#the older heroes are horrified | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fangdokja · 30 days ago

Text

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

❤︎ Synopsis. An unhinged author who controls every aspect of your life, weaving a dark narrative where you’re both the protagonist and his plaything—he writes your fate, but only if you endure his disturbing obsession. In his world, every chapter brings you closer to a horrifying end… unless you please him.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Author x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Fate’s Final Draft - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 5,218

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, depression and mental illnesses, implied suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving mental illnesses, self-harm, and suicide, some plot details of the original story were purposefully made ambiguous to fit the platform.

♡ A/N. Wahaha, finally made this idea. It is possible for him to have his own Main Story; but I'm still thinking about it, since I have a lot of shiz to do haha. I was going to put the NSFW erotic horror part, but it was getting too long already.

♡ Yandere! Author who sees the world as his manuscript and everyone in it as characters for his narrative—mere pawns on a chessboard he rearranges at his whim.

♡ Yandere! Author who was once a literary prodigy, hailed as a genius storyteller for his grimdark tales that left readers breathless and disturbed. Critics marveled at his uncanny ability to craft despair, heartbreak, and suffering so vivid it felt alive. Little did they know he wasn’t just writing fiction—he was recreating his fantasies in the real world, puppeteering events to mirror the chaos in his mind.

♡ Yandere! Author who despised the monotony of real life. “People are so… boring,” he’d mutter, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. No one suffered properly; no one’s struggles were beautiful. To him, the world lacked intrigue. Until you.

♡ Yandere! Author who plucked you from your dull, ordinary existence like a child selecting a toy from a shelf, more out of habit than interest. You weren’t special—just another pawn in his grand game, another character to throw into the chaotic maelstrom of his imagination.

♡ Yandere! Author who didn’t think much of you at first. Quiet, gloomy, meek. You lacked the charisma of a hero, the fire of a rebel, or even the arrogance of an antihero. Just another blank slate with nothing to offer but the predictable reactions of someone out of their depth. But that was fine. You weren’t meant to be interesting. You were meant to survive—or not. Either outcome was entertaining.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Author who dropped you into his latest world—a fantasy isekai brimming with magic, monsters, and a cruel leveling system that ensured nothing came easily. “Good luck,” he’d murmured to himself, watching as you stumbled into your new reality. He hadn’t even bothered to give you a cheat ability or a supportive companion. You were cannon fodder, a nobody. Your story wasn’t supposed to last long.

♡ Yandere! Author who delighted in throwing obstacles your way. A cursed weapon that drained your life force whenever you wielded it. A village that betrayed you the moment you turned your back. A party of adventurers who abandoned you at the first sign of danger. Every twist, every betrayal, every near-death encounter was a carefully crafted piece of his art.

♡ Yandere! Author who laughed aloud when you failed, tripping over your own feet in the face of danger, barely scraping by with nothing but luck and desperation.

“How pitiful,” he’d muse, scribbling notes in the margins of his book. “Not even a shred of resolve. I wonder how long you'll last.”

♡ Yandere! Author who couldn’t resist pushing you further. When you lingered too long in a safe zone, he unleashed a plague. When you finally caught a moment of peace, he summoned a beast that tore through the tranquility like paper. When you found a rare treasure, he made sure someone stronger, greedier, took it from you. Every time you thought you were one step closer to victory, he yanked the rug out from under you.

♡ Yandere! Author who barely even noticed the way you persisted. At first, it was amusing, in a “look at the bug crawling out of the trap” sort of way.

You didn’t fight back, not really. You just endured, trudging forward like someone too tired to give up. It wasn’t resilience. It wasn’t strength. It was nothing worth writing home about. Yet you survived longer than he’d expected. Longer than most.

♡ Yandere! Author who began to notice your patterns. The way you didn’t waste time trying to rally allies or plot revenge against those who wronged you. You just… kept going. Quiet, unassuming, almost boring in how you refused to break. No grand speeches, no tearful outbursts, no fiery declarations of vengeance. Just silence. And somehow, that silence started to irritate him.

♡ Yandere! Author who started to poke harder, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He sent you a companion who betrayed you the moment you grew attached. He trapped you in a dungeon with no clear way out, just to see how long you’d last without food or hope. He introduced a rival, someone far more capable, to crush any fleeting sense of progress. And still, you lived.

♡ Yandere! Author who began to grow frustrated, his usual detachment slipping.

“Why won’t you break?” he muttered, leaning over his desk as he watched you struggle through yet another of his impossible scenarios.

There was no satisfaction in your suffering, no drama, no spectacle. You were boring, predictable, and yet… infuriatingly tenacious.

♡ Yandere! Author who threw you into the final trial of that first world, expecting it to be your end. A labyrinth filled with traps, monsters, and puzzles designed to shatter even the strongest of wills. He made sure to stack the odds against you, laughing to himself as he imagined your inevitable demise. But you survived. Barely.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who then throws you into a modern, thriller-horror world—something grounded in frightening realism where paranoia seeps into every corner. It’s a city crawling with secrets, where every smile hides an ulterior motive and murder is just another piece of the puzzle.

♡ Yandere! Author who’s still irritated as he writes your entry into this new world. He hates being proven wrong, and the fact that you survived his last creation gnaws at him. But rules are rules. Killing you outright would be a betrayal of his art, and if there’s one thing he holds sacred, it’s his craft. He’s a creator, not a hack. If you’re going to die, it’ll be on his terms—poetic, meaningful, unforgettable.

♡ Yandere! Author who drops you into this nightmare with nothing but your wits. No powers, no special abilities, not even a single ally you can trust. You wake up in a city that feels alive in all the worst ways: too many eyes watching, too many whispers following you like ghosts. The air itself feels oppressive, and danger lurks just out of sight, waiting for you to make one wrong move.

♡ Yandere! Author who sets the stage with a murder investigation—a gruesome, chilling crime that sets the entire city on edge. He knows how to craft fear, how to make every detail unnervingly realistic. Bloodstains that seem too fresh, suspects who lie with smiles that don’t reach their eyes, evidence that vanishes the moment you think you’ve found it. He weaves the threads of the mystery so tightly that it’s impossible to tell who’s the predator and who’s the prey.

♡ Yandere! Author who watches from his perch as you stumble through this new world, his annoyance tempered by the thrill of the game. You’re cautious, hesitant, and still so painfully predictable to him.

He nudges you toward danger at every turn—a “helpful” stranger who knows too much, a missed phone call that could’ve saved you, a shadow lurking just behind the corner. He pushes and prods, waiting for the moment you’ll falter.

♡ Yandere! Author who doesn’t shy away from making it personal. He paints the world with your fears, digging into the recesses of your mind to pull out the things that make your skin crawl. A too-familiar face in a crowd. A voicemail from a loved one you don’t remember having. Rooms that look like places you’ve been but shouldn’t exist here. He loves psychological horror, the kind that eats away at your sanity, and you’re the perfect subject for his masterpiece.

♡ Yandere! Author who grows frustrated when you continue to endure, even as the world around you crumbles. You’re cautious to the point of paranoia, hesitant to trust anyone, and maddeningly silent in your suffering.

You’re playing his game, sure, but not the way he wants you to.

It’s not fun this way.

He craves the drama, the despair, the art of it all—and you, with your quiet determination, are robbing him of the spectacle.

♡ Yandere! Author who watches with growing intrigue as you adapt. You’re still boring to him—quiet, gloomy, unremarkable—but there’s something in the way you navigate his traps, how you outmaneuver his designs without even realizing it. It’s not notable skill or flashy brilliance; it’s a quiet kind of intellect. And for someone as obsessed with control as he is, your unpredictability is both infuriating and captivating.

♡ Yandere! Author who, despite his annoyance, can’t help but enjoy watching you squirm. You’re a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet, and that irritates him to no end. But he tells himself it’s fine. You’re just another character, another experiment. You’re not special.

♡ Yandere! Author who leans back in his chair, pen tapping against his lips as he watches you stumble through another one of his traps. “Let’s see how long you can last this time,” he murmurs, his irritation giving way to a slow, unsettling grin. “Don’t disappoint me, little protagonist. I’m just getting started.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author who creates one of his signature magnum opus—a grimdark epic drenched in despair, betrayal, and violence. This is his masterpiece, the pinnacle of his craft, and the perfect stage to break you once and for all. No hope, no redemption, no safety. In this world, survival is a cruel joke, and death is the only certainty.

♡ Yandere! Author who throws you into the chaos with nothing but the clothes on your back. A crumbling kingdom teetering on the brink of war, political intrigue so convoluted it devours its players whole, and monsters lurking in the shadows—both human and otherwise. He crafts the world so meticulously that even the air feels heavy with doom. There’s no escape, no mercy, no way out. Or so he thinks.

♡ Yandere! Author who raises an eyebrow the moment you start to deviate from his script. It’s subtle at first—minor choices that ripple outward in unexpected ways. A betrayal you sidestep, an alliance you form that shouldn’t exist, a carefully constructed chain of events you unravel with quiet precision.

At first, he thinks it’s luck.

Then, he thinks it’s coincidence.

But as the story spirals further from his design, he begins to realize: you’re rewriting the script.

♡ Yandere! Author who leans forward, fingers steepled, his irritation giving way to intrigue.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, watching as you dismantle his carefully laid plans.

He’s seen this trope before—characters defying their roles, rewriting their fates. But those stories are sloppy, riddled with plot armor and deus ex machina. He hates those stories. He despises their stupidity, their lack of respect for the craft. Yet… this is different. You have no plot armor. You have no cheats, no guarantees. And somehow, you’re still alive.

♡ Yandere! Author who begins to test you, introducing new challenges designed to crush even the most determined spirit. He throws you into a city under siege, its streets filled with the screams of the dying. He pits you against a monster so horrific that it haunts your dreams. He manipulates the people around you, turning allies into enemies, twisting trust into betrayal. Yet no matter what he does, you adapt. You survive.

♡ Yandere! Author who finds himself muttering to the empty room as he watches you work.

“Clever,” he says when you outmaneuver a traitor.

“Bold,” when you risk everything for a gambit that shouldn’t have paid off.

“Stupid, reckless, but… brilliant.” He’s annoyed, yes—he hates being outplayed—but he’s also captivated.

You’re playing his game, but on your terms. And for the first time, he doesn’t know how it’s going to end.

♡ Yandere! Author who starts to see you in a new light. You’re not like the others. You don’t scream at the heavens, don’t declare war on the “unfairness” of the world. You don’t rely on luck or blind faith.

You’re calculating, deliberate, quietly defiant.

You’re everything he never expected you to be.

♡ Yandere! Author who feels a strange mix of pride and irritation when you survive his masterpiece. You’re battered, broken, barely breathing, but you’re alive. Against all odds, you’ve clawed your way through the carnage and emerged victorious.

It’s not the ending he planned, but it’s… satisfying, in its own way.

♡ Yandere! Author who chuckles softly, the sound low and dangerous.

“Well played,” he says, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

“But don’t think for a second this means you’ve won. You’ve caught my attention now, little protagonist. Let’s see how far you can go before you break.”

♡ Yandere! Author who realizes, with a thrill of anticipation, that the game has only just begun.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who introduces himself for the first time in this new world, a historical reverse harem trope with an undercurrent of political intrigue and dystopia, dressed up in a pretty, romantic facade.

You find yourself in a world that seems beautiful on the surface—lavish gowns, grand balls, charming men vying for your attention. But beneath the glittering exterior, it’s a world of betrayal, manipulation, and deadly power plays.

♡ Yandere! Author who enters the story with a calm smile, playing the role of an NPC "friend" meant to help you navigate this dangerous world.

He’s the type of character who exists solely to guide you, the wise adviser, always in the background but never quite the center of attention. His role is clear—he’s there to “help” you, to watch you fall in line with the game. But his eyes… they never stop watching you.

♡ Yandere! Author, playing the part of your “helper,” leans in close one day, his voice smooth, almost soothing.

“It’s dangerous here, you know. You can trust no one. Not even those who claim to love you.” His words drip with false tenderness, though the glint in his eyes betrays the sadistic pleasure he derives from the darkness surrounding you.

“But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To guide you… to protect you.”

♡ Yandere! Author, watching you, his smile never wavering, as you stand by him, as you consistently choose him over others in the court. His eyebrows arch in surprise, and for the first time in any world, there’s a genuine flicker of confusion behind his unshakable calm.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice almost a purr. “You’re still here. You haven’t run off to one of those princes, haven’t you?”

You look at him, unblinking, your gaze steady. “You’re the only one I can trust. The others are all just playing a game.”

♡ Yandere! Author, leaning closer, his voice low and a little mocking, with a smirk that barely hides his amusement and something more sinister.

“How quaint. You think I’m trustworthy?” He watches as you don’t flinch, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose that makes you… my little pet then, doesn’t it?”

Your expression never changes. “I’m just smart enough to stay close to the only one who can’t be manipulated in this world.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author, sensing a shift, a delicious challenge that he’s never faced before, lets out a small laugh—one that’s cold and filled with dangerous amusement.

“How interesting,” he muses, stepping closer, his hand brushing against your arm lightly. “So, you know who I am, then?”

You meet his gaze, unwavering. “You’re not even pretending anymore.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of amusement and irritation. “Ah. So I’m not the only one who understands the rules of this game, hmm? You’re quite clever, aren’t you? A pity, really. Most of the ‘protagonists’ I encounter are so… naive.”

♡ Yandere! Author, now utterly intrigued by your unwavering proximity to him, begins to shift his approach. The cold, detached adviser becomes a more charming, flirtatious presence. His words are laced with honeyed poison as he circles around you like a predator testing a new, unexpected prey.

“You know,” he says, voice soft and teasing, “you could be so much more than this. I’ve seen how they all adore you. How they all want you.” He leans in closer, his breath brushing your ear.

“But I think you’re starting to realize that none of them matter, don’t you?”

You blink, not reacting to the subtle pressure in his voice. “I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

♡ Yandere! Author, for the first time, pauses, a shiver of something unfamiliar running through him. His smile falters, but just for a moment.

Then it’s back, even more dangerous, like a cat toying with its prey. “Is that so? And why is that?”

“You’re the only one who’s honest,” you say simply. “And you’re the only one who isn’t pretending to be something you’re not.”

♡ Yandere! Author, amused yet unnerved, chuckles darkly, his voice oozing with a wicked charm.

“I see. You think I’m the only one who isn’t pretending, hm? Well, maybe there’s something about you that makes you interesting after all.”

He steps back slightly, his eyes scanning you with renewed interest. “But don’t mistake this for affection. I’m not the kind of man to simply hand over trust. I’m the one who deserves it. I’m the one who’s worth it.” He grins, a little too wide, a little too sharp.

“But let’s not rush things. We’ve got plenty of time to figure out how this plays out.”

He watches you carefully, taking in every moment of your steady gaze, the way you never flinch. His heart quickens, and he can’t tell if it’s frustration or fascination that drives him now. Whatever it is, it keeps him drawn to you, and that… that is something he’s never experienced before.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who doesn’t shy away from cruelty, doesn’t flinch at the thought of breaking you piece by piece, but for some reason, you never crumble. It’s maddening.

“You’re so boring,” he sneers, pinning you against the desk, his lips curling into a sadistic grin. “But you stick to me like glue. Why? What is it you’re waiting for? A happy ending? Newsflash, sweetheart—I don’t write those.”

You stare at him, unblinking, as his fingers trace the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

He laughs, sharp and bitter, his other hand slamming down on the desk beside your head. “Oh, don’t give me that. Everyone wants something. Attention. Control. Fortune. Power. Love. What is it, huh? Tell me.” His thumb presses against your lips, his gaze dark and hungry.

“Or do I have to find out myself?”

♡ Yandere! Author, who toys with you in increasingly intimate ways, his touch lingering, his voice dipping into dangerous territory.

“Do you know what I could do to you?” he whispers one night, his fingers trailing down your arm, sending shivers through your skin.

“I could ruin you. Completely. No one would know, no one would care. You’d just be another name crossed out in my little book of stories.”

Your voice is steady, your gaze unwavering. “Then why don’t you?”

His grin sharpens, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “Because, my little enigma, I like puzzles. And you…” He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“You’re a puzzle I haven’t solved yet.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who grows more physical, testing your limits, pushing you closer to the edge with every touch, every word.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your neck, “most people would be begging me to stop by now. Crying, screaming, running for their lives. But you… you just stand there, letting me do whatever I want.” He chuckles, low and dangerous.

“It’s almost like you enjoy it.”

You don’t respond, and that only seems to amuse him further.

“Or maybe,” he continues, his hands sliding down to your waist, “you think you can handle me. That you can survive me.” He presses his lips to your shoulder, a cruel smirk playing on his face.

“Tell me, do you honestly believe that? That you’re strong enough to endure this?”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to lose himself in the game, his sadistic intrigue growing with every interaction.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he says one night, his voice sharp with frustration.

“I could end this right now. Dig through that pretty little head of yours and find out exactly what makes you tick. But no. That would be too easy.” His fingers dig into your hips, his gaze burning into yours.

“And I don’t like easy.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, almost tender kiss before pulling back with a wicked grin.

“But you’re making me curious, and that’s a very dangerous thing, my dear. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. And I’m not a cat, but I might just kill you.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with an unnerving calm. “Then why don’t you?”

For a moment, he’s silent, his eyes narrowing as he studies you. Then, he laughs—a low, dark sound that sends chills down your spine. “Because you’re interesting. And I don’t destroy my toys until I’ve wrung every ounce of entertainment out of them.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to blur the lines between his sadistic games and something deeper, something he doesn’t want to name.

“Do you feel that?” he whispers one night, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch both possessive and teasing.

“That tension, that heat? It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? But you’re so composed. So controlled.” He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“It makes me want to rip you apart, just to see what’s underneath.”

You don’t flinch, your voice steady. “Do it, then.”

His grin widens, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Oh, no, my dear. Not yet. You don’t get to decide when this ends. That’s my privilege.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re as twisted as he is.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he says one night, his hands framing your face as he forces you to look at him. “You should be. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“I know exactly what you’re capable of,” you reply, your voice calm.

His smirk falters for just a moment before returning, sharper than ever. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips.

“You might just be my favorite experiment yet.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author who’s always prided himself on his control, his detachment. You’re just another piece on his board, another thread in his masterpiece. But this—this strange, gnawing feeling in his chest—it’s utterly foreign, and he hates it.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning back in his chair, watching you tend to yet another hapless NPC, your hands gentle, your words soft. “So this is what you’ve chosen to do with your time. Interesting choice.”

You glance at him briefly before returning your attention to the injured character. “Someone has to help them.”

His grin is sharp, dangerous. “Oh, do they? What’s the point? They’ll be dead in a few chapters anyway. Why waste your energy?”

You don’t answer, your focus unwavering as you wrap a bandage around the NPC’s arm.

♡ Yandere! Author clicks his tongue, the annoyance creeping into his voice. “You know, you’re starting to develop a bad habit. Always playing savior, always looking after others. It’s almost… predictable.”

You finally look up, your expression as calm as ever. “Maybe. But it’s what I want to do.”

His grin falters for just a fraction of a second, and something dark flickers in his eyes.

♡ Yandere! Author, who watches you interact with the love interests he’s meticulously placed around you, his jaw tightening as you laugh at one of their jokes.

“Oh, now this is rich,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he suddenly appears at your side. “Tell me, which one of them do you think will betray you first? The charming one with the tragic backstory? Or the brooding one who can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or kill you?”

You sigh, clearly unimpressed. “Do you always have to narrate everything?”

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “Always. It’s my story, after all.”

You step away, your attention shifting back to the love interests, and something snaps in him.

♡ Yandere! Author, who’s never felt this burning irritation before, this inexplicable urge to tear those carefully crafted characters apart limb by limb.

“You’re awfully invested in them, aren’t you?” he says, his tone deceptively light as he circles around you like a predator. “Do you actually think any of them are worth your time? They’re just puppets, you know. Hollow. Empty. Nothing like me.”

Your gaze meets his, steady and unflinching. “I know what they are. But at least they’re not trying to destroy me every second of the day.”

♡ Yandere! Author laughs, loud and sharp, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Destroy you? Destroy you? Oh, sweetheart, if I wanted to destroy you, you’d be gone already.”

His smile twists into something cruel. “No, I’m just… refining you. Shaping you into something better. Stronger. You should be thanking me.”

You don’t respond, and that silence claws at him, burrowing under his skin like a splinter.

———

♡ Yandere! Author, whose madness always simmers beneath a mask of cunning smiles and calculated control, finally unravels. But it’s not chaos. No shouting, no frenzy.

It��s quiet. It’s deadly.

It’s the kind of madness that burns cold and precise, carving through the air like a scalpel.

"You’ve been so patient," he says, his voice soft, almost tender, as if he’s consoling you. His head tilts, studying you like a puzzle he’s finally solved.

"And here I thought you were just stubborn. Turns out, you’ve been waiting for me to slip, haven’t you? Waiting for me to break my precious little rules."

You remain silent, but his sharp grin stretches wider, something twisted flickering in his gaze.

"Oh, I see it now," he continues, leaning in, his breath brushing against your ear.

"You’ve wanted it all along, haven’t you? That quiet little release. That final curtain call." He clicks his tongue, amusement dripping from his voice.

"Tsk, tsk. How boringly predictable."

♡ Yandere! Author, who crouches in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. There’s no warmth in his eyes, only a brutal, cutting clarity as he speaks.

"But I don’t care what you want," he says, his grin hardening into something more dangerous. "No, I never have. This story? You? It’s never been about you. It’s about me. What I want."

His fingers trail up to your chin, gripping it with enough force to keep you still. "And do you know what I want?" he whispers, his voice dropping to a near-silent murmur.

You shake your head—or perhaps you don’t. It doesn’t matter. He answers anyway.

"I want to keep you alive. Forever. I want to see that flicker of defiance in your eyes snuffed out again and again, only to light it back up myself." He leans closer, his lips ghosting over yours in a cruel mockery of affection.

"I want to watch you crawl through my worlds, bleeding and desperate, and still unable to die."

♡ Yandere! Author who laughs, low and cruel, as he pulls back, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Death is too kind, don’t you think?" he muses, pacing in front of you like a predator toying with its prey.

"It’s a full stop. The end of the story. How... uncreative. And I am anything but uncreative."

He pauses, turning to face you fully, his grin sharp enough to cut.

"No, my dear," he says, crouching again to meet your gaze. "You’ll live. You’ll suffer. You’ll endure every twisted scenario I can dream up. And you’ll do it for me. Because I’ll make sure you can’t do anything else."

♡ Yandere! Author, whose hands frame your face, his touch paradoxically gentle despite the venom in his words.

"You think you can escape this?" he murmurs, his tone soft, almost coaxing. "Escape me? I’m the one who writes your story, sweetheart. And I’ve decided that you don’t get an ending. Not now. Not ever."

You blink up at him, expression unreadable, and he laughs, the sound echoing through the room like the toll of a bell.

"You’ll always belong to me," he continues, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if he’s memorizing the curve of your face.

"Not even death can take you away from me. I’ll drag you back from the abyss if I have to. Over and over again."

♡ Yandere! Author, who straightens, his grin softening into something almost wistful.

"It’s funny," he says, more to himself than to you. "You’ve always been such a dull little thing. Gloomy, quiet, boring. But now?" He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Now you’re fascinating. A toy I never want to put down."

♡ Yandere! Author turns his back to you, hands tucked into his pockets, his voice carrying as he walks away.

"So go ahead," he calls over his shoulder, his tone deceptively light. "Keep sticking by me. Keep hoping I’ll slip. Because the more you push, the more I’ll pull. And I’ll make sure you never get what you want."

He glances back at you, his grin razor-sharp, his eyes glinting with something dark and terrible.

"After all," he says, his voice a soft purr, "what kind of artist would I be if I let my masterpiece end?"

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

646 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 2 months ago

Text

It's all Fun and Games Kids! Part 2

#HolidayRequests First off absolutely love your work and I'm so happy to show that by sending my support. I am not at all requesting all three just one of them. So dealer's choice. Congratulations! It's Triplets!, It's all Fun and Games Kids, or the Missing Half

Danny was buying some groceries when five armed men rushed in and demanded everyone to get on the ground. He stood by the milk, watching in fascination as the men gathered everyone near the back.

It didn't seem any of them were affiliated with big rouges, which could mean this was either a gang-related power grab or a couple of men looking for a quick buck.

They were likely taking hostages because they had messed up their big getaway and were now trying to make desperate leverage against law enforcement.

"I said get on the ground!" A man shouts behind Danny seconds before he is smacked with the butt of a gun. He hits the ground with a slight oof, but otherwise, he is okay. The same can't be said for his milk carton.

It splats in one large puddle, landing on the side and ripping a hole in the bottom corner. Hmm, that was a cheap carton. He should consider switching over to a different brand. He is then dragged to his feet and led towards a group of cowering people.

They were pushed against the vegetable bins and ordered to sit right under them so their backs were against the wood and the guards could limit their movement. It was brilliant, too, as being under the bins made it harder to see them for anyone attempting to rescue them.

Danny is shoved next to a trembling woman under the tomatoes, holding her hands against her mouth, muttering something low in Spanish. He doesn't know enough to translate what she says, but he figures it must be a prayer.

He offers her a smile. "First time?"

The look she sends him could have curdled dairy. He gives a small laugh, crossing his legs and getting comfortable. She returns to his prayers, and the two don't speak after that. Danny watches the armed men and realizes they're not new to this but aren't good at it.

These are the type of men who joined gangs for glory. The kind that would report violence at the drop of a hat and didn't care who they hurt in the process. Or worse, they enjoyed when they hurt people in the process, even if those people had nothing to do with them.

Danny frowns after a while, realizing that the men haven't looted them or emptied the cash registers. What were they after?

The store employees were all moved from the back of the store, their matching lime green uniforms an eye sore. They all wore the same horrified expressions as the group was forced to sit between the tomatoes and the onions.

The youngest one, a teenager who looked no older than eighteen, was wearing a black shirt with stripped lime lines, and Danny quickly figured out he was the manager. He was sobbing quietly, bruises on his face and around his neck indicating that the armed men had identified him as well.

Danny felt a spark of protective rage.

The manager sat beside Danny, so the Halfa scouted over, eyeing the men with the guns as he carefully slid his hand into the boy's palm. It was a testament to how scared the poor kid was when all he did was curl his fingers around his, tears rolling down his beaten face.

It made him wonder why, seeing as the other shoppers and employees did not have any indications that they had been attacked. It couldn't have been retaliation for trying to be a hero. No offense to the teenager, but he didn't strike Danny as someone brave or stupid enough to try to fight back.

If anyone, he looked more like someone who would hide in situations like these.

That's it. He realizes, watching how the men make head gestures at the manger. This isn't some off-chance hostage situation. This is a revenge plan. The kid's the target and these idiots are too low in command to realize it. No way they would have brought him out here if they did. Someone will come for him soon.

The teen had dark raven hair and the same pale skin as Danny, but his eyes were as black as coal compared to Danny's aqua blue. It might not work, but he was better equipped to handle whatever they threw at him until the bats or the police arrived.

He carefully lets go of the hand in his hold, running his fingers up the arm of the teen, keeping his eyes trained on the gunmen. He's doing it slowly, worried any sudden or fast moves will convince them to pull the triggers on their assault rifles.

The boy's breath hitches but thankfully doesn't blow their cover. The tremble in his limb has increased, and Danny wouldn't have felt bad about it had he not been on a time crunch. Eventually, his fingers brushed against the short sleeve of the manager's uniform.

"Listen carefully. You were just here to buy some groceries. You never worked here." He whispers, curling his fingers around the fabric and turning the polo shirt intangible. He pulls it right off the teenager's body in one quick swipe.

It slides off the boy's skin like water, and the second he slides it through him, Danny returns it to solid, letting it settle on top of his clothes. He quickly covers the teenager's naked chest with his own long-sleeve shirt, using the same method.

The boy's mouth drops, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before the armed men walk over to them. Danny pushes his head down, hoping to hide the bruises while hunting his own, using his hair to curtain his face.

Just in time, too, because the Halfa is yanked to his feet by two of the men, who sneer at him, and he lets the proper amount of whimpers when they backhand him and bang his head on the bin.

Danny is dragged out of the room while the third man threatens the people. He'll come back for them the second he has a chance.

"You thought you could hide in Gotham, Eric?" One of the men hisses, "After what your Daddy did? Half of my boys are rotting in cells for life because of him! "

Eric was likely in witness protection or had wronged a powerful man he shouldn't have. Maybe he was in an organized gang and had ratted someone out. There was no way Danny was letting these men get away.

They drag him towards the back, where a group of similarly dressed men and women are waiting. Glances at everything through his hair, wondering how long he had before someone realized they got the wrong person.

Maybe they wouldn't notice before they shoved him into the ain't oven; they were obviously planning on burning him in. Which would be the perfect place to shift into Phantom out of prying eyes. He had spent months chasing Batman as a regular love-stroke citizen.

He couldn't let all those dramatic swoons and pathetic flirtations go to waste by revealing he was a powerful meta now! Plus, how else would he be rescued by a hero if the man knew he could just do it himself?

He was forced to stand in the room with two guards gripping is his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Danny doesn't raise his gaze away from his shoes, so even though he knows someone is standing near the oven to give him a dramatic monologue, he won't look.

A minute passes before someone clicks their tongue.

"Nothing to say, brat!?" A kick to the back of his knees has Danny falling to his knees, gritting his teeth to stop himself from going ghost immediately. "Do you know what I'm going to-"

Whatever the man was going to say was cut off by a figure launching itself from the ceiling railing and kicking him in the back of the head.

Danny flinches as a body drops right next to him. There is a splash of blood as one of the men wails. Danny offers him a cheeky grin once the man rolls over and looks up into his face.

His wide eyes are stomped on by a dark boot surrounded by a fluttering cape, and the second pair of hands on his shoulder vanishes. Danny listens to the sound of battle, keeping his hair in his face and his eyes on his folded knees. He could get up and hide, but where would the fun be?

His favorite pass time has arrived.

"Are you alright?" The familiar voice growls, but Danny doesn't respond. It was too far away. The man needed to get closer.

Eventually, the boots and the cape returned to his line of vision, a hand slowly reaching for him, and Danny flung himself toward them. He must have caught the vigilante off guard because when Danny wrapped his arms around the legs, he did not dodge in time despite the jerk that indicated he was moving.

Dramatically, Dann wailed, still on his knees, pressing his cheek against a muscular thigh. "Batman! You saved me! I was so scard but you came to rescue me!"

A hand landed in his hair, pushing Danny away. That only made the ghost in him grin as he fought to hug the man closer. It must have been a shock to find that Danny had a lot of strength despite his young appearance.

"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you. I was so scared!" He bawls, hiccuping for good measure as he rubs his cheek against the meat of Batman's left vastus laterlis. The man must do insane squats.

"Get. Off." Batman grunts, now using both hands to try and push Danny away. It's too bad for him; Danny has super strength. "Let. Go!"

"Mr. Fenton, everything is alright! You don't have to be afraid. Please let Batman go." Spoiler shouts, appearing in Danny's line of sight. He almost breaks character to pout at her intrusion. He can't, though, as that would ruin the game. So he lets her gently pry off his arms and helps him to his feet.

He shoots Batman with looks of undying devotion, though, which might have actually made the Dark Knight shudder, and that was all he wanted in life.

"You have real bad luck, huh?" Spoiler comments, rubbing his back like a small, scared child.

"I just wanted some milk for my Oreos." He hiccups, wiping at his eye. He then ends a watery smile towards Batman, who is helping Red Robin and Robin secure the gang that had snuck into his city. "But I did get to see Tall, Dark, and Daddy, so today is not a total bust."

"I'm going to be sick," The girl in purple mutters under her breath, and Danny nearly loses it right then.

He is distracted by Eric rushing towards them, a look of hero worship on his face as he slams into Danny with a loud but sincere "Thank you!"

Phantom purrs from inside his protective core. He should shop here more often. This place is a riot.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #It's all Fun and Games Kids!#Part 2 #Danny went form Navy Seal mindset to Court Jester in seconds #He is good at what he does when he wans to be #Bruce was not happy to see the “Kid”#Danny calls Bruce Tall Dark and Daddy now #Tramatize the Batkids in new ways #holiday requests

807 notes · View notes

wonderjanga · 2 months ago

Text

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

614 notes · View notes

everythingspokenfor · 2 months ago

Text

Casually thinking about older!Bakugou . As usual, all characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Older!Bakugou who is still in his early 30s, being pestered by his mother to at least get a girlfriend (and eventually settle down). She is afraid she'll never be able to meet her grandkids if this continues.

Older!Bakugou who has attended weddings of his friends, co-workers and even few of the people he had rescued. Although, had no intention of settling down anytime soon, wanting to focus on hero work because it gave him a drive, something to look forward too.

Older!Bakugou who was never really interested in any women that threw themselves at him, always keeping to himself, mellowed out with age. His friends no longer setting him up on blind dates because it was all in vain.

Older!Bakugou who hires a new support tech, because he was impressed by the work. Who meets the newbie in the hallway of the building, screaming at a rookie prohero.

"this is my resume", you shoved an open file into the rookie's face,"on page 12 it list all the things I was hired for", you pause pulling the folder, skimming through the pages to open page 12, he assumes. "Here, now read carefully, does it say 'write reports for rookies because they are apparently incapable of writing it' huh?", you slam the folder shut on the table. " Don't ever expect to do your work, rookie."

You turned around and left the hallway, not really noticing that you almost ran into Pro-hero: Dynamight.

Older!Bakugou who observes you working around the lab, fierce support tech that minds her business and prefers talking to her projects over actual people. Diligent with her work, getting her job done.

Older!Bakugou who enters the lab one day because his gauntlet need to repaired.

"they are too chunky." You don't really have a filter, already working on dismantling the whole thing, not sparing Bakugou a glance.

"You should focus on your work, kid." He was already staring at you.

"What do you think I am doing, Dynamight? This chunk isn't going to fix itself."

He is glad that your words remains same, irrespective of who you are talking to. Always stating the obvious.

"watch it, kid." He walked out of the lab.

Older!Bakugou who is surprised when the new tech remodels his gauntlets but also repairs the old ones, showing him the perks of new ones while still repairing the old ones just in case he doesn't like the new ones.

Older!Bakugou who, at 32, finds himself horrified by the idea that he might be interested, in someone, someone who is younger than him. You are 24, barely am adult in his eyes. You are smart, snarky and considerate.

You explain things to people, help around the lab, yet you are still sharp can take a joke, can make a joke.

Older!Bakugou that is nervous, prospect of asking out a girl making him sweat. He stands at the entrance of your lab, clear door doing nothing to hide his hulking frame, you are still working on something, hunched over a table with a chunky metal in hand.

"you know, I can see you, right?"

He lets out a breath, a small smile breaking onto his face, he moves into the lab. You notice he is wearing casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying take-out boxes in his hand.

"I was getting dinner, thought I'd get you some too." He is already setting up on the 'not work table' in the room, already aware of what would happen if he put food on your 'work table'.

"What did you do, boss?" You voiced suspiciously, already moving to wash your hands.

"Can't even get people dinner in this economy"

"People", faux disbelief evident in your voice,"I wouldn't call me people, boss" you pulled the chair out and sat in front of him.

"Why not, tech?" He teased, handing you pair of chopsticks.

You look at him with mischief in your eyes, you lean over and play your hand around you mouth, almost as if sharing a secret,"Because you don't practice asking 'people' out, Suki."

His eyes widened,"You heard that? I thought the glass door was fucking sound proof." He let out a sigh, hours of practising and he doesn't even get a chance to say it.

"They are soundproof. From the inside tho." You looked over to him, before placing your hand over his," And I'll go on that date, also we should totally check the sound proofing of the lab tonight."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

#i am not gonna like i do not like this fic #maybe ill revisit this idea some other day #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha smut #mha angst #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou x you #katsuki x reader

832 notes · View notes

evilminji · 1 year ago

Text

Ya'll remember Ace? Bat-hound?

No WAY Cujo became a Ghost and He did not.

Is he a little lost? Maybe. This is not his beautiful home. This is not his beautiful, maladjusted, Bat Family. Who are you people!? Where IS he!? This place is FAR to cheerful and green to be Gotham!

But he is Bat-Hound. A PROFESSIONAL. A HERO. He can handle this. He just has to track his humans down... through... whatever this is. If Krypto can fly, bless his mostly empty, hyperactive head, then so could he! It can't be THAT har-*Thwonk!*

.....no one saw that.

But what's this? A helpful young pup? Cujo you say. Ah, he too, was once a gaurd dog. Cujo, lad, he seems to be lost. Could you...? You WILL! Fantastic. But wait? You're worried about your Young Human?

*Bat Concern Rising* *Doggy eye squint*

WHY?

*cujo spills the frankly horrifying beans about Danny's home life*

.........ha ha, NOPE! We can be having THAT! He's coming too! Bruce LOVES young humans! Especially sassy ones. He'll adopt him in no time! You grab the older one's, I'll grab the baby. Then we can head home, yes? You'll love gotham! Plenty of scoundrels to chase!

Cut to the Bat family. Damian is training Titus in the yard. Rare sun-ish day. It's a cook out. The Kent's are over. When?

Titus and the Supers both perk up. You hear that? Somethings about to-

*reality RIPS* *Ace the Bat Hound, dead for over a decade, jumps through... THE SIZE OF A HORSE. He is holding a struggling small preteen girl in his mouth* *Splat*

He dropped her. Eeeeeeew! She is loudly protesting. There is a SECOND dog. Green. Two more teens, clearly related to the first. Dumped on Bruce's lawn.

Ace looks proud of himself. Shrinks to normal size and pads over. Plops down in front of Bruce like he'd never left, tail wagging. Still in costume. He's glowing.

The burgers burn on the grill. No one can bring themselves to notice or care. Damian is elated. Krypto is fly wrestling is bestest buddy. Bruce is having a nervous breakdown over his dead dog.

Clark is calling their co-workers and trying to STOP the nervous break down.

Lois is just feeding the strage kids the dogs brought. Asking some casual "I'm totally not an investigative reporter" type questions. Who wants chips? Have a towel.

Ace? Is a Good Boy. 🐶

@hypewinter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

4K notes · View notes

bogleech · 1 year ago

Text

I can't count how much media, from adult to little kid's media, has had some scene where someone plans to drop a weapon in a populated area, potentially killing civilians because they think that's worth killing the Bad Guy, and the entire world agrees that in this narrative that character has become as evil or more evil than whatever they thought they were fighting. That choice is presented as a horrifying thing absolutely everywhere, except when it finally happens in real life and is going to kill real people, and suddenly half the world wants to argue that no, that's exactly what Heroes do apparently.

The most recent movie I saw with this exact moment in it was Nimona but when I was a little dumb baby I was learning this lesson from even the fucking Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles. When we were little spongy minded infants we could comprehend that it was objectively something only a cruel and terrible person ever even considers. And guess what???? The real life adult world actually isn't more complicated. Not at all. This isn't something you find out is more nuanced as you get older. There's nothing to debate about. There's no "well, actually" to be stated. Someone who kills bystanders is exactly as one-dimensionally evil to the fucking core as a cartoon bad guy, and any good person should want to do absolutely anything in their power to stop them at any and all cost.

1K notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months ago

Text

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and blue jays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s burden, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #jace x you #jace x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon

257 notes · View notes

monster-disaster · 9 months ago

Note

Me again from the male monster and human woman ask about the monster thinking he’s going to be eaten after sex.

I had a few follow up thoughts…

Scenario #1-

Male monster is worried about his human wife not having enough nourishment during pregnancy because she did not eat him. So monster brings home tons of food to try to get her to eat more. Some foods are quite “questionable.”

Scenario #2-

Male monster’s female relatives try to kill him *comedically* because they think he’s being a horrible father/spouse for not dying for his future children/wife. The female monsters then proceed to ask the human woman how’d she’d like him prepared to eat. (Baked, boiled, roasted, fried, etc.)

The female monster relatives had yet to be informed that humans don’t kill/eat their spouses. So it’s tragically funny when the male monster introduces human woman to his large female family, as you’ve added on to.

Gods, I still love this!

Scenario #1 And imagine the poor monster's guilt every time his wife has morning sickness during pregnancy. He thinks she has a difficult pregnancy because she didn't eat him. Just one look at his husband, and she knows what's going on in his mind. Even the thought makes him nauseous. "I won't eat you!" "What about an arm?" The monster asks. He could definitely live with minus one arm. It wouldn't be a problem. Every time he says things like this his wife feels like she is in a weird horror movie. "Just stop it!" And the next second, she is bending over the toilet again.

Scenario #2 His female relatives are a bit disappointed when they see that he is still alive, but his young male cousins! He becomes a hero in their eyes! They look at him with hope shining in their eyes. "You are still alive." The monster grins, proud. "I am!" His older female cousin just grimaces. "But why?"

Scenario #3 Imagine our monster boasting about not being eaten after sex! And he tells it to anyone who listens! It's definitely a horrifying and weird experience for everyone but hey, he doesn't care, he is still alive!

And one more scenario When he meets Reader's family for the first time and sees her male relatives with their family and kids. So it's true! She really won't eat him! He grew up with females, and watching her girlfriend's male relatives fitting in the family opens a whole new world for him.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks

617 notes · View notes

glitter-stained · 3 days ago

Text

The thing you need to remember about comics ages and timelines is that yeah it's messy there are retcons at stuff and it will never be clear and perfect. But also, DC has an interest portraying age the way they do. They have an interest in aging Barbara down so she can be Dick's pretty girlfriend with whom he raises a cute dog (and maybe a cute little family next perhaps?). They have an interest in trying to keep Tim young and draw him younger than he looks so they can milk his Robin's popularity for as long as possible. They have an interest in drawing Jason to make him look 40 when Bruce slits his throat, to make him look like a grown man fighting a teenager when fighting Mia even though they're the same age (though i mantain that mia is a little bit older), in having him call Tim kid even though they're the same age, in having him offer Tim a drink and Tim pointing out he's not legal when Jason isn't either. They have an interest in Jason looking older in Jim Aparo's art style in ADITF than he looked in precrisis or in 308. They have an interest in Steph magically looking older in War Games, where she gets tortured and brutally murdered, than the fun colourful round and much more youthful art from her Robin run. There are probably many more examples but bottom line it's not fucking innocent. DC knows how to hire artists that know how to draw children it's really not that hard. Characters who look young, characters who remind you that they are young, create more empathy; which is good when you want the public to continue to root for them, and bad when those characters challenge the status quo or that excess of empathy might create pushback after you decide to have them brutally murdered. DC can't have Batman grievously wounding and causing the death of his underage son, but if he looks as old as Batman? DC can't have Jason making a valid point about vigilantism being unsafe for Mia and relating with her with childhood sexual abuse subtext because it makes the heroes (and especially Batman) look bad, but if it looks like this is a grown ass man harassing a teenage girl, then it's clear who is the villain, it's okay, no problem. DC needs Barbara to be younger so the power dynamic between her and Dick fits their idea of a perfect little nuclear family much better and they can shove Barbara back into the role of Batgirl even though she is very much a girl rather than a woman. DC needs Steph to look older when she's tortured so they can be edgy without people being too horrified at them doing something horrifying, DC needs Jason and Steph to look older on the day they die because young looking= innocent which makes it so much harder to victim-blame. DC needs Mia to look younger than Jason so they can make it look like the good old "good victim/bad victim" dichotomy and even though that's not what the story is actually about, regardless of how much it disrespects Mia's character to do so. DC needs Jason to look ugly because it's harder to empathize with ugly people and it makes it so much clearer who is the bad guy and who is the good one, and it's a much easier dichotomy, so much more comfortable than challenging the whole mythos around which Batman is built. DC needs Barbara to be sexy in their traditional male-gaze way, because this is the audience they're trying to appeal to.

So like, I know that I'm nit-picking when I say "actually according to any and all logic Jason is younger than Tim by a couple of months and than Mia by around three years". Or when I say "they should bring back Dickbabs' old age difference" or even interact with Dickbabs as if they still have that difference and refuse to interact with Tom Taylor's version of the ship. I know comics are incoherent and the timeline is messy; but just because it's messy, just because it's always been, doesn't mean it's innocent. So I'm gonna keep nitpicking, and I'm gonna stay an annoying bitch, because I refuse to allow comics to manipulate me out of my empathy. And because I don't see everything and am very aware of how easy it is to be manipulated even when you're careful, I encourage you to add to this with things you've noticed whether it's in portrayal or in art about character age, appearance, or any other device they might use to manipulate our perception of the characters -and what narrative these resorts serve.

#i couldn't find any specific example there so I didn't include it #but that also works for the infantilisation of Cass both in the fandom and canon #why are you portraying this grown adult woman as younger than she is?? could it be because she's disabled and asian? surely not #anyway stay annoying stay critical and remember if the opportunity arises it's never a bad time to egg tom taylor's car #dc #dc comics #dc critical #also like do not come at me and “correct” me with the tim jason and mia age difference thing #i have in fact read those comics you can ask me to explain and you can disagree with that analysis but don't “um actually” me #please and thank you

98 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 8 months ago

Note

I just got the best idea! Vampire villain with a strong moral code who refuses to feed on blood, making themselves weak with hunger. Hero notices and purposefully cuts their finger on villain's fang to get them to eat🤍

The villain had never thought they could be overpowered by a human. It was terrifying to say the least.

Once the blood was in their mouth and the hero's hand off their throat, the villain started to suck on the hero's finger involuntarily. The instinct was ancient, something older than the vampire themselves. They had forgotten how good fresh blood tasted.

However, they could collect themselves pretty quickly.

"You're stupid," the vampire whispered. "You had a perfect physical advantage. You could have killed me..."

"Take more," the hero said, pushing their finger into the villain's mouth quick enough to make them gag. This time, the villain grabbed their enemy's wrist and nearly pushed them off their hips.

"I'm good," they said through gritted teeth. The vampire didn't really enjoy it when the hero was so adamant about absolutely everything they did. The hero always found a way to get what they wanted. They were a pain in their ass. Annoying and heroic.

"You're still pale," the hero said. "Interesting..."

They pushed the villain's chin up and managed to slip one finger under the villain's upper lip, lifting it to examine the villain's fangs as if they were a doctor.

"I am a vampire," the villain reminded them. "Sunlight doesn't turn me to ashes but the sunburns are out of this world."

"And you are sure you are fine?" the hero asked. They turned the villain's head to the right and then to the left, continuing their examination. Christ, they even put their hand on the villain's chest to search for a heartbeat.

"I'm great, just - get off, will you?" The hero stood up but the villain still needed a moment. They feared they would pass out again if they stood up.

They looked around the room but there was nothing. No furniture. Just a door that looked like it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

What a joke.

"You know," the hero said, hands on their hips, "this is actually quite interesting. I certainly didn't expect my dear nemesis to end up in the same cell as me. I guess they wanted you to eat me. A little grotesque if you ask me."

"But not too far-fetched," the villain said. They pushed themselves up but ended up leaning against the wall. "Hunger turns everyone into an animal."

"You still don't look too good," the hero said. Once again, they kneeled beside the villain. Their hand raked through the villain's hair and stopped on their forehead.

The villain didn't know why the hero was always so touchy. They never crossed any boundaries and the villain actually welcomed those soft hands on them, but still...it was strange. Strange to feel someone's warm skin on theirs like this.

"How much blood do you usually drink?"

"God, I don't know...I'm trying to quit." The hero stared at them. The silence was uncomfortable and the villain didn't know if they had said something wrong.

Then the hero huffed.

"And you say I'm the stupid one." They rolled their eyes. "So, severe undernourishment, I guess. That's why you're so weak."

"Ey, I am alright-"

"Which makes this even more baffling. What is an undernourished vampire doing in a supervillain facility?"

"What is an annoying hero doing here?"

"Saving a dumb vampire, apparently."

"Ugh. I was experimented on," the villain said. The hero had probably saved their life. That was something the villain certainly did not want to think about. Gosh, the hero was so annoying with their caring nature and their stupid curiousness. When they looked at the hero, though, they looked horrified. "No, all of it was voluntary. I got some money for it in return. Nothing bad, really."

"I got caught when I tried to steal some documents. They weren't that nice to me." The hero lifted their shirt and the villain saw two giant fresh bruises. The hero's ribs were definitely damaged.

"Shit..." the villain mumbled. "Scoot over. Are you okay?"

They let their fingers ghost over the hero's skin. Unsurprisingly, the hero flinched and threw their head back, cursing quietly.

"Looks broken. We need to get you out of here," the villain said.

"Wait, the experiments...they knew you were trying to quit with the blood?" the hero asked. They let their shirt fall down again but the villain couldn't help but think about the bruises.

Their own injuries healed pretty quickly. But they had totally forgotten that this would take days, maybe even weeks for the hero to get better. Humans were so fragile. They feared the hero could fall apart any second.

"...yeah, they encouraged it even."

"Great," the hero said. "This is the next phase of their experiments, then."

The villain stared at them. They thought they were on rather good terms with the company.

"Wait, you don't mean..."

"Yup. They really want to see if you'll eat me," the hero said. "Which also means we are definitely under surveillance."

#denkst du vielleicht grad an mich #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #vampire #vampire villain

251 notes · View notes

flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 24 - "Is it over? Is it really over?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Implied menstions of experimentation, and torture

A/N: My brain came up with two options… I went with the sorta angsty one…

They had raided the facility. It had been a plan they had carefully prepared for months now. Batman had gone over all possible scenarios. But it was a needed preparation. They had discovered it too late. Being prepared for ever eventuality was the least they could have done.

The entire Justice League had been horrified when they had discovered this governmental organisation what was committing sanctioned mass genocide of an entire interdimensional race. An Organisation called the GIW, Ghost Investigation Ward or more commonly called Guy's in White. If Doctor Fate, Zatanna and Constantine hadn't found out about them they probably would have never discovered the atrocities their government was committing.

But this had led to a large-scale operation. They started locating any and all locations the GIW possessed and was working on. Tracking any and all Agents that were working for or with them. Every company that was supplying them was looked into deeper until they had every little bit of information they could find.

With all the locations found they then split into teams. Planning a simultaneous strike to all facilities so that one could not warn the other. They would not let a single Agent of this organization escape. They all would be brought to justice.

Batman had not been surprised that the moment his children were clued into the operation, that some of them were ready to go off on their own to do something. Luckily they all were aware enough of the high risks and how many lives would be at risked if even only one of them messed up.

Four months. It had taken four months of thorough planning, of meticulously strategising, and careful preparation. But now everything was ready. Finally after so long the night to strike came. Originally the other heroes wanted to strike at daylight, a tactic to make it as public as possible to also gain the public opinion in their favor.

Batman had disagreed. It was better to strike at dusk or night. When their guard was down to easily overwhelm them. They could make a clear and evidence based statement to the public the next morning throughout all news channels and news times. Superman, as Clark, had already published several papers throughout the months of preparation that would play into their favor.

They had prepared for everything, arresting every Agent, every Scientist, every Guard. Everyone they encountered was knocked out, bound and prepared for transport into arrestment. He did not scowl any of his children when they used more force than necessary, quite frankly if Batman didn't have his own moral code and self control he might not have held back after what he was seeing.

Thad did not mean that he might have hit one or two of these so-called Scientists harder than necessary if they resisted. There were so many cages, so many 'ecto-entities' bound, branded and caged. Batman felt visibly sick when he came across labs with tables stained in green, knowing exactly what that meant after having listened to Doctor Fate's explanations.

They had gone through nearly the entire facility they were in charge of when Superman reported back first. "There was a boy in the deepest part of the facility, bound and hocked up to what appeared to be the facility's energy source. See if you find anyone with similar treatment in your locations. The Boy is rescued, he appears delirious and is pretty much snarling and growling at me but he is in safe hands now."

"Can confirm! A girl was found in my location in the deepest part underground. Same situation as you described. She didn't appear to be conscious, we took her off their system and transferred her to immediate treatment." Wonder Woman chimed in a moment later and Batman lips formed a straight line.

"Same here. It's an older man, face is familiar. He was shortly lucid enough to talk but all he asked about was where the children were. He might be connected to the kids you two found." Flash also reported after a while. Now Batman was more than sure, there were only four big locations aside from several small ones. His was the last one and his stomach sunk even more at the possibility of what he would find in the deepest part of this place.

His prediction was confirmed when he kicked open the door of the last room they hadn't checked yet. Nightwing was by his side, while Red Robin, Red Hood, Black Bat and Robin had hung back to take care of the evacuation of victims as well as arrest of the last GIW workers.

Nightwing let out a string of actual curses.

There in this room was a white haired teen in a ripped NASA shirt and green stained jeans, hooked up to several tubes, bound with silver shining and heavy looking chains to a wall. There was a green strain on the flooring directly below the boy and the green pipes appeared to be pumping more of it from as well as into the teen.

"Get him off the wall!" He instructed hurriedly, checking for the best way to safely unhook the teen. They appeared to be unconscious but with the report from his hero colleagues he wouldn't bet on that too much. The teen might just be too exhausted to actually react to what was happening around him.

"He can't be any older than Red…" He heard his son mutter as he broke the silver metal bindings and Batman couldn't help but agree. He didn't want to even know how long the teen had been here like this. They had been too late, they should have known about this entire things sooner. But at least they weren't too late to save them in particular.

Suddenly the teen stirred, head snapping up. Blazing Lazarus green eyes stared at them and Batman froze, feeling reminded of his second son. The boy didn't say anything, he was just staring at them before, eyes going from his broken bindings to Nightwing, to the unhooked tube in Batman's hand. He saw how the teens eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"You are not with them…" The teens voice cracked from obvious disuse or maybe overuse? He couldn't know for sure. Still he made a sound of agreement before continuing to unhook the last of the tubes.

"We already freed the others, you're the last one." Nightwing was forcing his voice to sound light and friendly. Batman knew this, he could sense the internal rage his son was suppressing. In a way he was glad it was Nightwing with him, his other sons might not have had the same control over themselves in this situation.

"What about Ellie, Dan and the fruitloop?" It took him only a short moment to connect this question to the possible three reported by the other.

"Rescued and in treatment." He answered curtly, removing the last tube while his son broke the last chain and binding. The teen fell forward like a ragdoll, Nightwing instinctively catching him.

"I can't believe it… this isn't a dream…" The white haired kid muttered, eyes going unfocused and Batman worried that the teens system was going into shook. Did he unhook the boy from the tubes too fast?

"Is it over? Is it really over?" The teens started to sound delirious and Batman shared a look with Nightwing. His son nodded as he moved to get a better hold of the teen.

"It is." His son told him voice was going soft. "Rest for now, the next time you wake up you will be free and with Ellie and Dan."

"Don't forget Vlad, he is still a fruitloop but a good one…" the Teen mumbled before finally passing out. Batman gave Nightwing a nod before the other hurried out of this place with the now passed out teen while he reported his similar finding to Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash.

He stood in the now empty room letting his eyes wander over it one last time, checking for any evidence he should keep before deciding to leave too. There was a lot to prepare for, the news, the public statement, the aftercare and treatment of the victims. Batman ignored the fleeting thought of who was going to take in their four main victims, especially the children and teen. Surely his kids wouldn't mind if he provided them a temporary home, right?

718 notes · View notes