His Nightmare Queen (Pitch Black x Reader)

47: Bloodline

None of it felt real to you. The pain that blinded you made you snap out of reality with each wave until the soothing touch from one of the others in the room brought you back to the space. Bloodshot eyes widened with every rising sensation of jagged knives twisting within, drawing you into an atmosphere where your vision seemed to begin to darken and fade away before it would momentarily subside again. The cool cloth that occasionally patted down the hot sweat building up on your forehead had you darting your sight around the room in search of who was the source as it seemed to alter every time. The only thing that reminded you of the true reality of where you were and what you had to do was the soft ecliptic gaze to your right, unbreaking from you, telling you to give that ashen hand in your grasp another squeeze to make sure he was really there.

Limbs separated, both legs were propped up and held stationary by the arms hooked under the bend of your knees, one of soft fur and the other of downy jade feathers. Your hands grew clammy in the fists within your grip, one dripping with condensation from its chilly touch and the other grazing the skin of your grasp with gentle talons. The thin sheet once having covered what your nightshirt did not was since removed and causing the exposure of your lower half (not that you cared any longer anyway). Your head pounded so hard from deprivation of energy that you could barely hear your own sounds scraping away at your vocal cords. You almost did not register all of the soothing whispers pouring into your right ear under the updates given to you by the fairy toward your lower left.

“You’re doing amazing, hon,” Toothiana would coach briefly. “Just a little bit more to go.”

You caught your breath again by taking a few shallow inhales. Your eyes remained squinted shut throughout a majority of however long - perhaps at least thirty minutes - that you had been enduring this stage. You wanted to imagine yourself elsewhere - barefoot in a meadow of flowers perhaps, in the springtime where you could frolic freely through the tulips with the butterflies and white fuzzies off of dandelions in your hair. In such a place, your coat of sweat was from the sun pouring down on you and sticking the light fabric of a flowing white dress against your skin instead of your nightshirt. You spun in circles in your daydream like the dizziness turning you in your current state until the vision of yourself fell to the ground, and you returned back to reality with the glance at one of the others in the room with you.

You sat up straighter and tucked your chin to your chest when bearing down again, pushing also the air in your lungs and waves of nausea from your throbbing head farther away. The sunlit meadow kept at the back of your mind was occasionally interrupted by your pains as well as the voices bringing you back into the bedchamber. What seemed like an endless cycle was only proven to have forward-moving time during Toothiana’s counts aloud to ten for the seconds you kept your breath held down.

“One, two, three, four…”

Your teeth were gritted, but the version of you in the meadow behind your eyes was smiling. The building pressure that was threatening to make you black out as it moved lower brought you closer to her and where you would much rather be.

“...Seven, eight, nine, ten -”

“And breathe,” spoke the unison of both the fairy and the accented murmur at your right.

You did so as you released one breath to capture another. The blur of your watery vision gazed back over at him once more. Your tired expression met the sight of the cool cloth that was still damp from the ice water being brought to your temple again. Pitch held it there momentarily whilst also grazing the tips of his fingers through your hair, and you sunk your head back into your pillow to soak up his touch that held you where you knew you should be in the moment.

He murmured something else unintelligible in your ear as you tried to even your deep inhales, you only registering that they must have been more words of encouragement. Trembling legs felt the hot gush of dark wine-colored fluids that were almost black as they painted your inner thighs. The burning cramping of your insides forcing into the attempt at their original shape and size had you on a wavelength separate from the rest of the surrounding atmosphere. There was no peace and quiet by the glow of candlelight like you had once envisioned. Instead, there was the overwhelm of the agony dragging like claws ripping at flesh that had you momentarily frozen like a doe in headlights.