Now broken into separate posts. Please hit the next button (at the bottom) to find the next part OR go to the master post to find links to all parts.
Damian lit the candles on each corner of the pentagram, placed a plate of Alfred’s cookies in the middle and said, “Phantom, I summon you,” in a deadpan voice.
The smoke from the candles swirled together and Danny, in Phantom form, appeared, already munching on the sacrificed cookies. “Hey Damian! I’m surprised you actually summoned me. What’s up?”
“Grayson has been worried about my lack of close relationships with my age-mates, and in the interest of avoiding gruelingly forced social interaction, I would like to introduce you to them.”
Danny swallowed his bite of cookie and smirked, “No way. I agree with that Grayson dude, you need more friends. You Waynes need to keep your sociable facades, and having one or two friends outside of the caped community won’t kill you.
Damian sniffed. “The fools in that torturous institution you people call schools are not good candidates for close relationships.”
“I never said anything about making friends at school, why don’t you go make friends at the dog park or something.”
Damian squinted at him, not sure if he was joking. “The dog park? In Gotham?”
Danny hesitated then nodded conceding the point. “Ok, maybe not the dog park, but you promised when you came here that you’d cement your place with the Waynes before you introduced me. Part of that is making your public identity well connected enough that it would be a pain in the butt if you disappeared.”
“Rest assured, the members of this family are soft hearted enough that a lack of public facing relationships will have no bearing on my place within the family. Grayson’s desire for me to make,” Damian’s nose scrunched up in distaste, “friends stems from their concern for the fulfillment of my so called emotional needs.”
Danny, having eaten all the cookies, blew out the candles and landed softly on the floor as he turned back to his human form. “And you think that introducing them to your twin is going to get them off your back?”
“They will be so busy investigating you and your situation that they won’t concern themselves with my relationships with others for at least a month.”
“Ahh,” Danny nodded in understanding, “drop the occasional worrying tidbit and don’t let slip that I’m aware of their connection to the caped community, got it.”
“I will tell them that our mother secretly got you adopted out when you were 3, so don’t act like you’re aware of the League of Assassins either.”
“And of course, the fact that I’m coming out of your room with no sign of how I got in will just add to the mystery,” Danny grinned, “Sounds like fun! Count me in! Let’s go drive your family crazy!”
Damian nodded seriously opened his door, leading Danny towards the dining room. “Tonight is the weekly family dinner, so this is the optimal time to introduce you to everyone.”
“Sweet! Any night that I don’t have to fight my dinner is a good night in my books!”
⚰︎ tags: no use of y/n ⋆ reader nondescript ⋆ mdni ⋆ wlw ⋆ mideval au ⋆ changeling!reader ⋆ softdom!wanda ⋆ praise kink ⋆ improper use of magic ⋆ scissoring ⋆ face sitting ⋆ established relationship ⋆ master/pet dynamic ⋆ word count: 3.2k
⚰︎ warnings: fluff ⋆ smut ⋆
⚰︎ every good pet gets a reward.
⚰︎ You ran down the street, small bag loot gripped between your teeth. Effortlessly sidestepping every human in your way, nobody paid you any mind. Even for those who knew the truth behind the little black cat scurrying down the town streets usually looked the other way. Unfortunately, being so infamous, you were the easiest way to deliver a message to your master.
You had known the moment you started being followed. You had far keener senses than any human or even that of an ordinary cat. You were still at the outer streets of the city. This was where the less savory characters called their territory. You had done nothing that you could think of to warrant being tailed, it wasn’t a crime to pass through the city, especially down Main Street.
Now sensing a third person following you sped up and changed your path, dodging carts horses and people. Skittering down an alley, you slipped through the cracks of the outer gate, there you saw a tin cup. The northern outer wall is where trash is often tossed, the castle was as far south as could be. Less royal staff ever found its way here to even address the poverty issue, they couldn’t care less about the debris.
With what magic you could summon, you swapped the contents of the bag for the tin, burying it fast in the leaves. Once you had finished, a rat ran past you startling you from your place.
“There it is!” You heard a voice yell. Sparing the man a glance you bolted from the wall, now empty bag still clenched in your teeth. You noticed the man held a crossbow.
Why were you being hunted? Surly hunting game hasn’t gotten so scarce that the people wanted to eat their house pets? No, this was personal. These men knew who you were. What you were. As men continued to peruse you, in your panic you were none the wiser that they were corralling you. An arrow missed your right side, so you moved left to the wall, hoping to cut in front of them and bolt into the woods for good. Only they had anticipated this and had set a trap. You saw it too late, you were going too fast to change course and were soon tied up in a net. Five men gathered around you, all sweating and out of breath. The sixth man joined last, slowed down by a large metal box. You could see amateur runes casted into the metal.
You struggled harder against the ropes now, biting and clawing, but still getting nowhere. When the first man approached the net you made sure to deliver a swipe of your claws through the holes. He kicked the net in retaliation, while holding his bleeding hand. You ignored the pain in your middle, claws now digging into his shoe.
“Bag it!”
⚰︎ Wanda could feel your panic from miles away. The icy feeling spread through her own veins, her own heartbeat picking up to mirror your own. You were only running an errand, a trip you had made hundreds of times. Wanda was confident that you could travel your paths in your sleep, there had to be something wrong. This feeling was a different feeling than what she has felt when your travels accidentally brings you across a snake, or if you happened to spook a stable horse.
When the feeling didn’t disperse she knew something was wrong. You weren’t spooked you were scared. She packed up her work quickly, flicking all the candles out with a swipe before she stood to leave. By the time she was outside the feeling hadn’t ceased, in fact, it had worsened. Wanda’s feeling of irritation for having to go save you from whatever had you so spooked was now replaced with rage. Anger for whichever creature was bringing you this much distress and pain.
⚰︎ You could feel the painful thrum of the iron box through the leather bag. It was hot against your skin, burning you everywhere you moved to try and find relief. You assumed the bag itself was blessed and treated with something, the smell stung your eyes and brined throat when you breathed.
You had been inside the stupid iron box for nearly thirty minutes. You knew what it was doing. You saw the runes. It kept you locked in and shut off all of your abilities, now just an ordinary very pissed off cat in a cage. Since your skin wasn’t making full contact, all it did was cause you a constant but bearable pain.
While eavesdropping, you learned they planned to deliver you to a buyer. Some rich mortal trying to do business with Wanda. Some idiot with no idea who he is actually dealing with. If you were not in this stupid box you would have told them that they would not be surviving long enough to see their new wealth.
The iron made you powerless, but not untraceable. Wanda was capable of magic far beyond these silly warding runes. As her familiar, your own soul was no longer yours, it belonged to her. The Scarlet Witch could find you in any universe if she so chose to rip open the fabric of time and space. All you had to do was just wait for her to arrive.
“Should we open the pouch?”
“No!”
“It’s probably a curse!”
“Yeah, dead on the spot! Or-or she’ll eat your firstborn son.”
“The buyer can decided what to do with the bag.” Too bad.
You wanted to hiss out a laugh, but you were conserving your breath. Even though you were still tied in the bag, unable to see your surroundings, but you felt her as soon as she materialized. You heard all of the men go still.
⚰︎ “You stole something of mine.” Wanda announced, standing before the kidnappers. They all stood stunned amongst the makeshift camp.
“Forgive us.” One of the men dropped to his knees.
“P-please, allow us to explain.” The next of the men said softly. He raised his dirty hands up in surrender. Wanda’s eyes zeroed in on the fresh cuts on his palm, three perfectly parallel angry red lines.
Wanda made her decision on how this little interaction would go.
The second man opened his mouth to excuse their actions but he never uttered a word. Frozen in place with his mouth open wide. His cohorts looked at him in anticipation, clearly waiting for him to save them.
Blood began to pour from his orifices, starting with his nose. The other men backed away from their friend in horror. They turned to flee, not making it far as Wanda was quick hold them in place with her magic. The red energy pulses thrummed in the men’s ears, drowning out their cries of terror.
With sickening pops, one by one each of the men dropped to the forest floor. Each man crumpled into piles of blood flesh and bones
Wanda’s attention was now set on the metal box they had set on a stump. Another twinge of anger flared as she easily identified the material as iron. Like most fae and other non human creatures, iron was a weakness and caused you pain. Lifting a discarded knife, she used it to open the latch of the cage. Elementary looks or not, Wanda did not want to touch the Runes on the outer sides of the metal.
The front side dropped open with a harsh creak, revealing a black leather sack tied with a rope. As soon as your ears picked up on the sound of the cage door hitting the floor of wherever you were set on, you were fast to scurry out of the box. Still stuck in the bag, you only clumsily rolled yourself out and onto the forest floor trying to get out of it.
“Malyshka,” Wanda’s soft voice called. You stilled your thrashing, feeling her reach for you. She began to untie the knots of rope. “Are you alright?” You dramatically yowled.
Yes.
“I’m sure you’re just embarrassed.” She cooed. You yowled again.
And that you were, but she didn’t have to point it out. You could hear Wanda’s silent laugh. As soon as the bad was open, you were bolting out, soon falling into leaves as your legs gave out.
Wanda crouched down to your feline form. You were shaking, muscles stiff as you tried to catch your breath. Cat instincts at the forefront, seeing the bag spooked you again. Your back arched, inky black fur standing straight up as you turned to the bag. You hissed swatting at the fabric.
“Hey, now.” Wanda fearlessly plucked you up off the floor, you wiggled to find your footing, still feeling the global pins and needles from the iron. You stilled as you watched your lost pouch float towards the two of you surrounded by a red glow.
Wanda’s magic opened the ties and she discovered it was full of leaves. “Tricky girl,” she laughed, you purred, bumping your head against her chin. “Let’s go find your delivery.”
You lead Wanda back to the tin, the heirlooms still safely tucked away in their cloth wrapping, safe and sound.
When the two of you arrived home, to your horror Wanda gave you a bath. The leather bag had been soaked in oils often used in less savory business. Wanda could pick up on it right away, you hadn’t been in the bag for enough time to do any damage but the faster she got them off of you the better.
After you pathetically allowed her to scrub your black coat, you let her dry you with her magic. The moment you were dry you leapt off into hiding.
“Malyshka.” Wanda called.
She followed you to your chosen hiding spot inside the empty cauldron that sat on the floor. You had your paws spread out, eyes wide and looking like you were about to bolt. You knew better, Wanda most definitely wanted to clean you in both forms. Benign or not, she hated when you tracked other magic back into the house.
Just like a mother would to her kitten she grabbed your scruff before you could jump away. She fought against a laugh as your body reflexed into a learned helplessness position, legs and arms curled up in mid air.
When she had you back by the basin again, using her own magic she forced you back into your human form. You blinked twice.
She stared down at you as if waiting for something,
“I’m sorry, Mistress.” You squeezed out. She hummed in acknowledgment.
“Clothes off.” She ordered while her magic busied around her prepping the tub.
You obeyed wordlessly, already feeling for shame and guilt of the day ball together in your gut. You tugged yourself free of your final garment, folding it with the rest. You jumped at the feeling of her hands skimming along your bare back and don’t to your ribs. The bruise on your side had started to bloom from where the man had kicked you in your feline form.
She hushed you as her palm splayed over your ribs, you could sense the anger radiating off of her as she observed the tender skin. You felt the warm tingling sensation of her magic wrapping around her hands that held your skin. The dull pain began to reduce into nothing as she healed your flesh.
“Thank you.” You uttered.
She still said nothing, helping you step into the basin of warm water. She was stewing in her own anger, it wasn’t anything against you and she didn’t want to take it out on you.
She had stirred in her own mix of oils and lyes it filling the room with a pleasant smelling steam that had you relaxing into the water. Her silence continued as she scrubbed your skin until she deemed you clean of all foreign magic residue. She almost felt bad when she had finished, you had nearly fallen asleep in the tub.
Wanda dried you off with a towel and magic before allowing you to finally scurry away and sleep off today’s events. After cleaning up from your bath, she found your curled up inside of her linen closet.
“Malyshka.” Your slitted eyes blinked open. “You stay here. I have something to do.”
She scratched beneath your chin briefly before she retreated from the cottage. You opted to continue to sleep, closing your eyes and settle back down into your spot.
⚰︎ When Wanda returned, you could smell the strong scent of iron clinging to her skin and clothing. You made your appearance to her, sitting in front of the bathroom door. You yawned and blinked at her.
“Sleep well?” She greeted watching you sniff the air. You mewled, swishing your tail. The smell was filling up the air now, distorting the scent of your master that you loved so much. A human nose wouldn’t be as sensitive to it, but even in your own human form your senses were keen enough to notice it. Her eyebrow ticked upwards.
“Their benefactor is dead.” She informed you, passing by to drop her coat in the bin.
Thank you. You mewled again, waking in a circle from your spot at the bathroom doorway.
Wanda sighed. “I know, I know.” She stepped over you, peeling off her clothing as she went. You hopped up onto the sink and waited patiently as she scrubbed herself clean of the scent of death.
“You were very brave today, Malyshka.” She praised you as she dried her hair, another towel wrapped around her nude body. You sat on the counter watching her apply her facial oils.
She had hoped to coax you back to your human form now if you were feeling up to it. It seemed to be working, she could hear your loud purrs sounding out as you followed her to the bedroom. You hopped onto the bed turning to face her.
“And so smart of you to swap out your delivery.” She gave you a smile. “Even though that is not what they were really after, you still took the time to hide it.”
The tip of your tail dluytered detailing your silent excitement to her praises. While Wanda turned again to discard of her towel, she felt your magic spike as you shifted back to your human form. When she turned back to face the bed, you were still bare of your own clothing, sitting legs cross-crossed on top of the bedding. Wanda knelt onto the bed, carding a hand through your still damp hair. Your eyes fluttered closed feeling her blunt fingernails scrape along your scalp.
“You did such a good job, today.” She smiled.
⚰︎ [𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠] Wanda cupped a hand at your cheek, pulling your lips to her own. You had to lean forward with the awkward angle from where you sat. Her hand traveled down to your breast, thumbing over your nipple. You withdrew as your breathing stuttered, hovering your lips against her own.
“Every good pet deserves her reward.” She reminded you while her hand traveled lower. Her fingers ghosted over your core, feeling the aching need for her begin to flood your system. You swallowed thickly with a nod.
“Thank you, Mistress.” You breathed as fingers parted your folds. Her fingers dipping to feel your wetness. A warm smile spread onto her face as she pushed you backwards with a small yelp. Your legs uncrossed and laid limp along the mattress.
Kneeling over you, Wanda’s hand slithered back between your thighs. Her fingers started stroking slow circles around your clit, watching as your breathing picked up from the stimulation. Your hands fisted the duvet below you as you moaned softly, hips twitching against the slow ministrations. Her fingers eventually picked up, watching the unsteady movement of your hips respond to her.
When she deemed you ready enough, Wanda grabbed ahold of your leg, slotting it over her own hip. She leaned down to kiss your lips once again, pulling your thigh closer to her. Releasing you from her kiss she pressed her hips forward, both of you moaning as her core slid forward against your wetness. She fell into a steady rhyth, red magic climbing your skin like vines.
“M-Mistress, please I-” you cried out as she adjusted her grip on your thigh, drawing her hips back further to thrust against you. Your pussy drooled as she ground her hips against you, stimulating your already sensitive clit.
“Please may I cum?” You asked her. She looked down at you with a pitied look. Even though you knew this was a reward you were using your manners. Her pet was so polite. “You don’t need me permission tonight.” She informed you as she reached out and pulled at one of your nipples roughly.
You came a loud moan ripping through you, one hand still gripped onto the sheets and the other holding Wanda’s thigh for dear life. She didn’t stop, thrusting her hips against yours clumsily until she came, soaking your own cunt in her release.
You lazily stared up at her as Wanda kissed at your thigh in her grip while sucking lightly at your warmed skin. She allowed you to lay and catch your breath before she was pulling you up effectively swapping places. You sat at her waist, messy cunt soiling her bare skin. “C’mere.” Wanda pulled your hips forward ushering you to crawl up her body. Once your legs were bracketing her head did you truly understand what she was implying.
“Let me give you your reward, Malyshka.”
You nodded, lowering your hips hesitantly, both hands holding the headboard. You felt her own hands rub at your thighs, encouraging you to be more bold. You felt her tongue swipe up your folds, but before you could run from the sensation, you felt the warm sensation of her magic spread through you. It locked you in your place against her, as her tongue explored your holds deeper. Her magic tightened its hold around you and pulled you down against her mouth further.
When her lips sealed around your clit your body lurched forward, a loud keen ripping from your throat. She slurped at your folds, greedily drinking down your essence. One of your hands held the headboard, the tiger threaded through Wanda’s hair; her own hand around your thigh.
Wanda’s fingers of her free hand began to prod at your entrance, magic curling from her fingertips. You felt the warm tingle of it firing off every nerve in its wake, pushing you into your next orgasm.
It surprised you, your entire body lurching forward. Wanda didn’t stop, tongue still working on your clit, suckling it between her lips. You felt her magic pushing her magic deeper, pleasure spiking your system into overdrive. You sobbed against the pillows, breathing in large gulps of your master’s scent.
“I can’t- I can’t.” Your instinct to crawl away from the overstimulation was foiled, her magic still held you tight to her face. You felt your orgasm next building; a deep pressure in your core. You clawed at the bedding.
“I’m. Mmm…” Your words died into a cry of pained pleasure. Wanda nipped at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You looked down at her to meet her intense stare, you were blinking rapidly, eyes beginning to fill with unshed tears.
You may think she was being mean that she wanted you to cry. She knew you inside and out, you would internalize today’s earlier events and try to ignore and work through it’s. She was just forcing the emotional reaction out of you before you buried your feelings away.
She nipped at your clit again, this time harder all while her magic massaged and stimulated your inner walls.
You came with a loud sob, soaking Wanda’s face and neck. Your final release had your vision fading away, coming to against Wanda’s chest. You sobbed against her breast, all the negative emotions of the day finally poured out.
She held you in her arms, whispering lullaby’s and enchantments in a language you didn’t understand until you drifted off to sleep.
the timed post was missing the bottom chunk that wrote forgot to copy over lolz if you missed the face sitting i’m sorry diva
TW: Murder, explicit smut, erotophonophilia (deriving sexual excitement from killing), face fucking, manipulation & slight stockholm syndrome..overall he’s not a good dude.
Thanks to the lovely @volklana for collaborating with me on this! And always being such a fantastic support 🖤 and @mintwrit3z for beta reading.
Ao3 Link
Word count: 9.6k
There’s something about the quiet reflection of smoking alone, while a party rages on behind thick concrete walls, that you’d always found incredibly relaxing. Your focus lay solely on your breath and the object balanced delicately between your fingertips. For a few short moments, it seemed like it was just you and the night, in silent communication.
Autumn was your favourite time of year. Crisp, cold nights and fresh days with the sun dipping lower in the sky. You felt the magic of this season hanging heavy in the night air, it was as if it spoke to you. Perhaps it was because you were born in autumn, perhaps it was the mystical nature of the season. The veil between the worlds was thinner, and as Halloween approached, you felt the subtle shift in the elements. Taking a large lungful of smoke, you communed with the darkness, enjoying a brief moment of peace in a night full of frivolity and alcohol fuelled debauchery. But the black night shrouded all manner of sins from your eyes, and in that moment, your only focus was on the glowing embers dying at the tip of your cigarette. You had no idea what horrors lingered in the shadows, what terror lay only inches from your feet.
With your back propped up against the heavy wooden door, music boomed from inside, penetrating the thick oak slab behind your head, yet your mind was caught in a thick fog. The night air was cool, your breath and smoke mingling in the frigidity around you. For once, you weren’t overthinking how you looked or dissecting a conversation you just had. For a brief few minutes, you had true calm descend over you in the form of cold evening air and invigorating substances in smokable form. That is, until the door swung open, sending you hurtling into two veined arms that quickly righted you upright and encapsulated your torso.
“Jesus…shit…you scared me…”
Your asshole of a boyfriend simply laughed, a rumbling display of amusement spurred on by your skittish reaction. He simply nuzzled his chin into your neck, huffing in delight against the delicate skin and inhaling a nosefull of your scent.
“What's the matter, baby? You look like you've seen a ghost..”
“Aem, quit it, you know I'm normally not scared so easily” you scowled, your face painted with fake displeasure. Though you couldn’t help but squeal as his hands wandered your sides, hitting every ticklish spot on their way, breaking your face into unrestrained smiles. Aemond was always incredibly handsy, though as touch starved as you were, you never complained. You loved getting attention from the prettiest man you’d ever encountered, you felt blessed to have his hands roaming your flesh, his good eye trained on you and only you.
You'd only been together a few months, and though the relationship was relatively fresh, you'd fallen…hard.
Aemond was unconventionally attractive. His face, though it looked like it had been carved from pale white marble, was marred by blanched pink scars, which spanned the length of his right cheek. One eye had been damaged in an accident as a kid, so in its place sat a prosthetic painted in the most dazzling shade of sapphire blue. Somehow, it only added to his ethereal nature, never detracting from his unusual beauty. That, alongside an entirely black wardrobe consisting mostly of band shirts and leather, complimented his stunning features. He was a man of great contrast, his look most striking, while his personality was more reserved. He was the most captivating, yet troubled young man you'd ever laid eyes on, and you couldn't help but fall face first into quite an intense entanglement after being introduced.
Aemond was always the most attentive partner, always paying heed to even the smallest details. He noticed things most boyfriends would completely ignore: changes in your expression & body language, slight shifts in your mood, and he always anticipated your needs before you’d even have to ask. When you were around friends, Aemond’s hands stayed connected to your skin at all times, holding your hand, tracing delicate patterns against the back of your palm, or running his spindly fingers along the column of your neck. His eye would always be on you, following you around the room. In private, he was even more impassioned. He loved feeling your body pressed against him, the warmth of your flesh against his own. Instead of psychoanalysing these slightly possessive traits, you leaned into them, rivalling his intensity with your own eccentricities. You were a rather odd, but well balanced match.
On this night, as you stood in the dark, your face only highlighted by the glow of your cigarette, Aemond took advantage of the privacy the shadows afforded and peppered your neck with kisses, pulling you tightly against his chest as you stood resolutely, facing into the black night. You loved how needy he was, but also domineering in equal measure. He never used those sculpted muscles against you, except to further your pleasure, to satisfy you in every way you desired. And now he cuddled you against the cold, sheltered you from the chilled wind blowing through the trees. “It’s such a nice night out…you thirsty baby?” his warm breath vibrated against your skin. He extended a hand out, a chilled beer bottle grasped between several graceful fingers. Even the sight of them made you shiver, though that could’ve also been the bitter breeze swirling around your ankles. “Thank Aem, I'm parched.” You happily snatched the slim bottle from his hands, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary against his digits, which earned a smirk, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as the fermented amber liquid ran down your throat. The familiar quenching of thirst came with a promise in itself, you could see the hints of mischief present in his smile.
In return for his generosity, you extended a frigid hand, the end of your cigarette blooming between your dainty fingers. He didn’t even need to say anything; instead, Aemond leaned down, wrapping his plump lips around the thin paper. One sharp inhale and his body filled with an addicting sense of elation, one he sought out in other avenues of life. He found it touching your body, pulling you close, and feeling each curve and valley of your perfectly sculpted frame under his fingertips. He found it in coaxing those pretty mewls from your lips, a soundtrack he’d gladly play on repeat. Yet there was always the pull towards something darker, something a little more… taboo.
As he stood with you in that doorway, the swell of your arse pressed against his quickly growing bulge, Aemond realised that the evidence of his other, perhaps more niche hobbies lay only inches away, neatly tucked around the shadowy corner.
It was only sheer luck that you hadn’t noticed a pool of sticky crimson blood inching across the damp mud, crawling towards your feet - but the night had long descended, the sun had fallen from the sky, replaced by the heavy blackness of an autumn night. The dark provided cover for his lurid savagery, shrouding the horrors from your sight.
With one drag, Aemond filled his lungs with the delicious sting of nicotine. There was only one languid last puff left, one draw of the bitter nectar he so often craved. With a sharp exhale into the night, he dropped the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out, the heel of his shoe squelching the dying embers into the damp earth. Not too far away, the mud was stained red with blood, a pool slowly forming beneath the corpse of a man who dared lay his beady eyes on you across a packed dancefloor earlier that same night.
Warm hands kept you pressed to his chest, pulled close to a heart beating softly beneath leather clad skin. In that darkened doorway with the man of your dreams hanging on your every breath, you found yourself smiling like an idiot. Your eyes were drawn to the curve of Aemond’s mouth as it encased the last of your cigarette. You marvelled at the swell of his cheeks as he billowed smoke into the crisp night air. He always stole your focus, captured your attention simply by existing. You were utterly entranced by his sharp, angular features. Such beauty in a man was rare, but he had both softness and a sharp edge, a traditional pretty boy look laced with danger and the added oddity of his disfigurements. He somehow appeared angelic and devilish in equal measure, an enigma wrapped in the most beautiful packaging. And as he held you against the frigid wind, the darkness encroaching on your romantic moment, you couldn't help but be completely taken with the man you called yours once more.
Yet the wind brought with it a certain anxiety, a subtle foreboding that settled in your mind. As he crushed the remains of your cigarette under his boot and pulled you tightly into his arms, sandwiching your body between his hardened chest and the wall, you utterly fell to his wiles, melting like butter under his smoldering gaze. You couldn't help but see a glint of mischief in that unyielding stare. As if he had a plan you were not yet privy to, but it was wrapped in warmth, in a certain affection that you sought out in every room.
Before long, strong hands dragged you from the chill of night and guided you back into a sea of drunken bodies, each one swaying to their own rhythm, some with the music, some following a tempo of their own design. Each one moved like a branch in the breeze. The intoxicating scent of liquor billowed from inebriated lungs, mouths that messily combined on the dance floor, swapping saliva and the lingering traces of whatever they'd been drinking. Bodies undulated like the tide, a swell of flesh to music, yet even that couldn't distract you from those dazzlingly blue eyes piercing into your flesh as his searing grip held on and led you across the crowded room. The atmosphere numbed any unease in your mind, the sense of frivolity and joy contagious. Even under the haze of alcohol, you felt Aemond’s eyes trained on you as he walked you through a sea of drunkards. Never once did you suspect distrust in your relationship, yet he kept his eyes on you as if you’d disappear into the night.
Instead of allowing you to wander into the haze of debauchery that surrounded you both, Aemond pulled you flush to him, and began to sway along with the other bodies in the pool.
His hands wandered to your hips, feeling in the dark for anywhere he could grasp onto. Moving in tandem with the pulsing rhythm, his hips were pinned against your own, undulating in time with one another. You allowed your mind to go blank, to exist solely in the moment with Aemond, his eyes as hypnotising as the thrumming beat over the speakers, the swell of want between his legs enough to send waves of desire through your body. It was almost intoxicating, surrendering to the music and the feeling of uninhibited bodies around you. It was a certain type of freedom, a complete departure from your regular life.
It took a while for people in their drunken stupor to notice that someone was missing, and inebriated people eventually tottered around the room in search of a man who’d never walk through those doors again. Aemond noticed the commotion, yet remained cool and collected, instead channeling his focus towards you, as your body mirrored the mindless drones around you, swaying in time with the music. He was never one to dance, usually opting to prop up the wall with a beer in hand instead, but he'd follow you anywhere, would do anything you asked. That included grinding on the dancefloor to the dulcet tones of ‘Don't Fear the Reaper’, well lubricated by several shots of whiskey beforehand. You'd have never realised that he also had an ulterior motive for his compliance. Participating in such a charade was a small price to pay, to keep certain secrets hidden.
It took several more minutes for you to notice the panicked faces wandering around the dance floor, yet the gravity of the situation didn't quite register, your mind had been swallowed by lust and alcohol. Lipsticked lips sloppily met Aemond’s warm cheek and you hurriedly dragged him by the hand over to a group where his sister had been standing. The music rumbled on, though you leaned into Helaena’s shoulder, whispering into her ear. “Hel, what's going on?”
Helaena shrugged, clearly too lost in her drink to comprehend the situation. “It's really weird, isn't it, to think this fuss is all because of you?”
You loved the bones of her, but she was scattered at the best of times, let alone when she had imbibed on her favourite beverages. Sometimes she simply made no sense and spoke words into the ether without any context at all. “I love you, Hel, but you make no sense sometimes..” you laughed, before returning to Aemond and snuggling into his waiting arms.
Gossip made its way around the room - unfounded words swirling in the mouths of drunk people like the ice clinking in their cups. Young men had been going missing in your neighbourhood the last few months, some turning up disfigured, some slashed and beaten beyond recognition. But all undeniably dead. It was enough to strike fear into the coldest of hearts, and Aemond hadn't left you out of his sight since. You found it strange, some names you’d even recognised, but they weren’t close friends, only people you’d encountered in passing. Friends of friends, faces you'd have recognised in social situations like tonight. A strange sense of foreboding settled in your gut, but the alcohol numbed any immediate reaction to the chatter, dulling your usually acute intuition.
Still, the atmosphere inside had changed, and despite something gnawing at your mind, a subtle warning sign that you pushed to the side, your immediate desires took control, and you pulled Aemond upstairs. To your chagrin, the bedrooms were already occupied, so you headed outside, perhaps the dark would shield you from prying eyes. It seemed Aemond had the same thought, his voice carrying above the din of some cheesy rock song, “Wanna play a game?” and he nodded in the direction of the back door, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.
Out in the dark with Aemond, despite the stinging chill in the air, you couldn’t keep your hands off him. The night provided adequate cover for your lewd activities, though at any moment someone could walk through the door and catch you in the act. Somehow, the danger made your boyfriend that much hotter, his perfectly sculpted body that much more irresistible. Only the stars were witnesses to your ravenous appetite, to the dip of your tongue into the warm caverns of Aemond’s mouth, exploring each other as if it were the first time. Those twinkling lights saw every grinding thrust of hips and wandering palm, searching for friction against a willing body.
The heat of his breath stung like frostbite, while the wind nipped at your cheek. Yet you only leaned into his warmth, you soaked up every ounce of affection this beautiful man bestowed upon you. You never imagined feeling so wanted, so seen. Aemond always made you feel like the only woman in his life, the only one he saw. His hands carved a path through skin, warm fingertips frantically grasping at flesh as if you’d soon disappear into the night, vanish like a puff of smoke beneath frenzied fingers.
He was always passionate, desperate to have you close, but in the biting darkness, he seemed more frenzied, less controlled than you’d seen him before, as if a fire burned within him that couldn’t be quenched. Or perhaps it was the whiskey. Either way, he was insatiable. His movements were messy, frantic. Plump lips captured yours in an impassioned embrace, your back braced against the pebbledashed wall of the house, the embers of the party slowly dying inside. Aemond’s fire roared brightly, the flames of passion swelling in his eyes.
You moved in tandem in a messy celebration of limbs and spit, neither one of you cognisant of your surroundings, both oblivious to the position of your feet as you danced in passionate unison. Your steps were clumsy as Aemond flung you from wall to wall, your back taking the brunt of his zealous maneuvers. He was a man possessed by desire, but there was something far darker driving his insatiable lust, something you’d very quickly be confronted with, face to face.
In a whirlwind of tangled limbs and blundering footsteps, you managed to lose your footing and your grip on your boyfriend's muscular frame somehow. You stumbled in the dark, losing your balance over something dense on the ground. Tumbling forwards without anything to grip onto, your knees immediately hit the damp earth, taking the brunt of the fall. They squelched into some wet mud, no doubt ruining your favourite dress, but other than that, only your pride was hurt. It was only when you stood up and inspected your hands under the dim flickering light over the back door that you realised it was more than mud; it was thick and sticky, coagulated into revolting globules.
Under the warm, fading light of a lone bulb, you saw your hands covered in a deep crimson substance, which you quickly recognised as blood - even under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. It wasn’t an illusion, your mind wasn’t playing tricks. It dripped from your fingers into the earth below your feet, staining the ground as it fell. You cast your gaze towards the object that hindered your steps in the dark, and immediately noticed a pale hand dislodged from the mess of grass and sodden muck. Earth encrusted digits led your eyes towards a face, ghostly and drained of life, smothered and half-buried in the damp soil. Two vacant eyes stared into the night, their colour leeched from their place, a result of a throat slashed, and left to drain the contents of his body into the earth below. His body had been mercilessly butchered, cast aside into the mud, and left to rot under the watchful gaze of the moon. Left to the elements, as if nothing more than rubbish. Though you didn’t recognise his face, reality quickly set in.
A blood-curdling scream bubbled up from your lungs, spurting from two kiss-swollen lips, before being quickly silenced by a large hand. The sound didn’t even get the chance to echo into the night before the man you loved grabbed you and gripped your skin so hard it was sure to bruise. Aemond had wrapped himself around you again, one hand clasped around your mouth, the other holding your waist tight. “Shh,” he hissed in your ear, as if the shock would subside on command, as if you'd not just stumbled across a fucking dead body at a party. What was his name? His face looked familiar, but so pallid and pale, with his skin reflecting the bitter chill of death, you couldn't quite tell who it belonged to.
“Sshhhhh…I couldn’t just let his eyes defile you, I had to teach him a lesson...see” he teased, while sniffing at your neck. The hand around your mouth directed your gaze downwards once more, as if looking upon the icy cold flesh of a dead man once wasn’t enough. No, you were forced to look upon a man you scarcely knew, but who had the audacity to look in your direction just a minute too long for Aemond’s liking. You wriggled under his grasp, desperate to run away, to find an escape from his clutches. “That's insane, why? Why would you kill him for simply looking at me? You know I only have eyes for you, Aem, but this…this is nuts..”
“You belong to me,” he murmured, the words serving as both a promise and a sure threat. “And I do. not. share.” His voice rumbled against your skin, vibrating through your bones and settling deep within you. Those words, staccato against the cold night air, each consonant emphasised, would be imprinted in your psyche, committed to memory in flesh…if you survived the night that is. His eyes sparkled with something close to amusement. You’d never seen this side of your boyfriend before, a whole new person emerged from behind those eyes. One who relished in danger, who delighted in inflicting fear. He revelled in the terror he caused, drank in every drop of panic pouring from your face. It seemed a switch had flipped in Aemond, where once was Jekyll, now shone Hyde. He’d become the monster, the bump in the night. Where once lay affection, deep seated and genuine, his eyes now only reflected his delight in your terror. They were devoid of any true emotion, any connection you once shared, if you indeed ever did, was now replaced by sheer derision and ridicule.
“I will make sure you never forget who you belong to.”
Every word emphasised by sharp sibilance, every consonant harsh and unexpectedly aggressive. You loved Aemond’s voice once, only minutes earlier infact, each rumbling low note and how he could command with such minimal effort. Yet with one sentence, he managed to erase any trace of love, and instead instill fear; chilling you to the bone with words alone, whispered into the crisp night air. Despite the chill running through your veins, nipping at your skin and drawing goosebumps to the surface of your flesh at Aemond’s cold glare, and despite the corpse lying mere inches from your feet, that one line was enough to stir something within you.
The thought of Aemond taking you in the open air, claiming your body with cold steel pressed against your skin, although wicked and slightly deranged, forced a need you never knew you had to the forefront of your mind. Perhaps deep down, you always knew who he was, perhaps you liked his possessive nature, his forceful and domineering personality. As reserved and well tempered as he was, it always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to rear its head. Something in his voice let you know he meant it, let you know that you weren’t getting out of this house without him utterly claiming you, flesh and bone.
The rest of the world melted away as he pulled you closer, constricting his arms around your chest like a python. The party slipped into the darkness, clouded by dizziness and fear. All you could hear was the sound of your breath, as it was squeezed from your lungs, right before Aemond released his grip and allowed you to draw air once more. It was all a game, your life a frivolity. Even still, you couldn’t help but let arousal wash over you. Arousal mixed with fear proved to be an intoxicating combination, a drug you had never experienced before.
Seeing that glimmer, that faint light in your eyes as he laid claim to your body, Aemond was emboldened to push onwards, to find his pleasure in a body willing, pliable, and waiting in his grip. Yet he needed to know just how far he could push, just how much he could take from you before you’d recoil in disgust. He needed to know just how far he could push you before you’d break. Delving one hand slowly into his jacket pocket, Aemond withdrew a knife, its handle settling into the curve of his deft hand. Even in the dying light, its blade danced and glittered, shining menacingly against the blackness. Your eyes widened, yet you didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe against the shining silver he drew to your pale flesh.
With a sharp knife to the throat, the steel pressing against your delicate flesh, you trembled beneath its pointed blade. Aemond tested your mettle, pressing it hard enough to break the skin and draw a minuscule drop of blood to the blade. A hiss escaped your lips, swallowed quickly by Aemond’s plump mouth. No sooner had you made a sound, he wrapped his pouting lips around yours, taking his pleasure from your pain. He’d never given you cause to be afraid before, but now, with hardened steel slicing at your throat, and a sparkle you’d never seen before gracing his natural eye, Aemond looked every bit the villain. “I never took you for a sadist…but you seem to be enjoying this a little too much..”
“There's a lot you don't know about me, darling.” he whispered, a menacing smirk creasing the pale skin of his perfectly chiselled face. Despite the hairs at the back of your neck standing on edge, and your nervous system all of a sudden plunged into a state of fight or flight, you couldn’t help but succumb to the wiles of this perfectly handsome man. Even with his flaws and his newfound savagery, your body ached to feel him, to feel his warmth and that deliciously familiar sting as he ravaged your body.
The driving bassline of ‘Psycho Killer’ thumped through the brick walls, a fitting soundtrack for Aemond’s mindless ravaging of your helpless frame. There was nothing you could do to stop him in this moment, nothing you could do to escape…but if you were truthful with yourself, you really didn’t want to. Even with fear licking at the edges, your nerves pulsing in time with the groovy bassline thundering through the concrete walls, you abandoned all reasonable judgement in favour of potential pleasure. You lapped up his undivided attention, his utterly deranged attempts at securing your affections. And no matter how much your mind sought to escape his greedy clutches, how desperately a rational part of you wanted to flee, another part of you craved Aemond’s touch, no matter the circumstances, no matter how grim your surroundings may have been. Your body instinctively knew how crazy he was for you, how deeply he craved the comfort of your flesh, and how he’d kill to keep you all to himself. A part of you loved it; a voice that sounded when his hands roamed your body, all controlling and all enveloping. And now it was that part of you that drove you further into his embrace, that relinquished control of your flesh to his greedy hands. As you closed your eyes and shut the world out, you could only feel his slender fingers worshipping your body, every touch a prayer to your depraved soul. They traced a path through your skin, gripping at every inch as if his hands could strip it from your bones. It wasn’t long before you felt the evidence of his appetite pulsing against you, a thick bulge caressing your abdomen, searching for friction and warmth, searching for its target.
In a flurry of raw passion and craze-fuelled lust, Aemond’s hands flew to your head, grasping your hair at the root and tugging at it until your scalp throbbed; an undeniable stinging sensation that forced you to do its bidding. He pushed you down, your knees once more hitting the blood sodden earth. Once again, your eyes fell on the dead body lying only inches from you, yet Aemond forced your eyes upwards, tugging at your hair until he had your undivided attention.
It was obvious what he wanted, and he knew just how to make you squirm while getting it. Before long, his cock had sprung free of its tight denim prison and hung heavy before your face.
You could never quite grasp how well endowed he was for a petite man. It seemed so disproportionate to his body, yet you never once complained, except for the moments in that initial intrusion of course. The crisp night air nipped at the delicate skin. It was this cold air that only intensified the pleasure when your lips wrapped around his shaft, when the warmth of your mouth enveloped his cock, drawing him into your throat as far as you were physically able. His hips immediately chased a rhythm which mirrored the music from the other side of the wall, pistoning relentlessly, pounding your throat, causing you to gag and choke around him. There was no time to tease, no time to accommodate his size in your throat. Yet he didn’t let you move. His fingers flexed at your scalp, coaxing your mouth deeper still. The pain prickled, a sharp stinging sensation, yet it was dulled by the force of his merciless thrusts. His hips kept up an unforgiving pace, chasing a release that all too quickly approached.
Before long, your throat was painted by his unending supply of semen, as unrelenting and demanding as the tempo of his hips against your jaw. You greedily swallowed each and every drop, milking his cock with hollowed cheeks. He was stunned at your veracious appetite for his cum, the haze of orgasm washing heavily over his tired eyes, yet you kept up your enthusiastic pursuits. Even after release, Aemond stayed rock hard. His solid phallus throbbed in your mouth, veins pulsating against the muscle of your tongue even as he pulled out and let it rest on the tip, the protruding vasculature quivering against the warmth of your lips. The thought of ruining your cunt as one of his victims lay alongside you had him ready almost immediately, every inch of his body thrumming at the prospect. To see the woman he craved and the man he so furiously butchered laying side by side became part of the fantasy, part of the game.
The fear present in your eyes, mixed with a shameful desire for what he had to offer only spurred his arousal, the war raging in your mind between sheer terror and a desire for absolute pleasure evident in tear-stained eyelids. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, painting your face as it fell. Aemond admired his work, yet he was only getting started. His desire to ruin you, to take exactly what he wanted from your pretty cunt and have you fall apart around him was titillating.
For months, he watched you play the part of the dutiful girlfriend, yet you entertained lustful stares from random men. Holding their leering gazes across a room. It was a shame, but he simply had to punish you, to mark you as his own. If you didn't submit, if you wouldn't behave…well..Killing you was never part of the plan, but his blade was thirsty, and brats must be shown the error of their ways. Perhaps he'd show some mercy if you were good.
His hands remained interwoven with your scalp, fingers tugging at the roots tightly to keep you in line. The sting provided a sharp reminder that your boyfriend had in fact killed a man, who laid face down in the dirt only inches from your feet. Yet you couldn’t help the heat of arousal building with every tug. As Aemond dragged you from your knees to your feet, pulling you tight to his chest before spinning you around and pinning you against the wall, the coil in your core grew increasingly tight. He didn’t even have to fuck you to make you a quivering mess beneath him. Any trace of fear left seemed to leak down your leg with evidence of your arousal. Your face grazed the pebbledash finish on the side of the house, but it wasn’t long before he forcefully arched your back, pulling your head backwards by the hair and pressing your cunt against his tumescent cock. He didn’t even need to undress you; he had easy access once your panties were pushed aside. Aemond loved it when you wore such short dresses; he fantasised about moments like this. Your underwear was sodden, you didn’t even need to be touched to be ready for Aemond’s intrusion into your body. “Hm,” he snickered, that knowing smirk plastered firmly onto his chiselled face. It was amusement, laced with derision and mocking, something completely foreign to your ears from a man you only knew as loving, though truthfully, you had clearly ignored many aspects of his personality, perhaps you saw it and ignored it in favour of his more amorous qualities. Desire can cloud judgement, and you’d definitely misjudged Aemond.
He took full advantage of the ample lubrication. Nudging the folds of your cunt with his spongey pink tip, he tilted his hips and found the right angle so that he could easily plough into you with devastating effect. In one swift motion, Aemond speared your cunt with his impressively thick cock. Another ear-splitting scream left your lips, this time caused by the force of being impaled by your boyfriend's egregiously large penis rather than a corpse scaring the life out of you. Usually, he gave you time to adjust, inched his way in, and let your walls stretch to accommodate his size, but tonight he saw fit to punish you, to brutally defile your body as he saw fit. Perhaps it was retribution for letting your eyes linger on another longer than appropriate, perhaps this was bubbling within him for a long time. He didn’t stifle your screams this time, he let them ring out for everyone to hear.
Time passed in a blur, your body no more than a vessel for containing Aemond’s rage. You were pinned against the wall by his veined forearms, blood pumping through his body with the exertion. You could do little to adjust to his onslaught, your body didn’t have time to get used to the feeling. His sharp hips pistoned against the plump curve of your arse, the sound of skin slapping echoing out into the hollow night. You knew you’d be bruised, your skin would bear the mottled remnants of his anger for days, stained with multicoloured blotches. You let your mind wander, settling into the thick fog of pain and numbness. It’d be over in just a minute, with the pace Aemond had set; he was sure to come undone quite quickly. There was no restraining raw, animalistic desire and his was on full display. Eventually, the pain of his forceful penetration dulled, the sharp sting muted, and all too soon you felt the familiar coil settle in your core. You knew there’d be no relief, yet you allowed yourself to hope, to picture the sweet release that could come, if he was merciful.
This wasn’t reminiscent of any other time you’d fucked, any other time he used your body for his pleasure. There was no love present here, no affection, only crude carnal desire. Raw, unfiltered, tainted with ego and testosterone. Pure adrenaline coursed through his system, driving each callous thrust. There was no hint of gentility in his movements, no trace of the man you’d once made love to. This monster chased his own high, using your flesh as he saw fit. Your skin would bear the evidence; it’d remind you of this night even when the memory dulled. Even when the haze of potential pleasure clouded your recall of his brutality. Mottled bruising would stain the surface, remind you of the sudden appearance of this alter ego, this second self Aemond had long hidden. A bloodthirsty creature that lingered underneath the surface, and reared its head when jealousy spilled over. Considering the alternative, being used as no more than a fleshlight was a preferable outcome. Considering the violence you’d seen at his hand, the body that day in the dirt as a result of his rage, being used for his sexual release was the least egregious path.
Yet, even though your mind knew all this was wrong, that you were upset and betrayed, that you wanted the gentle man you loved back, you couldn’t deny the physical response your body had to being so roughly handled. You couldn’t deny the burning between your legs, the ever tightening coil as his cock ravaged your cunt. And though your mind had slightly more trouble overcoming the whole jealous rage-murder-thing, your body seemed more than capable of withstanding each revenge fuelled thrust, each slap of skin and bone against your delicate flesh. Even the sound of his pale skin smacking against yours drew goosebumps to the surface and sent a fresh shiver through your bones. You knew you’d fall apart around him soon. The question was, would he find his high before your banks burst around him?
Aemond certainly wasn’t shy about making noise, letting his guttural grunts ring out into the night. He didn’t care who heard, he didn’t care who witnessed the punishment he inflicted upon you for casting your eyes towards another. He watched your body swallow his cock, over and over, as his hips kept up their punitive pace. Somehow, the sight of his cock disappearing into your body, sheathed within such warmth, it pulled emotion from him that he never knew he had. He didn’t think he was capable of forgiveness, of being anything but cold and vengeful. Yet this seemed like a fitting punishment for you, taking his length over and over, taking him so deeply into your body that he felt the very essence of you coming apart around him. The moonlight danced on your juices, which coated his cock from tip to base. It was mesmerising, hypnotising, evidence of your arousal and devotion, even under such gruelling circumstances. Aemond felt the familiar flutter of your walls around his shaft, the telltale sign that you were on the precipice of release. Yet you held yourself together, you held your peak back. And he would drag you there, he’d show you just how merciful a violent man could be, with the evidence of his passion staring at them from the cold ground.
Aemond’s change of heart was sudden and rather shocking. Instead of verbalising his ideas, instead of communicating, he halted his brutal assault all at once, pulling his pants up around shaking knees and leaving you empty, without warning or any thought for your building pleasure.
You just stood, in a state of shock and right on the edge of release, desperate for relief, when it stood tantalisingly close. He hadn’t finished, he didn't even wipe himself off, he just…stopped. And before you could comprehend why, Aemond’s hand found the nape of your neck. His grip was tight, consuming, his touch like tongues of flame against the contrasting chill of the night air, yet he didn’t grab tight enough to cause you pain. Just to bend you to his will, to let you know that you belonged to him, and him alone.
He pulled you into the warmth of the house once without a word, ignoring the sheen of sweat on your brow, and the red hot flush that burned beneath your skin from his efforts. As you walked through sticky swathes of drunken people, you kept your eyes trained on the beer stained floor, hoping that nobody would notice your disheveled state. The crowd were too engrossed in their bottles to notice, but you were certain everyone had heard your lurid activities outside, even above the din of the playlist that blasted through crackling speakers in the living room. Approaching the one person you knew would miss your presence, you said a quiet goodbye to Helaena before disappearing through the sea of inebriated bodies, into the ink-black night with Aemond guiding your way. His hands gripped your spine like a vice, directing every step, controlling the depth and pace of every breath you took. Yet there was something oddly freeing about it. Something strangely comforting about removing your autonomy and giving complete control to this unhinged human.
He controlled your every move, even when his hands weren’t on your body. You felt his red hot stare lingering as he rounded the bonnet, making his way to the driver door.
The dark leather creaked as he sank into the plush seat, the material shifting under his weight, accommodating and molding to his shape as he settled into it. It gave way to him like clay, fitting to his svelte yet strangely dense and muscular form. He didn't reach for the radio, didn't force small talk where it wasn't needed. From the minute the key turned in the ignition, Aemond had you right where he wanted you; unsatisfied and on the edge of reason. He left you empty and confused, waiting on tenterhooks for his next move.
As he steered into the night, with only the glow of the headlights shining against the tarmac, his hand moved to rest on your thigh, long fingers digging into the soft flesh, leaving crescent shapes in their wake. He may as well have branded you, his touch felt like flames nipping at your skin. Not once did that hand leave your thigh, not once did he lift his fingers from their resting place.
Each squeeze made your breath hitch in your chest, each time getting a little tighter, pinching the skin just a little more. You knew there was a chance those marks would be permanent, scars to remind you exactly who you belonged to, like a tattoo carved into flesh.
Passing streetlights illuminated the smirk permanently painted onto his face. The pale glow from the outside glinted off of his prosthetic eye, catching the sapphire hue and somehow making Aemond look even more menacing. Each flickering bulb formed a rhythm; you found yourself tapping your fingers to the beat of each one as it whizzed by. Perhaps it was a way to distract from the sting of nails digging into your thigh muscle, perhaps it was a coping mechanism - a way to make sense of all that had happened tonight, and all that was sure to come in the early hours of morning. Despite the pleasure you were denied, and the lingering ache within you from Aemond's onslaught, you couldn't help but recall the horrors you had seen also.
You’d left that man lying face down in the dirt. Would he be found by some other drunken soul, stumbling over his chilled corpse as they sparked up a cigarette? Wound someone find out who had led him to his inevitable death?
The torturous silence stretched into the night, the only sound underneath that metal roof were the mingled hushed tones of your combined breaths.
No door could contain Aemond's fervour, no barrier of wood could keep him from his plans. As soon as his feet crossed the threshold, he pulled you down the hall, pulling you into the bathroom hastily. He didn't verbalise his carefully crafted plans, he never once let you know where his mind was going, you simply followed wordlessly, accepting your fate as it came.
You certainly didn't expect plump lips to meet your own in an unusually passionate embrace, before backing you into the shower, still fully clothed. You didn't question it, but your eyes clearly communicated your confusion, ad Aemond answered with a familiar cheeky grin.
His hand reached behind you, releasing the water from its chamber. It was hot, like fire in liquid form. Like dragon fire, tongues of flame licked at the surface of your skin. Aemond didn't seem to notice, it didn't seem to faze him, and immediately crowded around you, backing you against the glass wall. He had less grip under the running water, his hands couldn’t get purchase on your skin. Clawing hands slipped under the flow of running water, yet that didn't hinder his frenzied actions.
He crowded you against the glass, held your body tightly with one hand, while the other wandered to the slick column of your throat. Nimble fingers wrapped around delicate skin, pressing slightly on either side. Just enough to remind you of his power, just enough to keep you malleable under his touch.
He’d already punished you that night, taken his anger and malice out thoroughly on your pliant cunt. So instead of abusing his power and alienating the one good thing he had, he decided to incentivise good behaviour. To show you he could be the devoted man you thought he was, as well as the one you found tonight. To keep you truly under his thumb, he needed to be merciful as well as vengeful. Besides, it was fun to watch you fall apart under his touch, to watch your eyes roll back in your head as his body brought you immense pleasure. Dropping to his knees, Aemond hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder as you braced yourself against the glass, eyes widening with each surprising development. You could scarcely believe the vision before you, it was a shocking u-turn, a swift pivot back to the passionate, tender man you called yours only hours earlier, though that sharp edge remained. The man you thought you knew so well was not lost, merely buried beneath the thin veil of a monster. You just let it happen, not daring to question his intentions, not daring to interrupt.
A hot tongue darted from his jaw, catching the falling water on its rough surface before plunging to its purpose. His jutting chin nuzzled between your legs, his pointed nose angled slightly upwards to stimulate your sensitive clit. Aemond knew what he was doing, he always did, but this night he set about devouring you with renewed purpose and surprising enthusiasm. One dazzlingly blue eye peered up at you from between your folds. He seemed to know just where to apply pressure, how to stimulate the most sensitive spots that would make you melt into his mouth. He was still the man who devoured you at every turn, who took pleasure in pleasuring you. But this time seemed different, this time he seemed determined to watch you come undone, to assert dominance in the most unlikely of positions. Every breath, every sweet exclamation and high pitched whine only fed his ego further. You were truly and devastatingly under his thumb, and you knew it. With one swipe of his tongue, you’d fallen into his trap. There was no escaping it now.
So instead of fighting the pleasure that welled deep within, that wrung tighter with each lapping sweep of his textured tongue you gave yourself over to it. You resigned yourself to the duality of his wanton violence, to his murderous tendencies and slightly insane possessive nature, with the man that knelt before you, the one you'd fallen for. You even allowed yourself to enjoy it, to lose yourself in it and lap up each and every ounce of tainted love Aemond deemed fit to give.
Even over the patter of running water, your exclamations of ecstasy echoed between the thick glass panes keeping you aloft. Your knees had long buckled beneath your tired frame, you were only kept upright by Aemond's strong shoulders and one solid sheet of glass behind your back.
It wasn't long before you found the pleasure you were earlier denied in a warm supping tongue, ravaging your cunt as if it’d never taste your flesh again. As if your skin contained the sweetest of nectar, a delicacy Aemond sought out most fervently.
It was merely minutes before you were spilling into the open caverns of his mouth, your body succumbing to his expert ministrations, seceding its battle with guilt and fear to an overwhelming blanket of ecstasy. Aemond sucked every drop from your dripping cunt, licked and sucked your swollen clit long past the point of release, until he had you writhing around his head, begging for relief from the almost painful overstimulation. It was only then, as your pleading rang in his ears, that Aemond finally relinquished his efforts, and made his way back up your body, to share his reward with your waiting mouth. You could taste yourself on his tongue, in his searing kiss. He claimed every inch of you, everything you had was his.
And now, as he gave you everything you wanted, you were more than willing to succumb to his every whim.
Though when the haze of pleasure wore off, when the coil in your gut had been let loose and you could think clearly, your mind reeled, remembering every gory detail the night held.
You were truly stuck, wedged firmly under his thumb, and Aemond knew exactly how to keep you pliant and willing, he knew exactly how much your body yearned for his hands, how you couldn’t possibly resist the call of his body, even when your mind fought to escape.
The next morning, knuckles rapped on sagging wood that could tell a multitude of stories. Glazed eyes opened the door to reveal local police, investigating a missing person's report.
The man without a name, the corpse in the cold, who everyone assumed had Irish goodbyed, never made it home. Yet another young man in recent weeks who never graced their own front doors again, who disappeared without a trace. His body had been discovered tossed onto the side of a blackened road, far from anyone who loved him, or even knew his name. His roommates called it in, knowing he was supposed to walk home that night. They knew he'd never stay out, never leave his cat unattended without saying anything. It was out of character for him to stay out without so much as a text, or posting about his night. They knew something was very wrong when he didn’t grace their flat by 4am, and they raised the alarm.
Two level headed cops interviewed every hungover face in that living room, every person that stayed and slept where they stood. As expected, memories were foggy, clouded by alcohol and recreational drugs, now wreaking havoc on tired bodies. Yet despite hazy recollections of that night, Aemond’s name came up a few times for having disappeared throughout the night. Sore heads and cloudy memories all pointed to Aemond as acting suspiciously, though nobody outrightly suspected him of being a killer. A few names graced tired lips, a few people who had left early, some who had a reputation for trouble, some who were known to disappear without saying anything. Yet it was Aemond that drew attention, it was him that stuck in the clouded minds of everyone who attended that night.
It wasn’t long before trouble graced your doorstep, the hollow sound of knuckles knocking at your door stirring you from sleep, and bringing you out into the hallway. You were groggy, moving slowly, but you heard someone at the door. Aemond was already up, and had answered the front door clad in nothing but his boxers. To some it might have been seen as pure laziness, you knew better. You knew that the sight of his sculpted body would throw off whoever was on the other side of that door, knocking at an ungodly hour as a migraine rattled through your brain. You could barely hear what they were saying from your perch atop the stairs, but you did hear several questions being asked, and so out of curiosity, you wandered to the landing to get a better view. It was the police. Shit.
Every morose detail came flooding back to you, in grotesque clarity. The blood, his face under the pale moonlight, the wound that spanned the breadth of his neck. The violence and brutality of it all. You’d honestly forgotten most of it, the vivid details were diluted by alcohol and knocked loose by Aemond’s bipolar behaviour afterwards. But seeing two officers in uniform grace your apartment door brought it all back, including the overwhelming sense of horror. It was all you could do to run to the bathroom and rid yourself of the guilt before someone spotted you.
After you’d expelled your guilt into the porcelain bowl, washing your face with cold water and tidying yourself up to the best of your ability, you decided to join Aemond downstairs. It was better than hiding. You only caught part of the conversation, and even as you descended the stairs, you heard pointed voices echoing in condescending tones.
“You’re not in any trouble,” one of them said kindly, ‘the good cop,’ Aemond thought distastefully, though he didn’t for one second let his face reflect his true thoughts. “Right now we’re just following some lines of inquiry and your name has come up a lot.”
Another, more stern voice chimed in quickly after. “Seems enough people were concerned about your disappearing acts on the night in question that they thought it worthwhile mentioning.”
“Am I under arrest, officers?” he sighed, almost bored at their probing line of questioning. You cringed at his blatant display of ego, you knew that this alter Aemond was different, somewhat maniacal but you never thought what would happen when he was confronted with true authority. Even still, you made your way over to them and stood by his side, giving a polite nod to the officers.
“Well that depends son, you have anyone else that can account for your whereabouts on the night, anybody who can solidly swear they were with you the entire time?”
Silence. He looked to the side, throwing his eyes in your direction, slightly confused, but also betrayed by your hesitance.
Aemond deflated, he thought of the fear in your eyes when you'd discovered the true depths of his depravity last night, the look of betrayal when he’d pressed the metal of his blade to your skin and watched the trickle of blood there. Somehow he expected obedience.
“I will make sure you never forget who you belong to,” he’d said at the time and he’d hoped his actions last night were enough to enforce upon you that no matter what happened now: no cuffs, bars or barbed-wired fences would ever change the fact that he had killed and would kill again to remind you of this fact.
“That’s what I thought..” the tougher cop smirked after a few moments of uneasy, weighted silence, “Aemond Targaryen you are under-”
Realising the opportunity before you, seeing your chance at escape from this dire situation of your own making, you kept your mouth firmly shut. You never anticipated just how viscerally your body would react to the jingling of handcuffs though, the cold metal struck a chord within you, pulling something along the lines of guilt and sending a feeling akin to pity bubbling to the surface. Your resolution to stay silent broke in a matter of seconds, your steel will crumbling before you could stop yourself.
Just as he was about to be placed in cuffs, his eyes locked with yours once more and disappointment turned to rage in an instant. There was no pleading to be found there, just a look, a look that made your stomach clench and the words were wrenched from you before you even had time to think. One glance from dazzlingly blue eyes was all it took for the words to come tumbling from your lips. "He was with me all night” you blurted and the cop stopped mid arrest-speech. You regretted it as soon as you heard the words form in the air before you, but it was too late. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at you in a way that made you feel small and far too bare. You had given Aemond a way out, an escape from a fate he truly deserved.
“All night you say?” he asked, tone mocking and you were nodding wide-eyed and heart racing.
“And you would be willing to swear that before a judge now would you sweetheart?”
Something about his mocking tone, or his condescending use of the word sweetheart had you bridling and you stuck your chin out stubbornly.
“I’ll swear it to anyone you want me to, he never left my sight all night. I can even go into the details of what exactly we were doing when we ‘disappeared’ each time if you’d like.”
‘That’s my girl’, Aemond thought as the police officer was forced to unclasp the bracelets from his narrow wrists and he grinned knowing that he had you exactly where he wanted you. You’d had your chance to escape him, and now he knew resolutely that you were lovestruck, even in the face of everything you’d seen and he had you undeniably stuck, under his thumb.
With an alibi now firmly in place they had no choice but to take your statements and be on their way, any hope they had of pinning it on Aemond dissipated with your sworn statement and their demeanour toward him completely changed.
Aemond himself had switched into charming mode, you’d seen it a thousand times before, you had yourself been victim to it, but it still scared you how easily he slipped into it and how capable he was of making people believe him and bend to his will.
“Whoever the killer’s after, I'm glad they have you guys to protect them” Aemond uttered to the retreating police, flashing a fake smile their way before turning his back.
“City’s finest…” he whispered under his breath, as they walked in the opposite direction, leaving you to a fate of your own making. As he pushed past you, once more entering the cosy apartment, Aemond whispered a final sentence that made your blood run cold at the utterance.
“You can't run from who you are baby ..none of us can”
Taglist: (no pressure) @volklana @thenameswinter99 @suntizme @zaldritzosrose @dreamilypurplepillar
Day 3: Came back wrong (flayed!steve Harrington x gn!reader)
warning: flayed!steve; injuries; reader gets hurt; gn!reader (no pronouns used);
summary: a mission going to the upside-down went wrong. and though Steve is safe, something about him is…. wrong.
word count: 1.6k
a/n: always wanted to write some flayed!steve hehe i love writing him let me know if you guys want more of flayed steve in the future
did NOT proofread this tbh
fictober masterlist
masterlist
…
you immediately drop everything the moment he steps across the gate and back into your normal world. you let out the breath you'd been holding onto for all these hours he'd spent in the upside-down. you basically run to him, the pain of your sprained foot forgotten because fuck they'd been gone for too long. far too long.
you immediately have your arms around him and it takes him a second but he has his around you. the smell of his musk, sweat, dirt and even the distinct rotting scent you have come to associate with the alternate dimension fills your senses.
"oh, thank god you're okay", you whisper into his neck, eyes squeezing shut for the few seconds you are engulfed in his arms. when you hear the others start to pile into nancy's car, you pull away, you searched for his eyes, he looks so damn tired, "a—are you hurt?"
"I'm not sure", he almost looks disoriented as he says it.
"let's get you home okay?" you say, looping his arm over your shoulder to grant him some support.
he only nods and when you help him adjust into the backseat of the car, you catch him staring at the now sealed gate.
the car ride back home is quiet, jonathan, who had been bleeding a little now has a make-shift bandage wrapped around his injury, courtesy of Argyle who was napping from exhaustion. Nancy steals glances at jonathan, brows furrowed from worry and maybe even anger for putting not only himself but the others in danger, sure to give him a very stern talking to for going behind her back. that is after Hopper and Joyce give him, Steve, Robin and Argyle an earful for going behind their backs despite being told the opposite.
she grips the steering wheel harder, knuckles going white. they could've died.
Robin sits in the front passenger seat, surprisingly least injured out of them all. she avoids both your and nancy's gaze.
and Steve. he's covered in grime, dried blood, and blood soaking his left shoulder. he's definitely injured. he is leaning against you, and his normally warm skin is cold— its not just the absence of warm, it is cold. freezing. it makes you wish you had a jacket or a blanket so you could warm him up but you just hold his hand, trying to lend him some of your own warmth as nancy drives you all to Steve's parent's house.
…
right now, you have Steve sat on the edge of his bed, a first aid kit beside him with its contents scattered about. with his jacket off, you finally see the giant and deep gash on his shoulder that is bleeding slowly.
with a disinfectant soaked cotton, you move to clean up the wound to get a better look at it but before you could even touch it his hand flies to grab your wrist. "St— what are you doing Steve?" his iron grip only grows tighter, his eyes transfixed on where he holds you, "agh! st— stop!"
thats when he finally looks you in the eyes, and though they seem nowhere near their normal warm, soft and caring hazel, they soften a tad and so does his grip on you. he pulls you in, lips crashing against yours and you immediately pull away, "mmph— you'rs so cold"
".. what?" there's that disoriented look in his eyes again.
"you're cold, do you not feel cold? i'll get you a blanket, just stay put, okay?" you pull away from his hold, almost scrambling to grab the soft comforter that smelled of laundry detergent. "here you go—"
you move to drape it over his shoulders when he says it all distant, the darkness under his eyes prominent, "no."
"you'll feel better", you try to reason, "you're freezing cold—"
"NO!" the volume startles you. his eyes are wide, skin pale and thin black veins growing from the throbbing wound.
there's a knock at your door which startles you just as much, "everything alright in there?" comes Robin's voice, muffled through the wood.
"y—yeah we're okay", you abandon the blanket before grabbing the piece of cooton again to clean up his injury, "I'm just patching him up"
you hear the click of the door and find robin standing by the door, "y'need any help?"
"…n— yeah, actually yes"
she lets herself in, closing the door behind her. "geez buddy, rough night?" she tries to joke looking at his disheveled state but he only stares back blanky at her, "okayy", she holds her hands up in surrender before looking at you, "what do you need me to do?"
"can you find me any antiseptic cream or ointment, while I clean this up?"
"sure, he probably has it— I'll get it", she says before dissapearing in the ensuite bathroom.
you once again go to start cleaning his gash, he hisses in pain when the cotton wipes at some of the dried blood, "STOP!"
you pull away the now red cotton piece, before taking another bigger piece, "sorry… i—its going to sting a little", you apply pressure with it to stop anymore of the bleeding.
"I SAID STOP!", he throws the bottle of the alcohol you had been using towards you, you flinch just in time to dogde the projectile.
you breathe hitches, gaze landing on the dent the bottle had left in the wall, he threw that really hard. and when you look back at him, you find him staring right at you, nostrils flared, teeth almost bared like a rabid animal, bursting with rage, "what the hell, Steve."
"whats going on…", Robin comes running out of the bathroom when she sees Steve with an almost crazed look in his eyes, his breathing heavy, "Steve?" she asks unsure.
"guys everything okay?" nancy knocks on the other side of the door. and you messed up. you looked away from him. for just a second but you looked away. and in just that second, he knock the air out of your lungs, actively pinning you as your back slams hard against the wall.
"what the FUCK, Steve!?" you hear Robin shout. which only makes him glare at her in a way which you'd never thought was possible with what were his once warm lovely eyes and it makes her freeze in her tracks.
Right now as he stares down at you, his eyes are nothing but darkness, black veins creeping into his sclera. the iron grip he has on your wrist against the wall makes you whimper, surely bound to leave you with a deep bruise and a dull ache that will haunt you for days, maybe even weeks.
"s— stop please stop, you're hurting me, steve, please!" your whimpering only makes him grab you tight by your jaw, his fingernails still dirty from the upside-down digging into your skin. "no, no, no please—"
"Steve stop!"
"Steve", Nancy's voice is stern as she holds up her pistol, pointing the barrel at Steve. She turns off the safety, as she grits out, "I'm going to count till three—"
"Nancy, don't hurt him—", your voice comes out broken, it practiaclly spills out of you— the worry. his nails dig deeper, breaking skin— you cry out in pain.
"three—", Nancy starts, grip tight around the gun.
"Nancy—"
"two—"
"stop talking—", he growls.
"Nancy no—"
"I SAID, STOP TALKING" its like whiplash, one moment you're pinned against the wall by your lover, the next you find your back sliding down the wall as he grabs his nose where nancy had hit him with the handle of her gun.
"Steve!" maybe you're self-sabotaging in the way are once again immediately by his side. love does that you suppose. ignoring your sprain burning up with pain, you kneel beside him. When you remove his hand to get a better look at him, you find the blood on his upper lip to be a deep black, matching the blood oozing out of his wound and the veins around it.
"he's… flayed", says jonathan who was also now apparently standing in the room along with Argyl too.
"get away from him y/n", you almost don't hear Nancy.
"what?"
"GET AWA—" he slams your head against the wall. its a blur as Jonathan and Argyle grab ahold of the feral being that has became of your Steve right now as Nancy helps you up and guides you to another room.
Soon as she shuts the door behind her, you break down, violent, ugly sobs shaking throuh your frame as you cling to her. she lets you wrap your arms around her as she does the same.
"its okay, its okay—"
"what's happening to him, Nancy?"
"he's flayed."
"flayed?"
"under the control of the mind flayer— happened to Will too", you look at her, confused, still new to all the upside-down jargon. She shakes her head, "I'll explain, let me clean up your face."
"what?"
"you're bleeding."
She sits you down on the edge of the bed, gathering some supplies to clean you up. there's already a small pile of soiled cotton and gauze that she likely used to clean up Jonathan's injury. you ask if he's okay, she smiles and tells you that his injuries are not too deep. "though I was just about to get on his ass for pulling this stunt", you both let out a half-hearted chuckle at that.
She wipes away the blood that was now clotting on your lips, cheeks and forehead before throwing away the gauze.
"he's not flayed, is he?"
"Jonathan? no, he's just stupid", you don't laugh at that, worry prying into your chest.
you're quiet as she puts a bandage on your forehead before finally sitting beside you to apply some antiseptip ointment on the torn skin on your cheeks. "Nancy", you start, picking at your nails, "am I— is Steve going to be okay? Am I going to lose him?"
"hey, no. we've dealt with this before, we'll deal with it now." she lands a reassuring hand on your knee, to ground you, "we are not going to let anything happen to him. you have my word."
Rain, pancakes, and soft kisses between sleepy laughter. For once, Fred doesn’t chase chaos — he just holds you and lets October be quiet.
Collection Masterlist
The first thing you noticed was the sound of rain.
Not a storm — just that soft, steady patter that made the world feel slower. It slipped through the open window, cool air mixing with the faint warmth of pumpkin-scented candles you’d left burning overnight. The whole flat smelled like October: cinnamon, coffee, and the ghost of last night’s Weasley bonfire still clinging to Fred’s hoodie on the floor.
He stirred beside you, face half-buried in the pillow, hair a tangle of copper against flannel sheets.
“Love,” he mumbled, voice rough and sleepy, “tell the rain to be quiet.”
You smiled. “You tell it.”
He cracked one eye open, smirk tugging lazily at his mouth. “Bossy this early in the morning. Scandalous.”
“It’s nearly ten.”
“Then I’m scandalously late for breakfast,” he said, stretching like a cat. The quilt slid down his bare chest, and a soft laugh escaped you. “What?” he asked, mock-innocent. “Never seen a man suffering from extreme coziness?”
You eventually dragged yourselves from bed, wrapped in mismatched sweaters and thick socks. The rain hadn’t let up — it painted the windows in silver streaks and turned the world outside into a watercolor of russet trees and wet pavement.
Fred leaned against the counter while you measured out flour. “Smells like autumn in here.”
“That’s the cinnamon,” you said. “And the nutmeg. And maybe you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” you teased. “You smell like woodsmoke and sugar.”
He grinned, eyes bright. “You’re dangerously close to calling me your favorite seasonal candle.”
“Maybe I am.”
Breakfast became a mess — flour handprints on the counter, maple syrup in his hair, and your laughter echoing over the rain. Fred insisted on flipping the pancakes theatrically, pretending he was performing for an audience.
When one landed perfectly on the plate, he bowed deeply. “Ladies and gentlemen, the essence of autumn!”
You rolled your eyes, stealing a bite off the edge. “Tastes like chaos.”
“Chaos with a hint of love,” he said, mouth full, “and a tragic amount of cinnamon.”
You laughed until your stomach hurt, and by the time the plates were empty, the kitchen smelled like warmth and sugar and everything that made October feel alive.
Later, you curled on the couch beneath a plaid blanket, mugs of cider steaming in your hands. Fred stretched out beside you, head falling into your lap, his socks mismatched — one orange, one brown. The rain tapped lightly against the glass, and the fire flickered in the hearth, filling the room with amber light.
He tilted his head to look up at you. “You ever think this is what heaven looks like?”
“What, laundry on the chair and syrup on your chin?”
He grinned. “Exactly. Domestic bliss.”
You brushed your thumb across his temple, sweeping back a stray lock of hair. “You really love this time of year, don’t you?”
He closed his eyes, humming softly. “Used to think October meant everything dying off. Now I think it’s the best month to live in. Everything’s warm, and golden, and just… right.”
Your chest ached a little at the quiet in his voice — the kind of peace Fred didn’t always let himself have.
“Then we’ll make it our month,” you whispered. “Every year.”
He smiled without opening his eyes. “You promise?”
“Promise.”
Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle. Leaves clung to the windowpane like tiny pieces of sunset. Inside, the world was all cinnamon and laughter and the weight of Fred’s hand resting in yours.
Sunday mornings in October weren’t about doing anything special. They were about slow warmth, and soft music, and knowing the person beside you made even the rain feel like a gift.
Fred stirred again, mumbling half into the blanket, “You know, I think we’re getting really good at this domestic thing.”
You brushed a kiss across his hair. “You think?”
“Yeah,” he said sleepily, a smile curling at his lips. “Feels like home.”
And as the candles flickered low and the rain sang its gentle hymn, you thought maybe that was exactly what this was — home, and love, and the golden heart of October wrapped in one quiet Sunday morning.
Coogler’s lore for Remmick is probably him being offered vampirism by a vampire traveller with the same rules of fae - he was promised he would never go hungry again @huntingformarrow
I somehow turned this into political commentary on Ireland, but yknow…I’m Irish so that’ll happen sometimes…Not a full fledged fic, more of a headcanon or a drabble on my thoughts of Remmick’s origin story.
Ao3 Link
Word count : 2.1k
There’s no hunger like the one that rumbles when your life is turned upside down. A thunderous bass note that feeds on pain and weakness, that robs you of energy and saps all joy from life.
Hunger pangs wracked young Remmick’s body, and left only a man clinging to a tenuous will to live in their wake. His hunger, his emptiness of spirit all stemmed from the systematic theft of his family land by men who saw his people not as humans, not as a nation of intelligent, creative beings with families and loved ones. No, they saw the Irish as pests, the lowest form of life. And relished in treating them as such. His hunger was not only physical, but held the pain of a drained soul, of a culture bleached and sanitised for power, for a foothold in a foreign land.
These vermin saw the extermination of the Irish as little more than cleaning up an inconvenience. These same men sought to bring a whole population to their knees, taking what little was on the table, leaving nought in store for the harsh winters. Who systematically starved an entire nation, yet continued taking more. They drained the well dry, and came back for not only the supplies, but the heart of a culture. Their cruel influence would last for generations, the effects of their abject cruelty echoing through time.
When Remmick had everything taken from him, when his family’s land was ripped from their grasp and they were thrown onto the road like vermin, when they died in his arms, old and young alike, their bodies frail and weak, riddled with disease, his life was changed irreparably. With nothing left, he took to wandering the lonesome roads. With nothing to live for, Remmick let his feet guide him - towards a new beginning, or similarly down the path of destruction.
Hatred took root in his heart and only grew with each plodding step. With each rumble of his stomach, each gust of wind that rattled his bones, Remmick’s fury took hold and grew exponentially. With each stride, a burgeoning desire to punish those who stole everything from his people grew.
It takes a soul without purpose to let evil take hold, and that night, Remmick's soul was ripe for the taking.
He could barely see his feet beneath him, as his feet tramped the lonely blackened road outstretched before him, only illuminated by the dim glow of a pale moon. Hidden behind thick cloud, this celestial being provided little comfort or aid to his journey. This road, built by men in a similar position to himself, destitute and desperate, now supported his aimless trudgery. These roads,built by discontent, carried each step, taking the weight of the man and his burdens onwards. Remmick never expected such a road to carry the weight of pure evil right into his path.
In the dark, he stumbled across a stranger, a man shrouded in mystery and yet, he seemed intimately familiar. The moon cut a halo around his imposing form, highlighting his silhouette in the dark. It was as if the moon was his accomplice, aiding in his dastardly deeds. Yet as Remmick drew closer, as he approached this enigma in the night, a strange emotion settled in his chest. It was a familiar numbness, an acceptance of this new person as one of his own.
This mysterious stranger was no more than a traveller, a wanderer, a man of flesh and blood, yet he stood in that lonesome road with no beating heart beneath his skin.
He was a man of story and song, who shared in culture and art, a vagabond with only a few gold coins and a bible to his name. Yet he stood before Remmick, soundlessly existing. He was a pilgrim of knowledge and history, a collector of culture and memory, with a mystifying secret.
He promised the world, each word dripping with honey and hope. Yet when Remmick looked into his eyes, he was met with only his own reflection. A void sat behind a pool of gold and crimson smoke. It both terrified and intrigued him.
This inhuman being communicated without making a sound. His words seemed to vanish on the crest of his lips, evaporating into the ether, into the darkness that surrounded them both.
Remmick was entranced, both by his seemingly ethereal beauty and his silent yet intensely captivating promises of something new. He whispered sweet promises of a world freshly born, where Remmick would no longer feel the sting of loss or starvation. Where he'd be free of those human plights, yet he was not told of the devastating repercussions of such a tradeoff. And there were always downsides to a promise so grand.
There were always hidden clauses to a contract with a being not of this realm, whether magic or evil, they operated the same. There was always a trick, or a hidden consequence in dealing with such beings, always a price to pay for luxuries beyond man’s means.
Remmick had been wandering, his mind and ultimately his sanity lost to a dense fog since men who served a foreign king across the sea wiped out his family. They surreptitiously stole the land from under his feet, and left him with nothing but the clothes on his back and the tune in his head. Not content with taking what little he and his family possessed, the English men threatened their very existence, their culture and way of life quickly fading into obscurity. The island had long felt the effects of cretins like Cromwell, who served their masters at the expense of a whole nation. Who were apathetic to the suffering and needs of a people, and let them perish to a man made plight, under their rule. Although it had been several years, and the great hunger had long taken root, young men like Remmick felt the ripple effect. They still felt the iron fist of the British government, the heel of the boot pressing against their cheek. They still felt the loss and the lasting effects of a cultural identity cleansed from a land steeped in heritage and history.
Eventually hunger would subside, fade into an overwhelming emptiness, a resignation to his fate as he wandered the long and lonesome roads. The darkness could’ve swallowed him whole, the ground could have opened up beneath him, and there’d be nobody left to mourn.
Evil lurked in every corner of this island, infecting his once perfect home like a pox. A man made blight and a hand crafted famine stole all vitality, forced people to flee this great land, or stay in abject poverty and die on its soil. It leeched the colour and joy from this land, ripped the heart out of the country and replaced it with religion, injected the creed of the colonisers into a crumbling society, and threatened those left with death and destruction if they didn’t give their souls to something they didn’t believe in. It was a genocide of a peaceful people, a true war against nature and all those who worshipped it rather than the man made ideals of a crown.
He grew up hating those that brought such devastation to his country, detesting those that forced them from their home, yet somehow those hollow words of prayer brought him comfort, the religion forced upon him gave him something to cling to in the darkest times.
Such loss gave rise to a new wave of beings, ready and willing to further exploit the downtrodden under the guise of benevolence. Under the promise of something better. It was a wonder there were any humans left - who wouldn’t accept the opportunity at a life more grand, a life where your stomach never rattled, and you didn’t have to scrounge for your next meal. A life of comfort and fulfilment, where sorrow never took root. It was an enticing prospect for any man, and Remmick was only the next in their long line of victims.
When he was approached by this spectre on dark and winding country roads, when he was so graciously held in the arms of a stranger, Remmick once more meditated on the lord's prayer, hoping that they would once more bring him comfort in an uncertain time.
With his stomach hungry for more than food, Remmick couldn’t help but give in to temptation, giving himself over to the enticing offer of a new life, of companionship and love and a promise that he would never go hungry again.
When that wandering stranger offered something irresistible, something akin to a miracle, Remmick couldn't help but give in, surrender to a force far beyond his control.
Little did he know, this stranger would subject him to a world of pain in a single moment.
“I could feel your pain…I knew it once. I too knew the rumbling of hunger. You stand in my shoes, for I once was you.”
His sweet words drew in the soul of a poet, lured Remmick to an existence not much different to the one he currently lived - instead of facing imminent death, Remmick was faced with immortality and a life eternally searching for something more, veiled as his escape. Imprisonment under the guise of emancipation. He was given false hope, honeyed whispers from a drifter in the night lured him into a subsistence, far from the liberation he was promised.
All it took was one bite, the venom of one creature to trap his soul for eternity. Though he knew he would have to sacrifice something, he never reckoned on giving up his mortality. Remmick never banked on losing so much of himself. The very things that make a man - his soul, his culture, his history. All the experiences of a flawed human existence, and the connections that are made along the way. All lost in one bite.
As sharpened fangs pierced his flesh, a curtain fell over his eyes, plunging his world into darkness. On a lonesome country road, Remmick was reborn, but first his body was broken, each cell destroyed by the very thing that would save him. Venom coursed through his veins, burning its way through his body and leaving only destruction in its wake.
As with all things that seem too good to be true, this offer came with its own caveats and downfalls. It was a gift presented as his salvation, yet it came with the most dire repercussions, the largest sacrifice a man can make. In one swift motion, his mortality was wrenched from his reach, replaced by an eternal longing for something more. There would be no end to his search for beauty and connection, no end to his thirst for culture and song. Never again would he feel the warmth of a sunrise, never again would he connect with a people beyond his own mind.
Along with an emptiness he would seek to fill, Remmick felt the familiar pangs of physical hunger. Yet it wasn't the comfort of food his body craved, no morsel would satisfy his needs.
As with all things in the world of tricksters and charlatans, this contract came with fine print, caveats that Remmick never saw coming. He was promised a life free of hunger, but this stranger failed to mention the inescapable thirst that would drive him forward, controlling his every move. From that night on, it would be at the forefront of his mind, always the motivation for his unthinkable actions.
It would drive him to become a murderer, a thief of life and joy. A destroyer of worlds and harbinger of pain.
Like the stranger who had inflicted this terrible curse upon him, Remmick had become everything he hated. He had become a leech on the world of hard working men, a specter in the dark they would come to fear. He had changed into a soulless creature, devoid of love and light, like the vermin who stripped his land of everything worth living for. He no longer had a tie to his history, his connection with his ancestors untimely severed.
Despite the initial shock and the pain of losing so much of himself, Remmick accepted this fate in the hopes of escaping the looming spectre of death, yet now he had no escape. No way out of this hell he was living in.
He was given reprieve from his weaknesses, from his base human needs, from a life of poverty and destitution. From that point onward, he was ruled by a different type of hunger. An agonising thirst, which could never be sated. Even when he gave in to the pangs, even when he satisfied those urges in the most monstrous of ways, they always came back.
This was the origin story of a monster, this was his turning point.
PAIRING: Endverse!Dean Winchester x GN!Reader
PROMPT: Infected
WORD COUNT: 1,166
GENRE: Angst
A/N: Another entry for the FanFiction Writers of the Supernatural Fandom's Fictober. Check out our Discord right here! I was looking for a song that fit this fic for a title and what can I say? Hozier be blessed. This one is heavy on the angst. Real heavy. Don't ask me how I typed this out while suffering from a cold and 1-2 hours before a D&D session. If this is how my brain operates during a fever, I won't complain about the sniffles anymore. 🤧
TAGS AND WARNINGS: Heavy Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, Hurt/No Comfort, Croatoan Virus, Endverse, Zombie Apocalypse Vibes, Reader Dies (Sorry for the spoiler), Gun Violence, Blood, Injury
SUMMARY: Endverse!AU where Reader gets infected with the Croatoan virus. Dean's the one that has to put them out of their misery.
LINKS AND CREDIT: Supernatural Masterpost [𖤐] Fictober 2025 Masterpost [𖤐] Kinktober Masterpost [𖤐] Join the Hunt Taglist [𖤐] Request [𖤐] Ao3 [𖤐] Dividers by @cafekitsune
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It wasn’t supposed to end at all.
The world has lost so much already. He has lost so much already.
Loss after loss after loss. You’d promised him a victory, had flashed him a cheeky smile just this morning and convinced him to let you tag along. What a fool he’d been to give in. He should’ve known better, really. It wasn’t your fault. He only had himself to blame for taking you for granted. For taking everything for granted.
First his brother, then the world as he once knew it — and he accepted it, because what else was he supposed to do? But one man could only carry so much on his shoulders and this burden was just too heavy for him to bear.
He told you. Stay home. Next time. Now there would be no such thing anymore.
Everything had been planned out already: A team of capable fighters, a place to scavenge for supplies. Food, they could manage, for there was always some critter running about, enough vegetables to harvest. But to survive an apocalypse, humans needed more than just chewables between their molars. Croats might be fine with just that, but the whole point of pushing through the apocalypse was to not become one of these mindless zombies.
Clothes were getting scarce, not to speak of the medical supplies.
As the camp’s leader, these people relied on Dean. It was his job to make sure they had everything they needed, to keep them safe.
What fools they were to trust him with the role of protector.
Dean wasn’t half the hero this flock thought him to be. If he were, none of this would’ve happened to begin with. Lucifer wouldn’t be wearing Sam to prom, or maybe Michael would’ve answered the prayers he’d yell from the top of his lungs — “Fine, you bastard, you win. Take me, alright? I’m your weapon, whatever, just fix this.” — until his throat felt sore and his knees were raw, and you… You wouldn’t be sitting in front of him like that.
The tremble in your pained smile was like a car crash; something he didn’t want to see, but also couldn’t pry his eyes away from. With the way you were shivering he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever seen you this small. This scared. Or was he projecting his own misery onto you?
“It’s okay,” you mumbled, voice hoarse and weak.
Nothing about this was okay. Far from it.
“It’s okay, Dean, it has—” you repeated, briefly interrupting your words with a sputter, a cough — Jesus, it sounded like you were hacking up a lung, and the blood dripping down your chin indicated as much. “It has to be you.”
His throat feeling as dry as a desert, he swallowed. Anger burnt up in there, a searing hot flame setting every word he could think of ablaze. None of them felt right. Neither did his tongue, thick and askew in his mouth.
“Please,” you muttered softly, almost inaudible.
Part of him wanted to refuse. Part of him wanted to yell at you for asking something like this of him. Part of him wanted to die right here, by your side. Screw this cruel joke of fate, screw God and his fucked up plan, screw heaven and hell, and screw every creature that roamed them like they deserved a place of belonging more than you did.
It wasn’t fair, and though nothing ever is, Dean couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of losing you like this.
His gaze wandered across your limp form as if he could come up with a cure by assessing the damage. You were leaning against a tree, your chest barely moving with how shallow your breathing was. Your shirt was torn at the neckline and soaked in blood. The red-stained fabric hung off your shoulder in scraps, revealing the nasty teethmarks underneath where the Croatoan has bitten you.
The wound, red and angry, spread across your entire shoulder. No matter how often he’d witness the infection, the sight always had his stomach drop with guilt.
He could’ve prevented this. Or, at the very least, it should’ve been him. This was his burden to bear, not yours. And it would’ve been a much easier weight for him to carry than that of your corpse.
“Dean,” you huffed, drawing his attention to your face once more. How you were still smiling at a time like this was beyond him. “It’s okay.”
Your eyes, watery and red-rimmed, fluttered close as you attempted to take a slow, deep breath. It was shaky at best, but the intent was clear nonetheless. You were bracing yourself, mentally preparing for the sweet release of death.
The so-called fearless leader — not a self-proclaimed title whatsoever — granted so many before you the pull of his trigger. Foes and friends alike, the latter out of a last deed of respect, died at his hand since the outbreak of this virus. Whether or not it was something he enjoyed doing didn’t matter. It was like you had said; it had to be him. This was simply what he did. Who he was. Something he could never run away from, even if he wanted to.
Usually, Dean was swift when it came to doing what had to be done, no matter how uncomfortable. However, when he cocked his gun in your direction, his hand was anything but steady. Hesitation wasn’t something he felt in years. In this world, with death around every corner, you could not afford to second-guess yourself.
But he found his mind swirling with thousands of things left unsaid. Countless of moments he had yet to share with you, all of which would never come.
The seed of an apology lingered in his chest, the sapling of which grew tall in his throat. He did not dare letting it bloom in his mouth, let alone letting it spill from his lips. Dean Winchester did not get to say sorry. It wouldn’t heal you. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make this easier.
“I know,” you spoke suddenly, eyes still closed, but sensing his turmoil without him having to voice it. You nodded once, straightening your shoulders slightly and holding your chin up high.
Your head was angled perfectly.
All he’d have to do was adjust his aim…
curl his fingers…
pull the trigger and…
Shoot.
Birds scattered above and into the skies, tree-branches rattling as if they were alive while you lay beneath them dead. The bang of his bullet as well as the slump of your body still rang in his ears, both loud to a deafening degree. The hole in your skull, oozing with blood, looked like the feeling in his chest.
Exhaling shakily, Dean craned his head upwards into the grey skies, where the birds still fled, abandoning this hell-hole for a better place. All he could do was hope your soul would join them on their journey.
Lord of Your Thighs // Doflamingo Donquixote x afab!reader // NSFW/18+
Kinks: Thigh-Fucking
CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; thigh-fucking; multiple references to vaginal intercourse; doflamingo is his own content warning™
WC: 1k // Fictober Masterlist
Doflamingo would rather destroy you.
He would rather break you apart, piece by piece, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left of who you once were. And maybe one day he will—but not now, not yet. To him, you're not like the others. You're not a toy to be smashed apart and discarded—no, you're special, a plaything that deserves care, one that he intends to keep around and use again and again. As he watches you arrange yourself on his bedspread, looking up at him with such glowing adoration, he thinks he could even feel something for you one day, even if he won’t admit it to himself.
And how could he so easily damage such an enchanting little thing that could earn his love?
So, despite how tempting you look laying on his silken sheets— eyes glazed over with desire, fingers gripping the fabric in anticipation, bare and on display and ready to be taken—and despite how much he'd rather devastate you with little concern for your pleasure, he decides take his time with you, prepare you for what's to come.
He drips lube all over your thighs, licks his lips at how your skin glistens, how it trickles down your skin and begins to pool on the sheets. Doflamingo presses your thighs tight together and slowly slides his himself between them--oh, how he wants to ruin you right now, spread you open and sheathe himself in your waiting warmth, bask in the sound of every cry and every hitched breath and every pained groan as you stretch to accommodate him. It’s clear you want it too, the way you writhe and the way your hips shift as though you're trying to lure him inside you, desperate to know what it feels like to be filled in a way you never have before.
But there will be time for that later, all the time in the world to mold your body to him, for you to learn exactly how much you can take and be pushed further than you ever thought possible.
For now, he drags his length in and out of your plush thighs, throbs at the way your muscles tense and shake with every stroke. He overwhelms you in every way so quickly, his massive body engulfing yours, holding your legs aloft by the ankle with an ease that seems to almost frighten you at first. The expression you wear is intoxicating, one of insatiable longing, eyes widening at the way his cock-head pulses and reddens with every thrust.
“You like what you see, my pet?” Doflamingo teases, voice thick with lust. “You like what you do to me—to your king?”
The way you nod shyly, wordlessly, as if suddenly painfully aware of your own depraved desire on display, elicits a vulgar chuckle from him.
“Mm, such a—such a greedy. Little. Thing.” he groans in response, punctuating every word with a forceful thrust, reveling in the softness of your skin enveloping the sinewy length of him. He angles himself downward and with each forward motion, nudges against your swollen clit, leaking precum with every wanton moan that escapes you.
Doflamingo focuses his movements on you now, pressing against your slick cunt, his own climax nearing as your back arches and your mouth falls open, moans of ecstasy reduced to incoherent whines and hitching breaths with every movement. Your eyes shut and his name tumbles from your lips again and again as you’re seized by a rush of sensation, body shuddering uncontrollably underneath him, legs tensing and trembling with every beautiful spasm.
The way you climax, the way you call out for him and buck your hips against nothing, your trembling cunt wanting to be filled, pushes him over the edge. Doflamingo’s measured, insistent rhythm against you becomes erratic, his fluid movements now frenzied as he bucks his hips and strokes himself with your slick, soft thighs. Your insistent murmurs of “Please cum for me, please,” whispered between ragged sighs, push him ever closer to a jarring, pulsing climax. He finally groans in blissful agony and convulses against you, thick ropes of his spend splattering onto your mound and your stomach, dripping down your legs in slow rivulets.
Once your body has coaxed every last possible spasm, every last drip of his spend, out of him, Doflamingo finally releases his iron grip on your ankles and collapses on the bed beside you. He pulls your limp body on top of him, weak limbs dangling useless over his sides, perspiration-dappled head resting on his tanned, taut chest. He wonders if you can tell that every pounding beat of his heart is for you, just for you.
“Please, my king…I can take it…please fuck me,” you murmur weakly, your hips grinding weakly against his taut stomach. He inhales sharply through his teeth, your plea so enticing that his softening cock bobs and hardens again at the thought of pinning you down and taking you right here, right now. The thought of having you now at the peak of your need, your cunt dripping and still quivering from your orgasm, is almost too much to bear, and he feels precum gush from his tip in anticipation.
“Mm, soon sweet pet, I promise.” He kisses the top of your head and runs his long fingers up and down your spine, using every ounce of restraint he can to keep from pushing you down his body and lowering you unceremoniously onto his hardening shaft. “Soon you’ll have what you want.”
But not before he teases you again, lets what you truly desire be just outside of your reach, lets your greedy cunt flutter around nothing as he pleasures himself with your warm, welcoming body. He’ll give you his heavy, aching cock, but not before he winds you up into a frenzy, makes you so blind with desire that you’d do anything to obtain it.
Doflamingo will ruin you one day, but not before he lets you ruin yourself for him first.
