held by Crane in the mirror. She screams back at you, blood gushing from her mouth like a river of tar. He laughs as he covers your mouth with his hand, silencing you with such amusement. “Oh, my! I should not have given you such a high dosage. You must be going out of your little mind right now…”

He lets go of your mouth and you can see him rustle around in his suit, but you’re still staring at the woman, unable to look away. It takes everything you have not to scream at her again. He pulls a vial out of a pocket on the inside of his suit and pulls the cork from it. He encourages your lips around it, making you take half the vial into your mouth and forcing you to swallow it down.

The antidote works quickly, but it doesn’t solve the issue in its entirety. You watch as the woman in the mirror slowly becomes more and more familiar until you can look at her and see that it’s just a reflection of you. You sigh heavily, your chest heaving as you feel your heart back in its proper place behind your ribcage. The brandishing has disappeared, the birds have flown away, the shrieking and screaming and sinking and blinking are gone.

But your heart is still very much pounding and you still very much cannot catch your breath to calm yourself. The terror is still there as you stare upon Jonathan Crane’s face and feel the first bursts of necessary fear.

You are in danger. Real danger. Crane is in your house, he has your medical files, and he seems to think you want him in your bed.

“Please,” you whisper once you can find your voice, hoarse with all the crying. At least the blood is gone. “Please, let me go. Don’t hurt me…”

“Oh…” he says. “I know…it’s just your ‘aversion of physical contact’. It’s too much for you right? Well, lucky for you, I dabble in exposure therapy myself. We should be able to solve your issue right here, right now.”

New tears find your eyes, and you shake your head. He’s still holding you, and your skin is crawling. You feel sick. “Don’t… Please don’t. I can’t—I don’t—please.”

He shushes you as he drags you to the bed. You have little to no strength to fight him. You’d exerted yourself so much when that toxin had poisoned your brain. It’s still poisoning your brain now as the situation Jonathan was putting you through paralyzed you with fear. You couldn’t think, you could hardly form a full sentence. His hands are still on you, and it burns your skin. You can’t breathe.

He places you on the bed, positioning you how he wants you so you stand on your knees and face him. He takes a step back and looks at you, takes in the sight of you thoughtfully as he brushes his bottom lip with his thumb. “Look at you,” he mutters. “I liked you more with more of my fear toxin in your system, but we can bring out more fear in you without. We don’t want your little heart exploding in the middle of our session, now do we?”

If you were still so heavily infected with his toxin, you would have seen the splatters of blood and meat and matter bursting and covering you and the walls after seeing your own beating heart fall out of your mouth. But you aren’t as heavily infected, so you only imagined it vividly and shuddered.

Jonathan steps forward and takes your neck in his hand again. You squeeze your eyes shut and huff, “Please, stop. Stop, stop touching me, please. Please.”

He doesn’t listen. He’s too giddy at the way you beg him, the way your hands shake at your sides. You could try to fight him. You could swing your arms and hit and kick and scream but you just…won’t. You can’t. You’re too scared. The toxin affects you so much you can do nothing but sit there. You’re otherwise paralyzed.

So, no, he doesn’t let go of you. He holds your neck and brings you in close, his other hands smooths along your waist as you just shudder as a terrible sob leaves your chest once more. “I’m going to eat you up,” he emphasizes each word. “You and I are gonna work together. We’re going to work you through your little aversion, your fears. You and I…” He brings his hand up and brushes his knuckles over your clothed nipple.

You shake with fear and disgust. “No, please…”

He takes off his glasses, his hand continuing to graze your chest as you sit there, staying as still as you can as his hand threatens to tighten around your throat if you move too much when he doesn’t want you to.

"...are going to make art." You stare at him with your watery eyes, whimpering lightly as he just shushes you again.

His lips crash down upon yours and your seal them shut as you feel his tongue licking insistently at the seam of your mouth. His teeth clash against yours, making the kiss rough and cutting and you think you'll die.

All too quickly, you can't breathe. Your lungs are closing in, and the world is spinning. His hand finds your hair, carding through it and tugging harshly to expose your throat. He attacks you, lips and teeth and tongue devouring your throat like a starving beast.

You're burning. There are so many hands on you, so much touch all over your body driving you insane with sensitivity. You feel like someone has coated you in molten lava and condemned you to death.

You sigh shakily. "Jon—Jonathan. Please… stop."

"Shhh," he drags out the sound as he places a finger over his lips. He leans in close to your face as he speaks. "Please…the doctor is in."

He kisses you again and you gasp when he grabs your throat once more, baring his teeth and staring down at you shaking with fear. His voice is low and fast as he speaks to you, crazed and craven. "I am going to rip you apart. I'll make you scream until mine is the only name you know–"

He raises his hand to touch your face. A sudden burst of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you reach out to shove it away. You grab his hand by the wrist in a vice grip, but you hadn't realized there was something hiding beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

The mist from before—his toxin—sprays through the air and right into Jonathan's face as he inhales it with a terrible gasp. His mouth falls open, his eyes roll back. His grip on you loosens, and you stumble to your feet to get away from him.

You get to the door before he grabs you from behind and growls in your ear, his voice straining. "You didn't think you'd get away that easily, did you?" He's breathing loudly, roughly, his vision plagued by nightmares and horrible images haunting his mind.

He lets out a monstrous breath, picking you up and dragging you right back to the bed as you kick and scream and cry. He set you on the bed, still holding you, back-to-chest. "You're an angel," he grunts. "You're glowing, sweetheart."

Based on your experience with the toxin, he could be being literal. Either way, he isn't letting you go. You're trapped as his wandering hands pull at your clothes and rip your shirt from your body. He lets the rags fall around you, breathing in deeply and letting out a sound akin to a moan as the hallucinations get the better of him.

He just starts tearing, stripping you clothing by clothing. He yanks your slacks from your legs, but you don't let him do it easily as you continue to kick your feet out and cry.

After a while, your fight begins to wane at his nerves as he wraps his arms around you and holds you still. "There's plenty of toxin left if you want me to dose you again."

You still, holding your breath and feeling the anxiety and dread rise within you with each passing second. "I didn't think so," he whispers. His hands grab at your waist, pulling and palming at your sides like you've still got clothes he needs to remove. But you're completely bare, carved open for the world to see.

"Fuck," he curses, blinking quickly as he stares at you. "You have no idea how much I need you. This perfect body and these…beautiful nightmares make for the perfect combination." It sounds like it takes his whole body to breathe in. He sighs heavily, "I guess I should thank you, hm? For giving me this."

His hand grasps your inner thigh and his nails dig into the flesh. A shout forces its way out of your throat at the feeling of his claw-like fingers scratching all of your terribly exposed skin. He moans loudly at the sound of it, his other hand joining to paint you in red. Jonathan pushes your naked body down on the bed, and you shout when his hand cracks down on your ass in a loud smack. His—still fully clothed—body is pressed against yours once again in no time. He reaches a hand up and cards it through your hair, gripping it to pull you back up with a harsh tug.

"Look at yourself, sweetheart," he breathes. When you don't listen, he becomes angry and erratic. "Look! Look at it!"

You jump at his outburst, turning your shaky head to look at your reflection in the mirror. He'd placed it so specifically. He was always going to make you watch…

He pulls your hair tighter and smiles evilly. "Look at you," he sighs. Looking in the mirror and watching him, you have no idea what he's seeing in that fucked up mind of his, but you know it would break you.

You feel him grind his hips into you and close your eyes, opening them quickly again as not to irritate him further. "Do you feel how hard I am for you? Oh, baby, I'm going to split you in half."

"Please, doctor," you beg again.

His evil grin becomes all the worse, and you hear the sound of his belt clinking. "No, no, no, no, no," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you bury your face in the sheets of your bed, soaking it with your tears.

"Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. Beg me to ruin you," he groans. You continue shaking your head and muttering your protests under your breath. "Do it."

You feel like your heart is going to explode in your chest. You can't breathe. You can't see. You just want an end to the madness, to the torture.

"Please," you sob. "Please, please, please, please, please, please."

It doesn't sound like a word anymore. It sounds like gibberish in your brain as he smiles and sighs, so pleased and so happy with you. The insanity clouds your head.

"Music to my ears," he hums. "Well…since you asked so nicely."

He reaches down and you shake when his middle finger presses against your folds, slick with arousal that had begun wetting your panties since the toxin first sent you into your craze.

"Oh, you're so desperate for me, aren't you?" He shakes his head and chuckles. "Must be why you begged me so much."

You don't have the will to fight his claim. You feel dirty at the making of it anyway.

Jonathan takes his cock into his hand and strokes himself twice. You feel the head of his cock poke at your pussy, working its way between your folds until he's perfectly positioned. He pushes his hips into yours slowly, and you want to sob, but there's so few tears left in you to make more than the sound as he does, in fact, split you open on his cock.

He's so big, so thick as he thrusts inside of you and fills you to the brim. You cry out at the feeling, the pressure so great it's painful, the intrusion much bigger than what your fingers have to offer.

"Ah," you keen. "D-Doctor, please."

He moans roughly as he bottoms out inside of you, his mouth hanging ajar as his hips jerk slightly at the way you tighten around him. "Yeah, does that feel good? You want more? Want me to fuck you?"

You bury your face in the sheets. "H-Hurts. Please, stop, it hurts."

His cock twitches inside you, and you think you'll die. "I love it when you beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. You look so pathetic under me like this. Just see for yourself…"

He yanks your hair back again to make you look. He doesn't let you go either, his hand stays firmly in your hair as he holds you up to keep looking, to keep watching, to keep your eyes on your bodies as he slowly begins to fuck you. He gives you no preparation, he gives you no time to adjust. Once he's fully inside of your tight cunt and you've started tightening around the thickness he fills you with, he just starts rutting into you.

His hips snap into yours, dragging harshly inside of you as you scream and shout and squirm. He's tearing you apart, piece by piece. And he keeps fucking you as more and more slick begins to ease the cruelty.

You don't know how long you're there gripping the sheets and whining and clenching your eyes shut before the pain begins to twist and turn in your belly into an uncomfortable and unwelcome kind of pleasure.

And when Jonathan hears the telltale sign of your cries turning into moans, he completely loses his mind.

If he hadn't been fucking you hard before, he certainly is now. He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you to stand on your knees as he straightens your backs and begins to thrust up into you while he makes you watch. He spreads your legs wide and plays with your nipples, pulling your body down to meet each thrust of his hips as he completely wrecks you. All the sounds mixing in the air—the moans, the grunts, the slick skin, the heavy breathing, the sobbing—it's a filthy symphony of terror in your ears and beauty in his.

One of his hands, trying to find purchase on something, finds your hair and just starts petting you, carding his fingers through it and occasionally deciding to yank your head back in the process. "Listen to you," he huffs. "You're loving it. I can tell."

All you can do in response is cry and hope it doesn't come out as a moan (it does).

"Doesn't it feel so good? Feeling me touch you, feeling me hold you, feeling me fuck you hard and raw?"

His hand finds your clit and he starts rubbing it, his pace rough and fast and much too hard for you to think it would work. But it does, because you immediately shudder as he begins his brutal work. His finger flicks it so fast, your whole body is already shaking as he builds you up until you're crashing down.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he groans as you flutter around him. You gasp, going blind as your orgasm crashes down on you like nothing you've ever felt. He grabs your throat and turns your head to face the mirror so you continue watching as he fucks you through it, both your mouths open and gasping for air as your pleasure consumes you, devours you, swallow you whole.

You won't say you did it on purpose. If you could go back and change it, you should…but you could not promise you would as you take hold of Jonathan's wrist and release his toxin in your own face once more.

You gasp and you roll your eyes back and you find your body numb for a moment as all the nightmares from before come back. Your little heart can't take it as the walls start literally jumping out at you like the corpses of a million souls long past. Bats and birds and bugs fly around the room. Hands are reaching up from the sheets in the bed and grasping your arms and legs and holding you down.

Jonathan's faltering thrusts remind you he's there as you find the mirror and his monstrous form watches you. He looks impressed, even through the hundred fangs and black eyes. "Poor girl's so fucked out, she wants more," he coos, his voice returning back to the demonic groaning you'd been met with when you first stumbled into your room to find him there. "Do you like it? Do you like my nightmare? Are you in love with the horrors in your mind?"

You've stopped crying. Your face is open and wide as you stare out, silent terror gluing your frantic gaze to the mirror. He groans at the sight of you, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder before pushing you forward to stand on your hands and knees as he takes your hips and starts slamming his own into you.

All you can do is moan as you watch him fuck you, taking you from behind with an animalistic kind of frenzy. Your mouth hangs open, you look drunk as he plows you from the back. You grip the sheets, but you watch as a pair of hands sprouting from the bed reach up and hold your own to keep you planted there.

A rough thrust drags through your pussy and makes you moan, a rough and deep thing that scratches your throat as you clench the hands. Your cunt tightens around him, sucking him into you with each shove of his cock inside of you.

"Fuck," he huffs. "This little cunt is so tight. You've been needing me, haven't you?" His hips snap harshly into you suddenly. "I'm gonna watch this over and over again."

You forgot about that, his confession to setting up cameras all over your house. You wonder briefly where the one in your room is stored, at which angle he's going to watch himself fuck you into the bed over and over again. You wonder how many times he's watched you touch yourself in this bed over and over again. Because he's been watching you.

You gasp and moan and shake and let him use you like a doll. You watch yourself in the mirror as your face melts off. You watch Jonathan as his long talons dig into your hips like blades. You hold onto the hands still gripping yours and hang your head as he fucks you. You groan, letting yourself feel the pleasure and hating yourself for it.

You're so conflicted. Your heart is pounding and your body is shaking and you feel like you're going to die, but the pleasure clinging to your body like blood to cotton is so mind-numbing that you've become one with the corpses in the walls.

"It's like this little cunt was made for me," he huffs. "I think I'll keep you. Your mind is broken enough." You whimper. "I'll have you thrown in Arkham with your father, and I'll fuck your brains out so you never get too lonely. How does that sound?"

When you don't reply, he pulls on your hair again and brings his lips to whisper beside your ear. "Do you want that? Hm?"

You make a ramble of incoherent sounds, murmuring something entirely unintelligible as you whimper and mewl.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know… That would make your little heart soar, wouldn't it? You can tell me."

You give the same response.

He rewards you with a smile with a rough thrust that has the bats on the ceiling fluttering back down to you. They swarm your heart and Jonathan watches you look at every single one of them as they fly past.

"Fuck, I'm keeping you."

You're going to cum again, you can feel it. You're on the verge as his fast, rough thrusts drag inside of you with the squelching of your cunt. But it seems you're not the only one as you feel Jonathan's hands tighten around your hips as his pace stutters.

His grunts and groans are becoming more desperate, melting into moans as his plump lips hang open. He laughs at something, something jumping out at him in his own mind as you stare at the wall, each inch covered in butcher knives hanging on hooks. They glint and gleam in the moonlight and you can hear them rattling, ready to fly off the walls and impale themselves in you.

Your voice is small and pitchy and weak as you mumble. "B-Bu… Butch… B—ch… Ahh…"

"What?" he hums. "What's got you so distracted?"

You continue to stare at the wall, trying and failing to speak properly as blood seeps out of the metal and stains the hundred blades. "Bu…"

For once, you think he can see what you're seeing as he looks up at the wall you're staring at. His face lights up and he stares in awe, his lips parting as he does. "Your butcher." He whispers in your ear. "Isn't it beautiful?"

You continue to stare, even after Jonathan lets out a growl and pushes you forward again as he shoves your face into the covers. The hands let go of yours to grab your face, wrapping around your head and holding you down as a clammy palm covers your mouth. You stare at the knives, staining your floors with crimson red.

Your words and your whimpers are muffled by the hand as he thrusts harshly into you. Jonathan stares, wildly fascinated by the way your hallucinations control you on such a physical level. He can see that you're being muffled but he finds no hand. He can see that your body is being pinned down to the bed, but he sees no fingers wrapping around your arms and legs and keeping you there.

He takes hold of your hands, placing them over your head and holding them down as he fucks into you with a new angle. His cock fucks into your tight cunt in shorter, faster, rougher thrusts that has the birds swarming around you again.

You can't think straight, and you're sure your heart has stopped. You've been through so much in the past…you don't know how long. You came home to be poisoned by his fear toxin, assaulted by living nightmares, given half an antidote to the toxin, fucked by your stalker, poisoned again, and now you're still being fucked dumb with promises doing it again.

And you're going to cum. You hadn't realized he began rubbing your clit again, all the pleasure has run together into one big conglomeration of filthy ecstasy. His cock is pounding into a specific part of you that's making you sob again and you think for a moment you might be drooling, but you're too far away from your body to know for sure until he says: "Look at you, sweetheart. So fucking dumb, you're drooling all over the sheets. Am I making you feel that good?"

You mutter incoherently again, and he just laughs at you. The sound melts into a rough groan on a deep thrust. "Fuck, you keep sucking my cock in. I'm gonna cum in this perfect little cunt, and I'm going to keep you forever… I'm never fucking letting go of you, little Boucher."

Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. You're surrounded by Boucher. The knives on the wall, the hands holding you down, this man abusing your cunt and calling you that cursed name. Driving you insane. Making you crazy. Just like him.

How easy it would be to lose yourself in it, in the insanity. How easy it would be to give in. To become Boucher… To succumb to the madness…

You squeeze him as he fucks you as hard as he can, and you feel his cock swell inside of you as he grinds his hips roughly into you.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasps, moaning as he snaps. His release hits him like a freight train, the world closing in on him as he loses all grip on reality and fucks his cum into you like a crazed beast. The feeling of it makes you gasp, the hot lava filling the pit of your belly and warming you up.

He keeps grinding into you as he flicks his wrist and rubs wildly at your clit. You burst. Your heart in your chest, your brain in your head, the knot in your belly—it all snaps at once and you cry out against the hand over your mouth. Your mind is gone and your body is shaking, accepting the madness and the pleasure and the filth and becoming one with it like you should have from the start.

The nightmares devour you, the horror sinks into your skin. You shake and cry and moan. He grabs you by the base of your skull, weaves his fingers through your hair, and pulls as he rides out the rest of his release and he swears he hears a muffled laugh bubble out of you from under your breath.

He watches as your body trembles, your moans continuing on even longer than he thought they would as the aftershocks of your release rise within you. You're still fluttering around him as you lie on the bed and mumble under your breath.

When Jonathan's pleasure has waned enough to think, he lets out a deep sigh and pulls out of you with a regretful one. You whine, laying there heavily. He scoops you up with his arms wrapped around your body and speaks into your ear.

"What's on your mind, Boucher?"

His breath is steady in your ear, providing a solid ground for you to stand on as he pulls you away from the hands reaching up to embrace you once more. You watch the knives shine on the wall and blink lazily at them as the smallest ghost of a smile graces your lips.

"Bou…" the word falls short, and he just watches in awe.

"What?" he whispers. "What is it?"

You grab one of his hands and pull it around your body, leaning into his.

"Beautiful."

~

Bright, sterile surfaces are all you see as you stare at the room around you. You lean your head against a white, padded wall as the jacket tying your arms to your body keeps you safe and warm. It's so monotonous, so quiet and droning as you glare at the blank walls around you with a frustrated sigh. It’s just all too mindless.

You tilt your head toward the door when you hear the locks click heavily. When Jonathan steps inside with a pleased grin and a briefcase held tight in one hand, you can't help the smile that begins to spread over your lips.

"Hello, Ms. Boucher," he greets you warmly. "Are you ready for our appointment?"

He opens his case, and his burlap mask falls out.

You look down at it, your expression almost giddy as your eyes—which have been open wide since the moment his fear toxins had first blessed your senses—gaze back at him. "Dr. Crane…" you lift your head. "I've been waiting."

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyism @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows Tag yourself here...

[fuckingstrange]

——————————————————————————————————————

Tensed Up

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GENRE: SMUT + FLUFF

WARNINGS: Implied construction worker!reader, idk they got dirty at their job, Reid being cute, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob (reader receiving), cum-swallowing, multiple orgasms, maybe overstimulation?, spit as lube

WORDS: 1,135

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x m!reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Spencer sits on the floor of his apartment, curled up in a ball with some pajama pants on and a simple hoodie as he reads. You had just gotten home from work, exhausted and beat. The sight of him so relaxed and comfortable makes you smile, though you don't want to join him until you get out of your dirtied work clothes.

Spencer turns to see you, having heard you walking down the hall. He scrambles to stand up and runs over to you, looking like a kid on Christmas as he greets you with a hug and a kiss. “Hey! You're home!” He exclaims with a smile, peppering your face with kisses like he usually does. You reach up, gently grabbing his lower jaw and guiding him away after only a few though. As much as you do want to spend time with him, you're worried about being so dirty when he hates unclean things. His hair looks damp, meaning he just had a shower and wouldn't want to join you anyways.

He frowns a bit when you guide him away, tilting his head like a confused puppy as he asks “What's wrong?”, Thinking he either did something or you're just grumpy after work. “Nothing, sweetheart.” You assure him. “I just don't think you wanna be kissing all on me. I'm dirty.” You gesture to the dirt covering your clothes and face.

Spencer shrugs and reaches forward, using his thumb to lightly scratch the dirt off of your face, whispering “I don't mind.” This shocks you a bit, the action of him trying to get the dirt off your face making your heart melt, a small smile forming on your face again. You don't stop him when he leans forward to plant his lips on yours, letting your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back. It's soft and sweet, even as he reaches down to help start shedding you of your work clothes, mumbling something about getting you into the shower. His kisses trail down to your jaw, kissing wherever there isn't tons of dirt crusted to your skin, using one hand to reach up and scratch off wherever there are clumps.

You let him undress you, all the way down to your boxers. Your cheeks flush a light red when he slips his hand in, his slender fingers wrapping around your soft shaft and starting to pump it, feeling the way it starts to harden and even twitches in his hand. You can't help but groan, arms wrapping around his shoulder to help keep yourself up. Your body melts under the gentle touch, letting out a small whine when he pulls you out of your boxers, wanting a better angle to continue his ministrations. The cold air hits your hardened cock, making you shiver.

Spencer presses his lips back against yours, guiding you by the waistband of your boxers over to the couch. “I can feel how tense you are, baby.” He whispers as he pushes you to sit down, your cock twitches as he slips to his knees in front of you and returns his hand to your length, stroking it from base to tip before leaning forward to lick up the underside of it. Your hand shoots to the back of his head, fingers carding through his damp hair and getting a firm grip on the wettend strands. He suddenly takes you into his mouth, swallowing you all the way down. You immediately buck up with a gasp, head tossing back. He lifts his head until only the tip of your dick is in his mouth and swirls his tounge around it, the feeling making you moan out as you melt back against the couch.

His hands move up to rest on your thighs as he begins bobbing his head, gagging a bit whenever your hips buck, but he doesn't stop. “Fuck, Spencer, Please-” You choke out, knowing you won't last as long as he probably wants. He tightens his grip on your thigh, continuing to mercilessly bob his head, taking a second to flatten his tounge against your tip before swallowing you down again. You cum fairly quick, back arching as a whine slips from your lips while you spill into his mouth. Spencer chokes a bit, but swallows down as much as he can. He pulls off of you to use his thumb to push in whatever of your seed had gotten on the corner of his mouth.

Just as you think he's gonna stand up, he suddenly leans forward to start kitten-licking the head of your cock, making you twitch from the feeling. “Spencer..” You whisper, though it trails off into a moan when you watch him spit on his hand before reaching up to start stroking your cock again. “I'm not gonna stop till every last bit of tension is out of these muscles.” He whispers with a grin, caressing your inner thigh with his thumb. You whine and shudder, your cock not even having a chance to soften before he's pumping you till you're completely hard again.

His hand glides easily up and down, and each time he leans forward to lick around your tip, gathering up the salty precum, you groan and twitch in response. He massages your thigh and whispers soft words of encouragement, whenever his tounge isn't toying with the head of your cock his mouth is down at your thigh placing open mouthed kisses. Your second orgasm approaches even quicker than your first, and you can't help but melt back against the couch while letting noises flow freely from your lips.

Spencer moves his hand quicker, leaning forward to wrap his lips around the head just as he flicks his wrist, letting you spill into his mouth again. The cry of his name that falls from your lips makes him groan around you, the vibrations of the noise making you gasp and twitch, another stream of cum shooting out onto his tounge.

He leans back on his knees and wipes his mouth, stroking you until you soften and finally letting go, fucking you back into your boxers and crawling into your lap. He curls up into you and kisses your cheek, asking “Are you wanting to bathe or nap first?”, to which you answer with “Nap.”

You pull him down with you, snuggling up into him. The house is a bit cold, so you find yourself curling into him to try and get some of his body heat. You frown when he pushes you back, though watch as he sits up and proceeds to slip off his hoodie while saying “Here, wear this.” You happily take it and slip it on before snuggling up to him again. Spencer kisses you on the forehead as he gets comfortable, letting his eyes slip shut.

[the-heartlines]

selfishly & selflessly

helaemond | dd:dne | explicit. 3k.

hotd au set after rook's rest in which aemond succeeds at committing fratricide, killing aegon, his king. all to claim everything he owns...including his brother's sisterwife he's yearned for, lusted after, loved for years.

helaena and aemond have a sweet past, but there is only so much she can take before she breaks.

for helaena is brave, bold, tired of being used by men, by everyone. and her defiance, the fight in her, blazes and ignites aemond's insides, the fire in his blood, only making him want her, desire her more.

cw: rape/noncon elements, extremely dubcon/dubcon, possessive behavior, choking, biting, slapping, blood kink, rough sex, dacryphilia, breeding kink (all the good dead dove stuff we love for peak brosisism 😏 )

“You have blood on your hands, brother.” Helaena voices to him, a boldness in her tone he had never once heard directed at him. “Blood as dark as a heart tree’s leaves. Blood that runs deep like the weirwood roots in the grounds of the godswood.” 

A sweet memory flashes across Aemond’s mind. One where Aemond is climbing the heart tree in the courtyard under the light of the full moon. Helaena is watching him, her hands holding a firefly carefully. And she’s smiling watching it light up, laughing joyfully. Her incandescence is infectious and it makes Aemond smile too. The fresh scar across his eye, still healing, stretched taut, but not paining him at that precise moment, for the first time. For who could ever feel any amount of pain seeing her smile? Her lilac eyes light up brighter than ten thousand fireflies?  

He wishes she would smile for him; that her lilac eyes would burn brighter than a hundred thousand fireflies for him.

He needs her to see, to truly see.

“Too much blood spilt. Your hands will never be clean, no matter how many times you wash them. They will always be stained with crimson, with our blood.” Aemond reaches out to cup Helaena’s cheek through her mourning veil, but she recoils from his hand, pulling from his touch for the first time in her life. “You have cursed me. You have cursed us, brother.”

Tears of anger, of grief pool in Helaena’s beautiful eyes and Aemond’s hand itches to wipe them away. But instead he grips the hilt of Blackfyre with one and the catspaw dagger with the other hand, thinking of the sacrifices, the blood he’s spilt—all for her. For them. So they could be free of their brother. So Aemond may finally be hers and Helaena, finally, his.

“His son’s blood,” Aemond breathes out through his flared nostrils deeply, anger swirling inside him thinking of his nephew, of his brother’s dead son. A son that should have been theirs. “Jaehaerys’ blood may be on my hands. But Aegon’s—our brother’s, your husband’s.” Aemond spits the word husbandseeing Helaena’s nostrils flare, angry tears fall down her lovely face. “His blood is on both our hands, sister. I killed him for you, for us. We are both unclean, but we may atone for our sins, together. As one. As husband and wife, Helaena.” Aemond pleads with her, his holy words, his prayer, thinking he would get on his knees for her. Worship her everyday for the rest of his days, but his pride, his blood is burning hotly, with dragonfire, having finally achieved his worth as a second son. And all it took was one word, one stab to his brother’s heart with their father’s prized dagger.

Aemond can still recall Aegon’s raspy voice, his last shallow breath, the word brother upon his lips, light as Helaena’s kisses peppering his. And he shall have more of those kisses, her lips, her tongue, her body, her cunt, her heart and soul. Her. For she owes him all of her, for he’s given all of himself to her. 

“We shall marry under the eyes of the Seven, sister. After my coronation, when the Septon anoints and places the conqueror’s crown on my head, you shall proclaim your loyalty, your love, for all to see that you are mine. For mother to see that I should have always been your husband.” Aemond smiles, his lone eye sparkling with triumph, matching the gleam in his sapphire eye, but it’s gone the moment Helaena’s open hand collides with his cheek, his bottom lip splitting open on his teeth.

“I belong to no one.” Helaena hisses and Aemond touches his lip, his tongue tasting coppery iron, shocked that she would strike him so, fight back. Her wrath and defiance, resentment, towards him should wake the feral dragon in him, but it does something else; stoking the embers of desire, of lust deep within. He wants this version of Helaena. His sister who matches the violence simmering under his skin. Someone with the same strength, fire and blood. 

He wants her to spill more of his blood, for she’s the only one allowed to do so.

“Yes you do, Helaena. You are mine. All of you. Your body and soul, your heart and spirit, your cunt.” Aemond licks his lips, his eye greedily traversing over her curves hidden beneath the dark green gown, itching to rip it, to cut it from her body with his dagger. Maybe draw her blood, wound her, savor and lick it clean. 

“No!” Helaena proclaims, gritting her teeth, her fist now colliding with the side of his scarred cheek. And Aemond laughs deep and the sound echoes off the walls of her bedchambers. “I belong to me alone, Aemond Targaryen!” She screams at him, hot tears spilling from her eyes like the blood from the wounds Aemond inflicted upon their brother. 

Aemond’s cock swells, longing to taste her tears, to taste all of her. Helaena bares her teeth at him, her hands begin to reach for his throat and he growls, deep and feral in his chest, when they tighten, constricting around him. 

“Kill me, sister.” Aemond rasps, her small hands not large enough to do so, but he wants her to try. He wants her to see that they are the same, for she has the same murderous look in her eyes mirrored in his own eye this very moment. “Kill me and then we will both be kinslayers, with our blood stained upon our bare hands. Take my life for your son’s, your husband’s. Our brother’s.”

Helaena lets out a feral cry releasing her hold from his throat and Aemond’s inhales and exhales deeply, oxygen filling his lungs, his cock throbbing with urgency. 

He stares deeply into her pained eyes once more and she slaps him across the face, again and again, harder each time before his fire is a raging beast, one untamed, as feral as she is. 

“Enough fighting me!” He grunts, his face burning with her burst of anger, her prints imbedded into his skin, grabbing her wrist, but this only encourages her to struggle against him, to attempt to fly away far from him. Hel's fire just as bright, brutally blazing beneath her pale flesh. But Aemond is stronger, bigger, faster. 

And he needs to fuck her, have her tight little cunt wrapped around him like her small fingers, until he’s spilling his blinding rage inside her, succumbing to the sweetness of his sister.

“You are mine and I will have you, Hel!” Aemond says, possessiveness dripping from his gritted teeth. He tears the dark green veil from her face, her braided hair, and a lovely look of shock and outrage wash over her features. He kisses her fully on the mouth, hard, rough, no sweetness to be found in this kiss. Because this is about control, about his claim. His claim to what is rightfully his. 

But his sister’s teeth are as sharp dragon claws and she bites him, in the same place his lip is split and Aemond hisses angrily, beyond aroused for her.

“N-no! I will never be yours!” She cries out and Aemond grabs her other wrist, spinning them around until her back is facing the wall. He presses her against it, his fingers constricting around her wrists, a tight shackle upon them. 

“Never, Helaena? Are you so sure about that, sister?"  She is trapped, caught in the maws of a predator now, forever entangled in her brother’s web. Aemond rubs his erect cock against her stomach, letting her feel what her delicious volatility does to him, before he drags it downward to the apex of her thighs. Helaena gasps, staring wide eyed at him, her eyes pleading with him. “No. Please.” She begs, fresh tears falling down her face, terrified. Aemond wonders if she ever begged their brother like this? The thought alone makes his cock ache with intense lust, a need so vast to empty inside her.

“Yes, sister,” Aemond laps up her tears with his tongue, leaving his blood streaked in their place across her cheeks. “I need an heir and you need a son.” He towers over her, encompassing her petite frame wholly, removing one of his hands from around her wrist, but keeps the other one around both her delicate wrists in a bruising grip. His immense veined hand, threatening to break her entirely. 

“A king must have a son and the Seven will bless this holy union with one.” Aemond bunches up Helaena’s skirts prudently, desperate to feel her naked folds against his calloused fingertips, his hands forever stained in their kin's blood shall now be stained anew with her sweet elixir, her honeyed juices.

Aemond’s hand travels over her stocking covered thighs, searching for naked flesh, but Helaena isn’t done begging him, defying him when she clenches her inner thighs together, denying his fingers access to her sacred center.

“Please, do not, Aemond.” She pleads with her pretty voice, her eyes shining with more tears. Aemond’s patience is running thin, “spread your thighs apart, sister, or I will show you the same mercy I showed our brother,” he whispers low in her ear, feeling her shiver, “towards his daughter.” 

“You wouldn’t!” Helaena panics, trying to pull from Aemond, no doubt trying to flee to her daughter. To keep her safe from suffering the same fate her brother and father have. “Jaehaera is blameless! She has done nothing!”

“And you must keep her safe, sister. Now behave for me and I promise that no harm will befall your sweet, innocent princess.” 

Aemond’s lips once again lock onto hers and he swallows down her soft sob, his hand insistently pressing against her core. Helaena parts her thighs allowing him access to that intimate part of her he’s coveted ever since his brother was allowed to sample her first.

“Helaena,” Aemond gasps when he cups her cunt, feeling how utterly drenched her small clothes are. “You’re soaked, sweet girl.” His mouth waters, wanting to see, to smell, to taste all of her sweet musk for himself. But his cock demands her cunt and he can no longer deny himself the feeling of it pressed against her, her wrapped around all of him.

Aemond’s impatient, ripping her small clothes from her body, unlacing his leather breeches fiercely, freeing his cock. “Were you ever this wet for our brother, sweet sister?”

Aemond doesn’t give Helaena time to answer, grasping his cock, pushing her legs apart wide and pressing himself inside her, from crown to root, in one swift, harsh thrust. He hisses loudly, gutturally watching her beautiful, stunning, flushed face; the way she gasps quietly, biting her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes fluttering shut. 

Aemond wonders if it is from pain or pleasure? Both?

Because he’s never experienced such an exquisite fiery heat, a tightness almost too unbearable to encapsulate, comprehend. He never wants to leave; never wishes to part from her sweet body, ever.

A body he longs to see, coveting the dark green gown covering it entirely from his wandering eye.

Aemond unsheathes his father’s dagger from its sleeve, keeping his cock still sheathed inside his sister, heart skipping a beat. She opens her eyes suddenly, gasping, concern shadowing her face. “W-What are you doing?” She questions him, squeezing him tightly for a moment, her hands clenched into tight fists, not daring to touch him, but threatening to do worse.

“Fuck, stay still before I cut you!” Aemond grunts, imagining her milky skin painted with blood; licking, cleaning it up. Her chest expands with air as she breathes in deeply in and out of her lungs before staying completely frozen watching him with worried eyes as he slices through her silk dress easier than flesh. She gasps again, shivering, the fabric falling away like a second skin, until he’s cutting through the front of her bodice, leaving her in just her shift. 

He eyes a speckle of blood just above her right breast, near her heart, dripping down towards her peaked rosy nipple. And his veins roar with dragonfire, hungering, longing to taste, to satiate his inner predator.

The dagger clatters to the stone, and Aemond undoes his sword belt letting it fall to the floor next to her tattered gown. He grips Helaena by her ass, his fingers digging into the plump flesh, finally making her moan. “Wrap your legs around me, Hel.” Aemond whispers against the crook of her neck and she heeds his command, her legs winding tightly around his torso, at the same time he latches on her pulse with his lips, directly onto the slight scar left behind, marking the spot her blood was spilt that fateful night her son was slain. He groans against her flesh, his tongue gliding down to suck at the slice just above the roundness of her breast.

“Aemond,” Helaena speaks sweetly, breathless, without disgrace, disgust or shame; shuddering against him now, her hands touching him of their own accord. And it makes him wickedly wanton, when her fingers begin threading into his hair, tugging desperately onto his silver strands. 

“Helaena,” he hisses, his lips kissing the top of her breast, her heartbeat thundering underneath him staggeringly. “Helaena,” he says again, repeating it, needing her to hear him, “my sweet, sweet sister.” He thrusts in and out of her cunt shallowly, sucking her hardened nipple into his mouth through the sheer shift. Helaena’s fingernails dig half moon indents into his scalp, and he hisses, biting down onto her sensitive nub. 

“More, harder,” Helaena hisses back, her nails scraping against his scalp, and this time she draws blood; his blood now staining her hands. “Fuck me, Aemond,” her walls flutter around his cock menacingly, choking him. And he’s a slave to her demands, craves it more than he can fathom. 

But he needs to hear the words he craves, cannot live without, before he succumbs to her, his sister, his future wife and queen—the mother of his children.

“Say it, Helaena,” Aemond rasps against her breast, throat thick with emotion, head pounding with the overwhelming lust that storms inside him. “Say it,” he murmurs against her skin, his tongue trailing upwards, traveling the familiar path towards her plump, pomegranate red lips. “Say it, sister. Say the words and I will fuck you.” He kisses her lips gingerly, then her fevered cheek, finally sucking her ear lobe into his mouth seductively. Helaena whimpers, her grip on his silky hair softening, as she melts against him like molten gold. The sun curving against the crescent of the most lustrous, resplendent silver, slivered moon.

“Yours, brother, I am yours.” She confesses and there is nothing but verity, vulnerable honesty, in her honeyed voice and Aemond growls, slamming her back against the wall of his bedchambers, his hands tearing the shift from her body, fondling, groping every inch of her nakedness selfishly. Her teats, her ass, her hips, the curve of her belly. “Mine, mine, mine.” He chants over and over again, afraid he’ll wake up from this dream to the nightmare of Helaena, his sister, belonging to their fool of a brother. A whoring brother who could never please his sister—not like Aemond can, always will.

“Time to fuck you, sweet Helaena. Time to show you what it’s like for a king to fuck his queen.” Aemond lifts one of Helaena’s plush thighs over his shoulder hearing her yelp, his other hand gripping onto the front of her neck, with a gentleness Aemond didn’t know still resided in him. 

His eye follows to where they’re conjoined, cock connected to cunt, and he withdraws half way before thrusting inside her, watching, hypnotized by how selfishly her orifice swallows him whole, devours him so. “I am yours, Helaena. Yours, sister.” Aemond kisses her lips hungrily, his tongue penetrating her mouth while he penetrates her body. Over and over again. Both siblings’ breaths growing shallower, his cock fucking into her at a maddening pace.

“More, please, harder,” Helaena pleads, seizing a hold of his wrist that’s just holding her throat. “You promised, my king,” Helaena sucks his bottom lip between her teeth soothing over her tongue and Aemond understands her meaning, that she needs the pained pleasure, everything that he can offer. 

“You’re so tight, Hel, so feverish and wet. All for me, mine, until death parts us.” Aemond promises, meaning every word with a volatile thrust, his adrenaline threatening to burn him hotter than dragon fire, consume him from the inside out. His fingers curl around her throat tighter, threatening to leave a beautiful array of blossoming bruises, as he bottoms out into her cunt roughly, brutally, hearing her growl low in her throat. His dragon goddess through and through.

"I'm going to come inside you, sweet wife. I'm going to give you a son, my son, our son." Aemond rasps, sweating, feeling feverish, like he might collapse with how badly he needs this. Every muscle, bone, and vein aching wearily, but he fights through the pain, the exertion, needing to experience her pleasure, her entire being coming undone around him.

So he clutches onto her throat tighter, choking her, demanding her climax, her cunt to choke him tighter, cling onto and milk his seed from his body.

"Our son." Helaena's shaking her head yes, her small breaths labored; little moans and broken gasps escaping her lips. "Choke me, my queen, take my seed!" Aemond cries, his body beginning to shake, to tremble, his knees threatening to crumble into dust, burnt to ash. "Take all of me, selfishly, for yourself, sister. For I am selflessly yours, H-Helaena!" Aemond swears, groaning loudly, when he watches her eyes roll back into her skull, her cunt extravagantly vice tight around him, stealing his seed, his intense pleasure form him. "Gods! Fuck, Helaena! Give me everything!" He curses, his flames bursting at the seams, unspooling and unraveling aggressively, as he filthily fucks into her sopping, squelching cunt through her climax, until Helaena's putting her hands back around his neck, luring her towards him with her sweet, plump lips near his.

"Yes, yes, Aemond, everything...my brother. Myhusband." she rasps out feral, her throat parched, and Aemond quenches her thirst, feeds her his festering fire, let's her drink of his sweet possessive poison, giving her everything. All of him, for eternity. 

Helaena kisses him passionately, profoundly, blistering vehemence and viciousness lingering on her teeth and tongue.

Aemond hisses, both dragons devouring, consuming the other selfishly, collapsing onto the floor, conjoined, two bodies as one.

A brother and a sister tangled in one another, broken and bruised by the other, sewing and stitching the other together...selflessly.

[murfpersonalblog]

"I agree that Lestat had nothing to do with [Paul's death] directly. However, if we remember that episode, Paul was like: 'That man is a devil, he got into my head!' And my whole thing was, I mean Lestat did get into his head.... I don't believe Lestat pushed him to do what he did? But obviously Paul was very mentally ill. That, mixed with him being hyper-religious and hyper-Christian, I feel like that intrusion of Lestat into his mind? Maybe it made him feel like his temple was unclean, or it made him feel like the devil got into my head and now I am soiled now I am bad. And it probably pushed him to do that. So I don't believe Lestat did do that to [Louis'] brother. But I think [Lestat's] intrusion into [Paul's] brain probably played a role in him doing that, so I'm glad they spoke on it here."

WOW | Interview With The Vampire 1x6 | Reaction & Commentary - FrankFreezy (23:23 - 24:37)

I LOVE this so much.

Cuz it goes back to what I was saying here: Louis has ALWAYS loved Lestat--beyond reason, religion, family, himself, Claudia AND Paul combined. I HATE when people act like Louis never loved Lestat, or never showed Lestat how much he loved him. Pay attention, y'all!

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - LDPDL: Burning Questions (Pt2)

EVERYONE called Lestat the Devil. Louis KNEW what Lestat did to Paul--both at the family dinner, and what Paul said later on the roof. He knew it was all true, cuz he'd seen it with his own eyes, and he'd FELT the same way--Louis felt unclean & soiled & bad, and RAN out of 1132 after they had sex the first time; and RAN to the confessional screaming "HELP ME, Father, he's in my head!" after Paul died.

But the gothic horror/romance is that despite seeing Les at his absolute worst, killing all those priests like an utter demon, LOU CHOSE LESTAT ANYWAY. And it's been (literally) KILLING him ever since. "I run to bad beds!" His 128+ dead men in SanFran are all Les!

It's why I love Ep5, as it's just more of the same: seeing Lestat at his worst and Lou STILL loving the monster AND the man in Ep6 (my fave episode in the whole series so far). Seeing Les try to kill Claudia in 1x7 and STILL mourning him all the way into 2x7.

There's A LOT of Les' trash Lou settles for & accepts, inc. even the suspicion that Les ad something to do with Paul's death; inc. Les abusing both him & Claudia. It's not until Les SPAT on Lou's love before a whole crowd of lynchers with "Come to Me" that the last straw broke how much Louis could forgive, cuz "Come to Me/Viens a moi" was when Les got into LOUIS' head and drive HIM to death (vampirism) too, literally in 1x1 & figuratively in 1x6.

The fandom doesn't talk about the dubcon/noncon/mind-rape of the Come to Me/church scene as much as we should, and how much of a violation it was for Les to be barging all up in Lou's head the way he was, while Lou was literally suffering an entire grief-triggered drunken suicidal mental breakdown. Lou's POV makes it seem more like lethal assault (I'm being mortally hunted; my life/soul's in danger by the white Devil). But Lestat/the script acknowledged the predatory nature of Come to Me during the Trial, when Les flipped it to make it seem like Lou had (sexually) assaulted HIM instead (my purity/chastity's in danger by the Black pimp).

This violation of their relationship is IT for Louis ("those were HIS words! F**k you!"). Their history is sullied, Lou's name & reputation (personhood) is dragged through the mud & soiled. ("I was dead.") With Claudia dead and Les betraying them by participating in the rigged Trial, Lou was able to believe Armand's weak AF lies for 77 years ("bad beds"); and sacrifice his love/marriage, "kill" Les & get divorced (Lou's most non-Catholic move of all, LOL) for good.

Les had ONE chance to be honest about the Trial (the 2x8 Tower Scene) & totally blew it by letting Armand get away with "Banishment." It all comes home (literally, in NOLA), when Lou finally stops running AWAY from uncomfortable truths, and asks the burning questions about Les that REALLY define their relationship.

Cuz it's not really about the Trial, or even Claudia; it's about Paul, the catalyst for Louis' entire arc--she was just the final/ultimate casualty. Everyone important in Lou's life has just been another replacement for Paul, "I loved him more than anyone on earth." All the people he had sit & TALK to him--Lily, Lestat, Claudia, Daniel, even Armand (to an extent), are all just Lou looking for Paul--understanding, acceptance, and love--i.e.: his companion. Someone he can confide all his secrets in, who won't judge/condemn him, and who'll accept & love him for who he is.

Sam said Les is Lou's "soulmate." Even though his heinous antics constantly proved Paul RIGHT, Lou also loved when Les put in the effort to prove Paul WRONG--he CAN behave & act like a human & charm the absolute pants off of Louis by just sitting on a park bench or sofa & TALKING to Louis; CONNECTING with Louis on a deeper level than even sex (which Lou already said is the best he's EVER had--and ya boi got around in the 70s-2000!).

But Les can also match Louis' freak; show his fangs, and be an utter monster Lou ALSO loves; cuz there's something dark in Louis too, that Jacob said "needs friction."

I said before that actual saints like Jonah & Paul are way too nice for Louis; too good & pure for this world. Lou LIKES Bad Boys; he likes men who're effed up & broken, cuz it makes HIM feel like he's not alone--HE'S not so bad after all. Vamps are just crabs in a bucket, and Lou's own hyper-Catholic brain treats it as a form of punishment, that he "deserves" effed up devils like Les & Armand. Beaten down all his life, and hating himself, full of self-loathing, Lou never knew his own worth--"let's meet vampires WORTHY of your love!" In 1x5 Lou stopped putting in the effort to take care of himself & their family/household ("ignoring all other duties of the role Claudia once mocked me for: the unhappy housewife"), and stopped confronting Lestat about his BS ("He treats us like sh*t and you take it! Why is that?!"). He's about to burn Les alive in 2x8, then just visibly gives up (puts the fire out), to "kill" Les by marrying Armand (who he's not even in love with, and who KNOWS Lou's only with him to spite Les) before the ink on Loustat's divorce papers are even dry.

It's only after Daniel FINALLY helps Louis claw his way out of Armand's clutches that he understands what Claudia meant about him having never known or loved himself ("Who are you, Louis?"). Lou's TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION required that he work on bettering himself, and allowing Lestat the chance to better himself too. That "friction" was toxic AF, and they both needed a real CLEANSING, which only started when Lou opened his mouth to ask Les the truth (the false-start in 1x6 about Paul; and the real-start in 2x8 about Armand).

So yeah, I love what Frank said, cuz IMO people in the fandom miss a lot of the horrible things Les does INDIRECTLY, in order to forgive the horrible things Les does DIRECTLY--just like Louis did. But just like Louis, it's possible (& totally valid) to love the man while acknowledging the ways he IS a monster, who needs to come clean & be honest, and start taking accountability for the ways he (in)directly contributed to both Louis & Claudia (& Paul's) demise.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Family Nightmares

Summary: Both Astarion and Alethaine go through unpleasant nightmares

Tags: dadstarion, hurt/comfort, elven psyschology

Elves canonically remember their pre-natal existence and the moment of birth and I wanted to explore how it affects them. Also, Astarion relives his past yet again.

Alethaine's age - 11 years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

On Elven pregnancies

The elven fetus gestates for approximately twelve lunar cycles. During pregnancy, the mother develops a bond with the developing child. As is well known, elves do not sleep but slip into trances that renew their souls and bodies. Between the sixth and seventh cycles, the child's budding consciousness reveals itself to the mother. Over the coming cycles, she gradually begins to sense what kind of person her child will become. She selects a name for the growing baby, which it recognizes and accepts. The name is kept secret until the moment of birth.

The birth experience serves as the climax of a great communal celebration. Every member of the community encircles the mother-to-be, joyously singing the ancient chants handed down to them by the birthing goddesses. Both women and men, young and old, attend the ceremony and witness the miracle of being. They behold it with neither shame nor revulsion. Elves recoil at the suggestion that births are somehow unclean, or that they should be kept hidden from the world. Elven births are easier on their mothers than those of other races; they suffer little pain. (This is not true when the baby is only half-elven; these births can be agonizing and dangerous.)

Elves almost always retain vivid memories of the moment just after they emerge into the world when they are held up for the community to see.

© https://www.realmshelps.net/charbuild/races/elf/leaf.shtml

1.

At least Astarion knows he is in a trance.

Hands grab him and restrain him to the bed. Someone (Astarion doesn’t see their face) tears his clothes off. Drunk words of adoration hurt like acid and Astarion turns left to study a carpet on the wall.

So many details, he thinks as his body is being used. Such a fine work – what is it doing in that dirty tavern?

Elven work, that’s for sure. Thin threads are weaved into a beautiful landscape with spearing towers barely visible among the trees.

Evereska.

Why does it look familiar?

When he thinks the answer is within reach, pain pierces his body as the faceless lover decides to make things rough. 

It will be over, Astarion knows. Nothing lasts forever. This intercourse will be over, and the lover will find their demise… but Astarion knows it will never end.

Because vampires live forever.

Suddenly, the painful degradation gets blurry and Astarion feels his body is his again. No more taste of spit and semen in his mouth, no more acid sweat on his skin.

He is even dressed!

The lover is still in the bed, and Astarion sees them in every detail. But he knows it’s not real. Not real anymore.

He catches a scent of woods and a burning fireplace, something herbal. Soft voices reach out for his pointy ears.

“Here, kitten, drink,” Tiriel’s voice is soft and kind. It’s both close and distant.

“It tastes horrible!” Alethaine complains. 

“Alright, I will put honey in it. It will help you sleep.”

Hands grab Astarion again. The memories persist, they don’t want to let him go. 

The shadows violate Astarion, beat him, rape him. Memories mix, and Astarion recognizes encounters decades apart. 

He needs help.

He can’t do this alone.

“Tiriel!” He cries out. “Tiriel, help me!”

His voice sounds hoarse – he must be screaming inside his head.

“TIRIEL!”

There is nothing in the shadows. Nothing but pain between his legs. Nothing but the bitter taste of fluids on his tongue.

“And what happened to you?” Tiriel’s voice sounded tired – she was probably fast asleep. “Love, I am here, look at me!”

He doesn't see her features but already feels her presence. She is like a ray of sunshine in the dark cave, warm and desired.

“It’s just a memory, you are here, at home.”

The darkness fades. He sits on the bed, fully clothed. Tiriel is beside him caressing his scarred back.

“Nightmares?”

“Horrible memories,” he shrugs, trying to look composed. “Did I wake you up?”

Tiriel opens her eyes wide like a person whose sleep gets constantly interrupted.

“No, Alethaine woke me up ugly crying. And I didn't see her like that since she was eight.”

Astarion stares at Tiriel. Alethaine is almost eleven, yes, she is an elf and elves mature slowly, but she definitely didn’t wake them up crying for years and he thought she was already too old for that.

“Something necromancy-related?” Astarion suggests. Well, the innate ability to resurrect dead creatures definitely is a nightmare fuel.

“No,” Tiriel shakes her head. “It was something else. Something worse.”

2.

Alethaine is lost.

She walks through the dark woods barely seeing anything. She is cold, lonely, and scared. 

“Mum!” Alethaine cries. “Mum! I am here!”

Silence. Actually, the silence is so profound that Alethaine feels like being at the bottom of a lake. 

“Mum!” By this point, she's already choking on her tears. “Mum, where are you?!”

The dhampir stumbles and falls.

“Mum!”

The familiar red-haired woman sits on the bench. She murmurs a song – an ancient ballad about a human princess who fell in love with an elf. The lovestruck maiden offers her lover all possible gifts but he laughs and mocks her. 

“Mum! There you are!” Alethaine rushes to her, but Tiriel pays little to no attention to Alethaine. Her gaze is dreamy as she cleans her armor. “Mum…”

Tiriel looks through her as if she didn’t exist. 

“Mum, did I do something wrong?!” Alethaine cries. “Mum, I am here! I am lonely! I am scared! What’s going on?!

Something heavy clenches Alethaine and she feels like being shoved into a stove. Her skull is pressed by an invisible grip, hands and legs are about to break as the darkness becomes so solid it threatens to shatter the little dhampir into pieces.

“Mum! Mum, help me!”

3.

When Tiriel is back in the kitchen, Alethaine immediately crawls on her lap and presses her silver hair head to her chest. The empty mug with soothing herbs is empty and Alethaine looks sleepy. 

Right now she resembles herself at the age of three. 

“Kitten, did I ever abandon you?” Tiriel murmurs.

Alethaine shakes her head.

“It was just a nightmare.”

Astarion sits beside them. “I had one too today, princess. They’re not real.”

“You meditate,” Alethaine says. “Your nightmares are real, I know it.”

“Well, not anymore, they are in the past. And yours was a nightmare, too.”

“I was scared,” Alethaine sniffs.

Astarion touches her fingers. “Remember when you were six, you got lost in the woods? I think you just relieved it.”

Alethaine yawns. “No, it wasn’t this. I felt like being torn apart. Someone beat me.”

Astarion caresses her back. “Then it’s a nightmare.”

Alethaine nods but refuses to be “a big girl” and get off her mother’s lap. Drowsiness slowly takes her and soon the dhampir is asleep. From time to time her ears twitch, but there is still something unsettling on her face.

“Astarion, you don’t sound that sure,” Tiriel says. “Can it be… prophetic?”

Astarion clenches his arms.

“No.”

“Then what was it about? She never had nightmares! And today she cried and screamed so loud I thought someone had got into the house!”

Astarion bites his lower lip. Sometimes he forgets he is an elf. He’s lost so much… What is worse, he doesn’t even know what he lost, exactly. Elves rarely remember their lives before fifty and his mortal existence is just a shadow. He forever lost his family, his clan, his homeland… Even his past lives, if elven clerics are correct about souls and Arvandor.

And his daughter… Half-undead. Can she be more elf than he thinks?

“It was a memory,” he finally says.

“A memory of what, Astarion? No one ever beat her, no one tried to tear her limbs away. I never ignored her!”

“Of her pre-birth existence.”

Tiriel adjusts Alethaine on her lap. Now Alethains’e face is peaceful. Her mouth is half open and her fangs are visible.

“What?!” Tiriel exclaims as quietly as possible. “What in the hells…”

“We…Elves, I mean. We gain consciousness before we are born. We reach out to our mothers and they also feel … the presence of the child’s mind. And the labor is painless for elves, there is nothing dirty or dangerous about it. We remember how we were born. The exact moment when we start breathing on our own. I think even I remember something.”

“So you want to say…”

“Anethaine gained consciousness as an elf was supposed to. She felt your presence but you didn’t answer her. And then the labor… It wasn't a normal elven birth as far as I can say,'' Astarion adds, remembering Tiriel’s cries.

Tiriel presses Alethaine closer to her, a worried look on her face  as she kisses the dhampir’s forehead.

“Poor kitten,” Tiriel whispers. “But why does she suddenly remember that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because of her necromancy. Maybe her body is maturing, I don’t know.”

Astarion takes Alethaine’s hand in his. Alethaine was trying to reach out for her mother for months and the first weeks of her mind’s existence were nothing but desperate cries as Tiriel was oblivious to her. And then the pain. Fear. She probably remembers her mother's cries if she remembers the birth itself.

No wonder she is so clingy. 

Memories and stress buried deep in her mind have always been there and now have reached the surface causing Alethaine to cry. 

“You tell her all that, alright?” Tiriel asks, standing up. “Explain to her that I don't want her to be tortured by this.”

“Well… I’d prefer if her mother talked to her about these things…”

“Astarion!”

“Kidding. Of course, I will talk to her.”

Suddenly Alethaine wakes up, wraps her arms around Tiriel’s neck, and pierces her shoulder with her fangs.

“Kitten, we don’t bite!” Tiriel squeezes her lips.

“I don't want to sleep in my room,” she complains. 

Tiriel sighs. “Alright, you can sleep with me.”

Alethaine nods. Astarion can physically feel his daughter’s embarrassment, but it’s obvious Alethaine is ready to sacrifice her dignity just not to be alone in her bed.

Tiriel carries Alehaine to their bedroom and the dhampir nestles on the side where Astairon usually sleeps. She immediately curls in the fetal position ignoring the pillow and Tiriel covers her with a blanket.

Astarion stops at the door.

“What was your nightmare about?” Tiriel whispers after making sure Alethaine doesn’t hear them.

“All the same. Bodies, hands, nothing new,” he sits on the bed and places his head on Tiriel’s lap.

“Well, I am not going to sleep tonight, that's for sure,” Tiriel places her wrist on his mouth while placing her other hand on Aletaine’s back.  “Take some, you will feel better”

4.

Pain is so profound that Alethaine can’t even comprehend it. She is angry – what did she do to be tortured like that? Why? Who is doing that to her? 

And then it stops.

Light blinds Alehaine’s eyes and she lets out another silent cry…

But this time, air fills her burning lungs and the cry is anything but silent.

“This one looks like a healthy girl,” a familiar deep voice echoes from somewhere.

Strong and warm hands place Alethaine on a warm chest.

Mum.

“My lovely beautiful girl!” Tiriel exclaims. “Astarion look at her ears! They are like yours!”

The pain slowly fades away and so does fear. Alethaine feels helpless and very small but she isn’t lonely anymore. 

“Astarion, take her.”

Another pair of hands take Alethaine. They are different. Cold, for some reason. Alethaine feels a new emotion.

Curiosity. 

Who is holding her?

“My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

The name resonates with something within her mind. Another feeling. Liking something. She likes this name.

--

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[machetegirl109]

Synopsis: After spending the whole Bible study daydreaming of Abby, she finally makes your fantasies come true. *inspiration: vacation bible school by ayesha erotica*

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, F/F, modern!AU, suggestive and offensive language, religion, abby&reader are 18, smut, angst, switch!abby&reader, dom!abby, sub!reader, thigh riding, fingering(r&a!receiving), oral(a!receiving), no aftercare, mean!abby x reader

important info about my stories here

©machetegirl109 (credits to VBS by ayesha erotica that inspired me to write this) DO NOT copy/steal my work OR post it on any platforms

Word Count: 2.6k+

Oneshot: Vacation Bible School

❝︎and like every other shitty love story

you came and went❞︎

Church camp happens every year during the summer. It lasts for a week; during this time, you live together in cabins, explore the outdoors, and dine in community, all while learning about religion.

You’ve been taking part in attending ever since you were a little kid. The campgrounds are filled with kids, teens, and young adults. The VBS director would be supervising the assisting staff that consisted of other members of the Christian church, where they were divided into group leaders, an audio/video coordinator, music director, Bible story tellers, game leaders, craft supervisors, and kitchen staff.

This year would be the last summer camp trip for you and the other 18 year-olds before you all start college.

Every year you’d be eager for the summertime, wanting nothing more than to arrive at the huge campsite with lots of green space, bushes and trees, picnic tables and a bonfire. Paths that led to the big main cabin where indoor activities and supper were held, another that led to multiple smaller cabins scattered around a secluded area with some portable wooden toilets by the end of the trail and finally a path that led to the forest where a beautiful river was at as well as a hiking trail.

Although you did enjoy being surrounded by the calming nature and your fellow church peers, what made you anxiously wait for the one week vacation every year was her. Abby Anderson. You two met years ago when you were kids, having to spend the days around each other as you two learned about Jesus and his rules. You and the blonde girl quickly became friends; however you never spoke to each other outside the camping grounds. In day-to-day life, you would only admire her from a distance. Whether it was on the Sunday evening services, or at the school; you paid attention to Abby’s movement as she kneeled to pray, or when she talked to those around her.

Something about her made your hands shake with nervousness, your heart skipped beats just by the thought of her so, so pretty eyes and her strong arms—

“What do you say, miss Y/N?” The pastor interrupts your thoughts and you move your eyes from Abby who’s sitting in front of you to his direction.

“I’m sorry, pastor. What was the question again?”

“What is the message in Ephesians 5:3?” He asks again and your peers, who are seated in a chair circle as the pastor stands in the middle, turn their heads towards you as they all wait for an answer.

“Uh, I… I don’t know…I’m sorry.” You shamefully look at your hands down on lap.

“That is okay, Y/N. We are all here to learn, isn't that right kids?” They all move their heads up and down, agreeing with the pastor. “Can anyone tell me what is the message in Ephesians 5:3?”

“I can.” One of the students complied.

“Yes, Abigail. Go ahead.” As soon as he calls out her name, your head shots up and you’re looking at the girl in front of you again. She clears her throat and before she begins to speak, her eyes meet yours.

“But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be onced named among you, as becometh saints;” Abby concludes, her blue eyes never leaving yours. Soon, the priest thanks her for the answer, proceeding with his class and the blonde gives you a small smile. She manspreads on her chair and you feel the blood pump faster into your veins as your body grows hot.

Abby is wearing a white tank top that exposes her strong muscles, black skinny jeans with a heavy-looking belt as well as a pair of black chuck taylor’s. You can’t help but wonder how she would look on top of you, with her blonde hair forming a curtain around your head and her big hands roaming through your body.

After spending the rest of the Bible study distracted staring at the pretty blonde across from you, the class comes to an end. “Alright,kids, that will be all for today. Go ahead and enjoy your last day here and make sure to be ready to attend the bonfire tonight!” The priest leaves the open room located inside the main cabin and soon the students follow behind. Each leaving at their own pace as they conversate with their friends. You look around you and notice Abby is still seated in her chair, like you. She smirks before standing up, making her way to you.

“You seemed a bit distracted. Anything interesting in your mind?” Abby reaches her hand out for you to hold as you leave your chair.

“Oh, nothing, it’s stupid. “ You smile shyly and hold onto her, who soon drops your hand after helping you up. She hums in response as she licks her lips and points her head towards the door, hinting you to follow her as she begins to walk.

“Well, now I need to know what stupid thing you were possibly thinking about while you stared at me the whole study.” You hide your face in your palms, cringing at how you shamelessly looked at her during the class.

“Sorry…” You muffle through your hands before dropping them to your sides again. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Abby lets out a small laugh at your reaction, loving the way you get so shy around her. You two keep walking until you reach the path that led to the area where many small cabins were scattered around.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” She quickly scans the area around, checking to see if anyone can see or hear the two of you. “I think I already know what you were thinking about, though.” Her eyes drop to your plump lips and your throat goes dry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play dumb and Abby chuckles.

“Hm. I think we were both thinking about the same stupid things.” She raises her hand to your cheek, lightly massaging the pad of her thumb onto your soft skin and then pushing it down to your bottom lip. You feel as if your heart dropped to your core as heat and pulse grows inside your panties. Her hand teasingly grips your neck before she drops it and takes one of your hands into hers, guiding two walk towards the portable wood toilets by the end of the trail.

She looks around once again, checking for people and opens the door as she rushly gets in, pulling you with her and shutting the door closed. Your back presses into the wood as one of her hands pushes you against the wall by the neck. Abby’s blue eyes turned a shade darker, desired in them as she placed her knee between your legs, earning a small moan from you.

“You’ve been watching me the whole week,” She says as her free hand creeps under the hem of your shirt, fingers lightly tingling the skin of your stomach. “But I’ve been watching you too.” She palms your left breast harshly, flicking her calloused finger on your nipple and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. “You know the expression you make when you stare at me?”

You stay silent and her grip around your neck tightens.

“When I ask something, you answer.” Abby says softly and removes her hand from your chest, sliding it down to the side of your hips, carving her short nails into your skin as she moves you to grind against her hard thigh; making you bite your lips as you feel your clothed cunt rub deliciously against the material of her jeans. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“I-I don’t know, Abby…”

“You stare at me with this really pathetic expression on your face,” The lights inside the small compartment die down suddenly before turning back on – And as you look at Abby again, a shit-eating grin appear on her pretty lips.

“The expression of someone who just really wants me to fuck them stupid.” You snake your arms around her neck and she lets go of yours, now hugging your waist as she guides your movements. “Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” Abby whispers in your ear with a rough voice.

“Yes-Yes, Abby. Ple-please.” You ask as you hide your face onto her neck, her pinewood scent filling your nostrils and you moan into her skin. Your hot breath hits against her neck and Abby feels your arousal mark a spot on her pants. A soft blush runs over her soft freckled face and her boxers start to feel heavy by her own wetness.

“Please what, angel?”

“Ple-please fuck me, Abby.” You remove your head from its previous position and forcefully grabs the back of her hair, pulling her face towards yours as your lips smack together. Abby bites and pulls onto your bottom lip and soon her tongue sneaks into your mouth, making the kiss become more heated and sloppy. She hugs your waist tighter. “I want you,” You say in between the kisses. “Jus-just fuck me already, ple-please.”

Abby lets out a moan by hearing your pleas and holds your hips still as she lower her lips to your neck. She nibbles and licks at your skin and you let out heavy breaths and pleasure filled moans. She moves one of her hands to your exposed thigh due your skirt riding up, and she slowly slides it closer and closer to your heat as she caresses your hot skin. Soon enough she cups your pussy through your dripping wet panties, the feeling of her warm hand sends a wave of electricity through your body and you moan her name out.

“I've been wanting to do this all week,” Abby confesses. She slowly drags your panties to the side and runs two fingers up your slick, collecting the liquid of your excitement. “Fuck… You’re so fucking wet for me. So ready for me, baby.” She gives you a quick and soft peck on the lips and suddenly thrusts her ring and middle finger inside your weeping cunt.

“Ah ah ah Abby!” You moan as you feel her fingers filling you. Abby begins to move her fingers in-and-out of you, starting off slow and soon she picks up the pace, pumping them fast and with precision inside you. You rock your hips, following her fingers' pace, causing your clit to deliciously and harshly rub against the palm of her hand. “Fuck Abby,,, you're–ahh fucking me so good…”

Abby lets out a quiet laugh and leans in for another messy kiss, saliva dripping off of both your chins as you make out. She soon fingers into you deeper than before, the tip of her fingers meeting that spongy spot inside you. She presses onto it and you rub your clit harder into her palm. You break the kiss, lips swollen for the biting and sucking.

“I'm gon-gonna cum,”

“I'm here, angel. Cum for me, baby.” Soon something inside you snaps and you feel your body shake as a pleasure washes over you.

“Such a good fucking girl, making a mess all over my hand.” Abby helps you ride out your high, her hand and leg drenched from you as she carefully removes her fingers from your sensitive cunt, letting out a hiccup once you feel empty again. You attempt to catch your breath, chest rising up and down rapidly as you both look at eachother. You hold her hand towards your mouth, cleaning her sticky fingers from your orgasm and she opens a small smile.

“You're so hot,” Abby says giving you one more kiss before removing her leg from in between yours.”So fuckin’ dirty for me.” You kiss her back, pulling at her bottom lip and asking for tongue passage which she happily obliged to. Pushing Abby against the wall, your hands fall to her hips, undoing her white studded belt and letting it fall to the ground. “You're gonna make me feel good, Angel?” She smirks upon seeing a naughty look on your face and you nod.

“Yeah, Abby, I'll make you feel so good…” You kiss her lips and neck one last time before you move towards her breasts and stomach. When you reach her crotch, you shamelessly rub your face against it, causing her to gasp and moan as she forces you onto the floor by your shoulders.

Abby helps you unbutton her pants and you bring them down along with her boxers as you kneel in front of her, the smell of her pussy makes your mouth water. She frees one of her ankles from the clothes, propping her leg over your shoulder and you snake your arm around her tight to keep her secure. She looks down at you, looking like a pretty and desperate little slut just for her. One of her hands goes to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her glistening lips. You lay your tongue out and you slowly lick her slick bottom to top, reaching her throbbing bud and giving it a harsh suck.

“Uhmm, fuck,” She moans upon the contact, pushing her hips closer to you mouth. “Yeah, just like that, baby.” You finally bury your tongue into her cunt, exploring her as she lets out a string of breathless moans. Abby begins to grind against your face, your soft muscle lapping on her mouthwatering pussy and your nose softly and deliciously brushing against her clit. “Look at me,” She pats your head and you bring your eyes up to her but never stopping fucking your tongue into her. “Lookin’ so beautiful on your knees for me, ahh– s-so so fucking perfect,”

Abby soon feels the tension that sits on the bottom of her stomach is about to explode. Her moves become more messy and rapid as she chases your face. The leg that is up your shoulder starts to shake, the trembling of her body making her to hold onto your free shoulder for support. You notice Abby will soon break and change the focus of your thrust to her needy button, lick and circling your tongue on it and adding two fingers into her.

“D-don't stop, fuckfuckfuc–” Her hips stutter as you scissor your fingers into her, never stopping giving attention to her clit. You feel her pussy gushing around you and she soon releases her juices, making a mess on your hand and face. Abby breaks eye contact as she presses the back of her head onto the wooden wall. She closes her eyes and furrows her brows while coming down from her orgasm. You distance your mouth from her now sensitive clit and gently remove your fingers from her. She drops her leg off of your shoulder and you, still on your knees, move to help her fix her pants and belt.

“No, it’s okay,” Abby moves away from your touch, making you slowly stand back on your feet. “I can do it.” She pushes her black jeans back up and grabs her belt off the floor, quickly wrapping them around the waistband of her jeans. You quietly observe her, hopeful thoughts run around your head, thoughts about you and Abby becoming closer after today – The last day of camp. “So, uhh,” She nervously runs her hand through her blonde strands as her face displays a shameful and regretful expression.

“We should get going, th-the last bonfire will start soon…” You feel as if the ground disappeared, your heart squeezes inside your chest and tears form in your eyes. “Uhm… I'll see you around, yeah?” She quickly exits, leaving you alone in the compartment. You look down at your knees, red and swollen from all the kneeling, and then you look around the small porta wooden potty, your hand palms your face as you take in what just happened. Regret fills you for what you and Abby just did – In a damn porta potty, at church camp nonetheless – and at how easy you gave yourself to her, only to be tossed away just as easily.

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