#asirel cain x reader

[litmot-archived]

You Hurt Me

Asirel Cain x Reader

You execute your revenge.

Warnings: mentions of syringes and tranquillisers, past torture, abuse; the general tone of this is a bit darker than usual so proceed with caution

I Hurt You

The ordeal had been roughly two weeks ago. You bid your time. 

Asirel had looked at you with an apprehensive glance, cautious as you stumbled through the door of his study after being knocked out for a week. You had gone straight back to normal, grumbling something about being hungry and leading him to a false sense of security that his betrayal — because that was what it had been to you — could be glossed over like one of your quickly fading moods.

You could act when you wanted to, lounging on the couch that had been your prison, unwelcome memories of being paralyzed lurking on the edge of your mind while you leafed through a book disinterestedly, keeping him company as you had before. You kept testing him, riling him up enough until he scoffed and his eyes darkened while you ultimately succeeded in peeling him away from his desk, always mindful of that damned tranquilizer he kept in the right pocket of his suit jacket. 

You knew his tricks now. 

It had not taken long to figure out Asirel. Now you knew how far you could push, now you could pinpoint when teasing, toying turned to genuine concern on his part, fear as his hand twitched, restraining himself from plunging the needle into your heart again. 

He did not know that you knew, and you wanted to keep it that way. Ignorance was the best way to serve revenge, you supposed, and when an opportunity arose to execute your plan, you seized it with a grin he mistook for your usual playfulness. 

“Careful,” he rasped, hitting the mattress with a force that knocked the wind out of him. “I don’t know why I indulge you when there is a buffet at your disposal.”

You chuckled, moving to straddle his lap as you smirked. “You taste better,” you said, lips tightening in displeasure as he placed a hand on your chest, pushing you off. You let him, allowing Asirel to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and sit up.

“I think you enjoy feeling me writhe under you,” he replied, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt to expose his neck. 

Your mouth watered, leaning in before he could prepare himself and piercing his skin with your teeth. 

Asirel groaned, tensing under your touch immediately. His head spun at the familiar feeling of blood loss, but the force with which you were draining him was unlike anything he’d felt before. You were rough, sucking him dry as if you were starved. 

“Slow down,” he warned, his voice breathier than he would have liked. A feeling of weakness settled in his chest as he felt his strength bleed out of him. The pounding in his head intensified, and his stomach twisted in sudden nausea as his hands began to shake. “Pet!”

You did not care, continuing to feed as if you had not heard him. You could feel him shaking against you, his breathing getting more strained the more blood you took.

He thought you would drink up every last drop if he did not stop you. Placing a hand on your chest, he tried pushing you away — to get you to snap out of the frenzy he had thought you had slipped into — but of course, you did not budge. 

“Stop!” he said, pouring every morsel of strength into his voice. His usually so commanding tone sounded deflated even to his own ears, the refined cadence of his voice smeared in exhaustion. “Did you hear me? Stop it!”

The annoyance he felt flipped into fear. You could smell it on him, the moment he realized you were not going to stop, the moment he knew this was your idea of revenge for what he had done. You heard his breath hitch, his heartbeat surging suddenly. 

This time you were prepared. You felt his hands shift, reaching into his suit jacket. He seized the syringe, pulling it out in the blink of an eye and aiming for your heart. You caught his wrist easily, pinning him to the bed in one swift movement. 

“Fool me once, Asirel,” you said, flicking the hateful object out of his grip as he stared up at you with wide eyes. 

“I told you to stop,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. You could feel his entire frame shaking beneath you, his chest heaving as his heart pounded painfully. 

You sneered. “I told you not to overdo it. I told you it hurt. Did that make you stop?”

He panted, squirming fruitlessly to get out of your hold. “Get off,” he said. “Pet, stop it.”

“Come on, Asirel,” you cooed, a self-satisfied grin on your face that widened as you heard his heart skip a beat, the smell of his fear intensifying as he submerged in his panic. “This does not work if you do not trust me. Don’t you remember?” 

You sunk your teeth into his neck again. You knew you were overindulging, but the startled noise of surprise and pain escaping him as he suffered — like you had at his hands — went to your head in a mixture of satisfaction and anger. 

“Did you think you’d get away with drugging me up like that, Master?” you mocked, the title rolling off your tongue laced in venom. “You think you can go ahead and do what they did because you fooled me into trusting you? Do you think I’m stupid? At least they knew to keep me weak so I could not rip out their hearts, but you—” You sunk your teeth into his neck again to corroborate your point. 

Asirel jolted, his breath coming in short heaves as his heart pounded against his ribcage vigorously. He was afraid, terrified as he fought against your relentless grip. “Stop, stop,” he croaked. You pretended not to notice the wetness in his voice. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Pet. Stop!”

You raised your head, his blood staining your teeth as you looked into his wide eyes, trails of tears rolling down the side of his face. He looked a mess, bloodied, terrified as he was helpless against the force that pinned him in place — helpless against you.

You sneered, the feeling all too familiar. “What? Are you begging me now?” you mocked, a sick twist of contentment filling you as you saw his eyes water again. “‘I’m sorry’ won’t cut it here.”

He looked at you for a long moment. His heart surged again, and you knew he was about to try something new. “Hel—!”

“Stop breathing.” 

His scream died in his throat immediately, the shock of your compulsion tearing through him like a lightning strike. Asirel looked at you, his face ashen, lips parted with an expression of utter heartbreaking betrayal.

It made you pause, reconsidering your method of fighting fire with fire.

He slipped out of your grasp, his hands darting to his throat immediately as his chest spasmed, desperately trying to take a breath that was denied him. 

Your words had a chokehold on him, but as you saw the person who had saved you — betrayed you, yes, but also taken you out of that hellhole — fed you, the same person who threaded his delicate fingers through your hair when you rested your head on his lap or nuzzled your face against his neck, the person who had to suppress a fond smile every time you slipped into bed next to him in the middle of the night, squirm in agony beneath you, horrified, certain he was going to die because you willed it, you felt a black mass of disappointment, grief and shame rise in your chest. 

The game was over. You had no intention of playing anymore. 

Asirel rolled onto his side with a deep gasp, sputtering coughs as his vision slowly cleared from the black spots clouding it. He had a death grip on the bed sheets, his whole body shaking with the force of his heaving breaths. 

You had slid off the bed, resting your back against the bedpost while you sat on the floor, dejection hanging over you like a cloud. You could hear his heart still rattling in his ribcage, but it was gradually slowing from the height of his panic. The syringe had rolled to the other side of the room, mocking you with its presence. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice airily light. You turned your head, meeting Asirel’s eyes. They were carefully blank as if he had not decided exactly how to feel about what had just passed between you. 

“Are you okay?” you asked slowly. 

He glared. “Take a guess.”

You hummed, hesitating to break the silence between you despite the words you were painfully dragging to the surface. They rested on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out if you dared to open your mouth. 

Asirel sat up slowly, swaying a little as he did. His hand shot out to steady himself, and you reached up to wrap an arm around his waist to keep him upright. He froze, but the words of dismissal never passed his lips. 

You spoke. “When I was with them — the traders. I— they work together with other organizations sometimes. They like to earn a few extra bucks in rentals, turning us over to people running tests, experimenting to develop new weapons for the hunters, or simply to get a kick out of torturing us. I’m not sure. 

“They— well, I know those types of people very, very well and when you drug me — when you ram that needle into me and my muscles go slack and I can’t fucking move — I feel cold metal beneath me, and straps around my chest and limbs, digging into my skin, and— and I’m back with them, anticipating pain any moment when they would try something new to hurt me while I lay there powerless and vulnerable, and I just can’t take it, Asirel. I can’t!”

You blinked away the tears gathering in your eyes. You did not see Asirel’s gaze soften, but you felt his hand reaching down hesitatingly, his fingers burying themselves in your hair, playing with the strands in a silent offer of comfort. 

He knew there were things you had not told him. The scars littering your body spoke of the trauma he only now began understanding the scope of. 

“When you take my blood,” he began, confessing weaknesses of his own, “I feel— it makes my head spin and I feel my life draining away. There was— Once I nearly bled out, a long time ago, but I still remember the feeling and the cold. I hate letting you feed off of me, but I try to indulge you sometimes. But when you don’t stop, my mind goes blank in panic like I’m a little child again, bleeding out in his father’s arms. 

“It’s why I’m quick to use the tranquilizer,” he said. 

You nodded, scooting closer to rest your cheek against his thigh. “Will you throw it away if I promise I’ll stop when you tell me?”

Asirel considered it for a moment, biting his lips in uncertainty. “After this—” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry I deceived you,” you said, absentmindedly tracing shapes against his skin. “And I’m sorry about, well, all of it.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, sighing deeply. “How about a new start? Do you still trust me?” 

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I do, too, against all odds. I’ll throw it out.”

You looked up at him, the determination in his eyes mirroring the honesty in yours. “Thank you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his middle.

The trauma would take a long time to work through, but with Asirel’s arms coming up around you as well, squeezing you tightly against him, you had a feeling the scars of your past might stop stinging quite so much.

“I promise, I’ll keep my word.”

[beccixxiluv]

y’all i lowkey want a pet backstory, i wanna know how they came a vampire 🤭.

[wildflowerblurbs]

Late Night Negotiation | Asirel Cain

Asirel Cain x GN! Reader

CW: slightly suggestive at the end, asirel's usual dynamic with the listener, dependent behavior

A/N: don't mind me, just clearing out my drafts.

-

When Asirel had first referred to you as “pet,” he’d done so emphasizing the fact that you now belonged to him but, although he knew that you were motivated by your need to be wanted, he never expected this. 

You were settled on the floor next to him while he sat at his desk, resting your head on his thigh as if it were the most common daily occurrence. You’d walked into his office with not so much as a knock or warning, something he’d punish others for doing but his quick acceptance of your actions made him realize that he may have spoiled you a little too much. He said nothing as you sat down on the floor and maneuvered his chair to give you the necessary room beside him. He felt you sigh in contentment as soon as you were comfortable and he couldn’t quite find any words to comment on your behavior for a good while.

It’s not like you’d caused a big scene or were trying to get his attention. You’d taken the precaution to stay quiet and seemed to just be happy in his presence. He wasn’t sure if it was the endearing nature of your actions or his newfound instinct to return your acts of affection but it was of his own volition that he’d reached down to stroke your hair while he completed his work. 

To anyone else witnessing this, this would seem laughable and insane. Here you were, a creature so dangerous you could wipe out his entire estate without so much as a scrape to your own body yet choosing to simply lounge by his side like a house cat.

“And to what do I owe this warm and sudden visit, pet?” His voice finally broke the comfortable silence you’d created, his curiosity finally outweighing the importance of the work in front of him.

“…You said you were going to visit me today but you never showed up.” 

Upon hearing your words, he quickly looked over at the clock on his desk and realized it was already past midnight, six hours past the time he’d promised to have dinner with you the night before. He was so caught up analyzing the intel he’d received earlier that day that he’d completely lost track of time and broken his promise to you in the process. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh before pushing the chair back and motioning for you to come up and sit on his lap. Despite the disappointment and slight annoyance you felt when he essentially stood you up a few hours ago, you quickly obliged him, wasting no time in settling in and resting your cheek on his shoulder. 

“I apologize, pet. I’ll have my dinner schedule cleared tomorrow so I can make it up to you. How does that sound?” 

You noticed that his voice carried a hint of regret at his actions. He wasn’t a gentle man by any means, but he did take responsibility when he did something wrong. It was times like these you were grateful that you chose to go with him the day he’d come to “adopt” you. He was someone you could depend on. 

“I want to stay with you tonight too,” you requested, knowing that he was more likely to accept now than any other time. 

His eyebrow raised at this request, the edges of his mouth seeming to fight off a smile. “Are you negotiating with me right now? It seems you’ve picked up a few things from me as of late.”

You don’t bother lifting your head from where it’s resting, opting to stay put as you fidget with the collar of his shirt and answer him, “I am simply asking my gracious master to grant me a wish to make me feel better after abandoning me.”

“I did not abandon you.” 

“It sure seemed like you did.” 

Ah, so that was the game you were playing, he thought to himself.

“Fine,” he relents while getting up from his chair, picking you up in the process and leading you towards his bedroom. “As your gracious master, I’ll grant you a space in my bed tonight.” 

Before you can silently cheer the success of your plan, Asirel leans in close to your face and you can see unclear intent in his eyes, “But I will be the one to decide how we spend our night.” 

[peppymintdreams]

A Moment of pampering

Asirel Cain x Pet

The estate was quiet tonight. No visitors, no business to attend to, no pressing matters that required Asirel’s sharp mind and steady hand. The only sound was the faint crackling of the fireplace in his study, casting a warm, flickering light across the room.

Pet sat on the plush rug near his chair, knees tucked beneath them, eyes lowered. They had been there for some time now, silent and waiting, as they always did when Asirel wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Yet tonight, something about their quiet obedience caught his attention.

“Pet,” Asirel called softly, his voice a low, velvet command.

Their head lifted immediately, eyes meeting his in that familiar blend of hope and hesitation. “Yes, Master?”

He studied them for a moment, taking in the way their shoulders seemed a little tenser than usual, the faint crease of exhaustion around their eyes. It had been a long day for them—a task carried out on his behalf, something dangerous and demanding. And though Pet had returned without complaint, Asirel knew they were tired.

“Come here,” he said, patting his leg.

Pet blinked in surprise. Asirel wasn’t usually one for physical affection—at least, not openly. But they didn’t hesitate, rising gracefully and making their way to his side. They stopped just short of the chair, unsure of what he wanted.

Asirel reached out, his hand gentle as he guided them to sit on his lap. “Relax, Pet. You’ve earned it.”

Pet settled in cautiously, their heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and longing. Moments like these—moments when Asirel’s cold exterior softened just enough to let them glimpse something warmer—were rare, and they savored each one.

His hand moved to their head, fingers threading through their hair with a deliberate, soothing touch. Pet’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, a soft sigh escaping their lips. It was such a simple gesture, yet it carried a weight they couldn’t quite explain.

“Comfortable?” Asirel asked, his tone light, almost teasing.

“Yes, Master,” they whispered, leaning subtly into his touch.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Good. You’ve done well today. No mistakes, no misbehaving.” His fingers continued their gentle exploration, tracing slow, deliberate patterns across their scalp. “I suppose that deserves a reward.”

Pet’s heart swelled at the praise, their body relaxing fully under his touch. “Thank you, Master.”

Asirel’s hand stilled for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of their ear. “You like this, don’t you?” he murmured. “A simple touch, a little attention… That’s all it takes to make you content.”

Pet nodded, their voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. “Such a simple yet vicious creature.” His hand resumed its gentle movements, each stroke calculated to soothe and reassure. “But I suppose it’s fitting. After all, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” Pet agreed without hesitation. “I belong to you.”

His other hand reached for his glass, taking a slow sip of the dark, amber liquid within. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

The words were spoken with casual authority, yet they sent a warmth through Pet that had nothing to do with the firelight. They leaned further into him, resting their head lightly against his shoulder, waiting for him to reprimand them for the boldness.

But Asirel didn’t. Instead, he allowed it, his fingers continuing their gentle, rhythmic motion. “You’ve earned this, Pet,” he murmured, voice soft and almost indulgent. “For tonight, rest. Tomorrow will bring new tasks, new challenges. But for now…” His hand slid down to their cheek, cradling it briefly before returning to their hair. “Enjoy this.”

Pet melted into his touch, feeling the rare warmth of his affection envelop them.

[luminesceintbutterfly]

I’m here to deliver more angst cause that’s all I’m good at

Ahem

I was listening to the second asirel audio

And you know how he sedates pet

What if some sick part of pet likes it

Not inSome freaky way buttttt

In a way because it feels nice to let go

They don’t like being out of control but

I assume because their a young vampire they were turned ,that being said the night they were turned probably felt like they were dying

And they couldn’t do anything about it

And despite how scary that was they felt at peace

And they get a similar feeling when asirel sedates them

So maybe sometimes they act out on purpose

And asirel wonders why their smiling as they give into the sedative

Because ,it feels like dying and that’s the contest they’ll get to seeing their family ever again

….this all stemmed from the fact that I found the way everything was muffled during that scene relaxing

[litmot-archived]

I Hurt You

Asirel Cain x Reader

Asirel's curiosity costs you dearly.

Warnings: tranquillisers, syringes

Asirel was a curious person by nature. He longed to understand things to their very core, and vampires were such a fascinating mystery that he could not help himself but venture down a path of a little experimentation when he stumbled on a gem of information. 

Why you cranked your nose at the clear, faintly blue substance in his vial he did not know, but he wanted to find out. 

“Do you recognize the scent?” he asked, rummaging through the cupboard on the far end of the study and pulling out a sealed syringe. 

You eyed him wearily, sharp eyes following his every move. You could smell the curiosity on him, the wonder of how you would react to what you knew was a strong tranquilizer that would leave your mind hazy and limbs aching for the next week. It had not been designed to be pleasant, and despite your body being locked in paralysis, it had no numbing effect. 

Asirel turned towards you, syringe in hand, and you suppressed the urge to tackle him to the ground right there, tear the hateful object out of his grasp, and curse him for entertaining the idea of running his little experiments on you. 

You glared at him as he tipped the vial, filling the syringe with an amount that could knock you out for a year. 

“Are you serious?” you asked, hiding the shaking in your voice. You did not want to do this. You did not want to have that thing piercing you, a foreign substance cursing through your body that would hurt, simply for him to catalog it in one of his little notebooks. “What do you think you’re doing with that, Asirel?”

He tilted his head, a little annoyed at your protest. “Come on,” he said, clearing the siring of air. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Only a little. I want to know how this refined formula works.”

Oh, refined, was it?

You caught his wrist, looking up at him from your spot on the couch with a dark warning in your eyes. “Don’t,” you said, watching his jaw set.

“This does not work if you do not trust me,” he said, echoing the words he had told you months ago, when you had been caged behind bars, aftereffects of the very thing in his hands turning every breath into a painful nightmare. 

You were thankful to be free, well, as free as you were now. Asirel was good company most of the time. He kept you fed. He kept you entertained. The thought had occurred to you long ago, that you did not want to leave. You were comfortable here, the happiest you had been in a long while as this cautious work relationship between you both branched off into something more occasionally. 

You did not want to lose him over this. You did not want to disappoint him or give him the wrong impression because you did trust him — as hard as that was admitting to yourself. 

You trusted Asirel. 

“Fine,” you muttered, leaning back against the backrest and glancing towards the ceiling briefly before your gaze fixed on him again. You held out your arm, tugging up your sleeve. “Don’t overdo it.”

He took hold of your wrist, and your gaze found the ceiling again as you felt the wet cotton wiping down the crook of your arm. The piercing needle cut through it a moment later. 

You felt the tranquilizer immediately, scorching through your body like a liquid flame. You clenched your hand into a fist, fighting every instinct to pull away as you gasped. 

“How are you feeling?” you heard Asirel ask, his voice crystal clear, cutting through the rushing of blood you heard in your ears. Three minutes. You had about three minutes before it would pull you under, and knock you out for about twenty minutes. 

“On fire,” you told him truthfully, turning your head to look at him. You were not deluded enough to mistake the concentrated look on his face for concern — he was curious. “Burning. Feels like fire is eating me up, pulling me under.”

He nodded to himself, and to your horror, pushed the plunger further down. “Did the heat intensify?”

“Hurts,” you breathed, squirming in pain as the fire shot through you with renewed vigor. “Hurts, hurts.” A minute left now maybe. 

Asiel frowned. “Did you hear me?” he asked, leaning closer until your painfulled eyes fixed on him again, vision swimming. “Did the heat intensify?” 

You groaned, the low sound turning into a scream as you felt the fire licking at you again. Below the rushing of your own blood, and the static pulling taut around you, you thought you heard a surge in Asirel’s heartbeat. 

You were not sure if the panicked “Pet!” cutting through the room came from your imagination, or if Asirel realized he had pushed too far. Distantly, you realized the syringe was no longer buried in your skin. Distantly, you realized your hand had shot out to grip the little coffee table beside the couch. 

Distantly, you realized you had flung it at Asirel, successfully getting him to back off. 

You did not see his eyes widen, but you thought you heard his heart skip a beat again as he saw it approach.

He hissed in pain, the sound piercing through your haze as you realized you had hurt him. The thought did not sting. He had hurt you as well, the fire coursing through you turned into a haze of feeling that was only kept at bay by the rage his betrayal evoked in you. 

Blindly, you reached out a hand towards him, realizing you had gripped his throat only after you felt the fluttering beating of his heart under the pads of your fingers. He gasped, but you did not have time to take in the distinct scent of fear, nor wonder if your instincts followed the right course of action, before he smashed a needle into your heart, emptying the tranquilizer in an instant. 

Your grip loosened as your body went limp immediately. With your last conscious thought, you wondered how long the mixture would keep you under the surface. A day? A month? A year? 

Asirel gasped, cradling his throat as he looked down at your limp form, pretending he did not hear the strangled whimper of terror slipping past your throat, pretending he did not see the single tear leaking from your eye as the chemicals pulled you under. 

You Hurt Me

[litmot-archived]

Primal

Asirel Cain x Reader

Asirel's sister gets kidnapped.

Warnings: kidnapping, anxiety/panic attack

Asirel glanced at you, lounging on the couch in his study with some papers in your hand. They looked suspiciously like the files he had been searching for last night, but he chose not to comment on it. Yet. The tentative peace — and the silence you so readily broke in your boredom — made concentrating easier, and he still needed to finish revising the pages Isaac had sent him. 

The telephone rang, and he groaned, torn out of the words on the page once more. He picked it up without looking at the caller ID, keeping his eyes on the page before him and scribbling a question to clarify later with Isaac on the margin. “Yes?”

“Mr. Cain, how generous of you to pick up,” the deep voice cooed, Asirel tensing immediately as he recognized it to belong to William Kennedy, a rather unimportant player in the real estate business — unlike his father had been — and one he was entirely ready to forget after he had run the company to the ground. 

Markets shifted. It was not entirely Asirel’s fault, but he knew better than to think his father had not warned William, telling him to keep an eye out about the Collective — or perhaps Asirel, specifically — meddling in their affairs. William had seemed just arrogant enough to blame it all on him, and Asirel liked to keep tabs on his enemies. 

“Mr. Kennedy,” he said drily, putting down the pencil to give him his undivided attention. “How can I help you?”

William chuckled, making Asirel frown. Something about the sound made him weary, drawing his guard up further as he clicked through the security footage, a little voice warning him to tread carefully. 

“It’s not so much about helping me, as it is about helping yourself,” he said cryptically, and Asirel had to suppress a scoff despite the looming threat of something unspoken between them. 

“I don’t follow.”

“Let me put it this way,” William said. Shuffling came from the other end of the line, a low groan that made Asirel’s blood freeze. “Want to say hello to your brother, dear?” 

“Fuck you.” His sister’s unmistakable snarl cut through his heart like a shard of glass. His eyes widened, and despite his best efforts, his hands began to shake. 

You smelled his surge of fear, glancing up from some intricate real estate business to look at Asirel. His heart rate was elevated, and you clicked your tongue in distaste at the scent of his blinding panic. 

“So, Mr. Cain. What are we going to do about this little predicament, hm?”

Asirel fought hard to keep his voice steady, cold, and devoid of the emotion curling in his chest. Anyone else, he would have no problem keeping his cool. Anyone else, he would have informed his trusted circle to clean up this mess with as much damage as they saw fit, but this was family. The matter was personal, and he could not help trembling at the thought that his sister was in danger. “What do you want?”

“Ever the businessman, I see. Straight to the point. My father told me you were someone not to mess with after the whole business with Incessant Inc. Do you remember Robert Kennedy? He talked highly of you before you ran us into the ground.”

His voice sounded like it came from underwater, and Asirel blinked unseeing as his mind conjured up images of his sister, tied to a chair, chained to a wall, scared, terrified while she put up a brave facade and counted on him to get her out of this mess. “Yes.”

“Anyway. How about this: you pull a few strings and get us back to the market value of roughly a year ago, and I’ll send you back this little viper without a scratch? It sounds more than fair to me, Asirel.”

The agreement was on his tongue, but he bit his lip at the last second. Desperate. It would give him the upper hand. It would reveal just how scared he was. How could he not be? It felt like someone had cut open his ribcage, and held his fearfully beating heart in their hand — ready to crush it. 

“Don’t take too long to decide. It’s awfully boring here, you know. I get bored quite easily, and when I do, all I can assure you is that she will be in one piece. Unharmed, well. We shall see about that.”

“Fine,” Asirel bit out, pouring as much venom and disdain into the word as he could, despite the pleading tone wanting to crawl up his throat and beg him not to hurt her. “Fine. Agreed. I need the rest of the week.”

“You have until tonight,” William said, his tone leaving no room to argue as the line went dead. 

Asirel did not notice you get up from your place on the couch. He could not hear anything outside of the blood rushing in his ears, his heart hammering painfully hard in his chest while reality twisted into a cruel, dangerous nightmare. He knew he needed to act, needed to do something but sit here and panic. 

He could not move, the telephone tumbling from his grip as his body felt heavy and airily light at the same time. Gravity seemed to pull him under, crush him into the ground while he was suspended in water, weightlessly drifting away as waves of fear and guilt tore at him. 

He needed to snap out of it. He needed to snap out of it. 

There were pills in the top drawer, the anxiety medication he ignored for the better part of the year always stocked in case he needed it. His hand flailed around, dragging open the drawer gracelessly as he rummaged through it for the little bottle with hands shaking annoyingly hard. 

His chest burned, and for the life of him he could not figure out why his heart was burning so much until it spasmed painfully, and he realized his breath had lodged in his throat. He squeezed the bottle tighter, uselessly trying to pry it open. 

You took it from his unsteady hands, opening it effortlessly and shaking out two pills he dry-swallowed immediately. He held onto the desk with a white-knuckled grip, taking a deep breath. “My sister—” he began.

“I heard.”

“I have to—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

His gaze snapped up to look at you, impressively sharp for someone whose mind was clouded with panic not a minute ago. “There is— is no room for mistakes here. I’ll send a— a team with you.”

“I work alone.”

“No, no,” he breathed, shaking his head while his hand reached for the telephone. “Not this time, I can’t—”

You took hold of his wrist, stopping his movement while you glared at him. “You want her to be safe?” you asked, not missing how his heart rate picked up at the reminder of the peril his beloved sister was in. “Let me do what I do best, howI do it best. You know what I’m capable of.”

He considered this for a long moment, and you could see in the quiet resignation of his eyes that he agreed with you. “Fine,” he said finally, and you released his hand with a triumphant grin. “I’m coming with you.”

The disbelieving laugh tearing out of your throat made him shoot you a dark glance. “No, you won’t. You’ll drag me down.”

“I will, end of discussion,” he said, rising to his feet unsteadily. 

You suppressed a snarl. “End of discussion, yeah?” you asked, raising your shoulders in a shrug, mocking apathy as you walked over to the couch again. “Good luck fetching her by yourself, then. I go alone, or I don’t go at all.”

“Pet!” he said, his voice rough with anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, shaking in rage and fear. “This is not the time for your games. Now, come on. I command you—!”

“Oh, commanding me, are you?” you teased, flopping onto the couch again, nuzzling into the pillows as you lazily picked up the papers. “Good luck with that.”

Asirel’s eyes widened, distraught at your stubbornness. “Please,” he said, and you had to blink a few times to keep your head from spinning. He was all over the place, angry for an instant before his voice shook on the verge of tears. It was surprisingly easy to dissolve him. A few prods, a kidnapped sister and he stumbled over himself, entirely useless as he scurried around lost, like a helpless bird caught in a cage. “Don’t do this to me now, please.”

How hard you thought your heart might be, it melted at his anguished look, and you silently cursed yourself for allowing him to have this sway on you. “Fine, fine,” you said, getting up from the couch and tossing the papers aside carelessly. 

He perked up immediately, blinking away the tears in his vision. 

“I go alone,” you said. “I’m getting her back unscratched, trust me. Just sit tight, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

You saw he wanted to argue, but he bit his lip instead, giving a stiff nod. You were out the door the next second, and as the minutes ticked by and he sat uselessly in his office chair, checking security footage all around the city, the thought struck him that by all means, you should not even know where the hell it was they were keeping her. 

He did not doubt your abilities for a moment — could not allow himself to, else the panic curling in his chest like a sleeping beast would be awakened again full force — so he chose to trust you instead. Minutes ticked by, crawling into half an hour. 

Another handful of minutes, and you were gone for less than an hour that felt much too close to eternity to his restless mind, before the security cameras picked you up, strolling casually down the street with his sister on your arm, talking amicably. 

She did not look hurt. On the contrary, she seemed quite content, throwing her head back in laughter every once in a while at whatever it was you told her. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his mouth. She was safe. She was safe. 

Asirel leaned back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. The tension headache hit him like a train, and he winced as he massaged his temples. 

“I can’t believe he said that!” his sister’s amused laugh tore him out of his thoughts, and he rose from his seat again, opening the door into the hallway where your hand was poised, ready to knock. 

She was beside you, cheeks tainted a little red from laughter, and he let instinct take over, enveloping her in a crushing hug and squeezing her so tightly against him that he feared anyone seeing the scene would find his weakness spelled out painfully clear. 

“She’s charming,” you said, giving her a cheeky grin as she chuckled in amusement. 

Asirel only held her tighter. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Did they hurt you? Did—?”

“Asirel, relax,” she said, a hand reaching up to settle between his shoulder blades. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. It was a bit annoying — the guy sat me down on this hideous couch and would not shut up about some bartender disrespecting him. I wanted to punch him, but honestly, he didn’t seem worth it.”

“I tore out his heart if you’re wondering,” you said absentmindedly, frowning at the droplets of blood on your sleeves. 

“Yeah. That was metal of you. Not very demure.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, not missing Asirel’s quiet ‘thank you’ as he continued cradling her to his chest, assuring himself — and his racing heart — that she was safe, perfectly alright, and alive. 

[litmot-archived]

In All My Dreams I Drown

Asirel Cain x Reader

Asirel experiences sleep paralysis.

Warnings: Insomnia, sleep paralysis

Asirel was not afraid of the dark. He had never been. The inky blackness of night had a way of soothing him. It seemed almost like the only escape from the crushing responsibility he carried during the day — almost because although the US slept, there were plenty of places around the world that were bussing with life and plenty of phone calls and e-mails he received during the dark hours. 

Still, it felt different. Breathing was easier during the night. He had always enjoyed being awake while the world around him slept. 

He had stretched this indulgence a little too far, it seemed. 

When he first started he had finished business at perhaps one in the morning, going off to bed soon after. One had turned to two over the years, two to three. Now when he looked up from his computer screen, it was usual to see the blue tint of the early morning light, just before the sunrise. He went to bed when the sun rose, but his daily responsibilities never lessened. 

Somehow, there was always more to do — more to plan, more to think about,  more to work out. He was always busy, and although his hours of sleep had been steadily reduced over many years, the time he tried to wake up rarely varied. 

It was becoming an issue. Asirel was very much aware of that. He had fought long and hard to reduce his hours, choosing to slip into bed as early as eleven at night, only to lie awake until the early hours anyway. 

What had started as simply an unconventional sleeping schedule had developed into a more serious issue. 

“Mr. Cain,” the blonde woman before him had said, giving him a sympathetic smile he thought she must flash to every patient. The sterile whiteness of her office nearly outshone the brightness of her coat, the stethoscope practically gleaming under the harsh artificial lights. “I am afraid there is not much I can do. Plainly speaking, it seems to me that you are under a lot of stress — if you reduce the stress, I am sure your insomnia will disappear.”

He had wanted to scoff but returned her smile with his own. It was polite, although a bit sardonic. “How do you suppose I do that, Doctor?”

She blinked as if nobody had ever asked her that question. “Well, it depends on what causes the stress, but either way I’d suggest—”

Physical activity. This time he did scoff, hiding it behind a cough. 

Working out seemed the cure for everything, just like water. Asirel, have you tried going outside more? His mother’s words had felt mocking, and hearing the same advice from this professional who did not take his ailment seriously made a bitter taste appear in his mouth. 

Headache? Drink some water. Back pain? Have you tried losing weight? Insomnia? Why, do some sports! 

Pathetic. He took the prescription for sleeping pills without another word. 

Sleeplessness in adults was very common, stress from work being mostly the cause of it, and although he supposed everyone experienced a bad night of sleep every once in a while — where they tossed and turned endlessly, without getting their mind to shut up as thoughts and worries swirled around until night turned to day and it felt like they had not slept at all — if these issues persisted for over half a month, things were no longer casual. 

Reduce the stress she had said. How exactly could he do that, when his very existence came with a relentless pressure pushing down on his shoulders? His life was heavy. He did important things, and although he loved the responsibility and influence he had — the power. He loved the power of his job — he was the first to admit that his work had cost him many sleepless nights and hours pouring over papers at his desk with seemingly no end in sight. 

The world was draining him of his strength, the love for his work — and the determination to change things according to his vision for it — faded under the relentless strain he had been under. He was at the end of his rope.

Much like a broken arm or sprained ankle, his insomnia hurt. It had causes, it had consequences. His mind felt like mush on some days, his thoughts dragging along until it took too much energy to direct their stream. His memory worsened, and the days blended — he remembered only little bursts of something, the important bits of meetings and conversations while all the rest faded to black. 

How long since he had last seen his mother? A day? A week? When had his sister called? This morning? The day before yesterday? It was all a big lump of gray. 

When had he last fed you? It must not have been that long ago, or else you would have complained.

Asirel was exhausted. He needed the world to stop for a day until he had his mind back together and ceased fraying at the edges. He took two sleeping pills, downing them with a large gulp of water.

They did not work as he had wished. He lay on his back, listening to the clock ticking on the other side of the room until his eyelids dropped, but he did not sleep. He lay awake for hours — still hours — until he slipped into oblivion, but his sleep was far from restful. 

It felt like he did not sleep at all.

He thought he opened his eyes in the morning, looking at the rays of sun streaming in through his window. He found he could not move. His heart skipped a beat, his mind slipping into a spiral of panic that the rational part of his brain sliced through with two words: sleep paralysis.

Where were the hallucinations? 

As the thought crossed his mind, he heard it. Loud banging came from the hallway, stomping that came closer and closer. His heart sped up, fear pulling him under despite knowing this was not real. He knew it, but the bangs approaching, getting louder and louder in tandem with his racing heartbeat made it hard to believe it. 

He tried to close his eyes, not wanting to see what his mind would come up with to torment him, but he could not. The room would not disappear before him, and he still could not move. 

Terror seized him, and he tried fighting the unshakable pressure pinning him down. The world around him felt like dough, his body limp around it as it was pushed into the mattress. There was a weight on his chest, heavy, unlike anything he had ever experienced before as it crushed him, keeping his lungs trapped. 

Something moved at the edge of his vision. The stomping approached closer and closer. Asirel wanted to scream. He tried, but his mouth did not comply, there was no air in his lungs. The only thing escaping him was a low whimper. The stomping came from right beside his bed.

A figure walked into his line of vision. It vaguely looked like him, but as he stared into its pale face — too pale — he saw blood trickling from its mouth. Its hair was dirty, a dark shade of blonde with specks of deep red in it. Its black eyes stared at him as it approached. 

He had never been as scared as he was now, helplessly trapped in his mind while this shadow version of himself reached out a bloodied hand towards his face. It leaned closer, hovering inches from him. 

“They’re coming to make you pay,” it said, "make you pay. Pay. For all you have done, they’ll make you pay. Pay. Pay. I’ll kill you if you don’t pay. Make you pay. They’re coming. They’re coming! Hide!”

The door flung open. Asirel felt himself resurfacing. The apparition vanished, the banging stopped and he blinked his eyes open. His brain felt numb, slowly awakening with pins and needles as he turned around. He still felt heavy, barely awake as reality slowly clicked back into place.

You stood in the doorway, surveying the room with a stance that told him you were ready to lunge at an attacker. Once you realized the room was empty, your eyebrows furrowed. “I heard your heart beating out of your chest not twenty seconds ago, Asirel. What’s going on?”

The pressure on his chest had lifted, and he let out a deep sigh as he moved a hand — relief flooding when he realized he could — to rest against his forehead. What an experience. Something still felt off, and there was a creeping terror at the edge of his mind that he could not shake. 

“Had,” he cleared his throat, closing his eyes to escape your puzzled expression, “had a— a nightmare, I suppose.” It was not the truth, but he did not feel like explaining sleep paralysis to you. The experience was still too fresh on his mind, and he feared talking about it might make it more real, turning this into a permanent curse. “Thanks for— for waking me.” Thanks for watching out for me.

You stared at him, the trembling in his voice and his still accelerated heartbeat telling you that something had shaken him to his core. “No problem,” you said, approaching him to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Asirel gave you an uncertain look. Hesitatingly, he lifted the edge of the covers. 

You chuckled, slipping in beside him. He snuggled into your arms immediately, resting his head on your shoulder and breathing in your scent. 

It grounded him, having you close. Your strong arms around him made him feel secure like nothing else could, certain that you would protect him. Despite it all, he knew he could trust you — and you knew he did as you heard his heartbeat even out and his breathing deepen. “Do you mind if I—?” he mumbled, eyelids drooping.

“Go ahead. I’ll be here when you wake up,” you said, fastening your hold on him. Asirel drifted off to sleep in your arms, catching a few hours of the most restful sleep he had had in a long time. 

[litmot-archived]

A Tragedy In Five Acts

Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.

— Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, scene ii

You are part of the Collective, stringing the world along as it spins. In the wake of Mr. Cain’s death, it is up to you to introduce Asirel to his new life, creating a tentative partnership with him as you face the revelation of truths that shake your worldview and tug at the web keeping society together. With Mr. Rhoades working on the Kennedy case and a fraudulent company threatening the careful balance Tara upholds in Stockton, things are adding up to a tragedy in the making.  ~50,000 words

Warnings: grief and loss, (major) character death(s), guns and (canon-typical) violence (and talk thereof eg. torture of mythics, traders, etc.), references to depression, suicidal ideation, panic/anxiety attack(s), talk of (gambling) addiction, talk of alcoholism, smoking, (brief) talk of religion — this story deals with heavier themes than my usual work, so please mind the warnings (which I will add to the beginning of each ‘scene’) and stay safe!

Spotify playlist (listen in order) // Read on ao3

Masterlist:

Act I — The Proposal

Scene i — The Hospital

Scene ii — The Funeral

Scene iii — The Collective

Scene iv — The Informant

Scene v — The Friend

Scene vi — The Aisle

Act II — The Clouds

Scene i — The Strain

Scene ii — The Wraiths

Scene iii — The Truth

Scene iv — The Envelope

Act III — Titanic

Scene i — The Revelation

Scene ii — The Crash

Scene iii — The Spy

Act IV — The Private Eye

Scene i — The Promise

Scene ii — The Loss

Scene iii — The Traitor

Act V — The Sacrifice

Scene i — The Threat

Scene ii — The Secret

Scene iii — The Price

Scene iv — The Walk

Encore — The Beginning

[litmot-archived]

Aqua Regia

Asirel Cain x Reader

Asirel sinks in his blues.

Warnings: references to depression, suicide attempt

Flying and sinking felt the same. Asirel hardly flinched as the air whipped past him — uncertain if he had felt hands on his back a second before he accelerated towards the ground. He had been surprised, staggering a little as the earth pulled him downwards, falling, falling, flying, sinking. 

He was caught in a daze, his breath caught in his throat, the ground coming closer and closer — the deep, blue ocean. The waves were high, he thought. The water looked clear, but cold and deep. It was the Atlantic, of course, it was deep. 

He knew the ship had been a bad idea, his mother had warned him; his sister had called him, begging him not to go. Not that he listened when business was concerned. No, he preferred falling, flying, sinking rather than falling short of the expectations placed on his shoulders, not daring to fail in following in and filling his father’s footsteps. 

Falling felt a lot like flying. Flying felt a lot like sinking. Asirel could not tell where one ended and the other began, the feelings merging seamlessly, bleeding into each other while his heart felt completely numb.

Had he jumped? Was he pushed, or did he fall? Did he leap into the water below?

Why would he have? He could think up a dozen reasons. Why would he have? He could swim. He could. 

But did he want to? 

Asirel could pinpoint the exact moment when flying turned to sinking — his body hit the water, breaking through the surface with a loud crash that did nothing to break him out of his reverie. The water was cold, but the shock did not phase him. He was sinking — no longer falling. He could not fly, the only way to escape it was bracing for imminent impact but now impact was dealt with, and he had transgressed into sinking — and the rational part of his mind told him that it was time to make up his mind. 

The surface was getting further away, the light of the setting sun growing dimmer through the twisting waters pulling him down, down, down into their depths. How deep was the Atlantic Ocean? He had taken quite a fall, still sinking from its force. His chest was starting to ache, a faint burn making itself noticeable that he pushed to the furthest recess of his mind. 

Did he jump or was he pushed? 

His eyes were open, staring at the gently fading light above him. It looked like the light at the end of the tunnel, but instead of the train approaching rapidly, it was speeding away from him, driving in reverse. 

He had been going in reverse recently. Instead of getting ahead — by implementing his ideas, convincing the Collective to try things his way, and abandoning their status-quo, with the plans he had laid out for his life — he was falling behind. His ideals for the economy needed radical adjusting, his circle of acquaintances was dragging him down, and his closest friend—

Asirel closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the saltwater for the first time. 

Nothing had been the same since Vic’s funeral. He knew himself to be capable of handling things himself, but the world around him seemed inexplicably harder to face. Vic made things easier. Simply his silent support — and the innumerable times he had acted as his right-hand man — had lifted a weight off his shoulders that had been steadily crushing him for the last two years. 

The water dragging him down felt like its manifestation, pulling him deeper. It was more comfortable than being ground into dust, an effort his daily life had excelled at recently. 

He just felt so heavy. This weightlessness was welcome. Perhaps he did jump. 

Asirel reached into the deepest recesses of his mind to draw up any strength he had to continue, and came up empty. He was dry, exhausted beyond belief, and purposelessly drifting. Drifting? 

He had stopped sinking, and the dark, deep blue water all around him — swallowing him whole, pressing down on him so far from the surface, so deep down in the Atlantic Ocean that did not care about his plans or ideas or rotten sense of purpose — seemed to thrust a hand into his chest, squeezing his lungs painfully. 

He burned, his chest spasming instinctively to take a breath. Would it matter, anyway? He glanced up again, to the vague white above him, the broken rays of sunshine twisting and curling under the water. Did it matter? The cold of the water around him — colder now that he was trapped in limbo, frozen in the void — was soothing despite all of this. 

A part of his mind warned him that this would hurt. Drowning, he had heard, was one of the most horrible ways to go. Drowning? Yes, he supposed. This was what sinking led to, this was what he wanted when he leaped, this was what all these decisions had led up to — the loose strings of fate woven through his life finally intertwining here. Drowning. Drowning after such a long time of sinking.

Except, he was not sinking anymore. The careful balance he had crafted, the agreement, the deal he had made with the Atlantic ocean forcefully broken as something tore at him, pulling him upwards with the same vigor he had previously plunged into these depths. 

Up. He was going up. The light got brighter, the burning in his lungs more pronounced as the surface got closer. 

He found himself filled with a deep sense of relief, overshadowing the bleak numbness clawing at his heart that up meant not done. Up meant countless meetings where he would get disregarded. Up meant watching another lifetime's worth offootage that made his stomach turn. Up meant feeling helpless when he read of the reports his puppeteering had caused — wars, famines, political instability, deaths, deaths, deaths. 

Up meant looking his mother in the eye after what he had just tried to do. 

Asirel broke the surface with a gasp, coughing violently and nearly sinking again under their force. For a moment he was confused, still feeling wetness gather on his skin and dampening his hair. It was somehow colder than the water of the ocean, and as he blinked his eyes open between heaving coughs, he realized that it was raining. 

The water came from above, plumbing to the ground like he had mere moments ago. It merged with the ocean seamlessly. But Asirel caught the difference, with his head turned upward to look towards the sky he had accepted to never see again. The rain felt like a blessing, the promise of a new beginning as it grounded the past into nothing, washing him clean. 

A new beginning. He squeezed his eyes shut, noticing for the first time that there was a bruising pressure on his waist, a hand gripping him so tightly that he feared it would soon tear through his skin. “Pet,” he muttered, not needing to open his eyes to know it was you. 

Who else would be crazy enough to leap in after him? Who else would bother pulling him out of the water after he had already given up? Who else could it be, breathing new life into him and forcing an ascension towards the future when he had resigned himself to sinking in the present? Who else but you? Who else loved him enough to try?

He blinked his eyes open, turning to face you through the rain still pouring down. 

You stared back, an unreadable expression in your eyes. For a long moment, all he could hear was the gentle sound of rain, feeling his exhaustion trying to pull him down again. Your grip was relentless, refusing to let him sink. 

After a long moment, you broke the silence with a voice so raspy he thought it actually hurt you to speak through the tightness in your throat, “don’t you dare do that again.” 

He sighed, imagining that the rain from above brought a new beginning as well, that it would wash away all the heaviness, darkness, and guilt. It was a lot to ask of the rain, he was aware, but perhaps this one — this royal rain, this new rain, this fresh rain that brought him air after he had been submerged in water, ready to drown — was special. 

“I promise,” he said, meaning it to the depths of his heart.

[litmot-archived]

Respite

Asirel Cain x Reader

Asirel takes you to the beach at night.

This unintentionally reads a little like a continuation of Jones' fic I'm allergic to sunlight.

“Asirel?” you asked in confusion, eyeing the towel he spread out. “When you talked about getting away, I was anticipating some secret underground hideout, not” — you hesitated, watching as he knelt to brush off the sand he had gotten on the edges — “this.”

“I think this is much more enjoyable,” he said simply, letting out a deep breath when he finally sat down on it. The breeze coming in from the sea was pleasantly cool, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat that had been plaguing you for most of the day. 

Why Asirel needed to enjoy his little holiday in a place so hot you did not know, but hearing the soothing crashing of the waves and feeling the fine grains of sand between your fingers when you, too, joined him on the towel, you thought that perhaps you understood his attachment to this place. 

At least he had the sense only to leave his house at night. 

You chuckled, feeling a sudden calmness washing over you. There was no other sound on the beach, other than Asirel’s gentle breathing next to you and the continuous, rhythmic waves. You were alone here — no doubt he liked this place for its seclusion.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to drift for a moment, relishing the rare peacefulness within you. 

“Look,” Asirel breathed, breaking the comfortable silence, “isn’t it beautiful?” 

You nearly groaned in annoyance, but as you opened your eyes to glare at him for disturbing your trance, you found him looking up at the sky with an expression that made you pause. He looked happy — satisfied in a way you usually never got to see him. 

Asirel always strived for the better. He wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to hold himself to his own unattainable standards and be spurred on by the bitter disappointment of unavoidably failing. At this moment, he looked truly content — with a soft look in his eyes and the corners of his mouth drawn slightly upwards. 

The exhaustion you had seen on him for the past few months seemed to have melted away completely and with it all his ambition and constant worries. The lines on his face looked less drawn, he looked less gloomy, and when the gentle breeze ruffled his blond hair in a caress that made him look soft, you could not help taking his chin in your hands to tilt his head and press a lingering kiss against his lips. 

He made a little noise of surprise before you felt him smile. When you drew back, he still had his eyes closed as if savoring the moment and holding onto it for as long as he could.

Asirel looked breathtaking in the moonlight, even more so now that you could practically feel how relaxed he was. Never before had you been so grateful for your heightened senses and superior sight because the image of him before you — eyes closed, hair ruffled, and lips slightly red from your kiss — would forever stay close to your heart. 

“I meant the stars, you know,” he murmured, lashes fluttering before raising an eyebrow in a challenging expression that he knew you could see.

You huffed, turning away from him to look up at the night sky. 

It was different from the view you were used to — not that you bothered much to gaze at the stars back home. Still, you noticed they were arranged differently. It made the view all the more special, seemingly looking up at a different part of the universe.

The inky blackness of the space between the specks of light felt less icy here, it was not the desolate black you were used to, but rather a rich, deep blue. It reminded you of the deep sea, the recesses of the ocean right before you. Surely, if you were to swim out far enough, you would find the same color somewhere in the water.

The crescent moon hung high in the sky, its yellowish glow comforting but not bright enough to illuminate the sand before you properly. It completed the picturesque scene you found yourself in, and you found yourself marveling at the beauty of existence. 

“I like to make time for this at least once a year,” Asirel confessed quietly, taking another deep breath of the sea air and releasing it slowly, feeling no rush to unburden his soul to you. 

He had time, and so did you.

For once, he felt no need to hurry. His ever-racing mind had slowed to a near-crawling pace, and he allowed himself to simply feel, forgetting for a moment about the dozens of folders piling up high on his desk, detailing every sector of politics, economy, and culture. 

“It is good to anchor myself to reality every once in a while,” he said, sinking slowly until he felt the uneven sand softly digging into his back. He glanced at you, patting the space beside him.

You looked at him for a moment, frowning at his request for closeness — normally you were the clingy one — but following it nonetheless. Laying down beside him, you shifted until your shoulder pressed against his. You felt the heat radiating off him, a silent reminder of the rushing blood in his veins and the delicious meal it would make no doubt later tonight. 

“This is the only thing that matters, in the end,” he said, nodding to the sky, “this is reality — not the things humanity has created, society, politics, and money. Sometimes I forget there is a world beyond all our illusions, something real and tangible and much grander than everything we have made. I only need to look up at the sky and see the stars twinkle in the darkness, and I remember the charade I play a part in.”

“How bleak, Asirel,” you said, observing the path of a shooting star. “Although I suppose you could use some humbling. Memento Mori; it is good to be reminded of it from time to time.”

He chuckled. You felt it reverberating through his chest as his shoulders shook lightly. “Comforting words to hear from someone who is technically immortal.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” you said. 

“No, I know,” he said, closing his eyes to savour the moment, “not even the universe does.”

[litmot-archived]

I Don't Forgive You

Asirel Cain x Reader

Warnings: misogyny and profanities (you get to kill the guy that does it)

His sister's despicable ex shows up at Asriel's home. You get dinner.

“What?” Asirel asked curtly, picking up the phone.

His employee stammered, clearly taken aback by his harshness. Asirel was not usually this brash with the people working for him — being calm, collected, and polite fed his image better — but today his schedule was rather busy and he did not care to be inconvenienced by frivolous things. 

“There uh,” the employee cleared their throat nervously. He rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue impatiently. “There is a ‘Richard’ here to see you, sir.”

Asirel frowned, his eyes darting to his calendar. He had no meeting scheduled for today, least of all at his own home. “A what?” he huffed, distantly recalling the name being dropped in conversation before. 

Richard. It sounded familiar. His sister had talked about a Richard when they had last met.

“Send him up,” he said, placing down the telephone.

“Oh and Richard, that jock-type bad boy I was seeing?” she had said, waving her fork in the air between them as she got excited about spilling some tea. “He’s history. Never met a man that entitled in my life and that’s saying something considering the dudes I’ve met. Anyways—”

He had smiled fondly at her, continuing to eat the spaghetti as he listened to her talk about the cute woman she had met at the butcher shop. 

How had his sister’s ex found his way here?

The door to his study was thrown open violently, bouncing off the wall with a loud bang. A disheveled man stepped inside, not bothering with an introduction as he barged in.

He rubbed his forehead, already feeling a headache forming. He did not have time for this nonsense or whatever the hell this Richard wanted. He could see you standing in the doorway, silently hovering by Richard’s shoulder as you took in the scene before you and gave Asirel a raised eyebrow. 

You looked both incredulous and amused. ‘Who’s he?’ you mouthed, pointing to the guy and chuckling quietly at his behavior. Most of all, you were shocked at Asirel for allowing it. 

He rolled his eyes at your question.

“Listen, man,” Richard said, slamming his hands down on Asirel’s desk and looming over him in an effort to appear threatening. Out of the corner of his eyes, Asirel could see you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Impassively, he continued to look at the Buffon in front of him as you licked your lips in anticipation. 

Oh, today you would have a feast.

“Listen, I don’t know what that bitch told you” — Asirel blinked, expression unreadable — “but I didn’t do shit to her, alright? She can come off her fucking high horse and call me back, yeah? Damn man, tell a woman to suck you off once and she gets all pissy, right?”

Your mouth hung open in shock, eyes wide as you looked at the Richard guy. Shit, the tea was real. Shit, oh that guy was dead. 

“That whore can’t tell me anything, yeah? Fucking slapped me when I pushed her to her knees, you hear me? Can’t believe I took her out for dinner for that. See, I’m a nice guy, but sometimes sluts just piss me off.”

Asirel did not betray his thoughts. 

The silence in the study was thick, laden with tension that the guy only now seemed to catch up on. His slight panting was the only thing breaking the silence as Asirel pinned him in place with a look. 

Richard suddenly grew uncomfortable as he took in the room around him, catching up to the fact that he was standing in Asirel’s quiet but threatening presence, whose aura seemed to darken with every second he breathed in his company.

He chuckled nervously. “Right, man?”

You could not contain your laughter anymore, snorting as you heard the guy’s heartbeat pick up in a sudden surge of fear. “Can I?” you asked, giddy with excitement as you tried your best to give Asirel convincing puppy eyes. “Oh please, I am literally begging you.”

“Just one moment,” Asirel said, slowly rising and taking one of his overflowing binders to slap it down on the guy’s hands, successfully getting them off his desk as Richard jumped back. He stared into the confused and fearful gaze of the scum sullying the peacefulness of his study.

For a moment, he contemplated ending Richard himself. 

It would be an easy thing. Asirel could beat him to death with one of the iron rods he used to tend to the fireplace beside him. He could probably beat him to death with his bare fists as well, watch as the life left his eyes and the useless jerk went limp in his grip for daring to talk about his sister in such a way.

He could kill Richard. Draw it out and have his screams of pain echo through the mansion until he tore his throat to shreds and all he could muster would be a strangled plea for mercy that Asirel longed to deny him.

He could do all that if he wanted to. 

Taking a breath, Asirel sat down again. “You’re not worth the effort,” he said, returning to his papers. “Don’t make too much of a mess,” he added as you stepped up to the guy, making him jump as he felt your breath on his neck. 

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, trying to take a step back. You took hold of him, pushing him to the ground with no effort. 

His death was quicker than you’d liked, but Asirel did say not to make too much of a mess and the screaming and desperate pleading was annoying both of you. 

“Think I need an aspirin after that one,” you said, wiping the remnants of blood from your mouth. You were quite proud of yourself. Not a single drop of it had stained the carpet. 

“Agreed,” Asirel said, shuffling his papers.

“On a scale of one to ten though, he was maybe like a three?” you said, snatching some papers from his desk and disinterestedly leafing through them. “Tell your sister to get in touch with tastier people next time.”

“I’ll pass on the request.”

You laughed, tossing the papers back to him. Asirel reassembled the stack with a groan. “He had some balls showing up here.”

“He had no brain,” he said, resting his head on his hand and looking up at you sitting on the edge of his desk. “What kind of idiot thinks it is a good idea to seek out me to insult my sister? That is insane.”

“People are insane sometimes,” you said, stretching. “So, any crazy ex I need to be worried about when it comes to you?”

“Certainly not.” 

He fished out an aspirin, passing you the container. You took it in amusement, relishing that Asirel had not caught up on your joke. He would grunt at his absentmindedness come morning when you reminded him that drugs did not work on vampires. 

“I’ve never had the time for a relationship. You see how work takes up most of my life.” 

You hummed, running a hand through his hair, which he quickly batted away. “Good thing you’ve got me then, boss.”

“That’s not what you should call me.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you, but then I totally forgot. Sorry about that,” his sister would say the next time he called to check up on her, “I gave Richard your address. He wouldn’t stop bothering me and I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. Also, I thought your little pet would appreciate a home delivery, my treat.”

“They told me his blood left something to be desired and that you should choose your partners more carefully from now on.”

“Really? Well they’re not one to talk.”

“Play nice.”

[litmot-archived]

hiiiii 💕💕💕 is there a chance that you could write some Asirel nsfw? 😔 i am starved for Asirel, what’s a girl to do? 😔

Bound (NSFW)

Asirel Cain x Reader

Warnings: bondage, dom/sub undertones

“What is up with you today?” Asirel asked, glancing up from the papers and looking at you. It was almost eerie. You were standing by the window, staring out of it unmoving. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” you muttered, holding eye contact with the security guard outside. He might pretend not to be scared, but you had picked up the loud thumping of his heartbeat when he had looked up, finding your relentless gaze fixed on him as if he were your prey. 

There was something so entertaining about watching Asirel’s staff scurry away from you, trying to keep up the farce of being fearless and tough when you could smell the terror on them. It was the best part of your day. 

Asirel sighed quietly, putting down the papers. “Pet!” he said sternly, trying to shake you out of your reverie. No matter how much you loved toying with his people, they were still his to protect, and he could not allow you to poison the atmosphere of their work environment. Dissatisfaction and fear were the most likely reasons for betrayal, after all.

You did not budge from your place near the window, continuing to stare into the poor man’s soul. “What, boss?” you asked tauntingly. Asirel’s preferred title had yet to roll off of your tongue. 

He got up, standing beside you and looking out of the window as well. As soon as the security guard spotted Asirel’s glare, his eyes widened and he turned his back, resuming his work. 

“You’re no fun,” you whined, turning to face him with a pout.

Asirel rolled his eyes. “How many times must I tell you to stop bothering my employees?”

“Killjoy,” you said, reaching out a hand to run your fingers over the exposed skin of his neck. You smirked, knowing exactly what to do to stave off your boredom now. If Asirel was so adamant about you leaving others alone, he would have to be your plaything instead. 

He took a step back, shaking off your hand. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, turning his back to you to walk towards his desk again. 

You wrapped your arms around his chest, pulling him against you firmly and trapping him in place. Today, you had decided to be a menace on purpose. He did not even try to fight your embrace. 

“Come on, you’ve been at it for hours without a break,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. The soft kisses you began placing on his neck made him shudder, but Asirel kept firm, not otherwise reacting to your advances. “I could think of better ways to spend the evening,” you purred, holding him in place with one arm as your hand moved up to grasp his hair.

You tilted his head back with a harsh tug, smirking at the soft moan he let out. It was so easy to rile him up, especially when he had sat at his desk all day, drowning in work until his eyes threatened to fall shut. 

“Fine,” he breathed, allowing himself to melt against you as your teeth grazed his neck. Part of him wondered if you had compelled him sometime in the past to bend to your wishes, but the rational part of his mind told him that, no, you simply had that sway over him. 

There was something both scaring and exciting about having you so close to him, knowing you could tear him apart in an instant if you so wished — plunge your teeth into his neck and drain his blood until he crumbled, put your hand over his face until he suffocated in your arms — but you chose not to. 

He loved the game you played, allowing him the illusion of control while it was you who had all the cards. 

You smiled against the skin of his neck. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” you said, loosening your hold on him. Asirel stumbled back. Your arm shot out, steadying him with a laugh. You did not miss the light tint of red on his cheeks. 

“Why do I indulge you?” he asked with a shake of his head as you gripped his arm and dragged him out of the study. 

“Because you need me,” you said, pushing him against the door to your room, making it fall shut as you kissed him against it. “In more ways than one,” you teased, feeling his quickening heartbeat against your chest and hearing the stutter in his breath as you brushed against the bulge in his pants. 

Asirel hummed, recollecting himself for a moment before placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you towards the lavish double bed. You had insisted on a large bed, and he had granted your wish, of course, never expecting that the reason behind your request would be that he shared it so often. 

The back of your legs hit the mattress, but before he could push you onto it, Asirel found himself on his back instead as you hovered over him with a devious smirk. You were straddling his hips, slowly grinding against him as your hands loosened his tie. 

He groaned, running his hands up and down your sides as he fumbled to pull some of your clothes off as well. 

You gripped his wrists, pinning them over his head with a smooth movement that left him breathless. You clicked your tongue, gazing down at him. “Impatient, are we?” you asked teasingly, your eyes dark with desire, “maybe I should secure them with your tie to make sure you keep your hands to yourself.” 

Asirel gasped, his cock twitching at the thought of being tied up as you had your way with him. He could feel himself sinking deeper into the mattress as you squeezed his wrists, looking down on him with a familiar hunger in your eyes. It made desire coil deep inside him, knowing you could do anything to him. 

He trusted you more than anyone else. You had no reason to betray him, and although he did not know your ulterior motives or the game you were playing in the long run, he recognized the mutual benefits of your relationship. There was no one he could trust more than a person who had the power to end him but chose not to. 

You could hear the whine he tried to bite back as the fingers of your free hand traced his exposed chest. “Or maybe—” you said with a smirk, rolling over. 

Asirel blinked, bracing himself against the mattress as you looked up at him with mischievous eyes. He caught his breath after a moment, processing the reversal of your roles. You took one of his hands, guiding it to hold your wrists in place over your head. “Oh,” he breathed, his gaze flickering to your eyes again, “are you sure?”

You hummed, opening your fists to present his tie to him in a silent request for him to bind you up. “I promise not to break it,” you purred, relinquishing your control to him. 

Asirel seized it readily, taking his tie and releasing your wrists. He sat up, his gaze unwavering as he looked at you. “Strip,” he commanded, and for the first time, you obeyed him without thought. “Very good,” he said when you laid back down, his eyes roaming over your body, “Good to know you can be good when you want to. Hands over your head, pet.”

“Don’t push it,” you warned as he bound your wrists with his tie, making sure the knot was secure. The feeling of the fabric restraining you, keeping you from moving freely, made a sigh fall from your lips. 

It was nice not being in control for once and allowing someone else to take charge. You would never allow yourself to bow to Asirel’s every wish as another puppet on his strings, but here, in the privacy of your bedroom, you could enjoy the heaviness of life, its decisions and consequences lifting as you surrendered yourself to him. 

“Too tight?” he asked in a whisper, searching your gaze for any sign of discomfort. 

“You couldn’t tie me up too tight if you tried.”

He took your chin in his hands, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he leaned closer until your noses were nearly touching. “I asked you a question,” he said calmly, making you shiver despite yourself. 

You were torn between continuing to push his buttons or relaxing into the mattress and obeying. Asirel’s eyes narrowed as if he could see the gears turning in your head. He shifted, moving one of his legs to part yours and making you decide the latter. “It’s fine,” you breathed.

He hummed, leaning down to press teasing kisses on your chest. “Good,” he muttered against your skin, his hands softly caressing your sides. 

You groaned, squirming under his touch. “Come on,” you said, bucking your hips as his teeth grazed the inside of your thighs, making you burn with longing. His teasing made you consider going back on your word, ripping apart his tie to pin him down instead and do something about the bulge you saw fighting its restraints. 

One look at the desire in his eyes made you discard that idea. You could smell the pleasure on him and how much he enjoyed winding you up like this — slowing down and taking his time to shower you with kisses. It made you feel vulnerable in a way you never had before, only amplified by your restraints, and as much as the heat in you rose and demanded satisfaction, you resigned yourself to match Asirel’s pace instead.

He took his sweet time. 

“Impatient, are we?” he parroted your earlier words back at you as he kissed your neck, sucking lightly on a spot under your ear that had you reeling. 

One of his hands was buried in your hair, tugging at the strands and making you gasp as the other caressed your chest with a feather-light touch. He was kneeling in between your legs, his hips slowly grinding against you and giving you just a taste of the friction you so desperately craved. 

“Fuck,” you could not suppress a whine, hands balling into fists to keep yourself in check. “Enough with your games!”

He chuckled, tilting his head until his warm breath against the shell of your ear made you shudder. “Beg,” he whispered.

You scoffed, closing your eyes as his sweet scent washed over you. “Seriously?” 

Asirel hummed, continuing his teasing until you sighed in defeat. 

“Fine, alright,” you said, making him raise his head, a pleased smile on his face as he looked at you. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he quipped, taking full advantage of having you at his mercy.

“Please, boss.”

“So close,” he said in false sympathy, leaning down to continue his play with your senses. 

You would break soon, he knew. He could hear it in the catching of your breath and the noises tumbling from your lips. 

“Fine!” you groaned, “Enough, alright. Please.” He looked at you again, waiting. You huffed. “Please, master,” you mumbled. 

“What was that?” he smirked, “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck you!”

“You, actually,” he said, “Unless you want to stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” you groaned, feeling his smile against your skin.

Asirel sat up, shrugging the remaining clothes from his body before leaning down to kiss you again. “Ask and you shall receive,” he muttered, entering you with slow thrusts until he was buried all the way inside you. 

You moaned at the stretch, closing your eyes again at the feeling of being stuffed full with every roll of his hips. Asirel kept his thrusts steady, wrapping an arm around your back to keep you close and burying his face in your neck to muffle his soft grunts and groans. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as he picked up the pace, the bed squeaking as the quick movement of his hips made you bounce on the mattress. “Shit, ‘sirel!” you mumbled, your fists clenching around nothing as you tried to find something to hold onto. 

He freed his arm from around your back to change position. You mewled as he reached even deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over as he filled you up. His hand found yours, holding them tightly as a choked moan escaped him. 

You could hear the thundering heartbeat in his chest, matching yours as he continued pounding into you relentlessly. “Look at me,” he gasped, slowing his thrusts until your eyes fluttered open. “I want to see you— ah— I want to look into your eyes.”

“Romantic,” you chuckled, gaze filled with warmth as you looked at him. You squeezed his hand as you shuddered, eyes rolling back as you came with a long moan. 

Asirel followed a moment later, the sight of your blissed-out expression pushing him over the edge. He panted heavily, leaning down to rest his head beside yours and catching his breath.

You smiled, turning your head to kiss his cheek. Asirel hummed, drawing himself up and freeing your wrists a moment later. He rolled off of you slowly, keeping your wrists in his hands and massaging the reddened skin. 

“The ointment I have should work for vampires as well, I think,” he mused tiredly, stifling a yawn. He tried to get up, but you pulled him back against your chest with a firm pull on his waist.

“Later,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. His sweet scent made your mouth water in anticipation of his taste. For now though, you were content to have him safely tucked away against your chest. 

He was all yours, after all.

[litmot-archived]

Asirel fluff when reader first gets to the court??:33

Trust Me

Asirel Cain x Reader

The first thing you felt was the soft mattress as you slowly regained consciousness. Awaking seemed like a battle against the heaviness trying to drag you down again, and you let out a low groan as you slowly opened your eyes. 

“Finally awake, then?” said a voice beside you, making you sit up in an instant. 

Asirel sat a short distance away, holding a folder in his hands and looking up at you with a self-satisfied smile. He placed the folder aside, leaning forward to inspect you more closely. 

“Like what you see?” you teased to mask your nervousness. The room was too quiet. The scene was too peaceful and the bed was too soft. Something would happen any moment now.

Asirel narrowed his eyes at you, sitting up properly again. “I do actually, yes,” he said. “You don’t appear to be suffering from any side-effects, which is a relief. I did hear they optimized the drug used to, well—”

“Knock us out?”

“Put you to sleep,” he finished. “Welcome to your new home. This room is yours. I hope you find everything to your liking and if not, tell me and I shall have it changed.”

You looked around, focusing on the corners and trying to find anything that contradicted Asirel’s hospitality towards you. This was all too picture-perfect, you were just waiting for the truth to reveal itself.

“Were you watching me the entire time?” you asked, swinging your legs over the bed. Dizziness hit you immediately, making you wince and close your eyes.

“Of course not,” Asirel said, passing you a glass of water which you eyed wearily before rejecting. “I simply did not want you to wake up alone. You should drink.”

“I’m fine.”

“I insist.” 

You took the glass, set it down on the bedside table, and pinned Asirel to the floor in a smooth motion. He hit the ground with a surprised grunt. You waited, eyes darting across the room. 

There was nothing. No reaction to your attack. You could kill him if you wanted.

“No gas? Or needles? Nothing, really? Not even chains or ropes or something? Where’s your security?” you asked, averting your gaze to look at him again. 

Asirel raised an eyebrow. There was no fear in his eyes, but you detected slight amusement and a hint of pity. “You are my security,” he answered. “I have told you before, I’m not going to hurt you or keep you prisoner. That is not how I work with people.”

You searched his gaze, trying to find any hint of insincerity. His heartbeat was steady, and he met your gaze unflinchingly. You frowned. It all seemed too good to be true. 

“If you’re not intent on killing me, might I suggest we move this conversation to a more comfortable place? The floor hardly seems fitting.”

You sat up, letting go of him. “Well, pardon me, but I haven’t exactly been in the most welcoming places recently. I think I am allowed to be a bit cautious!”

He hummed, straightening his tie. Standing, he held out a hand to help you up as well. “I don’t blame you,” he said, leading you to the bed and sitting beside you, “I should tell you that it takes more than throwing me down to make me afraid. Are you hungry?”

“Are you offering?” you responded, licking your lips at the prospect of a meal. It had been so long since you had fed properly. 

“I am,” he said, loosening his tie and exposing his neck to you. “Don’t be too greedy. I’ve had a long day.”

You blinked. “Just like that?” you asked incredulously, “there are no special bars to protect you now. I could just” — you got closer to him, grazing your teeth along his neck threateningly — “drain you if I wanted.”

He sighed, reaching up a hand to thread delicately through your hair. “I know,” Asirel said, gently pushing your face into his neck until he felt the prick of your teeth. “This doesn’t work if we don’t trust each other.”

“Fine,” you said when you had drunk your fill, sealing his wounds. 

Asirel could feel a headache approaching from the blood loss. He rubbed his forehead, hesitating for a moment before taking the glass of water you had previously rejected, which you now presented to him with a smirk.

“I will try to,” you said, rolling your eyes at his hum of acknowledgement. “Anyway, care to show me around? Or would you prefer we do that in the morning?”

“The morning should be best—”

You snuck an arm around him, dragging Asirel onto the bed and trapping him in a hug. “Perfect, then. More time for us to exercise trust.”

He huffed, shifting in your embrace until he was comfortable. “I don’t see how this will do it, considering I am at a disadvantage here,” he said, but his eyes were already closed as you began running your hand through his hair, making him sink deeper into the bed as his body relaxed.

You chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder and listening closely as his heartbeat evened out, gently lulling you to sleep as well. “I think we’re both profiting splendidly.”

[litmot-archived]

Act I — The Proposal

Scene i — The Hospital

overview // read on ao3 // next scene

Warnings: grief/mourning, panic/anxiety attack and feelings of unreality

Asirel was hunched over, the hard metal of the chair digging into his skin. He could feel its coldness seeping into his bones, traveling to his chest where it warred with the oppressive heat spreading through his body. Cold sweat clung to him, and he shivered despite the stale warmth of the air. 

One of the white tiles in front of him was cracked. He stared at it, the spreading cold leaving behind a numbness that made his heart ache. His tie was squeezing his neck, uncomfortably tight in its chokehold. He couldn’t breathe. 

His ears were ringing, static drowning out the world around him. It had all faded to nothing as the nurse’s words hit him. Her sleek blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail that made her eyes look sharp. They studied him closely, waiting for his reaction as her eyebrows knit together in well-practiced sympathy. 

She had delivered the news he had traveled here to get. No matter how completely he tried to convince himself it was not so — as he got into the car, barking orders at his driver to go, go, go — he knew he would be too late. He knew he would get there only to receive the words he wanted to will away. He was prepared to hear them, or so he told himself, but that did not make them hurt any less. 

‘Sir, I am very sorry,’ she had said, fiddling with the crumpled edge of the paper on her clipboard as her eyes remained on him, strangely looking through him as if fixing on the word ‘son’ that must have been written in his eyes. ‘Your father—’

Memento mori, he supposed. Remember that you must die. 

It was a philosophy his father had instilled in him more than anyone else, the stoic’s life of purpose and control a perfect tether to the world when he was drowning in his power. You must die. It was a humbling thought, briefly reflecting on this inevitability as he stepped into a meeting, knowing every day might be his last. Remembering to make it count so as not to waste his time and fulfill the purpose he placed upon himself. 

In the end, he knew he needed to reconcile the idea of having the world at his fingertips with the raw vulnerability of being merely human. He could change the world. He wanted to when the time was right, but there were things outside his control that would drive him to madness if he could not let them go, unused to the feeling of sheer helplessness in the face of these unshakable certainties. 

Death was one such thing. Death he had to accept. Death he could not escape — neither his own nor that of those around him.

No matter how prepared for it he thought himself, being aware of the fact of death — its inevitability, its absolute certainty — it still came unexpected, leaving him rattled in a way he knew he should not allow himself to be. No matter how much he thought it was unable to surprise him, Asirel still wound up collapsed in one of these uncomfortable hospital chairs. 

So much for his stoicism. Memento mori. He should have chased away the feeling of being untouchable while he still had his father to guide him, reflect on the briefness of time a little more, and stave off his complex ideas for the shape of the world for later. 

Now he was here. Later was now. What would he do? 

He could already feel the air growing thinner. The grief in his chest brought forth a feeling of inadequacy. His new responsibilities were crushing him already, the fall of his father raising him to incomprehensible heights he did not know how to breathe in. He was weightless, high above the clouds, but crushed nearly into nonexistence, buried deeper than they would lower his father. 

He thought he would have more time to prepare for this. He was not ready yet to roam in these heights, not when the fall was so steep and he could hardly see the tightrope keeping him afloat. What would he do now?

The world spun around him as he raised his head, searching for answers the cracked tile could not give him. He saw his mother through the open door, standing at the foot of the bed with one arm wrapped around herself to self-soothe, wiping away silent tears with the tissue she clutched in her shaking hand. 

The black suit she wore fit the occasion in a way she could not have foreseen when she put it on this morning. Her soft brown locks were straightened to go out, knowing her husband’s lips would curl into a smile once he saw her in the evening, pulling her into his chest to play with the smooth strands he loved to feel between his fingers. 

Now she was here instead, standing in front of the cooling corpse and trying to ignore how the hair falling into her face felt like gentle caresses as her body shook with suppressed sobs. 

His sister stood beside her, expression deadly blank as she nodded to what the nurse was saying. She was listening closely, filing away the information because she knew her mother was not listening — could not listen over the sound of her heart breaking and the burning silence of her husband’s stillness — so she could tell her later, fill her in on what the hospital had told her and gently guide her through the details as she clutched a pillow. 

And him. 

Asirel felt wretched watching her neutrality, hearing the faint sound of her voice as if from underwater as she opened her mouth to ask a clarifying question. It should be him instead, standing beside his mother, taking care of things while his little sister was allowed to sob, give way to her grief, and feel the extent of her loss fully because she knew he would be there to take care of things. 

It was his job. It should be him keeping his composure, keeping a tight hold on his mind and spiraling emotions so they didn’t have to. 

But he could not pull himself together. The world kept spinning. His vision was flat. Everything felt so very far away and he could not help feeling that he would keel over any moment, crumble to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. He could not make up a single word in the nurse’s constant stream of sounds, knowing she was talking but he just couldn’t understand. He had no strength to concentrate, lead weighing down his limbs so much it took all his effort to tighten his hold on the chair to keep him from toppling over. 

He knew he should find his way back to the world around him, knew he should catch himself in this downward spiral, but every time he tried to hold onto an appearing ledge, it disappeared under his grasp and he just slipped deeper. 

His little sister was bearing the brunt of this crushing weight, but he could not stop himself from falling, slipping deeper and deeper into a void of pure panic and pain and grief until the drop was all he knew, all he could feel through the cycle of numbness and too much as the tar of the darkness around him constricted, swallowing him whole. 

He gasped, moving his hand to loosen his tie with clumsy fingers. They were trembling, barely obeying as the fabric slipped between them, feeling muted and unreal. It was the striped black and gold tie his father had gifted him, along with a deputy position — which he had earned — and a mountain of responsibilities when he had turned twenty-five. 

That mountain had just tripled. It was shaking. He was being crushed by an avalanche. 

No, this felt like a bad nightmare. One of those from which he awoke with a silent scream on his lips, drenched in sweat and shaking in fear as he heaved down gulps of breath, clutching the comforter to ground himself against the tide of his mind, trying to drag him into the ocean to drown. 

No, no. This could not be real. It did not feel real. Any moment now he would wake up, heave a sigh of relief through the sob building up in his throat, and throw open the window, taking calming breaths of the cool night air as he realized that he still had time. Time, time.

He squeezed his eyes shut. The startling pull of waking never came. He was not dragged upwards. Instead, he continued to drop, sinking deeper into this new reality of bleak, black, crushing walls, granite grappling in his chest and tearing him apart from the inside. 

He felt hollow. Color drained from the world, leaving only a flat gray as the hospital walls and the tiles and the fucking chairs on the other end of the corridor twisted before him. His mother’s black suit morphed into a mass of darkness. His sister’s bright, white-dyed hair turned to nothing but a speck of light in the distance, one of many dancing in his vision. 

He needed to get out. He needed a breath of fresh air.

Waking evaded him, and with every moment he continued to fall, drop, sink in this new reality, the thought solidified itself that this was, in fact, reality. 

This was his life now. 

This was the changed status quo he should have been preparing himself for, instead of clinging to the foolish certainty that he was above such things as death and grief when he should have known better, told himself that he knew better. 

Memento mori — except he forgot to remember. Truly remember, past the grim assurances he made himself that death was an inevitable part of life. Internalizing this sentiment was a whole other issue he had glossed over, and it was leaving him in shambles now when he should be keeping it together — for his family’s sake at least.

But he could not even do that. 

Asirel gripped the armrest, heaving himself up on unsteady feet. The world dipped, and he squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the door of the ward fall shut loudly and wondering if he was coming up from the depths of his mind, or if his senses were merely heightened before the inevitable crash. 

He would not faint. He would not. 

Cold sweat coated his forehead, making him feel stuffy and wet in his suit jacket as his white dress shirt clung to him. He took a step forward carefully, willing himself to let go of the armrest. He trailed a hand along the washed-out white wall, just in case his wobbly legs threatened to give out. He was only vaguely conscious about where he was going, the wall beside him giving him enough direction that he felt less like floating through the empty corridor. 

The entire ward was empty, a safety precaution his father had installed long ago. No doctors and nurses were rushing about. No patients were being transported from one room to another. No body bag was being wheeled down the clean, white tiles yet.

The image made his stomach turn. He clasped a hand over his mouth to swallow the nausea, listening to the ring of silence beyond the rushing and whistling in his ears. He was dead, yes. 

His father was dead. This was his reality. 

The air in the hospital ward, stale and laced with the smell of linoleum and hand sanitizer, turned suffocating. Every breath he took felt like a lungful of dust in his chest, making his head spin until he could no longer tell if he was upright at all. Light flashed in his vision, little stars of sparkling white letting him know that he was done for. Any moment he would tumble to the ground, crushed under the weight of his mind and dragged down by his heavy heart. Any moment. He was burning, falling, suffocating. 

The drop was imminent, and it would leave his insides spilling across the floor, damaged beyond repair as the cold, thin air of his newfound power vanished in his grasp, replaced with this stifling, warm nothingness. 

His hand caught on something, a ledge that did not recede. He pushed against it, stumbling over the threshold and nearly falling into the cold gust of wind that met him. 

He was on the terrace, the hospital’s smoking area. Why such a thing existed was beyond him, but he did not care as he listened to the wind, taking deep breaths of the blessedly cold air that felt like a blam to his burning insides. 

The terrace was simple, the night perhaps hiding things that would have turned the brutalist structure less dull. It was clean and decisive, entirely practical. Its dark stone furnishings were gray in the darkness, benches made of stone blocks adorning the space where visitors could sit down and breathe. Asirel paid the architecture no mind, walking past it all to lean over the edge instead, resting his arms against the thick stone that made up the railing. 

The specks of light in his vision were replaced with the glinting city lights, sparkling right before him. A mixture of yellow, white, and blue (from the approaching ambulance). The colors twisted together until he blinked his tears away, and saw them clearly once more. They were a reminder that the world was still there, very much still turning despite the tragedy playing out in room two hundred-seventeen.  

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to block out the lights he knew he had to return to soon enough. Reality. His reality. He allowed the fresh air to soothe his nerves and lessen the sharp ache in his chest. There was no escaping this. His father was dead, and responsibility fell on him.

The image of his sister returned to his mind, nodding along to the nurse, a blankness in her eyes that made his blood turncold. He hung his head in shame — responsibility fell on him — and fought to get it together again. The thought alone of stepping back inside was overwhelming, threatening him with another spiral of panic that would suck him into the void depths of his pain. His mouth was dry. 

The city lights twinkled on, and he tensed, raising his head instinctively in alarm as he heard the door to the terrace fall shut. 

He was not alone. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked, voice filtering through the oppressiveness of the night. Your tone was light but carried an edge that made him weary. The gentle question seemed wrapped in concern, hesitation at its core he could not quite grasp because you hid it well, slicing through your uncertainty with a well-practiced flick of a knife.

Asirel did not turn, frozen in place as his mind ran in circles, trying to understand if you were a friend or foe. The line was often blurry, most people changing sides frequently to further their own interests. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, waiting for your next move, and suppressing the fear cursing through him at having his back turned to someone whom he did not trust. 

If you wanted to hurt him, you could. He was in no state to defend himself. The security posted further down the corridor had no chance of reaching him in time. If you wanted, you could kill him.

It would put an end to his troubles at the very least. 

Your footsteps drew nearer, measured and steady like waves crashing on the shore. Unstoppable and relentless. You walked up beside him, leaning against the banister. 

He risked a glance, expecting to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He looked at your profile instead, your head turned to gaze at the city spreading out before you. 

Somehow, as you kept your gaze locked on it and the lights reflected in your eyes, it looked less like the world was weighing you down — less like it was happening to you, and you simply had to endure — and more like you were appraising it, eyes glancing over the lights as if checking if they were working as they should, making sure the design of reality aligned with your expectations of it.

You looked ethereal, striking with your arms loosely crossed, resting on the gray stone. He glanced at the paper cup in your hand, remembering the water dispenser near the end of the corridor, eyeing the clear liquid in it. The long black coat you wore fluttered in the breeze, but your rapt attention was unwavering, focusing on the city as you looked at it with an unreadable expression. 

Asirel was intrigued, enraptured by the air around you and your very essence. There was something about you that radiated power — vice-like control he could not help but envy — while you looked out of place against the mundane simplicity of the hospital. You seemed larger than life, a taste of the importance his father always carried creeping up on his tongue as he stared at you. The choking sorrow of death felt beneath you, the shining tiles not polished enough to catch your attention and the time not passing by sufficiently quickly as you wasted yours in here. 

He wondered briefly how you had gotten past the security posted at every entrance with strict orders to repel everyone. The question was quickly answered as he caught a glimpse of the ring on your finger, cold silver shining on the right hand holding the cup. 

A sudden pang of familiarity hit him. He had the strange impression that he had seen you before, in a picture his father showed him or from a brief encounter in the hallway of his mansion. The furrow in your brow looked familiar, and as you turned your head to look at him, he got the feeling that he had experienced the intensity of your piercing gaze once before. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you noted politely, expression somber as your lips narrowed in a thin line. You were appraising him, he knew, shrinking a little under your gaze and balling his hands into fists to hide their shaking. 

Vulnerability was a weakness, and he could not allow himself to slip so soon on his uphill climb to power. And you looked like a powerful enemy to make. You were here for a reason, and on the off chance you would be working together from now on, he did not want to give you fodder to grind him under your heel. 

You held out the paper cup for him to take. It looked more like an olive branch in the low light. “Perhaps you remember me? I thought I made a lasting impression in Switzerland from the way your eyes shone.” 

The memory flooded his mind, clicking his perception into place. The deep, rich browns of the Hotel Bellevue Palace. The sparkling chandeliers and floors polished to a shine. The rich smell of tobacco from the cigar his father smoked — a rare indulgence — and the sweet taste of the vanilla whiskey on his tongue as the caramel tones of the bar materialized in his mind’s eye. 

It was a chance encounter, a meeting that felt like it had been an eternity ago although it could not have been more than two years.

What his father had done in Switzerland he had never revealed. Asirel had accompanied him for business of his own in Bern. You had been there, sitting by the counter of the hotel bar next to the lobby, the gold and brown shimmering around you. His father had stopped — and how he had spotted you Asirel never understood because you fit into the surroundings perfectly, adorning them like thorns did a rose.

You had looked at the mountain scenery outside, absentmindedly nibbling on a gourmet pastry as you waited for your drink. When you noticed them, you had looked at his father for a long moment, barely concealing the glint of contentment in your eyes. He introduced you to Asirel, your sharp gaze making him shiver unnoticed as he held your gaze.

You had taken a sip of your drink after both of them had declined your invitation to join them, pulling out a diamond ring and pressing it into his father’s hands with the simple words ‘greetings from the eminence.’

His father had never explained. It felt unnecessary to ask now. Whatever had happened before was lifetimes away. 

Asirel took the offered cup — friend or foe? He trusted his father’s instincts — and sipped the water. Immediate relief hit him. The water was cool, grounding as it cleared his mind. The ringing in his ears subsided, the world stopped twisting as he drank some more, and the feeling of suffocation had nearly vanished by the time he emptied the cup.

“Why are you here?” he asked, no bite to his words. The subtle gratitude in his tone did not evade you, and you smiled faintly as you rubbed your hands together, warming them against the chill. 

You took a moment to answer, letting the silence linger. “I have worked closely with your father,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I would go so far as to call him a friend.”

That did not answer his question. Asirel crumpled the empty cup. “I doubt you are here out of sentimentality,” he said, pressing for an answer. A part of him was glad that you stalled, dreading the idea of returning inside, fixing his eyes on the lifeless shell that had once been a man he admired above everyone.

“Sentimentality,” you echoed, chuckling faintly. The sound felt pained as if you were amused at a cosmic joke that he was not in on, its underlying tragedy something that could only be born with lightheartedness. “What makes you think I cannot be sentimental about death? But I concede, I have ulterior motives. I am here on business, so to speak. His death is business, as much as I wish it could be entirely sentimental.” 

There is was — proof that the world kept spinning. You were the very fact incorporated, shielding your emotions to be five paces ahead, shying away from the mundane to revel in the extraordinary. Looking at a corpse in a hospital bed did not further you in any way, and Asirel was not naive enough to think that you would waste your precious time to look at the empty shell of his father. 

No, you were busy guarding his legacy. 

His father was dead, and although Asirel could break down and cry at this bitter injustice, tear out his heart, and claw at the ground in a fruitless attempt to stop reality from sinking its teeth into him, the world had already moved on.

You had already moved on. He just hoped he could keep up with the pace. 

“Well?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. He could guess what you had come here to do, assure yourself that the position his father had left vacant would be filled immediately. Make sure he would return to the room and retrieve the silver ring on his finger, commanding it to be adjusted to his size. 

“I would like to propose an alliance,” you said instead, watching as his eyes widened in disbelief. “If you would be amenable, I propose your loyalty for my knowledge. Nothing untoward, of course. Only your support when I need it and the certainty that I can count on you. I offer guidance in these— these wuthering heights,” you finished, hiding a smile at the reference. 

Asirel blinked, failing to make out the details of your expression in the darkness. “My loyalty for guidance,” he surmised, gaze falling to the ground beneath. 

The thirty-storey drop made a shiver run down his spine. He feared the fall, of course he did. That was as good a reason as any. If his father's endless hours and trice heightened security were any indication, people plummeted into the depths all the time. 

“Who are you? Mephistopheles?” 

You chuckled, feeling the first bridge built between you. “I understand you need time to ponder this Faustian Bargain, as you view it.” The humor at the requited literary reference was gone in a blink as you sobered, reminding yourself of the gravity of the situation. “It is a tough world, and it is made tougher by wanting to tackle everything on your own. Allies are never superfluous, Asirel. Your father taught me that. Think about this carefully.”

The body had not even gone cold yet, and here you were, already snatching up his replacement. The world was sickeningly fast-paced. But he supposed in this line of work — in yours, in his — there was no minute to waste. 

He had wasted enough time already. Reality could only be avoided for so long, and he had overindulged.

“We are colleagues now, I believe,” he said, holding out a hand for you to shake. If you were amused, you did not show it, taking it instantly. “A pleasure to meet you properly this time.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” you said, squeezing firmly. 

He eyed the ring on your finger, the drawing of the pentagon on it a physical symbol of the responsibility he now carried, a pillar of the structure that kept the world in order.

“Welcome to the Collective, Mr. Cain. And a special welcome to the inner circle. We look forward to working with you.”

“Thank you,” he bit out, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. 

He could only ignore reality for so long. 

[litmot-archived]

Blood Pact

Asirel Cain x Reader

“Look at you, all disheveled,” you tease, running a hand through Asirel’s hair and making him huff in annoyance. 

He is lying on the bed, trying to catch his breath. Perhaps you overindulged today, but it is good to challenge him sometimes. 

“You’ve been a very good snack,” you say, snickering when he rolls his eyes, ceasing his attempts to rise as the world spins around him. “I’ve got a gift for you, boss.”

You hand him a vial of your blood, smirking when his eyes light up, remembering the virtues of vampire blood. 

“Thank you, pet. I appreciate it.”