#Temptation of wolves

[writersushiii]

[payikinz]

Well well well, if it isn’t an homage to Temptation of Wolves umbrella scene 🫢

Is your heart racing? Are you short of breath? Do you feel anything? No. Not at all.

NO GAIN, NO LOVE (2024) | Ep 2

[see-arcane]

Do you think Dracula was 109% sure Jonathan wouldn't choose to walk to the wolves? Perhaps logic? "If he wanted to die, he'd have jumped by now". Arrogantly sure of being too scared to as much as that dwellers of the city cannot enter the feelings of the hunter? Would he stop him/the wolves if Jonathan had chosen them?

He was at least 99% sure Jonathan wouldn’t do it, I think. He’s held on this long!

…But I’m also willing to bet he was ready to snatch Jonathan back if he tried to head out anyway. Seeing as Dracula and the Brides have also been holding on all this time. They won’t be shorted at the finish line.

[thebookishcrypt]

AUGUST MUSIC WRAP-UP

These is the new music I listened to in August! ARTIST: Emily Mei SONG: Mania ARTIST: Within Temptation SONG: Bleed Out ARTIST: Written by Wolves SONG: Altar ARTIST: Bludnymph SONG: Lights Out ARTIST: Bludnymph SONG: Watch Me (these are songs that are not new to me but I’ve been in the mood to play them often recently) ARTIST: Shadow Age SONG: Silaluk ARTIST: J. Alvarez SONG: Dos…

[taeyongdoyoung]

lobos, we cannot stop hunting

summary: the full moon comes and you insist on staying with your best friend despite his valiant warnings to make you run away from him... pairing: werewolf!chan x reader genre: smut, fantasy, best friends to lovers warnings: *takes a deep breath* heat suppressants, hugging, werewolf transformation, kissing, making out, hair-pulling, eating out, begging, fingering, overstimulation, consent is established multiple times, slightly mean dom!chan but overall a sweetheart, praise+degradation, size kink (duh), unprotected sex on the floor, knotting, breeding kink, mating *exhales* author's note: happy halloween, baby stays!!! 🐺 make sure to get some yummy treats and always remember to say the magic words please and thank you 😈 but ESPECIALLY please as the king of the wolves taught us 😉🛐 word count: 1.8k

"It's a full moon tonight," your werewolf best friend Chan says.

"So?" you murmur, not even bothering to look up from your phone. Those F1 reels that keep popping up on your feed are so interesting! "You've got your pills and stuff? You'll be fine, same as always."

"I ran out, actually," Chan scratches the back of his head nervously.

You put down your phone. Sorry, sexy F1 guys, you can wait.

"Can't you get more?" you ask him.

"No, my doctor is out of town. It's his anniversary with his wife and his phone is turned off."

"Goddamnit, Chan, and you tell me that now?" you are immediately worried about your best friend.

Before he started these pills, Chan told you that the full moon was like really bad on him. As in, he was completely out of control and had these...urges that he had to take care of by himself. Basically, he was in a lot of pain. He's been using these pills for the last two years and they've been working miraculously. Chan was pretty much like a human during the usually dangerous for werewolves full moon. Thankfully, his doctor has been very helpful in giving him plenty of these amazing pills.

"I'm sorry...I thought I had one left but I must have miscalculated."

"Chan, I keep telling you to write these stuff down in advance," you shake your head. "What are you going to do tonight?"

"Suffer through it, I guess. I was just giving you a heads-up so you can get out of here...like right about now."

"What? No way I'm leaving you alone!" you argue passionately. "What if you die?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I won't. But you don't get it, without my pills, I could unwittingly put you in danger. My best chance to make sure I'm not a menace to civilized society is to lock the door and tie myself up or something."

"That sounds horrible!" you cry out, feeling intense sympathy for your best friend. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"You have to!" Chan insists. "I would hate myself if I hurt you."

"You won't!" you keep trying to persuade him. "I trust you more than anyone else in the universe."

Chan shakes his head, still hesitant.

"Please, you should leave before the moon comes up."

Little does he know it has already begun to rise...

"No, I'm not leaving you," you keep saying and wrap your arms around him.

Chan desperately tries to push you away. But it is too late.

As the moon's power grows, so does his. The only thing that prevents you from continuing to embrace him is his oncoming transformation. Your arms fall weakly to your side as you witness the impossible. His generally tender, adorable features quickly turn into sharp, wolflike and kind of intimidating ones, if you have to be honest. But this is your best friend, your Chan, you keep reminding yourself. And all the fear disappears from your body. As you kneel down next to him, you run your hand through his soft fur, trying to pet him.

He initially snarls and tries to scare you off but the more you insist, the more he relaxes under your gentle touch. God, you can't believe he was afraid he'd harm you. He's just...a big puppy.

You can't resist the temptation and you hug him again. He's so fluffy you're gonna die! And then, the unimaginable happens. He fucking purrs! Oh dear, if you had already been having a hard time trying to hide your feelings for your best friend, then seeing him like this would surely be your demise.

Then, unexpectedly, he shifts back to his human form, taking you by surprise. One, because that was faster than you'd expected. Two, because he's entirely naked, but doesn't seem perturbed by it. You try your best to look him in the eyes because uh...you're still not sure where this is going.

"Please, go, I don't think I can control myself any longer," Chan begs.

"Control what?" you're so confused. "I already witnessed you in your wolf form, you seem pretty chill."

"It's not my wolf form you should be scared of," Chan warns darkly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you don't get out of my sight in the next ten seconds, I'll fuck you until you pass out. And maybe even after that."

Oh? Wait...OH!!!

"Was that supposed to be a threat or a promise?" you quirk your eyebrows at him.

"Hold on, don't tell me you're actually excited by the prospect?" Chan wants to make sure.

"I mean...don't threaten me with a good time," you shrug calmly.

Chan kneels next to you, grabbing your hands tightly.

"I'm serious right now, don't play with me."

"What makes you think I'm not serious? I trust you, I want you, I lo- Uh, I like you a lot, whatever you do, that won't change," you mentally curse yourself for almost saying the big L-word. You hope he didn't catch that.

Judging from Chan's expression, he seems pretty satisfied with your statement.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," he whispers and kisses you harshly, biting your lips and making a mess.

Your mouths are linked by an unending streak of saliva, but honestly you couldn't care less as he claims you, pushing his tongue deeper down your throat, gripping your hair with his fingers for better access. You are already melting. You spoke too soon. You are definitely not ready for this. But you wouldn't be able to make him stop, even if you wanted to.

"Last chance," Chan breaks the kiss to give you the opportunity to back out. To get out of here while you still can.

"Do your worst," you challenge him recklessly and he kisses you again, even harder than before if that is possible.

You know that your best friend, despite his shy and cute demeanour, is physically stronger and bigger than you, but seeing him like this, completely losing control is such a thrill you make sure to commit the picture to memory as vividly as you can.

Chan takes off your clothes in a hurry and just like a hungry wolf, attacks your pussy. And starts devouring it as if it's his last meal on Earth. He doesn't even make the effort to get to the couch, which is so close. He just takes you right there, on the floor. You shake uncontrollably, but he grips your thighs to stop you from moving.

"Please, please, please," you keep repeating even though you have no idea what you're asking for. For him to keep going? For him to stop? You don't know anymore.

"I like it when you beg," Chan smirks against your folds and dives back in, swimming in your water.

It doesn't take you long to burst, completely letting go for him.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he praises you, not giving you time to recover and tracing circles around your entrance with his big fingers.

"No, you," you whisper weakly, trying to make him slow down by pushing his hand away. Needless to say, your efforts are in vain. "I'm s-sensitive."

Chan laughs cruelly.

"You can take it," his words are meant to be reassuring but they're not, as he sticks his finger inside of you.

It's just one but it's already so thick you are beginning to lose your mind.

"C-chan, p-please," you cry for him.

"What is it, sweetheart? You want another?" he mocks your lack of coherence and adds a second finger without waiting for your approval.

"N-no, I c-can't," you shake your head desperately.

"Yes, you can," Chan seems fully convinced, adding a third finger. "You're so tiny, gotta stretch you up real good to be able to take my cock next. Don't you want that, babygirl?"

"Yes, I want it," you are quick to agree and do your best to relax for his big fingers.

"Gonna let me take this sweet pussy with my wolf cock? Claim you as mine? Give you my pups?" he asks gently, his unrestrained actions in complete contrast with his sweet words.

"Yes, yes! Gonna let you breed me like the stupid bitch I am," you answer, degrading yourself in the process.

"That's what I like to hear, darling," Chan praises you and makes you come again on his fingers.

You are almost about to pass out. But somehow you manage to hold on for the next part. You want to feel it. Every second of it.

"Are you sure?" he asks once again, melting your heart.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reaffirm your belief in him.

Chan doesn't wait for a second offer and slides his cock inside of you. Fucking hell, if you thought his fingers were pretty huge, his manhood is on a whole different level. You try to adjust to his monstrous size and focus on his beautiful eyes instead. He's still your Chan, your sweet-

"Fuck, your pussy's so small, gonna rip you in half," Chan grunts loudly.

Okay, not so sweet after all.

"Please, don't. Or do, it's fine by me," you attempt to make a joke.

He laughs and kisses you again, going in deeper. You wrap your hands around his neck in a tremendous effort to ground you, help you remain conscious through it all.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Chan keeps talking meanly. "Want me to ruin that tiny pussy of yours?"

"Yes, yes, I want it all," you repeat mindlessly, not caring about the consequences anymore.

Then, as if by some miracle, you feel his cock growing even more while inside of you. Is that even possible? You thought it was just a myth.

Luckily, you're wetter than ever and your pussy easily swallows his knot.

"Gonna fuck you full of my cum, make you my mate, is that okay?" Chan wants to be sure.

"It's okay, Chan, I'll be your mate," you promise, not even sure what that means. But whatever it is, you're fine with it, as long as it's with Chan...

Then, he releases his wolf seed inside of your pussy, making you feel so full, so warm, so complete.

"Take it, baby, I know you can," he reassures you and you do your best to accept his overflowing victory.

It is a total mystery how you still haven't passed out. But you're grateful for it. You'd like to treasure this moment forever.

"I don't think I'll be able to let go of you anytime soon," Chan chuckles softly, still inside of you.

"That's alright, I think I can get used to this," you respond happily, kissing him again.

"Great. 'Cause I don't plan to ever stop hunting you, my sweet little prey," Chan vows.

"I am but a willing victim to whatever it is the full moon did to you," you smile contentedly.

"And if it's not just the full moon?" Chan asks, biting your earlobe playfully with his sharp teeth. "What if I want to have my way with you every night?"

"Who needs sleep anyways?"

The End

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Three: just as much of a traitor as Judas

tw: minor threats, abuse mention, wounds

“Caught this lamb sneaking ‘round while I was tryin’ to take a piss.” 

The masked stranger’s voice is severe but falls shorter than your father’s tone usually does. It does not bite quite as hard—instead, it nips away at you, taking little chunks with it. Still, you flinch all the same as his boots kick up dirt beside you, pacing impatiently with his arms crossed as he glowers at you over the cloth covering his nose. 

“Don’t mind Riley. He just doesn’t like strangers is all.” 

Shifting on your knees, you settle on your haunches before you can force your eyes to focus on the man on your left again. There’s the urge to lower your head as if before a king, or you’re back in the pews in that bloodstained church, but you fight that impulse as you fold your aching hands in your lap. That unassuming smile is still on his lips and the dissonance it stirs in your brain is frightening. Is he truly smiling or only flashing his teeth in warning? 

“Though, I am curious,” he continues as he taps the brim of his hat on the palm of his hand. “What are you doing out here? Bit late for a stroll. Rather… brave of you to come so close to a camp of unknown folk while you’re all by yourself.” 

“Rude,” you correct. “I-It was rude of me to… trespass. I should’ve known to stay away. I’m sorry, mister, I didn’t mean anything by it. I—well—I should get going. I’ll l-leave you gentlemen alone, I swear.”

There’s a jolt that reverberates through your legs as you attempt to find the strength to push yourself to your feet, but that vanishes the moment the man holds his hand up. Ivory light catches on the silvery calluses on his palms. A hard working man; or so you’d say if Mr. Beckett’s words weren’t still haunting your brain. His rough skin comes from the wood grip of his revolver and the soft throats of unsuspecting victims. There is nothing about this man that doesn’t remind you of the fact he��s a killer; not even that amicable smile.

“Now hold on a moment,” he urges, “you’re not really a stranger though, are you?” His teeth flash brighter than you think is humanly possible as he chuckles and glances at the men that slowly creep around you. “No, we saw you in the saloon, didn’t we? Skittish thing, you are, knocking over your stool. Lost all the change in your pocket and didn’t even stop as the bartender yelled after you. Must’ve been in a real hurry.” 

The change. You were right, though that doesn’t do you any good right now. Still, it stings knowing that something so trivial created a domino effect—that something so simple led you into a den full of wolves. Had you been more careful, you could be sitting next to your mother’s empty seat right now. 

“I… I had to get home to my daddy, he was waiting on me. He’s—uhm—waiting for me at home again. He’ll start to worry if I’m out too long.” Though you’re not sure if it’s entirely truthful, you throw that last bit in as a desperate attempt to notify these men that there is someone looking out for you. That someone will notice if you don’t turn up. 

Don’t you dare return until you do. 

Or, so you hope. 

Your words are as transparent as the stained glass in your father’s church. It’s ignored and completely bypassed in favor of asking you for your name. There’s a small temptation to lie; to create an alias as a way to preserve yourself in whatever way possible. You almost do, until your father’s words bleed from your memory—everything he quoted from The Bible about lying—so you swallow your fear and mutter your name as if it’s a curse. 

“John Price,” the man—this criminal—introduces properly. He holds out his hand for you to shake and you witlessly accept. He doesn’t grab your hand, but instead your wrist where he twists it until your cracked knuckles are on display for all prying eyes to see. His hands are oddly warm compared to you. Superheated enough that he could melt you if he wished. “Looks like you’re quite the fighter.” 

There’s an odd cordolium that strikes you with almost as much force as your father usually does. Unrelenting like the floods in spring, your stomach twists at the notion that someone would look at your wounds and see it as your fault. 

(But they are your fault, aren’t they? You said as much to Mr. Beckett.) 

“I’m not,” you say, tone dripping with desperation. “Please, sir, I really ought to be getting home. It-It’s getting late and my daddy, he-” 

“You know,” John Price interjects, “folk sometimes think women aren’t capable of much. Better if they stay home with the children or doing simple housework. If you’re a society lady, anyway, but out here in the heartlands… well, that’s a different story, isn’t it? You hear all about women murdering their sweethearts, or sneaking around where they shouldn’t.” 

Your mouth fills with cotton as his grip on your wrist stays firm. John Price’s words are dark with a rather canorous—albeit gruff—voice, but his implications leave your tongue feeling arid. 

“Are you saying that… You think that I… would hurt someone?” It’s hard to get the words out, but you force them through your teeth anyway. 

He cocks an eyebrow. “Am I?” 

The masked fellow—Riley?—scoffs as his heavy feet kick at the dirt. “C’mon Price. Just take care of ‘er and get on with it.” 

“Dunno, she doesn’t seem like much trouble,” a smooth voice challenges from somewhere behind you. The speaker captures John Price’s attention for a split second before his eyes are back on you. “Like you said, just a lamb, right?” 

“Is Kyle right about you? How much trouble are you?” he asks. 

Your bottom lip twitches. “I-I try not to be any,” you assure. 

Everything swells within an instant. The flames licking at your back roar and crackle in tune with John Price’s chuckling, and even the coyotes howling seem to crescendo with him. Finally, he releases your wrist as he replaces his hat on his head and you find your left thumb running over the delicate skin just beneath your palm. As he adjusts the brim, he opens his mouth to say something only for his lips to snap shut. Something seems to catch his eye as his gaze wanders down over your neck and to your chest. Your heart ceases in your ribcage like a fish swaying in dead water. 

A flinch forces your muscles to tense as John Price reaches a hand toward your throat. You want to close your eyes as you await your death. Asphyxiation isn’t how you want to go, but you suppose there are worse ways to be disposed of. Yet, there is no clenching of fingers or bulging of eyes—instead, this man gently tugs on the delicate gold chain around your neck, allowing his eyes to settle on the charm attached to it. 

On the crux of your breasts sits a dainty gold cross. Usually hidden behind your blouse, it now glints in the firelight with unabashed glory. For a moment, you are transported back in time when this nostalgic piece of jewelry used to sit upon your mother’s neck. Somehow, it always seemed more distinguished on her than it ever did on you. She wore it day and night—she even wore it in her casket. Hands folded on her stomach and eyes sealed tight, it didn’t seem to shine as bright when tied to her corpse. 

Your grubby nine year old fingers had slipped it off of her neck before they buried her. If your father had ever realized, you’re certain he would have buried you with her that day, but you did not take it out of avarice. She was—after all—your mother; don’t you deserve to carry a piece of her with you? Something more than the blood stained clothes she left behind? 

“Are you a woman of God?” John Price asks. 

You nod. “I am. My… My daddy’s the preacher here in town.” 

Humming, he drops the chain before returning his attention to your hands. This time, he flips both of them over so all your sore and sorry knuckles are on display. He scrutinizes them. Studies the way the skin splits open like he’s contemplating taking a taste—nothing but a scavenger interested in the leftover scraps of you. 

“Please sir,” you beg once more. “I promise I won’t make any more trouble. I’ll go home and you’ll never see me again.” 

John Price shakes his head as he relinquishes your hands back to you. When he stands, he towers over you like a tree does an ant. An infinitesimal being who’s already well accustomed with the crane of her neck. “You’re not going home.” 

Your fear is drowned out by the protest of the other men around you. They’re short and sharp quips that have John Price glaring at them with narrow eyes. You never thought you’d find yourself agreeing with such men—and especially not so quickly—but even your exhale of disapproval slices through their murmurs. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Riley hisses as he turns his back to John Price. 

“Please sir, I won’t speak a word,” you attempt to convince. “No one will ever know I saw you here, a-and we’ll pretend like this whole thing never happened.” 

“I bet you’re real good at that, yeah? Pretending as if things never happened,” John Price quips. “Is that what your daddy makes you do when he beats you like that? Act like it never happened so he can send you into town to buy his liquor?” 

When you swallow, it’s nothing but icicles piercing your throat. “He… He doesn’t hurt me.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snaps. “Christ, I can see the way your eye is swelling up already.” 

Adrenaline has been seeping through your pores so viciously that you had forgotten all about everything your father had subjected you to before this. An instinctively protective hand raises to your cheek where your fingers prod at the tender skin. It smarts something fierce, yet you bite back your wince as your eyes focus back on John Price’s boots. 

You don’t realize just how quiet things have grown until one of the logs being consumed by the flames suddenly cracks. It splits and settles, sending sparks swirling up in the air high above your head before they flicker out like snuffed out stars. There is no more protesting from the men around you; not even the faintest huffs of disapproval. They’ve witnessed your marred skin and smelled the wet iron that seeps from it, yet they can now finally see the infection itself. The way it festers within you, ready to consume you whole lest something is done about it first. 

John Price looks ready to rip the rot out of you with his bare hands. 

“Do you have anywhere you can go? Someone in town who will take care of you besides him?” he asks with so much consideration in his voice he sounds like a different man entirely. 

It’s a laughable question, and you would have let a titter slip past your lips if it wasn’t for the fear that still grips your heart. There are some people who would take you under their wing as if pitying a flightless bird. Mr. Beckett, for example. But your father’s influence reaches far and wide within Penmosa. You wouldn’t subjugate anyone to that type of torture. 

You shake your head. 

John Price hums. “Looks like you’re sticking with us then, little lamb.” 

Somehow, the only protest comes from you. “You don’t have to do that. It’s fine, really, I-”

“It’s not permanent,” he interjects. “No offence miss, but you hardly look roughened enough for the trails we take out here anyway. Are you familiar with Blackpeak?” 

You nod. “Mr. Beckett said that’s the town that… that you’re wanted in,” you answer just as honestly as you do awkwardly. 

He chuckles. “Yeah well… then you’re familiar with Grand Hollow then? It’s a big city. I’m sure you folks around here are familiar with it. It’s on the way to Blackpeak, which is where we’re headed. I’ve got an associate there who can find you work and housing. You could start living. Really living.” 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at John Price as if he’s a prophet. He says it so simply—you’d always thought an offer like this would come pleonastically. Salvation. It’s supposed to come at the tail end of a sermon where your father directs you and the entire congregation to bow their heads and repent for the opportunity of being saved. Truly saved. This inured cowboy—or rather, outlaw—before you hardly seems to be the epitome of Jesus Christ Himself, but perhaps he is your burning bush. 

There is, after all, a fire at your back. 

“You’d… why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me,” you say in disbelief. 

John Price shrugs. “I’ve done more for people who’ve deserved it less.” 

This must be some sort of mendacity. Nothing but a trick of the light or your ears playing games with you. Mr. Beckett told you these men were murderers. Thieves who would steal away your life before you made sense of the blade in your gut. Yet, instead of salivating at the sight of your wounds, John Price seems to have softened. 

“I… I don’t… Thank you,” you stutter. 

He gives you a curt nod in response before his eyes dart behind you. “Soap, get her a blanket. And some food, while you’re at it. Can hear her stomach growling from here.” 

The rest of the night passes you by in a cocainized blur. You’re able to make sense of the cotton blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and the too-tough deer jerky that makes your jaw and teeth ache as you grind it between your molars, but you fall short of truly being able to feel it. The heat of the roaring fire, the susurrus of the men as they discuss what exactly to do with you—they’re all abstract concepts. Ideas you try to catch in the grey matter of your brain just for the holes in your net to be too big. It slips like water between fingers. Flour from a sieve.  

When your eyelids grow too heavy to hold them up anymore, Soap—who you’ve also heard be called Johnny, but really you’re too terrified to refer to the man at all—provides you with a canvas tarp and a few extra spare blankets. No one really speaks to you, except for John Price. The other men look at you like you’re some wounded animal, one they’re afraid will jump out to bite them as if you’re the one with the repeaters and bandoliers. 

As if you’re the one with your face plastered on parchment with the words Dead or Alive beneath your name. 

Your sleep is intermittently broken throughout the night by someone adding more logs on the fire. They clank together as soot squeaks beneath the pressure, forcing you to jolt awake. It’s a different man each time, and still they all mumble for you to go back to sleep when they catch your eyes fluttering open at the intrusion. 

Morning dawns with soft periwinkle clouds and an aroma of black coffee. The robust scent rouses you from your sleep where you’re faced with a pile of dying embers and John Price kneeling over the pit as if to lay them to rest. He fusses over a small pot that babbles with boiling water as he fixes himself a cup of coffee. 

“Morning, lamb,” he greets. 

You blink a few more times before you get the strength—or rather, the courage—to sit up. Every muscle and bone in your body screams at you. It twists and cries at the unfair treatment it received from the previous day, both from your father and from your unfortunate decision to sleep on the cold hard earth rather than back in your vacant bed. Shivering fingers paw at the back of your sore neck as you try to soak up what little warmth remains in your blankets. 

“Sleep well?” he asks softly. 

“No worse than usual,” you quip, which earns you a tired chuckle. 

“Well, I’m afraid it’s all you’re going to get for the day. We’ll be leaving soon.” 

His words hit you like a rising tide. Water slowly lapping at your feet before swelling into waves that threaten to knock you to your knees. 

“I can’t believe I’m really doing this,” you breathe. 

John Price hums as he settles next to the dying fire. His pot still bubbles away, but he now nurses his own tin cup between the palms of his hands. You can see the way the warmth melts his exterior, but it’s still not enough to reach his eyes. 

“I thought you’d be more excited,” he notes. 

“Excited?” you repeat sourly. How insane of him to think you’d feel giddy over leaving everything you have ever known behind you to rot in the dust. 

He shrugs. “Usually people are eager to leave the people they hate.” 

Absentminded fingers curl around the golden cross of your necklace. He uses such a strong word to attempt to explain your emotions. Hate. Disdain. Abhor. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such things for anyone in your entire life—least of all your father. 

“I don’t hate him,” you correct. 

“Oh, you do,” John Price scoffs. “You just don’t realize it yet.” 

Despite your narrowing eyebrows, you do your best to hold off a glare at this scoundrel. He only smiles in response as he holds up his cup. 

“Coffee?” He takes a sip from the cup when you shake your head. “Right, we’ll be leaving in twenty minutes. Should make peace with your… situation before we leave, yeah?” 

John Price wanders off and leaves you alone to defrost next to the dying remains of the fire beside you. You allow yourself to soak up the morning for only a few moments before you’re putting yourself to work. You roll your blankets up the same way you watched Kyle—the gentleman who attempted to defend you last night—roll them, and when you can’t get it quite as tight as he can, he relieves you of that duty with a smile before wandering off to his horse. 

The air is strange this morning. It pulses with each beat of your heart as you stand in the center of a now dilapidating camp, looking at the men around you. Only a handful of hours ago you were sitting at the dining table with your father. Now look at you. No better than an apostate to him, wandering off with strange men. Just as much of a traitor as Judas. 

You’re yanked out of your thoughts when a bag is dropped at your feet. Yelping, you spin your body until you’re face to face with Riley. He looks no less intimidating now in the pale dawn light than he did last night in the shadows. You still have yet to see him without that bandana obscuring the bottom half of his face, but the hairs standing up on the back of your neck remind you that you ought to not ask about it. 

Instead, you bring your attention to the floral printed carpet bag that sits in the dirt next to you. Yellowed lilies dance among green threads as the canvas collapses in on itself like it can hardly stand its own weight. 

“What’s this?” you question. 

“Your bag, isn’t it?” Riley deadpans. 

Throwing a cautious glance at the mountainous man in front of you, you quickly kneel and begin to rummage through the contents. An odd palpitation rips through your heart when you recognize your own belongings within this bag—your bag. You recognize it now, flowers and all. A gift from your maternal grandmother when you turned six. She had promised you that one day you’d go out to see the world with your mother. Her promise hasn’t exactly bore fruit the way you wanted. 

There’s everything you need to live shoved inside this bag. Your dresses, chemises, pantalets, even your combs. They’re all shoved in haphazardly with no concern at all for the neat way you were certain you had folded them previously, but you make no mention of it as you zip the bag closed. 

“Where did you get this?” you question as you stand back to your feet. 

Riley raises an eyebrow. “Where do you think?” 

Somehow, you manage to swallow the lump in your throat without choking on it. “Did… Did you do anything to him?” 

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he replies as he turns his back to you. 

As the boys finish wrapping up camp, you wander the area with your carpet bag in hand. Twigs snap beneath your feet and mourning doves chirp upon ramulose trees and bushes as you peer out over the horizon. The campsite rests at the top of a large hill, giving you a perfect view of the earth below you. Penmosa looks just as small as it's always been, and you can see the sheep in the pasture lazily roam as they chew on fresh spring grass and bleat. Mr. Beckett’s chickens are out again and enjoying their morning stroll and you can’t help but laugh as you watch a carriage pass them by, scaring them and causing them to flap their wings to get away. 

Then, of course, there’s the steeple of your father’s church. Faded painted wood stands proudly above every other building in town like hands reaching up to Heaven. How proud that building is. So cavalier for something that’s soaked in blood. You find yourself thinking an unchristian thought, but you hope that steeple tumbles like The Tower of Babel. 

It’s strange to think that you’ll be leaving this town behind. Throwing it away for a chance to wander off with strange men on the shaky promise of a better life. How can something feel wrong and right at the same time? What brutal moral conflict have you subjugated yourself to? Why aren’t you as scared as you know you should be? 

“You ready, little lamb?” John Price asks from somewhere behind you. 

You allow yourself to stare out at the town for only a moment longer before turning around to face him. He stands with his hat donned and thumbs tucked next to his belt buckle as he watches you with curiosity. 

“Of course,” you reply, though your tone argues otherwise.  Just as you take your first step, the church bells begin to chime. Raucous and clear, they call you to you. They ring, and ring, and ring, and still you walk. You pay no mind to your father or his bells; not even as they beg.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified for updates

[novlr]

A quick guide to animal symbolism:

Animals have a long history of symbolism that varies between cultures and customs. As literary tropes develop, some animal symbolism has become universally recognised in the western literary canon. Here are some examples you can use in your writing to give subtext, develop motifs, or promote your thematic content.

🐥 Birds: freedom, hope, escape 🦁 Lions: strength, courage, royalty 🐶 Dogs: loyalty, devotion, protection 🐱 Cats: independence, stealth, mystery 🐺 Wolves: intelligence, nature, wildness 🦊 Foxes: cleverness, cunning, deception 🐍 Snakes: temptation, evil, deceit 🦋 Butterflies: transformation, change, new beginnings 🦉 Owls: wisdom, knowledge, mystery 🦅 Eagles: strength, freedom, nobility ◾ Ravens: death, mystery, the unknown 🕊️ Doves: peace, love, purity 🐻 Bears: resurrection, strength, power, new life 🤘 Bulls: virility, sovereignty, wealth

[nosyp]

Crowned by Desire

Chapter 1

A/N = This was inspired by @kupidachillea, pls check out her work too🙏

Warning = dark, yandere, toxic stuff, read at ur own risk PLEASE

Pairings = Greek Gods x reader

Summary = Thrown into the realm of gods, you become the center of their dangerous intrigue. Some see you as a temptation, others as a threat... but what will you become in their immortal world?

Word count = 1.2k words

Story down below 👇 (READ AT UR OWN RISK PLEASEEEE)

You were beautiful. Your life was pretty much amazing. You had food, shelter and clothes, you pretty much had everything you needed. Oh how you wished you could go back…

It all changed when you found yourself trapped in the realm of the gods.

At first, you thought it was a dream. One minute, you were walking down the street, the sun shining on your face, a soft breeze ruffling your hair. The next, a wave of blinding light enveloped you, pulling you into a world far beyond your understanding. This place wasn’t like Earth. It was something ancient, untouchable, dark.

You took a step forward. And another, and another. One foot after the other, you gradually got closer. You could hear a cacophony of voices behind the door. And finally… using all your might, you pushed the door open… only to reveal a whole new area. 

And it was… the gods.

At first, you couldn't believe your eyes. The moment you stepped through the threshold, you were met with a huge palace, glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Columns of gold and marble stretched high into the heavens, and the air buzzed with an unnatural energy. It was one that made you feel small, insignificant. 

The gods were real. They weren’t just stories and myths from a book. They were here, in front of you, with… their eyes trained on you like a hungry pack of wolves waiting for their prey.

Apollo, the ever-so-radiant god of the sun, was the first to approach. His golden hair shimmered with every move of his very being, and his eyes, those eyes… saw right through you, as if he could read every thought and desire in your mind. He smiled at you, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. "Ah, a new guest," he murmured, voice smooth like honey, but with an edge of something darker beneath. "How... quaint. Who might you be?"

You opened your mouth to say something, to demand an explanation, but the words died in your throat. Then the moment you tried to open your mouth, Zeus just had to make his presence known with a thunderous clap. The room seemed to shake as he stepped forward, his large, commanding figure overshadowing everyone around him. His gaze was both terrifying and enthralling as he took you in with an almost imperceptible smirk.

"You don't belong here," he rumbled, his voice a mixture of power and amusement. "You should go, while we still let you."

Before you could even respond, another God appeared from behind you. Hades. His eyes were like two burning embers, glowing with a strange intensity. He observed you with the same cool detachment he reserved for souls, but something in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“Wait! I think we should… keep them,” he says, with a peculiar tone.

What the? Why would they want to keep you? You were practically nothing compared to them.

Eros, the god of love, smirked as he walked past, brushing a finger along your cheek. A shiver ran down your spine. "Don’t you see? She’s special," he said with a chuckle, his voice smooth but edged with cruelty. "In a world of gods, she’s a rarity. The temptation, the ultimate prize." His lips twisted into something wicked, a stark contrast to the sweetness his domain implied.

The temptation? Your heart pounded as you silently questioned his words. What did he mean?

Before you could dwell on it, a sharp voice echoed through the grand hall, shaking you to your core.

“WHO IS THAT?”

All heads turned toward the staircase. Hera stood at the top, her figure illuminated by the divine glow of the palace. Her presence was intense, her piercing gaze like a blade.

Her finger pointed directly at you, her voice dripping with venom. "Who dares bring that... thing here?"

The room tensed. You swallowed hard, heat rising to your face as Hera's fury bore down on you.

“Woah, woah! Wait a second,” Hermes interjected, stepping forward with his usual carefree grin and a mock air of surrender. “Let’s not go burning the palace down just yet, Hera.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. Hera’s sharp gaze flicked to him, silencing whatever joke he was about to follow up with.

Your mouth acted before your brain could catch up. "Y-Yeah, Hera... maybe there’s been a misunderstanding?” You winced at how small your voice sounded, but what else could you do?

Her eyes snapped back to you, fiery and unrelenting. "Silence!"

The room was silent for a moment, the air crackling with unspoken energy. Hera’s piercing glare held steady, but it was clear the others were pondering what to do with you.

Zeus stepped forward, his imposing frame radiating authority. "Enough," he commanded, his thunderous voice cutting through the tension. "This mortal is here, whether by fate or folly. The question is… what shall we do with her?"

His words sparked a ripple of murmurs among the gods. Some exchanged curious glances, while others looked at you like a puzzle to be solved—or prey to be devoured.

"Send her back," Hera snapped, her tone sharp and unyielding. "She’s a nuisance at best, a danger at worst."

"Now, now," Dionysus chimed in with a sly grin, stepping closer to you. His gaze lingered in a way that made your skin crawl. "Why waste such… potential? What if we kept her?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eye betrayed darker intentions. "As a servant... or perhaps a plaything?"

Your heart dropped. Plaything? You took an instinctive step back, your hands trembling at your sides.

Hades, who had remained silent up until now, raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Interesting suggestion," he mused, his voice low and smooth. "But a mortal in our realm... as anything more than a servant? It’s unprecedented."

Apollo leaned casually against a nearby pillar, his golden aura shimmering faintly. "Unprecedented doesn’t mean impossible," he said, his voice laced with amusement. His gaze flickered to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "She could prove... entertaining."

"Entertaining?" Hera’s voice was practically a roar, her fury reigniting. "You would reduce our divine realm to a circus for a mortal?"

Hermes cut in, raising his hands in mock surrender once more. "Relax, Hera. We’re just brainstorming here. No one’s decided anything… yet."

"But I think we all agree on one thing," Zeus interjected, his booming voice silencing the growing bickering. His eyes locked onto you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "She’s not leaving. Not yet."

The room went still. Every gaze turned to you, their collective attention making your breath hitch.

"Let’s see," Zeus continued, his tone contemplative. "Perhaps she can prove her worth. If she’s to remain here, she’ll need to serve a purpose. A servant, a messenger... or something else entirely." His smile widened, but it wasn’t comforting. "Let’s see what fate has in store for our unexpected guest."

A/N = I'm probs js gonna short-short chapters for this series... PLS FEEDBACK IF U CAN

[exhaslo]

Over-Time Ch9

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4,Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8

Warning: MINORS DNI, sexual thoughts, smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff, touch starved, grinding

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You did it.

Exhausted and a little burnt out, but none the less, you did it.

It was the night of the Fall Banquet and you were currently finishing with your dress. You had wanted to arrive earlier to make sure everything was fine, but Miguel insisted otherwise. Which thank god because you needed the extra sleep.

As you worked on your hair, you could hear your door bell ring. It was far too early for Miguel to be here. Perhaps it was your landlord? As you went to the door, to your surprise, it was Miguel.

"Ah! M-Miguel, it's early. I'll hurry-"

"No need. I just wished to have you a little to myself before we face the wolves," He said with a light chuckle as he shut the door behind him, "What a cute little place you have."

"Thank you and sorry for the mess. I didn't expect you so early!" You whined, trying to pick up some stuff you had scattered on your table.

"Please, it's fine. I did spook you," Miguel hummed, eyeing you in the dress, "I can't wait for everyone to see you that you're mine."

"Hm? Oh, would you like a drink?" You asked, not hearing his whisper.

"I'm fine, thank you."

You just smiled and told Miguel that you were going to finish up. All you had left was your hair and make up. As you returned to your room, you tried to get ahold of yourself. This was the first time a man has ever entered your apartment.

Especially since that man was your sexy boss, to whom you have strong feelings for. Glancing at Miguel through you mirror, you watched as the tall man examined your old photos.

"Hair done!" You nearly stuttered, hurrying with your make-up.

Upon hearing a chuckle, you glanced into the mirror and saw Miguel stand behind you.

"No need to rush, mi amor (my love)." Miguel hummed lowly as he pulled the clips that were still dangling in your hair,

"Oops,"

"Take your time," Miguel whispered into your ear as he kissed your shoulder, making eye contact with you through the mirror, "Why do you look so exhausted? I haven't done anything to you yet,"

Your cheeks started to burn up, "I-I....I stayed up late to memorize important people for the party...I...I don't want to look like a fool like I did with you."

"Awe," Miguel smiled as he faced you towards him, "You never looked like a fool to me."

Your breathing shuddered as Miguel spoke sweetly to you. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned towards Miguel, wanting to kiss him...and as if he read your mind.

"Mphm!"

Miguel held your messy head as his lips made contact with yours. Your body being pressed into your small chair as Miguel hovered over you. His tongue licking your lips with every chance he got, demanding entrance.

Unable to deny him, you parted your lips and gasped as Miguel explored your mouth. You grabbed onto his jacket, leaning into him as Miguel made quick work of you.

His other hand roamed your body before picking you up. Caught off guard by the gesture, you gripped onto him even tighter before feeling the bed under you.

"Mhm~" You tried to get some air.

Breaking the kiss, Miguel just chuckled as he looked down at you. His body pressed against yours.

"How lovely,"

---------

Miguel was in awe over you. He wasn't able to resist your temptation and devour your mouth in a passionate kiss. As he placed you on the bed, his attention was focused towards your shy and needy expression.

"How lovely," He whispered.

Leaning back down to capture your lips in another kiss, Miguel withheld a grunt as he slowly grinded into you. Your legs were spread open as his body quickly filled the space, wanting to feel as much of you as possible.

Your body being pressed against his felt so right. Honestly, Miguel just felt so touch starved. He needed to feel more of you. As his tongue ravished your mouth, his hands kept roaming your body. His hips softly grinding into yours, listening to your cute little moans.

This was hot.

Miguel could feel his erection rising as he kept feeling your body. You were trembling. Miguel never felt this good. Breaking the kiss once more, watching your face turn red. It was hot as you tried to catch your breathe.

"Miguel," You whispered.

Miguel groaned as he pulled away from you. His eyes wandering your body. Drinking in the view he had of you laid against the bed. Your hair a mess and your panties soaked.

"Aye, if only we didn't have to go to this party."

--------

Your body was burning up as Miguel stood before you. Grabbing Miguel's hand as he helped you up, you were still trying to catch your breathe.

"Sorry, amor, I got ahead of myself. Let me help with your hair," He offered.

Easily accepting his offer, you returned to your seat still feeling dazed. You also needed to change your panties now. Finally calming down, you glanced at Miguel in the mirror. His hands fixing your hair as if he did nothing.

"I know what you're thinking," Miguel started as he fixed your hair, "I think you shouldn't wear any underwear," He whispered against your ear.

Your face turned bright red as you tried to cover your face. Miguel chuckled in response, finishing your hair and facing you.

"I'll give you a reward for being a good girl for me,"

Oh, those words made you melt.

"I'm...clumsy, Miguel. W-What if I fall and everyone sees?"

"Then I'll catch you. The only one who is allowed to see those lips are me," He smirked, kissing you against as his fingers stroked your clit, causing you to flinch.

"Mig-"

"I'll behave. Put your make-up on and we will go. I promise to try and keep my hands to myself as much as possible."

You knew damn well that was a lie.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson @ivkygirly @reader-1290 @daddyfroglegs @eepybunny0805 @ddreabea @iamperson12280 @migueloharasoulmate @tojishugetiddies @koko-1025 @hyeinwluv85s @daisy-artfield @migueloharastruelove @a-lil-whore @hcqwxrtss123 @the-pan-liquid @tojisfav @pochapo @bubblegumfanfictions @brighterthanlonelythoughts @ghstypaint @mangoslushcrush @synamonthy @scaleniusrm @moonspectorx @dorck26 @a060403 @lunablackcosplay @soraya-daydreams @lovefanfic1 @mymrsweirdnessshipperstuff-blog @pretty-pink-princesss @corpsebridenightamare @razertail18 @gachagator @droolingmuttt @miguelsfavwife @ryzguy06 @raideaters-blog @manishkaworld @keidilla @byjessicalotufo @pigeonmama @k3ythesapphic @acesangels @stealingyourturts @angel-xx-1 @amberbalcom14 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @oscarissac2099 @keepghostly @zeyzeys-stuff @k3ythesapphic @nightingale1011 @uncle-eggy @safixiovi @flaps200 @dahehow @weirdothatwritess @gerblinradio @electronicchaoschaos @mafiaanomaly @keyisloved @unwrittenletter @reader4life @leenasgirl200 @oscarissac2099 @mari0-o @cinnamoro1l @leryg0 @hizzielover @resident-clown @girl-of-multi-fandoms @sana-408-blog

[cozymoko]

I really loved your yandere cowboy OC idea (Jamie) and is it possible to ask for a part 2 or something? You have me hooked👀

My Fancy Lady

Yes, anon!

Nav. Masterlist

𐚁 Pairing. Yandere! Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

𐚁 Warning(s). slight yandere themes, subtle jealousy from reader, overall just lovey-dovey though.

𐚁 Format, word count. Scenario, 2.2k words

𐚁 Synopsis. You're returning to your home back in the city, but you wouldn't dare go without your precious cowboy.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Jamie wasn't one for small talk—'less it was his woman doin' the talkin'. So, nights like this? Big ol’ fancy affairs? They weren’t his scene. He’d rather be anywhere else, maybe takin' on some honest work in town or catchin' a rodeo a few miles out. Hell, anything that didn’t have him stuffed into this stiff suit, collar chokin' him half to death.

But, reckon he had it comin’. You get yourself tangled up with a city girl, and suddenly you're wearin’ city clothes, trailed by folks who don’t know a lick about good, hard work. He couldn't help but stay close, though. With a pretty thing like you on his arm, he had to be. Men were wolves in these parts, sneakin' glances like they’d never seen a woman before—especially one who wasn’t theirs to look at. Made him chuckle under his breath. "What a damn shame."

Jamie stood across the ballroom, leaned up against the wall, one foot crossed over the other. He could’ve gone and greeted your folks, but Lord, your mama was a spitfire—firing off questions quicker than he could answer. He respected her, sure, and your pa too, but he’d rather keep what was left of his sanity. Just takin' in the sight of this place made his pockets ache.

Chandeliers dangled high above like crystal-studded stars, throwing soft light around the room. Gilded columns lined the walls, polished up so fine they seemed to look down on everybody else here. Tapestries hung alongside big, expensive-lookin' paintings—probably worth more than his whole ranch. The floor? It was slick as a lake after rain, shiny enough he’d bet a nickel it could trip even the steadiest cowboy.

Then there were the folks. Struttin’ around like proud peacocks, laughin' in polished tones that came off a little too uppity for his taste. Colors swirled around him—reds as bold as a fight, blues like icy temptation—colors he'd never even seen before danced across the floor. Reminded him a little of berries and fresh tomatoes, and just the thought got a chuckle outta him.

He’d never fit into this world, but it didn’t stop him from admirin’ its quirks now and then. Even so, this whole scene was like a country mile from his real life. He was just as sure he’d turn you into a cowgirl one day, but until then, he could appreciate the wonders of what money could do, even if he wouldn’t spend his hard-earned cash like this.

But there was one bright spot in all this: you.

There you were, right in the center of it all, falling into familiar voices and easy laughter. This was your world, and you looked like you belonged in it, talkin' to faces from your past who sized up the man beside you with curious glances. And yet, you smiled at them all—good and bad. Weren't you just the sweetest thing.

The cowboy stands across the ballroom, leaning against the wall, one foot tucked over the other. It's not that he didn't want to greet your folks, but your mama was a spitfire — hammering the two of you with more questions than he can count. He loved her, and your pa too, but he'd rather keep the last piece of his sanity tucked in his belt.

High society folks rubbed him wrong. Spoiled sons and daughters who’d had everything handed to 'em, struttin' through life without a lick of sense about hard work. Obnoxious, entitled, without a care for anyone who hadn’t grown up just like them. Jamie couldn’t stand it.

Yet somehow, out of all the men you coulda chosen, you picked him. What a thief, he thought with a quiet chuckle, his dark gaze never leavin' your face.

Course, he wasn’t all that innocent either—he’d done his damnedest to pull you away from this pampered life, wanted to whisk you off to the country, to his life, his world. And he’d caught you, good and proper. But that didn’t stop him from feelin' that familiar heat, the sharp taste of blood on his tongue from biting back the urge to snap at every wolf eyein' you tonight.

“Don't make a scene,” he murmured to himself like a man clingin' to a thin thread of patience.

He’d be lyin’ if he said he didn’t want you all to himself. Seein' you wrapped up in those fine silks, hair swept back in that way you liked best, lips painted in a soft color that made you glow... God, he wanted you. If he had it his way, you’d be in worn-out jeans, maybe one of his old flannels, smellin' of him and the wide open fields.

But he couldn’t tell you no. You hadn’t seen your family in months, and it just about broke his heart to see you so homesick. Jamie ain't one to go on about his old man, but if he learned one thing, it was this: happy wife, happy life. And you may not be his wife just yet, but he planned on changin' that real soon.

So to hell with all these other women, these high-class dames flittin' around the room. He didn’t care one bit about their money or their flirtin' glances. Jamie toyed with the silver pendant around his neck, tappin' his boot in time to the music.

Just then, a young woman drifted up, not much older than you, lips red as blood and curving into a sly smile. “Excuse me, sir,” she purred, “would you like to—”

“I’d be careful, sugar,” he cut in smooth, twirlin' his whiskey glass. “My wife fights. And I'd rather not see you back at your surgeon’s tonight.”

A crooked grin played on his lips as he raised his glass to his lips, his eyes catchin' yours across the room. There was only one woman he wanted on his arm, and she was wearin' a ring that matched his own.

You never thought you'd see him in a suit before your wedding, but it was quite the surprise — a pleasant one, at that.

Standing there in front of you, Jamie looked like he’d stepped right out of a magazine. Broad-shouldered, lean muscle wrapped in a midnight suit that clings just right, standing out among the tailored suits and smooth accents. The crisp white dress shirt only made his deep auburn hair look richer, slicked back smooth with every curl in place, and those dimples peeked out just as he caught you staring. His boots clack as he shifts, whiskey swirling in his hand, that silver band on his ring finger catching the glint of the chandelier. The sight of it alone sends any would-be admirer scuttling off with barely a second glance. He’s your plus one for the night, and the whole room knows it.

When he smiles, there’s a glint of trouble in his eyes, and those dimples—well, they could make even the stiffest folks around here swoon. He looks like the kind of man who just barely tolerates a tie, tugging at it with a smirk whenever he catches your gaze, as if to say, “You really think all this makes me any fancier?”

He’s still Jamie through and through: rugged under all that polish, with a bit of a roguish streak he could never quite hide. And tonight, even though he’s dressed up to meet your family and stand in this world of chandeliers and silk dresses, he’s every bit the man you fell for—charmingly untamed, with a quiet confidence that makes you weak in the knees.

Your friends try to pull you into old stories and polite gossip, but your eyes keep drifting back to him. Jamie’s gaze is steady, unwavering, as though he has little interest in the things around him. There’s a hint of a smirk playing at his lips every time he catches you staring, his dimples deepening, and that mischievous glint in his dark, loving eyes. You know that look too well. It’s possessive, fiercely protective, as if he’s daring anyone to even think about taking his bride-to-be.

The more you look at him, the more it pains you to look away. You try to play it cool, but he knows you too well—knew what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. It leaves you with thoughts from earlier in the day, making your knees weak all over again.

“My, my, he cleans up rather nicely,” a warm, familiar voice whistles beside you. “Don’t you agree, dear?” You jump, blinking back into the present, only to find your mother smiling knowingly.

“Distracted?” she teases, twirling you around to face her, an amused smile etched onto her red lips.

She glides past the group of dazzling damsels, fanning herself as she casts an appreciative glance toward Jamie. “Lord, honey,” she whispers in your ear, amused. “If he’s not about the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen—and the way he looks at you? It’s like he’s afraid the floor might steal you away.”

You laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but her words are truer than she knows. Jamie tips his glass toward you from across the room, raising it in a silent toast. There’s something soft in his expression—a flicker of mirth in his dark eyes.

You almost let them drown you, submerge you in their warmth. If not for the grating sound to your left.

"Who might that be?"

"I haven't seen him around."

"Should I ask him for a dance?"

"Do you think he's spoken for?"

"Of course, look at the jewel on his finger!"

"I quite fancy him. Shall I pursue him anyways?"

"Oh, how shameful~!"

Some of the girls here are looking his way—of course, they are. Jamie has that rugged charm, like he was carved out of southern dirt and bathed in the evening sun, with the wild confidence of a man who knows he’s got nothing to prove. His auburn hair, slicked back in a style that both respects the occasion and still says he’s a cowboy first, gives him a sharp, roguish look that’s almost out of place here, like a tiger in a cage.

But despite the glances, the obnoxious remarks, no one dares approach him. The way his eyes follow you, even from a distance, says more than words ever could. He isn’t here to be seen; he’s here for you.

Yet, it doesn’t make it any easier to hold your tongue. You’ve hosted these parties since the age of fourteen and know how people behave here—their promiscuous ways, and the men who can’t help but leer. High-class harlots looking for any man to pounce on, taken or not. Greasy men following women’s every move, provoked or not. You remember too well. This was the yearly matchmaking party hosted by four of the wealthiest families in the city, your family being one of them. It wouldn’t look good if you didn’t attend the event your household had built its reputation around.

You knew Jamie would settle on keeping to himself, yet you hadn’t thought your rugged companion would be the talk of the party. That alone makes the joy blossoming in your chest wilt. For once, it feels as though he isn’t just your fiancé, but everyone’s. Of course, you want everyone to love him as much as you do—but without undressing him with their winged eyes.

Just then, Jamie makes his way over, his familiar smirk making your heart skip a beat. “Sugar,” he says, poking the soft flesh of your cheek, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, mischievous warmth. When he finally makes his way back to you, he tips his drink up, raising a brow. “Sugarplum.”

His words go in one ear and out the other, turning fuzzy and static as they pass through your mind. A deep frown settles at the corners of your lips as exasperation bubbles over.

“Jamie, stop it!” you huff, swatting his hands away. “You’ll ruin my makeup, you damn brute.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t bother moving his hand from the top of your head, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as if daring you to protest again. You turn away, cheeks flushed, doing your best to regain the poise you usually wear like a crown.

Jamie notices the pout you're trying to hide, his lips curling in amusement. For all your princess-like composure, you’re showing more than you realize tonight. He leans down, his voice low and teasing.

“Don’t pout, pumpkin. Fix your face.”

You glare up at him, crossing your arms, but he just chuckles, reaching for your hand. Before you can react, he pulls you closer, his grip firm yet careful, as if he were holding something precious.

“Remember, Sugar,” he murmurs, giving your kiss a long, playful smooch. MUAH! “You’re the main character.”

With a playful glint in his eye, he twirls you around, his hand never leaving yours as he guides you in a slow, elegant spin. You can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, your frown dissolving as he twirls you like with practiced ease.

Only then had you decided.

That night was quite the surprise indeed—

A pleasant one at that.

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[dropthedemiurge]

Let Free The Curse of Taekwondo: Things you didn't notice #1

Isn't this another K-BL where I'm internally squealing because of every single detail? You bet it is. You can read my other meta/cultural detail/Korean language posts for Love for Love's Sake, Time of Fever, Grey Shelter and Boys be Brave on my pinned post or hashtags^^ (I really need to organize it under one singly hashtag tho...)

I already talked about how impressed I am with the fact that this series has done their preparation job well, with props, settings, language, history etc.

It is about a countryside/small town in Southern province of Korea - because a lot of characters use satoori (southern dialect), almost all of them except for the main two guys. There is also a distinct contrast/conflict between 'fancy Seoul rich guys' looking down on 'Southern town'. Juyoung even was surprised Dohoi doesn't use satoori.

To which, he responded with 'You'll be uncomfortable if I use it". And Juyoung said there are plenty other uncomfortable things around here, beside understanding/listening to everyone using other accent xD Confusing Gaga translation errors, we meet again!

Actually, it's interesting because Dohoi's name is written 이도회 in Korean, which typically would be written as 'Dohoi' but pronounced as 'Dohwe' (think of surname Choi that is actually pronounced as Chwe), yet in the first episode I clearly heard them actually say 'Dohoi', letter by letter. Now I wonder if it's also related to satoori... I wish I could speak it, it sounds so cool tbh.

He actually said 'I'm not in a good condition', meaning his physical form. What do you mean, mood, when was that ever an excuse in sports..?xD

By the way, what is it with boys trying to get closer to other boys by buying them unusual ice cream?:') Okay, garlic sounds more weird than red bean one :D

Also, I tried to find the Hasong town they talked about but failed - maybe because of incorrect transcription or maybe they made up this town based on Uiseong - a small town close to Daegu which is famous for being the most famous garlic town, they produce a lot of it and garlic fame would be seen everywhere - so who knows, I bet they allude to this when Juyoung said 'why can't there be a vanilla garlic ice cream? It's like a collaboration!'

Another thing, I thought the time of this series was somewhere around 1990s-2000s (because I watched a movie in similar setting that was called 1997 year but they still used pagers, now that I think about it). It was also still the time where teachers could use physical punishment on their students, it's heavily highlighted but I don't actually know around what time they stopped... Probably in Seoul, they already were getting rid of it but in small towns it was old-school teaching, which is again why Dohoi tried to tell Joyoung out of it.

I'm not familiar when small laptops and phones appeared in Seoul but I think the series is actually somewhere around 2005-2010! Which would make sense, Juyoung got the 'cool' flip-phone and a laptop with Windows XP (released in 2001) but small town is still far from that, as they use landline house phones to make a call.

He also has mp3 player and as other tumblr folks figured out, he was listening and dancing to Jewelry song released in 2005 :)

And another thing that convinced me about the time era... the final scene!

Do you want to know why at the end of Ep 1 Dohoi smiled and laughed and ran to Juyoung even after so many exhausting days and neverending small miseries and a new loud housemate?

Because Juyoung not only came to pick him up with an umbrella in the acid rain, he also reenacted the famous umbrella scene from the classic romantic K-drama called "Temptation of Wolves" (늑대의 유혹) which was released in 2004! To make Dohoi laugh.

(Yes, when Juyoung intentionally put the umbrella down and the camera cut the shot to the framing when the umbrella slowly lifts up, showing smiling Juyoung, I was like 'you did nooooooot' xD)

(last screenshots taken from @heretherebedork post, I'm sorry I am very lazy and cannot take a good screenshot for life :'))

So that was already our very first romantic teasing-implication!

Another cute thing: optimistic Joyoung wrote a diary entry into the fake old Korean "Facebook" (they had Cyworld instead) to share his first selfie with Dohoi:

"[Excited Shin Jjuyoung]" (typing in a popular back then teenage style) "I miss you guys... But here it's nice too hehe ^___^ Come to play with me!! Together with my friend Dohoi too~~!"

Aren't they the cuteestttttt? I mean, this dynamic is not new but I love how unique the setting is. And I can't wait to watch the second episode, I'm waiting and savoring the first one for now but I'm going to make notes about other episodes as well so stay tuned! If you reply/comment in tags, I will put you in my tag list^^

Tag list: @benkaben @pickletrip @troubled-mind

[bombuni]

contains: established relationship, threesome (woosan x fem!reader), collaring, mild humiliation, consequences of a bratty reader

minors dni

San tightens the black leather collar on your neck, his big hands warm on your skin. He inserts two fingers just to make sure it’s not too tight before his hands turn commanding, squishing your cheeks until your lips pout. You hear the heart charm jingle, reminding you of the ‘S+W’ engravement that only solidifies your belonging to them. Wooyoung chuckles at the sight of your teary eyes as he stands behind San, his proud cocky smirk taunting you. You hate him now, because he can be just as bratty as you, but you still crave his approval. You still crave the sweet feeling of his praising hands on you.

You sniffle and open your mouth to apologize but San interrupts, “No talking.”

You were really bad. Bad enough to get San pissed off. Usually he’s the patient one of the two, but when the moment calls, his built up anger comes in a harsh punishment and Wooyoung following his every order.

It’s not like you had meant to bother them all day. You know they’re busy, they’ve been busy every day for the past two weeks. It’s a truly empty feeling in your gut when you’re used to at least one of them doting on you 24/7. It’s not your fault you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You want to laugh at how cocky you’d been just a couple of hours ago. Really, what a joke. You should’ve remembered who you belong to and who makes the rules. But, in the end you got what you wanted; their undivided attention.

You’re in between San’s knees, his heavy cock in his boxers sitting right in front of you just waiting to be touched. However, you resist the temptation. He hasn’t given you permission. Wooyoung leans over the back of the couch, arms wrapped around what you’re not allowed to touch right now. He knows it makes you cry, makes you feel small and vulnerable when you’re the only fully nude one with two hungry, vicious wolves watching you. But he knows you like it too.

“Come on, Sannie,” Wooyoung’s head tilts like he’s deciding what to do with his toy, “Poor thing just wanted attention,”

It’s odd to hear Wooyoung defending you for once, as he’s usually all for your punishments.

His lips move to San’s ear, his eyes still trained on you, “Look at how wet she is.”

San hums, dark eyes studying you as millions of ideas rush through his head, “But she knows this isn’t how she gets it. Don’t you, little dove?”

You don’t open your mouth, fearing you’ll accidentally misbehave, but San looks at you expectantly, “I-I’m sorry, Sannie…”

He pulls you closer by your collar gently but with enough force to remind you he’s capable of much more, “Are you?” You nod haphazardly, Wooyoung laughing at your frantic movements.

Wooyoung leaps over the couch to sit next to San, legs opening up to invite you in. You look at San, who nods, and you pull your plush body in between Wooyoung’s legs. He’s giving you a kinder look than San, but he’s never merciful. You know Wooyoung, and so does San.

He begins to untie his sweatpants, “I think you just need a little sorting out. You’re used to being a spoiled brat.”

You want to protest, remind them that you’ve put up with two weeks of minimal kisses and touching, but San’s intimidating eyes shut you up. Wooyoung’s lap sits in front of you like a vice tailored just for you. Inviting and alluring, but ultimately you know you’re in for a long night of forgiveness.

His hand on the back of your head leads you, “Go on. Suck it, brat.”

bom note: pls enjoy this thing in my drafts while i work on reqs :) i heart mean woosan so big

[thegothicalice]

I absolutely love your style and was wondering as a cinemaphile what obscure, off the wall horror movies would you suggest for the spooky season?

Uhhhh how about various levels of obscure from the 80s and 90s? (Not a complete lists because I’ve seen literally thousands of films and forget half of what I watch and use Letterboxd to keep track)

1999– Idle Hands, Don’t Look Under the Bed, Bats, Ravenous, In Dreams, Lighthouse, Stir of Echos, Audition, Kolobos

1998—The Last Broadcast, Devil in the Flesh, Whispering Corridors, Urban Legend, Shadowbuilder, The Eternal, The Quiet Family, Strangeland, Deep Rising, The Wisdom of Crocodiles, Tomie

1997– The Relic, The Ugly, Event Horizon, Cure, Wax Mask, Snow White: A Tale of Terror, Quicksilver Highway, Office Killer, The Night Flier

1996– From Dusk til Dawn, Little Witches, Uncle Sam, The Frighteners, The Dentist, Karmina, Thesis, Tromeo & Juliet,

1995– Blood & Donuts, Screamers, Tales from the Hood, The Demolitionist, Mushrooms, The Girl With the Hungry Eyes, The Day of the Beast, Serpent’s Lair, Rumpelstiltskin, Mute Witness, Evil Ed, Project: Metalbeast, Habit, The Addiction, Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight, Lord of Illusions

1994– Tammy & the T Rex, In the Mouth of Madness, Lurking Fear, Cemetery Man, Death Machine, Brainscan, Nadja

1993– Love Bites, Doppelgänger, Necronomicon, Body Bags, Ed & His Dead Mother, Dark Waters, Skinner, Jack Be Nimble, Ticks, Carnosaur, The Temp

1992– Death Becomes Her, The Vagrant, Tale of a Vampire, The Unnameable II, Innocent Blood, Dr Giggles, Auntie Lee’s Meat Pies, Aswang, Sleepwalkers, Netherworld, Split Second

1991– The Resurrected, The Boneyard, Body Parts, Popcorn, Subspecies, There’s Nothing Out There, Highway to Hell, The Runestone, Cast a Deadly Spell, Children of the Night

1990– Frankenhooker, Fear, Nightbreed, Lisa, Mom, Grim Prairie Tales, Shakma, Pale Blood, Baby Blood, Mirror Mirror, Hardware, Meridian, Def by Temptation, The Vampire Family, Reflecting Skin, Demonia

1989– Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat, Nightlife, I Madman, Dr. Caligari, The Black Cat, Paganini Horror, Phantom of the Mall: Eric’s Revenge, The Dead Pit, The Phantom of the Opera, Dead Calm, Intruder, The House of Usher

1988– Paperhouse, Spider Labyrinth, Spell Caster, Sorority Babes in the Slime-Bowl-O-Rama, Cellar Dweller, Pin, 976-EVIL, Brain Damage, Rejuvenatrix, Blood Relations, Party Line, The Unnamable, The Wicked

1987– Psychos in Love, Blood Rage, The Caller, Stagefright, Graveyard Shift, American Gothic, Street Trash, From a Whisper to a Scream, Blood Diner

1986– Spookies, Poison for the Fairies, Vamp, Gothic, Deadtime Stories, TerrorVision, Witchboard, Trick or Treat

1985– The Doctor and the Devils, Phenomena, The Stuff

1984– Decoder, The Company of Wolves, Monster Dog, Sole Survivor, Special Effects

1983– The Lift, Wilczyca (She Wolf), Eyes of Fire, House of Long Shadows, The Hunger, Angst, Curtains, Blood Beat, Mortuary, The Keep

1982– Ferat Vampire, Next of Kin, The Sender, Tenebre, One Dark Night, The Living Dead Girl, Superstition, Alone in the Dark, Parasite

1981– The Black Cat, Fear No Evil, Dead & Buried, Possession, Night School, The Monster Club, Allison’s Birthday, Frightmare, Ghost Story, The Funhouse, The Pit, Evilspeak, Strange Behavior, The Nesting

1980– Macabre, Fade to Black, The Ninth Configuration, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

These are all just what I’ve recorded on my personal Letterboxd since I started it in April of 2017, I’ve seen plenty more but tried to just pick possibly less-known stuff, some bad and some good.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Tear You Apart Part 1: You’re Mine✨

Series Masterlist

My first dark! Joel fic and I think I’m obsessed. I plunged into this head on and got major inspiration from the vampire scene in Saltburn and Little Red Riding Hood. This is filthy and I absolutely love it! There might be a part 2 for this! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts 🖤

“The wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all.” - Kahlil Gibran

- Summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you in the forest?

- Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

- Word Count: 9,718

- Tags: Dark themes, Little red riding hood references, dark! Joel, Joel is a menace, oral, fingering, choking, unprotected P in V, cream pie, filthy smut, degrading actions, not really violent but lots of dark themes, manipulation, rough sex, dirty talk, Joel calls reader little lamb, possessive Joel, feral! Joel, post outbreak! Joel, controlling Joel, dom! Joel, submissive reader, Joel x fem! reader, Joel is in his late 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Songs: “Change” and “Rosemary” by Deftones

The wind tears through the frigid night of Jackson, banging its haunted whispers against the side of the little wooden house. It screams in warning beware, beware. He’s coming. A glaring caution sign from the ghosts of the forest. They scream your name, shrieking and bellowing from the soil below as they make their way above the cold, vacant dirt, floating their way to your doorstep. Clawing, knocking, warning you that he’s close. Get out, leave. He’s near, he’s near. Run.

You want to run, want to sprint out of bed and run as far as you can, but you can’t. He’ll find you, stalk you till he hunts down your scent and discovers you hiding. You pray that he won’t, but he will. He always finds you. And when he does he takes and takes until you have nothing left, feeding his anger and bitter soul, using your body to escape whatever hell he had been through in the past.

You know he’s lost something special, something close to him. You can see it in the wrinkles that encase his forehead. See it in the dark brown flecks of his tired eyes. See it in the way he carries himself, worn and tattered like the old leather boots on his feet. Can feel it when he crowds your body as he lays over you in the middle of the night. Can feel it on his calloused fingers as he bleeds you dry from the inside, hollowing you out and sucking your lifeless soul and taking it as his own.

You never know what he’s lost, can never figure out what it was that was stolen from him. He doesn’t talk about it, will never let you in even though you beg him to. But you can feel the pain, the absolute agony that holds close to his cold heart. It’s whatever he’s lost that drives his rage, his desire for retribution. And it’s that loss that feeds his desire to take, destroy everything in his winding path. That’s why he comes, always at night, always at the dead blackness of night. He comes crawling to you, needing a way to soothe his scorching temper, needing a way to bury the agony of it all.

He’s broken, just like the shattered black military watch he wears on his left wrist. You try to ask him about it, try to graze your fingers over the broken glass, but he growls at you. Gnashing his sharp teeth as he releases the caged up wolf inside him. You know better, but you push back. Let me in, let me in, you scream. But he never does. That just pushes him further, bringing out the beast from within.

He’s coming closer. Almost here, almost here, the ghosts whisper in warning. You can feel him, as if he was already there at your doorstep, as if he was already clawing his fingers into your fragile skin. Tearing you apart piece by piece just the way he likes it.

Your body starts sweating, you toss and turn against the cold sheets that cling to your damp skin. He’s coming, they call. And it’s then that you can feel him as if he’s standing right outside. You can feel the weight of his steps on the cold, snowy ground. You can hear his shaky, quivering breaths as he trudges through the patches of white snow, can feel the warm breath as he blows it out, can reach your shaky fingers out as his breath kisses the sky. You can feel it, can almost taste it as it whips through the wind, landing up against your fogged up bedroom window.

Run. Hide. He’s here, he’s here, the voices warn. But you don’t listen, can’t listen. Joel’s deep voice washes the voices out, makes them flee from your mind. Mine, mine, he screams in your head as he claims you over and over again with his hands. Those big, rough hands that you so desperately want wrapped around you.

You shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t desire it, but you crave him like you’ve never craved anything in your life. He’s like a disease. Festering and invading your body, making you sick with want, with need. Pulling at your insides so much that you can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore the deep ache in between your thighs as you yearn for his touch, for his entire being. And you’re certain that you’re just as fucked in the head as him now.

He makes you sick. Sick with need, with desire. You shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t want this. Most days he’s unkind, barely speaking, barely able to tolerate his own self. But he gives as much as he takes, and you crave the way he gives. And now you’re just as bad as him, just as selfish and needing as him. Mine, mine, you call in your mind. He’s yours just as much as you are his.

Your eyes open wide as you look at the small clock that hangs on the wall, the hand ticking and ticking as it reaches 1:00am, the time he usually comes after his late night watch shift. Your body quakes from the anticipation of him. You can hear him now. He’s here.

You feel the weight of his heavy feet against the wooden floorboards as he opens the front door, hearing it shriek as it closes behind him with a soft shutter as it knocks against the glass window. He’s coming, he’s coming.

You hear the narrow stairs creak as he climbs up the steep steps. He’s coming for you, coming to claim you, to devour you. He’s like a wolf in the night as he stalks his prey. His dark eyes search for you, your scent hanging in the air as he comes for it, chases it, wanting to taste it. Wanting to rip you to shreds under the weight of his body as he claws and pounces on you. Claiming you as his one and only as he dominates you. But you fully oblige, always surrendering yourself to him completely.

You’re little red riding hood, and he’s the big bad wolf that wants to eat you alive as you spill yourself for him, letting him mark his paws all over you until you can only see the blacks of his eyes as he claims you. My, what large eyes you have. But he’s talking to you as he’s in between your legs, lapping up your flavor as he looks up at you with those dark pits and smiles with his sharp canines glistening in the night. And God, you’re already wet thinking about it, already trembling in the sheets as you wait for him, waiting for him to completely ravage you and destroy you until you’re no more.

You want to touch yourself, want to put an end to that aching throb in your center as slick pools inside you, fighting hard to hold back the urge. He’ll be mad if you don’t wait for him. If he sees you fingering yourself before he gets to you, he’ll be furious. He’s selfish, always so fucking selfish with you. He wants to be the one that makes you feel good, under his conditions. He’s dominating, controlling, wanting your orgasms to come from him and him alone. He’s greedy, but he always gives, feeding into your sweet desires as he revels in your body, in your arousal, in your taste.

You hear the rusty doorknob twist and turn under his grasp, hear the door start to creak open as his dark form clouds against the darkness of the hallway. Take me, take me, you beg in your mind. And you swear he can hear you as he stalks towards you with his massive form.

He’s tired, you can see it in his weathered stare as his dark eyes search for you under the silky sheets. He throws off his tan, heavy coat and tosses it to the side of the room. As he makes his way to you, he pushes up his plaid, green sleeves slowly, exposing thick veins that spiral down his arms, ending in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight, taking in the way his arms flex against his sleeves. They pull and tug so tight that they’re bound to rip at any moment as his bulging muscles encase your nimble body.

He stops at the end of the bed, pulling back the clean sheets as he takes in the sheer nightgown you’re in. His eyes trail over your body as his deep scowl turns into something primal, dominant. “Get up,” he demands as he yanks you up by the wrist and pulls you to a standing position. There’s never such a thing as a hello or hi, beautiful. Only ever demands and commands as he comes for one thing, your body.

He pulls up the wooden chair that sits in the corner of the dark room and places it in the middle of the floor. He looks up at you with the darks of his eyes and curls his index finger, coaxing you to sit in the chair. Your body is hypnotized as you dance your way over to him under a waning spell that puts you at ease.

“Sit,” he says firmly as he pushes you down gently, your back hitting the hard wood as you sit up straighter, preparing yourself to give yourself to him. Your hands fall flat against your thighs as the sheer nightgown barely reaches the tips of your knees. You can feel the cold wind as it blows hard outside your window, can almost taste the white snowflakes that linger on his leather boots.

Your breathing goes ragged as he circles the chair. Circling and circling as he trails a calloused finger over your bare shoulders as he takes you in with his chocolate eyes, inspecting you as he drinks in your features. Your throat goes dry as you watch him stalk around you. He’s a hungry wolf and he’s starving for you.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl today?” His words drag against his teeth as he snarls the words out. He continues to circle, making you audibly gulp at the words that leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, your nails digging into the flesh of your aching skin.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks as he circles you again, peeling his hands over your arm as you shiver from his rough fingers.

“N-no,” you stutter out, falling over your words. Except you had. You did earlier in the shower, thinking of Joel’s hands, pretending his fingers were yours as you made yourself feel good, spilling yourself all over the tiled floor as you called his name. Joel, Joel.

“You filthy little liar. I know you did. I can smell your arousal all over your fingers.” He grabs your hand tight and pulls it up to his nose as he inhales deeply, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. When he opens his eyes up, he takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks slowly, watching you with cold, heavy eyes. Your eyes go wide as you watch him slurp your taste up. A wave of slick runs down the seam of your lacy underwear, and you have to squeeze your legs shut at the growing throb that’s now aching to be touched.

He releases your fingers slowly as you watch him pool his saliva all over you, watching it slide over your hand as he drops it back to your knees with a slapping sound that echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He makes a slow, steady circle around you as he halts right next to you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as he bends and places his hands on his knees, slowly curving his spine as he eyes you with a hard line strewn across his lips. You gulp and sit up straight. You’re in trouble, you know it too.

“I, I didn’t mean to…” you squeak out carefully.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he growls. You automatically go quiet, afraid to interrupt him again. “The next time I find out you pleasured yourself without me, I’m gonna make you fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch, you got that?” he hisses.

Your mouth drops open at the mention of you fucking his fingers yourself, and you have to gulp down a moan at the thought of it. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Repeat it!” he yells, anger seething up in him.

“Yes, I understand,” you say with your eyes low, looking down at your shaking hands.

“Good.”

He skates around and stops in front of you, bending down as he places his rough hands on your knees. “Now, what are we gonna do with you, huh? You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks as he moves your hands away and places his own on the end of your sheer nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky as he inches your nightgown higher, grazing his calloused fingers over your thighs, feeling that low tingling sensation start in the back of your spine.

“Good. That’s good,” he groans as he pushes your nightgown up higher and higher, climbing up your thighs until no more material is touching your legs. The only thing left is your white lacy underwear that are ruined from how drenched you are.

“Now, tell me. What were ya thinkin’ about in the shower?” he asks as he slowly pushes your thighs apart, trailing his fingers up nice and slow as he teases you, getting you all worked up for him.

“You, I was thinking about you,” you gasp as he pushes your legs even further, causing more slick to build up from the action of his rugged hands.

“Were ya thinkin’ of these fingers curling up inside you as I make you cum? Or maybe my tongue swirling around that pretty pink clit of yours?” he purrs as he glides his fingers against the edges of your lace, almost touching you where you need him as he ghosts over your center.

“Y-yes, both. Please, Joel,” you beg as he teases you again, ghosting over you without so much as a light touch to your aching center.

“Please what?” he asks with his brown eyes growing darker, the edges of his pupils expanding into dark coal.

“Touch me, please,” you beg, licking your lower lip in anticipation. He sees you slide your tongue over your lip and you see his eyes grow sharper, arousal swirling all around his black pupils.

“Well, since you asked nicely.” He glides his fingers through your clothed folds, and you gasp at the feeling of your budding arousal. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he groans as his chest rises and falls in waves, pulling his fingers away again as you huff in frustration.

He loves to tease you, loves to torture you as he builds you up and then makes you beg for it. He wants to hear it, wants you down on your knees as you plead and moan for him, calling his name as you beg again and again. Touch me, taste me, fuck me.

“Joelllll,” you beg again, dragging the last syllable out as you call his name, needing his fingers on you, needing his tongue, his cock, his everything.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teases, trailing his fingers over your seams again as he slowly unhooks the material from your hips. He slides the wet material down your legs and disposes of them on the ground, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

He pushes your thighs apart and smooths a thumb over your center as he slides it all the way up, collecting slick as he goes along. You shudder under him as you feel yourself drip on the wooden chair, so turned on that you feel like you could orgasm right at this moment. “Goddamn, you're drenched,” he groans as he takes his thumb in his mouth, sucking all the slick off as he stares into your eyes intensely. And fuck, it’s hot.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and show me exactly what you were doing in the shower. Go on,” he nods at you. “Show me how you touched yourself.” He stands back against the wall and leans on it, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, watching as his flexed muscles pull at his plaid shirt. “Any day now,” he says sternly. “Touch yourself. Now,” he growls. You automatically obey and nod up at him.

You gulp saliva down your throat and slowly bring your right hand over your center, gently pressing your fingers to your throbbing clit as you circle yourself, leaning back into the chair as a quiet moan escapes your mouth as you feel the pressure building fast. You’re so close, already so close.

“Eyes on me,” he commands as the low, guttural sound emits around the room.

You pull your head up and lock eyes with him as you focus on your breathy moans, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. You hear the pulsing blood rush through your ears, feel your body tense as you close in on your orgasm. Almost there, almost.

“Place a finger inside you,” he commands, his voice vibrating through your bones. You obey and slide your middle finger inside as you feel the drenched, tight walls cave around your finger. “Another,” he demands as his eyes go pitch black watching you play with yourself. You slide a second one in and curl them up, hitting the spongy walls that threaten to make you cum.

You let out a loud, aching moan as you curl your fingers again and again while your thumb circles your clit in meticulous circles. Your mouth shapes into an O position as you feel your walls clench around you. You pull out a deep rising orgasm that starts low in your spine and spreads over your heated cunt as you climb higher and higher into bliss.

“Good girl,” he growls as he watches your orgasm wash over you. White, hot heat spreading through your entire body as you ride out your first orgasm, throwing your head back as your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling the wooden chair become soaked with your slick.

You take a moment to come back down to earth, back to where you can breathe again. Feeling your ragged breaths become even as you open your eyes and focus on Joel as he stands in the corner brooding and revelling in your pleasure. He’s breathing fast as his broad chest moves up and down, can practically hear him as his breaths come out choked and fast. He’s turned on, you can see the bulge in the outline of his dark jeans as he takes you in with his eyes, trailing over your center again.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a deep voice rasping in the back of his throat.

“Yes, so good,” you breath out tensely. “Want you to make me feel good though,” you beg as you open up your legs for him, feeling his eyes scrape over your soaked outline.

“Oh? Think you learned your lesson?” he asks curiously with a raised brow.

“Yes, promise,” you confirm, already biting your lip at the anticipation of his fingers on you.

“Mmm, alright. Since you did what I asked, I guess you earned a reward.” He stalks toward you, bending down before you as he gets on his knees and brings your legs up over his shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers up your inner thighs as he works you up again, getting you ready for your second orgasm.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soppin’ and drippin’ for me. Want me to make you wetter? Want me to make you see stars?” he purrs as he blows on your center, making you buck your hips up at the breezy feeling as it tickles your most sensitive areas.

“Fuck, yes,” you squirm, begging for his touch.

“Mmm patience, little lamb. Gonna take ya nice and slow. You gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?” he groans as a deep growl escapes his chest.

“Yes, fuck. I’ll be the best girl, your best girl,” you whine out.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” he praises. Before you can respond, he licks a long, slow stripe up your center as you moan out his name.

“What’s that, little lamb? Couldn’t hear you over your moans,” he teases.

He pulls you lower in the chair as the wood scrapes along your back, feeling his rough hands wrap around your thighs tight. He inhales deeply and then spits on your cunt in a degrading, ravishing way. He takes his thumb and spreads the warm spit over your folds as you writhe under his touch.

“Hold still,” he warns as he presses his other hand on your thigh. You nod up at him and let him continue stroking his thumb up and down you, spreading your wet folds as he gently presses slow circles around your bundle of nerves. You let out a low, drawn out moan as he slips two fingers inside you and flicks his tongue back and forth in slow, lapping circles, so close to bringing you to the heavens again, so close to orgasm already.

One more thrust inside of you and then he’s pulling his fingers out, leaving your clit as he takes his mouth off you and backs up, dropping your legs from his shoulders as he stays straddling in between your legs. Why did he stop? Why did he fucking stop?

“Joel, I need to…I need to…” you whine out. He hushes you with the swipe of his finger to your lips, and you quietly pout as your eyebrows furrow together. Need to cum, need to cum.

“Think you deserve it?” he asks as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, building you up even more as you beg to cum.

“Yes,” you cry out, your clit throbbing with need, your body sick with desperation to let go.

He chuckles a low laugh and smirks up at you, his dark eyes honing in as the black pits expand around him. He’s cruel, wicked, a devil in disguise as he torments you. He knows what he’s doing, he knows.

Filthy trickster, vicious teaser. Cruel, cruel, cruel, the voices whisper in your mind, filling you with regret and longing as you dig your nails into the wooden chair, feeling your body screaming at you. Let go, let go. Need to cum, need to cum. Joel sees the torment in your needing eyes, sees the way you’re scraping your nails into the wood as you beg him to release you with your watering eyes.

“You know, the female orgasm is a complex thing. I can feel you screaming inside to let go, can see the way you ache for release.” He grunts as he pushes a wet, hot finger inside your mouth, slowly pushing a second in as he slides his fingers further up, feeling your saliva cake around him.

“Suck,” he commands. You do as he says and suck his fingers, feeling your sweet arousal slide down the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he praises, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers inside your panting mouth.

“It’s just so hot to watch you suck my fingers with your dripping slick all over them,” he says as he bites his lip, sending his fingers further down your throat as you gag and choke on them, seeing his eyes become full black pits as he watches with pleasure. “Such a good girl, choking on my fingers. Wanna see you choke on something else,” he growls as his sharp incisors beam up at you in a smirk as he slowly releases his fingers from your mouth, pulling saliva with him.

You groan at the sight of his disheveled, tousled curls, at the grey patchy beard that encases his face, at the smoldering stare he’s giving you, at that devilish smirk that’s taunting and teasing you in the most torturous way.

“Your mouth. God, your mouth looks so inviting, and your teeth. They’d feel so good closed around my neck,” you whine as you beg him to finish you off, let you cum in peace.

“Mhmm. The better to eat you with, my dear,” he smirks. The little red riding hood quote takes you for a ride as you feel your cunt clench up around nothing, needing a release.

He smirks up at you once more and winks before he dives back into you, his fingers curling up inside as they jab up into your spongy spot, his mouth pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the bubbling sensation, feel the waves crashing around you as they pull you under, drowning you in a wave of bliss and white heat as it explodes around you. You scream his name loud and desperate as you feel yourself let go. You clench around his fingers and then release, spilling your slick all over him. But what takes you by surprise is that’s not all.

You feel another orgasm take over as your body crumbles underneath him as he continues licking up your slick, working his fingers up and down you as he draws out more, spilling all of you, taking all of you for himself. Selfish, so selfish. But he builds you up so good that this is the best release you’ve ever experienced, like you’re walking on cloud nine as you feel a squirting sensation take over. Feeling yourself inject him with your slick as it sprays all over the front of his plaid shirt.

“Goddamn!” he yells as he pumps his fingers inside you, slowing his rhythm as he works it all out of you. You feel your legs shake and shutter around him as he holds your thighs open, not letting you close until he’s gotten every last drop out of you. After a few seconds of total bliss, you feel your body relax as there’s no more. That was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you wanted more. Needed him to continue to do that for however long this would go on.

“See what happens when I make you wait, when I tease you,” he smirks. “Makes you feel that much better,” he smiles, a devilish grin taking form on his face.

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller,” you respond out of breath, your eyes glazed over as you look over his aroused face.

“A menace, huh? Is that what I am?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns, slowly sliding his hands over your pale skin as he drags over your thighs, ending at your knees.

“What if I don’t?” you mock, wanting to test the waters, wanting to feed his anger. Keep quiet, keep quiet, the voices whisper. But you don’t listen. You never listen, always pushing them aside.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you see his features turning from day to night. He’s furious, his anger fuming inside him as you challenge him. Back down, back down, run, the ghosts scream. But you don’t. You stand your ground, let him rip into you as he takes control. You want him to, you need him to. He’s ruined you like the dead soil that lies in the snowed over dirt outside. He fucking ruined you.

You watch as his eyes turn frigid, his blood running cold as his eyebrows furrow up, his rage conforming to every bone in his hollow body. He’s on you in the next second, his hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes just slightly, not enough to hurt you. He’s warning you, declaring his dominance over you. Telling you that he owns you, controls you.

He hovers in front of your face as his hot breath blows over you, smelling a hint of coffee and whiskey as it surrounds you like a cloud. You could get drunk off his scent, drunk off him. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, little lamb. You know what happens when you open that pretty fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He narrows his eyes as they stare into you like sharp daggers.

He squeezes your neck tighter and you try to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not to the point of pain. He never goes too far, only gets you close. It feels good, so good the way he’s squeezing, the veins in your neck begging him to put more pressure into it. You’re sick, infected with his poison with the way he mind fucks you into doing anything he says. You're a puppet, and he’s pulling all the strings.

Get out, get out, they scream. He comes to take, he comes to destroy, they warn. But you don’t care. Let him destroy. You want him to, need him to destroy your body. You let him take, let him consume you as he throws you to the wolves. Except he is the wolf, and he is the one that tears you apart piece by fucking piece. A lamb to a wolf’s slaughter.

He ghosts his lips against your ear, slowly biting down on your earlobe as he pulls down sharply. You wince and he lets go slowly. His rough tongue glides up your jawline as he squeezes lightly around your throat, building that sweet pool of arousal up again as he twists your emotions. You can barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. He’s been so rough with you, has done so many demoralizing things as he takes and takes from you, feeding his hatred and anger from the ghosts of his past. But he makes you feel so good, so fucking good. You can never deny him, can never run from him. You want it, you want it. So you’ll have it, you’ll have him.

“I could just eat you right up,” he purrs as he bites at your lower lip, pulling it back and releasing as it slaps back into place. You feel the sting of his teeth mark your throbbing lip, but it feels so good. So good.

“So do it. Take me,” you beg, choking out the words with his strong hand wrapped around you.

His eyes go black as he smirks up at you, his eyes smoldering into yours. “You asked for it, little lamb. Now c’mere.” He growls as he releases his death grip on your neck and yanks you out of the chair, slamming you into the white wall as he pins your arms above you and shoves the sheer nightgown up your body. He rips it over your head and tosses it to the floor in a heap.

You feel the cold air across your bare skin as his body crowds you, his lips sinking deep into your neck as he bites at the thin flesh. He pulls and tugs and sucks in a needy, aggressive way. You release breathy moans as the pain turns to pleasure, as you fall deep into the wolf’s trap as he claws at you. Taking, taking, taking. He’s rough, insensitive, always taking what he wants, what he craves. But you let him, you always let him.

He rolls your nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs, gathering your breasts as he kneads them together, making you pebble underneath him as he bites at them, leaving marks all over you. He claims, he takes with no regard for you. It’s what he needs, but you need it just as bad now. He’s brought you to ruin again and again, and he’ll continue to take advantage. You’ll let him, you’ll let him.

He glides his tongue back up to the crook of your neck and bites hard as you scream in both pleasure and pain. It’s too much, too much. But you take it, allowing him to have his way with you. He needs it, he needs it.

You feel the edge of his bulge against your leg as his hips dig into you, feel the shape as your body shakes around you. You want it, you need his cock. Your hands are still held against your will above you, so you lift your leg up slowly, skimming the base of him as you feel his large length through his denim. He grabs your leg fast and shoves it down as he grabs your chin and brings your eyes to his level.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” he snarls as his jagged teeth shine in the moonlight.

“No…” you whisper scarcely.

“No is right,” he snarls with bared teeth. “You do as I say when I say it. Got it?” he asks as he shoves you up against the wall, keeping his hand planted firmly against your jaw.

“Yes, sir,” you respond with a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he smirks. “Now, let me teach you a little lesson on how to fucking do as you’re told,” he growls. “Stay,” he commands as he leaves you clinging to the thin wall. He saunters over to the wooden chair and takes a seat as he spreads his legs, palming himself slowly as one hand unlatches his leather belt and drops it to the floor with a clank.

“Get on all fours, now,” he commands as he swiftly unzips his jeans, slowly yanking them to the ground as he kicks off his leather boots and pushes the jeans to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. You gawk at the size of him, of that massive twitching erection as it plants firmly against his tight stomach, a bead of precum glistening on the swollen tip of him. He’s so fucking pretty sitting there, about to palm himself as he watches you. Something about that brings out the sultry, unruly side of you. You want to taste him, need to feel him inside you.

You’re on all fours, waiting for his commanding call as he allows you to come to him. You need to feel him, need to taste him, need to smell him as his hot arousal encases the air, taking over every logical sense of your brain as he calls to you in your mind. Come out, come out wherever you are, little lamb. Time to come play with the big, bad wolf.

“Crawl,” he growls from the middle of the room, glaring his dark black pits into your soul. You generously oblige as you scrape your nails over the wooden floor, feeling your knees drag behind you as you make your way to him slowly and steadily. You feel your eyes gloss over with pure lust as you stare up at him, watching him pump his hand up and down his large cock, spreading precum all over himself. You gulp at the sight, at the massive length he has on him.

God, he’s so big. So big that when he takes you, he stretches you to your limits. Splitting you in two as he drives into you over and over again. It’s never vanilla, it’s always rough. So very rough. But you like it. Like the way he feels inside you as he claims you, dominates you. You’re mine, all mine, he grits through his teeth as he takes you, digging his nails into your skin as he rips at you, shredding you to pieces.

Take me, take me, you beg through your mind. And you swear he hears you by the way he sits up straighter at full attention and smirks down at you with eyes full of pure lust. And he’s telling you now with his smirk, with his eyes. You’re mine, he growls. And you know it, you know it. His to take.

You grovel over to him, batting your long eyelashes up at him as if that’ll stir the desire in him. You bite your lower lip and flick your tongue across the edge seductively as you smolder for him. Take me, take me, you scream.

The anger builds in him as he snarls down at you and hisses as he continues to pump his large length. The thick veins cascade around his thick cock as shots of precum drip down around him, ending in his coarse, wiry hair. You want to taste him, need to taste him. You’ve never craved anyone like this in your entire life.

He wrapped his twisting vines around your wrists and pulled until he had a forceful hold on you. He dragged you through the pitch black forest and devoured your body, claiming you as his own in the first week he met you. And you were hooked ever since, never being able to say no to him. You could even hear the forest shrieking its warning calls. Run away, leave, get away from the wolf with dark eyes. But you didn’t listen, only hypnotized by the dark, dominant beast of the night.

When you finally reach him and work your way in between his legs, he grabs your jaw with his rough hand and forces you to open as he squeezes you tight. “Tongue out,” he presses and you fully oblige.

You stick your wet tongue out, and he brings the tip of his cock to you as you slowly lap at the end with your tongue. “Fuck,” he groans from deep in his chest as he stares down at you with a snarl. You slowly draw sensual circles with your tongue along his most sensitive spots and lap up precum into your mouth as you generously swallow the salty flavor of him. You smirk up at him as you lap at his tip, giving him your best smoldering eyes that you can.

You watch his eyes turn coal black as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your eyes up to his. You wince at the pain simmering through your skull as he holds you tight, unable to move an inch from him. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me,” he growls as his piercing eyes sear through you like a knife. He pulls your hair tighter and you cry out in pain. “You gonna be a good girl and behave?” he asks with a twinge of anger in his deep voice.

“Mhm,” you nod as he stares his hard eyes into you.

“Better be.” He bares his teeth as he lets his grip drop from you, and you catch yourself on his knees. “Now be a good little lamb and show me how good your mouth fucks,” he growls as he sits back in the wooden chair and scoots his hips up, waiting to be pleasured by you.

You’re quick to appease him. You wrap a hand around his thick cock and slide your hand up and down, spreading precum all around his length, and then you take him in your mouth. You work him nice and slow as you bob up and down, up and down, gathering spit all over his cock. He moans a deep, sated sound out of his throat as he watches you with hollowed out black eyes.

You continue flicking your tongue and sucking his thick, substantial length as you work up and down to please him. You can tell he’s right on the edge of release by the way he’s clenching his jaw and breathing out ragged, concentrated moans. But he won’t end there, not tonight. He’ll push your boundaries, he always does.

As you pull back to his tip, he reaches down and grabs your hair hard and thrusts up into your mouth. He brings your head forward and forces you down as his large length hits the back of your throat, making your eyes start to water from the action. He doesn’t let up, he just keeps thrusting harder and faster as he mouth fucks you forcefully.

You choke and gag on him as he hits the back of your throat over and over again. Your mouth is a swimming pool of saliva as it drips down your chin, caking his cock with slick drool. You feel like you're drowning and can’t breathe underneath him, but he keeps going. He’s almost there, almost there. Need to breathe, need to breathe. Your eyes water as tears spill down your crimson cheeks and fall to the cold floor. He’s pushing you, always pushing you to your limits as he pushes past them. He loves when you choke on him, loves to hear the gargled, gagging sounds as your throat constricts around him. And when you look into his black eyes and see the way he bares his sharp teeth down at you, you know you made him feel good.

“You look so goddamn pretty choking on me, little lamb. Feels so fucking good when you deep throat me, when I fuck your mouth with my cock,” he moans as he pushes you deeper, nearly suffocating you under the weight of his massive cock that’s coated in drool. “Now you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow for me,” he commands as he thrusts inside you.

You can’t take much more. You’re out of breath and you’re digging into his thighs as you continue to take him, barely able to hold on anymore. You see him clench his jaw again, his breath speeding up as he groans curses out of his mouth. He’s there, he’s there. His dark eyes roll back as he holds your head in place and releases his load all through the back of your throat. You feel the white, hot liquid slide down your throat as you swallow the salty taste of him.

“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes releasing himself in you. You watch his body go slack against the back of the chair as he breathes hot, whimpered moans from deep within his chest. He drops his hand from the back of your head, and you pull back, finally able to breathe again. You catch your breath and cough as you choke on more saliva and cum. You brace your hands on the cool floor and sink your nails into the wood, getting a grip on reality again as your body comes back to earth. Your voice is so shaky, so raspy as you wipe the drool from your chin and swipe the tears from your eyes.

He takes, he takes, the voices whisper. But you let him take, you let him ravage you as much as he wants. Don’t give in, don’t listen to the beast. But you do, you always do. The beast has claimed you as his, and little lambs always listen to their master.

The shrieking wind blows against your window, warning you of the beast that lies inside. Warning you that there’s danger near, and it’s lurking. That danger sits in your wooden chair, revitalizing himself before he crowds your body over the bed. He’s not done with you just yet. He needs to feed, needs to devour the entirety of you. He needs to destroy every last part of you as he claims you for himself over and over again.

He slowly pushes himself out of the wooden chair and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the cold floor as he grasps you tight. “On the bed,” he commands as he bares his teeth and pulls you over to the queen sized bed. He pushes you down as you fall on your back into the cool, satiny sheets.

He slowly unbuttons his plaid shirt as he stalks toward you with dark eyes that look like they want to devour you whole. When he gets to the last button, he pulls off the shirt and drops it to the floor, leaving him completely bare. He’s so goddamn handsome that it hurts to even stare for too long.

His broad shoulders and thick arms make it hard to breathe. His bulging veins that spider down his arms and cover his massive hands makes you want to whine in need. His tousled curls and brown flecked eyes make you want to come undone just from one look. They’re hypnotizing, spellbinding. And if you look close enough, you swear you can see the flash of yellow in his eyes as he stalks toward you, ready to pounce as he comes in for the kill.

Run, go now before it’s too late, the voices warn. The wolf comes to steal, the wolf comes to kill, they shriek. Let him, you whisper to the voices. You’re his to take. You want him to take. Take me, take me, you beg. And he will, he always does.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as he drags his body over the edge of the bed, slowly crawling on top of you as his massive form hangs over you. His eyes are black pits as they stare at you, tempting you to come into the darkness as he drags you down again and again. Your eyes go wide and your pulse races in your neck as you stare up at the man made of nightmares.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Scared of the big bad wolf?” he asks as he smirks down at you, his eyes pooled with darkness.

“No, I’m not scared,” you whisper out as you gulp down your fears.

“Then why can I smell the fear on you?” he smiles, his teeth like white, jagged razors.

“I’m not scared of you. No. I’m scared you’ll run off into the night and never come back.” Your voice comes out meek, breathy. Why the fuck did you just say that? His smile drops from his face and his eyebrows knit together. You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t tell what he’ll do. Don’t go, don’t go, you whisper. You need him. You need him.

His jaw flexes and relaxes as you see his waning features in the moonlight. He grazes his calloused fingers over your jaw slowly and comes to cup your chin as he pulls your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, little lamb. Even if I run, I always come back. You’re mine and mine alone. Tell me who you belong to,” he growls possessively, making you desperate for his touch. You need him, you need him.

“You. I belong to you. I’m yours,” you gasp out, not able to hold on much longer. Touch me, taste me, devour me.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

Before you can comprehend what happens, he crashes his lips down to yours and devours you. Sucking, biting, kissing your throbbing lips as he shoves his tongue in your mouth and glides his rough tongue against yours. He swirls and swirls, filling up your senses with the taste of him. He tastes so fucking good, you could get lost in his whiskey taste, needing to drown in it until it fills up your lungs completely.

When he releases from your mouth, he cages his arms around your shoulders and crowds your body with his. “Little lamb, little lamb. What pretty eyes you have,” he purrs as he slowly pushes your legs apart with his knees, spreading you wide open for him to take. You bite your lip at the gentle praise and feel yourself become wet with arousal at the sight of him spreading you.

He lowers his head to your neck and licks a stripe up the side, right in the sensitive crevice of your neck. “And you taste so fucking good, I just love eating you up,” he groans as he bites down on your most sensitive nerve ending in your neck. You moan at the sharp, hot sensation as a wave of slick runs down your inner thigh.

He trails his hand slowly down your center, starting at your chin, gliding down your sternum, sliding over your abdomen, and ending at your wet, hot center. He spreads your soft folds and draws tight, slow circles around your clit as you hear the sloshing noises from your arousal.

“Joel,” you moan out, whining as it takes you under a sea of hypnotic pleasure. “Take me. Please, take me,” you beg.

“That’s right, little lamb. Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” he praises through your thick cloud of pleasure. “Gonna fuck you now, little lamb. Gonna show you how good I can make you feel,” he says with bared teeth.

“Please,” you beg as he takes his thumb off your clit and pulls you down further in the bed, angling your hips up as he wraps your legs tight around his back.

“You’re mine, little lamb. Mine,” he growls as he plunges his thick cock in you, spreading you wide and splitting you in two as you moan out in pleasure.

He keeps his strides steady and slow, quickly picking up the pace as he fucks up into you over and over again. Driving your moans out of you as he bottoms out inside you, pounding over and over again against your tight walls. He throws your legs over his shoulders and digs his nails into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, repeatedly hitting the soft, spongy area inside you over and over again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. You whine out as you moan his name over and over again. So good, it feels so good. You can feel the pressure building, feel your orgasm about to take form as your walls flutter against his cock.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, little lamb. Feels so fuckin’ good. Let go for me, want you to come for me. Tell me who fuckin’ makes you feel good. Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to,” he growls as he fucks inside you harder, pressing the pad of his calloused thumb against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he circles and circles, drawing that sweet orgasm out of you.

You feel the tingling sensation wash over your head, down your spine, and ending at your aching cunt as your toes curl around him. You keep your eyes trained on him as you’re barely able to keep them open. You feel your mouth drop open wide as you let out a loud moan that’s meant for Joel.

“You. I belong to you, Joel.” You scream out his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling your walls clench up around him and then release white slick all over his cock as he continues to thrust up inside you, as he continues to circle your pulsing clit. White, hot heat spills through you as you completely lose yourself to him. Your body feels staticky as your mind goes fuzzy and your brain fogs over, only thinking of the man with dark eyes that takes you over completely.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls as he leans over your body and hovers over you, driving his thick cock in and out, in and out. Bottoming out so many times that you see stars. He’s there, he’s almost there, he’s about to cum. Four more thrusts and his body tenses up, his black pupils expanding as he throws his head back and clenches his jaw. He spills his seed inside of you as you feel the sticky cum coat your walls. He claims you, he claims you, and you love it, can never get enough. Mine, mine, mine, he growls possessively. And you’re his, you’re all his.

He slowly pulls out of you as you feel his seed drip down your inner thighs. “Did so good for me, little lamb. So good,” he praises as he cleans the mess from your thighs, wiping away the evidence that he had been there. He collapses next to you in bed and pulls you to him as he wraps his strong arms around you, crushing you to his chest. It feels good, this feels good.

He always leaves right after he finishes, never stays to comfort or hold you. He’s selfish, mean, but tonight he holds you. He holds you. He stays. You don’t say anything about it, don’t ask him why he stays because he’ll just get up and leave, leaving you empty and alone.

You feel the heavy weight he holds close to him, feel the heartbreak he carries with him day after day, can feel the cold glass of the broken watch grazing against your back. But you don’t ask, don’t chance it. You feel the loss cover him, feel his anger seething somewhere underneath his calm demeanor. It’s there just waiting to pounce, waiting to lash out at whatever stands in front of him.

He’s the wolf that stalks Jackson, the wolf that terrorizes the forest, the wolf that haunts the whispering ghosts that lie buried in the cold, dead ground. He goes around destroying, rampaging, slaughtering in the thick of the night. He’s a menace that looks for anything he can sink his teeth into and bleed dry. He’s a looming threat over every area he enters, threatening to destroy and kill. He takes, he takes. Again and again. But that’s what wolves do. They hunt and they take and they dominate while their prey cower before them, just waiting for the kill.

Joel is a wolf. A reckless, vengeful, powerful wolf. He loves to devour, loves to control, loves to dominate you. But he also gives, never letting you go starving for his touch. He always comes at the dead of night, always pulls you from your deep sleep to tumble around with the wolf in the sheets.

He’s like a melodic, captivating melody that hypnotizes you, calling you into the forest night after night with his deep howl. You always go, never ignoring the call that’s meant for you and you alone. And when you go, the ghosts reach for you from under the dirt and try to pull you away, warning you of what you’re about to face. But you ignore them, stepping over their graves as if they were never there. You go, you always go. Never betraying the lonely wolf with the sad, dark eyes.

It’s now while he holds you tight in his arms that you realize maybe you were meant to find him. He’s broken, a lone wolf that walks the hollow streets of Jackson just trying to find a purpose to keep going, to keep fighting. And when you showed up a few months ago, it's like a little light turned on inside him when it was all around black before you came.

You see him now for what he really is. He’s not all bad, not all teeth and claws. He yearns to break free from his wolf form, begging to run free with the rest of the pack instead of being cast out like he is. You see it in his wrinkled forehead, in his jaw that repeatedly clenches and relaxes, in his dark brown eyes that hollow out when you stare into them.

He’s so close, so close that you smell his mahogany forest scent that clings to him as it pulls you in, intoxicating you into a relaxed state. He stares at you with those dark eyes, his chest breathing in and out in shallow waves. You try something new, feeling brave all of a sudden. You slowly reach out your hand and brush it through his tousled curls, gently moving away a dark piece that falls against the side of his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lash out at you like a wild animal. He stays calm, just staring at you with a soft expression. His eyes change to a chocolate brown instead of the deep black pits he usually has. And then he surprises you by reaching his hand up slowly to your face, hesitating at the gentleness of himself. He trails his calloused fingers over your cheek, as light as a feather as he takes in your tranquil features.

He changes, he changes, the voices call. No more teeth, no more slaughter, they chant louder. A quiet victory to the ghosts that haunt the forest.

And just like that, you have tamed the wolf, controlling all his pent up rage, giving him the restitution he needed all along. You can see it in his big brown eyes, how he looks at you as if you saw him for the first time when no one else did. When no one else could give him what he needed. He needed someone that could understand all the hurt and loss he had been through. You’ve lost, you’ve died a thousand times through grief, but you found your way again through him. The hungry wolf that you were searching for all along.

And so the lost, scared lamb found herself in the face of the big, bad wolf. He came to destroy, to take, and to use. But you found a way to tame the claws, to tame the gnashing teeth. Somehow you controlled the beast, showing him that he truly wasn’t alone. Never leave, never leave, you call to him in your mind. And it’s like he can hear your thoughts because he drags his thumb lightly down your jawline and responds.

“I’ll stay, little lamb. I’ll stay,” he whispers. And he does, he does.

Maybe not all wolves are out to steal, kill, and destroy. Maybe there are wolves that are just lonely, broken, needing to know that someone understands them. Needing to know that they’re truly not alone. Joel is that wolf. He just needed to find you. He needed to find the lamb that wouldn’t run and cower in his presence. He needed a lamb that would stay by his side, that would show him the way out of the dark and into the light. He needed restitution. He needed you. He needed you.

And so he stays, he stays. The lonely, bleeding, broken wolf finding resolve and contentment with the quiet, gentle lamb. He stays.

Tags: @janaispunk @amyispxnk @iamasaddie @ashleymsnodgrass @tuquoquebrute @whxtedreams @fanfictilltheend @burntheedges @cinnamongorll @studioghibelli @pedrostories @blueseastorm @trea-bae

[anony-geist]

The Demeter movie makes me wish for a competent director to make one about the first arc of the book. An actually scary Dracula and his just as vicious vampire minions when he drops pretenses and tangles his victim in his web. Show us why Jonathan's mind straight up breaks and forgets his own name after two months in Hell.

It has claustrophobia! Sheer cliffs trapping you in! It has vampires from the locked crypts stalking and teasing their human plaything! Fear, temptation, and a longing for home. It has possessed wolves and hungry mist and panicked villagers. Nightmares, madness, dream and reality blurring! Violation of mind, body, and soul! Empty pages for weeks or has it been months or is it years? He can't tell anymore. There's a monster at the door.

[shrillow]

Winter Flowers - Ch 1

sylus x reader; dragon!sylus; human sacrifice!reader; female!reader

synopsis: the dragon protecting your valley demands a mate to join him in his lair. Certain events compel you to volunteer yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for what awaited you on the mountain.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

"For as long as this bite remains," he whispers, "you shall be mine."

-

In the mountain that overlooks your valley, lives a dragon.

Its age is unknown to you. For generations, your people exist in the shadow of the creature, while it guards the valley against raiders and armies alike. As children, the elders taught you to regard the dragon as a force of nature, capable of both preservation and great destruction. Grisly warnings are whispered to you in the dead of night, when sneaking out to the north woods proved an irresistible temptation to the youth. Yet, to you, the dragon is never more than an obscure presence in the background of your life.

After all, decades have gone and passed since the last pillagers stepped foot into the valley. A thousand years of peace have allowed wildflowers to unfurl across the gentle hills you wander. The frolic of deer and sound of birdsong fill the valley every spring. And you and your village follow the ebb and flow of its delicate ecosystem. Even now, on the cusp of the harvest, everyone gathers in the grey dawn to reap the bursting golden fields.

All of it, the elders are quick to remind you, is due to the benevolence of the valley’s guardian, and the deal your ancestors struck with it centuries ago.

And in return for this bucolic existence? A human mate every one hundred years.

A small price to pay for you to tend to your father’s sheep alone, without fear of plunder or kidnapping. To meander through the foothills beside the animals, with the village hound in tow, and read about giants under the shade of a tree. 

You’ve never known anything else except for the green expanse before you. Your people do not leave the valley, and why would they? When they have everything here. How could you want for anything, after being raised in the gentle cradle of these fields?

But when you stop at the valley’s end marked by the splitting river and a field of lupins, where the sheep do not care to roam further, a disquiet roots inside your heart.

You cannot name the feeling. It’s in a language the elders never taught you.

The wind shifts. The sheep grow restless with the fading light.

“Come away now,” you beckon the sheep, “lest you want to be eaten by wolves.”

-

While the villagers spend their hours in the fields at this time of year, you’re still out in the pastures. You spend weeks at a time with the flock, until one of your brothers comes up from the village to take over. It’s solitary work. But you’re a solitary person.

You can still feel the heat of the earth when you wake up the next morning. Winter is still a couple months away. The lambs haven’t finished weaning.

One day is no different from the last. You rise to eat and feed the dog. You take your crook and rove through the flock, counting.

“Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one . . . ”

You arrive at the same number as last time. The sheep must have taken yesterday’s threat to heart.

You take the herd further into the valley, though you’re still a day and half’s walk from the village. Across your northern vision, a line like torn paper cuts into the sky. The mountains loom before the verdant plains like an impenetrable wall. Hills of pine blanket the base of those jagged peaks. You think you can see your village, small wisps of smoke rising in the distance. 

When night falls, you settle in a familiar glade, where the earth forms a natural barrier against harsher weather. Tonight, you can sleep under the stars. The sheep huddle close, and the hound prowls the dark. They may fear the wolves but you don’t.

“Wolves no longer venture into the valley.” Your father’s voice carried into the quiet evening. You were fourteen. You knew much of sheering but little of shepherding. Your father hopes to pass these pastures to his sons, but he still teaches you.

“Why?” you remember asking.

“Because we’re here,” he says. At the time, you didn’t think that was much of a reason. A girl who's just come of age isn’t much of a threat. And your father? Though he carried an axe on his belt, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly.

When the morning sun runs her fingers across your cheek, you wake to the smell of blood.

You leap to your feet. You feel around in the grass for your crook and rush to the herd. You call your dog but there’s no answering bark. The sheep have formed a tight and restless circle. They bleat as you pass them, struggling to get away from the stench.

You have to climb over a small rise before you see it.

Ten ewes lie dead at the bottom of the hill.

Their throats were torn open. Their entrails spill on the ground. They were clearly feasted on.

You hear your name in the wind and you look around frantically until you see him, your brother, rushing down the fields on a horse towards you.

You meet him halfway, but before he can open his mouth, you shout, “Something happened to the sheep last night!” You drag him over the hill where he can look down at the bloody scene. Your brother’s face turns white.

He grabs your arm suddenly. “You must return to the village.” You’ve never seen your brother so grave.

“The dragon,” he whispers, “came down from the mountain yesterday.”

Your mouth falls open.

That could only mean one thing.

You turn your attention back to the dead sheep. “This is no coincidence,” you insist, “The elders need to know.”

“Wolves got to these sheep,” your brother says.

Your face twists into a frown. “They were obviously killed by—”

“You don’t know that,” he retorts. He turns away to pace, wiping his face with a shaking hand. You look away. It’s been a long time since you saw your brother this shaken.

“Take the horse,” he instructs you, “and tell no one of this. Not even Father. Okay?” He makes you swear it.

You swallow your protests and make your way through the fields. A shape bounds towards you and you sigh in relief as you recognize your hound. At least he remains unscathed.

As you pull yourself into the saddle, you hear a sound like shattering glass.

The earth trembles. You see black mist rising from the north, like a murmuration of starlings. It writhes in the air until it disappears within the shadow of the mountains.

-

When you return to your village, you find the south fields empty of villagers. Tools and wagons heavy with unthreshed wheat stand idle.

Droves of villagers are making their way towards the village center. You weave through them, trying to find the rest of your family when someone calls your name.

You spin around just as your sister throws herself at you.

“It was here,” she says breathlessly. She’s shaking. You think she’s about to faint so you grab her. You see in her eyes pure terror. “The elders have called a gathering.”

She tugs you into the stream of people until you shuffle inside the mead hall. Even infants and young children are brought. The elders sit in a circle, their aged faces sallow and grim as they address each other.

“We cannot concede to the beast’s demand,” Elder Jenna’s voice resounds through the hall, “Barely fifty years have passed since we last had to sacrifice one of our daughters.”

Elder Josephine shushes the crowd that murmur their support for Jenna. “The pact did not specify once every century.”

“But the precedent has always been thus, Elder Josephine,” Jenna counters, “Has it not since our forebears settled the land?”

“I’ll admit that our histories do not have record of the dragon demanding a new mate so early,” the older woman concedes. The hall once again echoes with several hundred voices, but when the elder rises from her chair, all are silenced.

“So who here,” Elder Josephine addresses the village, “is willing to forgo the ceremony?”

Everyone stiffens. Neighbors glance at each other, girls your age share haunted looks.

A thousand years of peace.

Not even Jenna speaks up.

In the end, no one wants to bear the burden of breaking such a legacy. Not for principle. Not for a daughter.

-

As is the custom, lots are drawn.

Mothers, married women, and girls who haven’t had their first blood, are exempt. That leaves ten eligible maidens to draw a stone.

The entire village descends into mourning. The harvest is put on hold, and the usual festive ribbons folks spent weeks making are stripped from doorways and light posts. Until all color is leached from the village.

The families with eligible daughters receive heartfelt condolences, including your parents. But not many, for you are their only eligible daughter among three boys and a married sister. Other families are not so lucky.

Your mother does not share the sentiment.

“Such plans I had for you,” she mutters. “All to be threatened by that beast? The forebears mock me.”

You wince when you feel her jasper ring scrape against the back of your neck while wrangling your hair into a braid. 

At last, she finishes and leaves for your sister’s house to help her with the newborn, before undoing your mother’s work.

You rouse your brothers, check in on your father who sleeps much longer these days, and make sure that you have ample amount of wood to burn later tonight.

Then, you slip into the morning mist and disappear.

-

No one ever hunts in the north woods. No one would dare, so close to the mountain. As children, you and the others would play a game of who could stand the closest to the treeline. Your friend, Tara, is the unseated champion of this little contest. You remember watching her stride to the forest’s edge until branches and foliage seemed to stretch toward her, embracing her. You feared the woods would swallow her hole.

You find her now at the edge of these same woods, collecting flowers.

“They say the climb is the hardest part,” Tara says as you approach. She gathers arnica and yarrow in her basket, before casting her gaze up the mountain, which looms like the wrinkled face of a sleeping giant. In a few weeks, a fresh mantle of snow will cover the peak and glitter under the winter sun. For now, there’s only a light dusting of white.

“I’m not scared,” she says. You give her a look and she flashes you a coy smile. “What? Not everyone can claim they bedded down with a dragon.” 

“Only you would joke about something like this,” you say, elbowing her side. Any other time, you would have laughed. But everyone knows that the chosen never return to the valley. The reason is self-explanatory.

You read somewhere that being chosen as a dragon’s mate was seen as a sacred honor. You don’t know exactly when that sentiment changed.

You stare into the depths of the forest. As a child, you could never get as close to them as Tara.

“What do you think is on the other side of the mountain?” you ask.

“I don’t know . . . Death and destruction?” she suggests. Wormwood and nettle join her collection. “Cannibals and thieves? I haven’t really thought about it.”

You think about the dead ewes in the field. Description of that morbid scene is at the tip of your tongue.

But when you glance at your friend, the words once again fail you. Why do they fail you? Tara deserves to know what kind of monster really lurks in that mountain.

Compliancy makes cowards of us all.

“The book Jenna gave me,” you say instead, “it talked about something called an ocean. Water, as far as the eye can see.”

Tara laughs. "Now that's something I'd like to see. What other fantasies have you got in that head of yours?"

That night, you dream that the forest drags Tara into its darkness. You dream of running after her, only for the trees to weave into an impenetrable wall, preventing you inside.

-

The ceremony is a simple affair, without speeches or spectacles. You, Tara, and eight other girls each pull a stone from a hemp sack. You roll your stone in your hand, cool and river-soaked smooth.

Nine black stones. One white stone.

The entire village is in attendance. For most, this is the first ceremony they’ve witnessed. The elders watch you girls closely. Jenna’s hands are tightly clasped around her pendant, her expression a storm cloud. Elder Josephine’s gaze is relaxed in quiet assessment.

Your mother looks as if she’ll crack someone’s bones any minute. Your father and brothers appear ill. Tara’s family is on their knees in prayer.

When Elder Jenna asks you to reveal your stones, you close your eyes and unfold your fingers.

Several girls cry out. You hear a tidal of murmurs ripple throughout the village. Your mother’s gasp is what causes you to open your eyes.

A black stone.

You let yourself breathe and turn to Tara with a half-smile—

You drop your stone. The world narrows to a pin prick.

Nestled in Tara’s palm, a white stone.

-

“Now that all that fuss is over,” says your mother, “it’s time we announce your engagement.”

You look up sharply.

“That boy Andrew has asked to marry you. I said yes.”

You recognize his name. His family owns the largest fields in the valley. You grew up together. He’d taught you how to thresh wheat, had sucked the blood from your finger when you’d cut yourself on a stalk.

“I can’t marry him.”

“His father is the wealthiest landowner in the valley. His are the fields from which we eat. And yet, you can’t marry his son?” Her voice hisses with mockery. “Pray tell, daughter.”

A dozen reasons bubble in your throat, but they would be reeds to her fiery tongue. And so, you shrink into your chair, avoiding the smug curl of your mother’s lips. 

“You will wed him next spring, and you will be grateful that a boy like him has chosen someone like you.”

-

You sprint to Tara’s home before the sun’s golden fingers touch the valley’s floor.

You barge through the door and announce, “We must leave this place.” You stride toward Tara’s room. “Before you depart for the mountain, and I for the marriage bed.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that Tara isn’t inside, though her herbs lay scattered across the table. Puzzled, you make your way around the hut to find your friend hunched over and heaving behind the cottage.

You rush to her side. “Tara!” You hold back her long hair while she coughs up the remaining contents of her stomach. When she quiets, you guide her back into the house, sitting her down close to the firepit, before retreating to the kitchen to make up some rudimentary concoction Tara once taught you for upset stomachs.

“Remind me, is it goldenseal or bloodroot for the stomach?” you ask her.

“Nothing I have is going to remedy this ailment,” Tara says ruefully, “I’m with child.”

You spin around. “Why didn’t you say anything before the ceremony?”

“I didn’t know.”

“We must tell the elders,” you insist, “We can draw lots again—”

“You know the other girls and their families would riot if we did that,” she says. “And they’ll think I planned this.”

“The dragon demands a maiden,” you remind her, “It would kill you and the baby!” You watch tears form in your friend’s eyes. You take her hand and brush her tears away with your scarf. “If you won’t tell the elders, then we must leave the valley.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere that dragon or my mother can’t reach us,” you say, “She’s marrying me off come spring. If we leave now, we'll be out of the mountains before the first snow.”

But Tara is shaking her head. “No.”

Your grip on her hand tightens. “What?”

“I want my child to be raised here.” She looks at you pleadingly. “You know the world beyond this place is dangerous. Our village has not seen violence in a thousand years.” Tara’s hand curls into a fist above her stomach. “Maybe . . . maybe the dragon will let me stay? Maybe I can at least give birth before I have to join it . . . ”

It was a far flung hope. In your village’s collective memory, no concessions have been made since the forging of that archaic agreement between the dragon and your ancestors. You know nothing of a dragon’s mating cycles, but you doubt the creature would accept the arrival of its mate to be delayed. Nor would sending someone up with a message be feasible, so close to winter.

“Please, Tara,” you beg, “leave this valley with me. It can’t be any worse than becoming the dragon’s mate.”

Where was your friend who braved the edge of the north woods? Where was your friend who said she wasn’t afraid of the dragon? 

You wait for her to emerge from the forest unscathed.

But you are met with only Tara’s silence.

-

You are not yet five summers old when Elder Jenna takes you to the old chapel and reads to you the meagre books that have survived since the time of your forebears. From their own memoirs, she recounts vast oceans and deserts; monstrous creatures and fae guides; legendary kings and prodigal magicians.

“The elders believe that these are only folklores our forebears collected during their travels,” Jenna tells you while you lay your young head in her lap while she reads. “But I think these stories are real.”

“All of them?” you’d asked.

She shares a smile with you. Her garnet pendant glimmers in the candlelight. “There’s a world out there, bright one. We’ve let ourselves forget about it.”

Now, years later, you follow the sheep in a daze. The fall sun beats down on the back of your neck as you sit with the faded pages from these journals. Whatever comfort they once provided you has ebbed away and eroded the surface of something far more sinister than any fable. An unspeakable truth. Now an unavoidable certainty.

The same sheep graze in the same spots. The same lilies and gentians are trampled beneath your familiar feet. You and a hundred generations of shepherds have worn a path through the same meadows and grassy plains. Even after your father entrusted the sheep to your care, you never strayed from it.

Could you call any place home besides this valley? Could any other lovely fields or alpine views feel half as comforting as the ones before you?

Can you starve in all this beauty, hungry child?

Anyone who becomes the dragon’s mate is gone forever. Anyone who leaves the valley never returns.

You think of Tara, whose fear is not leaving but rather, never being able to go back.

You remember how you were too scared to approach the north woods, how you always lost in those games. You were henceforth known as the craven one, the one in need of the comfort of books and familiar things.

But that isn’t why you were never able to compete with Tara and the rest.

You were afraid that if given the choice, you would choose to never return.

-

In the morning, your mother drags you out of bed by your hair.

“You volunteered?!” she screams, “After all I have done for you? Selfish girl!” She throws you into the main room in front of your father and brothers. Disoriented from sleep, you struggle to rise, but your mother simply kicks you back. You stumble into the fireplace and pain engulfs your arm. You scramble away but the damage is already done.

Your father makes himself scarce. Your brothers cower in the corner as your mother approaches you. There is nothing but malice in her eyes. “If you want to be the dragon’s whore, then so be it.”

It’s the last thing your mother ever says to you.

-

You and Tara sit on top of the remains of a crumbling stone wall, cloud-watching.

She’s the first to break the silence.

“I thought we’d grow old here.”

You squeeze her fingers with your good hand. “We shared a childhood,” you say, “the forebears granted us that at least.”

Tara looks at you with shining eyes. “I hate this. We should have run away.”

You shake your head. “This is where you belong. I shouldn’t have tried to take that from you.”

“But what about you?” Tara entreats.

“I don’t know,” you admit. Your gaze inevitably turns to the mountain. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

-

Your brother returns from the pastures.

“You were right.” He’s standing with his shoulders hunched, there’s a paranoid look in his eyes. “I want to give you something.”

You follow him to one of the outposts, where spare tools and food are stored. Gingerly, he reaches inside to pull out his hunting spear.

“They always told us that the dragon promised to never harm one of our own,” he recalls. After a moment, he hands the weapon to you. “It lied.”

You stare at the spear. It’s a simple thing, with a steel tip fastened to the end of an ash wood shaft. It was your mother’s weapon, crafted with her own hands, before gifting it to your brother.

You toss it back to him. “What do you expect me to do with it?”

“Whatever you have to,” he says, “Whatever it takes to come back home.”

You’re silent. Clouds chase after the sun’s slow descent behind the hills. Neighbors return to their huts, to rise again before the wheat rots on the stem.

And above it all, a dragon waits.

You take the spear from your brother.

-

The night before you are to leave, Elder Josephine asks you to visit the chapel.

It’s a crumbling, teetering thing on the outskirts of the village. It’s not used for prayer or holding ceremonies. The only things inside are the relics of your forebears, the first men and women who settled the valley.

You find the elder standing before a row of chests at the back of the building. Her brooch flashes a brilliant red in the candlelight, fractals of color spill across the stone walls like blood splatterings

“Before tomorrow, I must ask you,” she utters gravely, “are you truly willing to become the dragon’s mate, to forsake the valley, climb the mountain, and never return?”

You think of Tara and the child in her belly. You think of dead sheep and spring weddings.

Your breath is steady when you say, “I do.”

A moment passes, before, “Then approach, daughter of the valley.”

-

Your sister tightens the straps of your cloak, checks the buckles of your back, and combs away the strands of hair that refuse to conform to the braid.

“They say the climb is the hardest part,” she says.

“I know.”

Behind her, you watch your niece pick at the grass while the dog curls its protective body around her. The sun has barely made it over the eastern rise.

Your sister surveys her work. She glances at your bandaged arm but quickly looks away. Nine years your senior, you weren’t very close to your sister. But you share the same mother, and so too, the same wounds.

“Wolves and bears don’t trespass into the dragon’s territory, so you shouldn’t worry about attracting them. The food should last the entire journey, but I know you like to indulge.” Her mouth is pinched into a smile. “So don’t blame me if you run out.”

Her eyes glisten dangerously. You open your arms and your sister collapses into them. 

“Thank you,” you say.

You hold her until your clothes soak up the last of her tears. A quiet part of you is grateful that you can carry her with you in this small way.

-

A crowd waits for you. But your father and brothers are the only ones you search for among the somber faces. Their hugs are the hardest to let go from. Your mother is predictably absent. You wipe their tears and tell your brothers to look after your father.

Tara is the last one in the parade of villagers you pass on your way to the north forest. She smells like morning rainfall and fresh laundry when you hug her. The scent pierces your lungs, and you think that if you let go, you’ll be lost forever.

“Come back to us when you make it out,” she murmurs into your ear.

You hide your smile into her shoulder. Only Tara would make such an impossible demand.

“I will,” you say, because only you would make such an impossible promise.

-

Like so many years ago, you find yourself standing before the north forest, and closer than you’ve ever been before.

Just as you step into the trees, you root around the damp earth until you come across something long and heavy.

You allow yourself a moment to admire the spear, turning it around in your hands. Then, you begin to walk until your unremarkable little village disappears behind a dense green shroud. 

For days, you trudge through a thick layer of underbrush, using the spear as a walking stick. Nights in the forest are the darkest you’ve ever known. You’re used to the boundless canopy of stars stretching from one end of the valley to the other and beyond. Oftentimes, with Tara, you would sleep out in the fields on summer evenings and spin tales from constellations.

When you peer at the sky now, you only see shadows upon shadows, concealing the stars from you.

The sun struggles to pierce the thick woods in the mornings, forcing you to continue your journey largely by feel. You don’t have to worry about direction, you just follow where the ground tilts up.

Your aching feet are at least a distraction from your raw and itching arm. Every morning you wrap it in fresh linens, washing and drying your old wraps when you make camp. You dab a bit of the salve Tara made for you on the worst of your burn, but the blisters are slow to heal.

You hope the dragon doesn’t mind his mate pre-roasted.

By the end of the week, a chill accompanies the air. You notice a clearing up ahead of you, where a bit of rock juts out. You clamor your way to the outcropping and soak in the view before you.

Your valley has always been beautiful. Beyond the wheat fields, miles of wildflowers bloom in a shocking array of colors every spring. The sheep come down from the south hills and flood the terrain. But up here, your valley looks so small, tucked away in the folds of a vast mountain range. Your village is a blemish against the greenery. The outposts scattered across the grazing fields mere freckles.

You glance behind you, taking in the rest of your journey.

A jagged, unfriendly cliff face stares back at you in challenge.

You tighten your bandages, and begin to climb.

-

Tara and your sister were right. The climb might kill you before the dragon does.

You nurse your bleeding hands, try to warm them against your bowl of food. You’re starving, but you only eat enough to keep the hunger pains at bay. 

The harvest would be over by now. Almost two weeks since you hugged your best friend. Since your sister fixed the hole in your cloak for the climb. Since your father doused your burned arm in water and bandaged it. At least here, this solitude is familiar.

You avoid thinking of Tara and your family too often. You reserve your mind only for the dragon.

One thing about this climb that you appreciate: you can see the stars again.

Are you looking at the stars, Tara?

That night you dream of fire. You dream that Tara births a creature with wings and horns. You dream of your mother’s rage, burning red in her eyes. You dream of a spear, resting in the blood-stained snow.

-

There’s more things you don’t know about the dragon than you do. 

The spring of your sister’s wedding, you asked Elder Josephine: “Why does the dragon need a mate?”

You work with her on your sister’s veil. Famed for her needlework, Elder Josephine has sewn the veils of all the girls in the valley. Showing some talent for the craft, you’re placed under her tutelage.

“That is the price for its protection,” she answers, eyes never leaving her careful embroidery.

You contemplate her answer, before suggesting, “Do you think the dragon is lonely?”

For the longest time she doesn’t answer.

Eventually, she turns to you and says, “The last girl who was chosen asked the same thing.” She pats the brooch over her heart. “Perhaps the creature feels something akin to loneliness. But who’s to say? This is something not even the forebears knew.���

You and Elder Josephine continue to embroider lilies and heathers into your sister’s veil. You do not speak of the dragon again.

While you and the elder are admiring the finished product of your hard work, Elder Josephine says to you, “For your veil, sweet child, daffodils.”

You never have the chance to ask her why.

Years later, and your only veil is the frost that clings to you in the early mornings as you ascend higher and higher into the clouds. The air is thin and bitter cold.

You find . . . winter flowers, sprouting in rebellion against the frost.

No spring wedding for you. No daffodils or handsome groom. Only the climb.

-

You’re lost.

Cavernous rock faces rise up on all sides, caging you in an icy labyrinth. You don’t know where you took a wrong turn, you’ve been wandering for days.

You assume the dragon’s den would be obvious. But the mountain is huge, and you’ve stumbled into all sorts of caverns and caves, with no dragon in sight.

Harvest has surely passed, yet you’ve failed to find the dragon’s lair. Would it punish you? Would it punish the village?

You forgo camp to scour the mountain passages. Deep crags cast long, gloomy shadows as dusk creeps toward night. You’ve lit a torch just to watch where your feet tread.

You follow a narrow crevice and nearly plummet to your death when you emerge before a sheer drop. You land on your backside in your attempt to scramble to a safer distance from the ledge.

And then you see it, cast in brilliant orange and violet hues, the largest expanse of water you’ve ever seen.

It sparkles like a field of diamonds, melting into the fuzzy horizon. But then you see strange shapes in the distance. Unnatural structures reaching into the sky, and flickering lights dotting them, growing in number as the night assumes its domain. Until you can’t see anything at all.

A low growl resounds behind you.

Ocean forgotten, you slowly look up to find yellow eyes staring back.

A wolf. Flesh-tearing and huntress-cunning.

It lunges.

-

You’re fourteen, in the pastures with your father. The summer heat makes it nearly impossible to sleep. 

The flock don’t share your suffering, for they lie restfully, spread out in small packs across the field.

You think every living thing in this valley will be getting a good night’s rest except for you, until you hear a whine pierce the night air before it’s abruptly cut off. 

You sit up. The sheep are already startled awake. Your father has not.

You hear one of the sheep squeal—the sound of animal terror is unmistakable.

You reach for your father’s axe and head down into the valley.

On the edge of the forest, you find it: a wolf is feasting on a carcass. It looks up at you between the tall grass, its muzzle bloody and dripping. 

It has no fear of you.

You are shocked at the speed at which it sprints toward you. You’re knocked to the ground. It presses its massive body on top of you and opens its jaws, aiming for your throat.

You raise your axe and the wolf’s jaws snap around the shaft. Your arm reverberates with the impact. The sound of teeth biting into wood rattles your skull. As it tears the weapon from your grip, you find a rock with your other hand and strike it into the beast’s face with all your strength.

It howls. The weight of its body disappears and you stagger to your feet, groping the ground frantically for the axe.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the wolf circle you. Blood trails from an empty eye socket.

From its remaining eyes, there’s only hunger.

It lunges at you one last time. It’s slower. You can anticipate its speed.

You pull back your axe and swing.

-

A wolf lies dead with your spear through its chest.

You crawl on your knees, searching for the torch you dropped. The light has withered to a mere flame. But just as you reach for it, a shadow descends upon you.

Without thinking, you thrust the torch outward, only for it to be caught mid-swing.

A clawed hand and scarlet eyes emerge from the darkness.

“Impressive,” a voice says, before the fire burns out completely.

-

A snap of fingers brings the hearth to life.

You blink tears from your eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

A male face stares at you from across the fire. Humanoid. The rest of him is less so. Down his neck and across his shoulders grow black, twisting scale ridges, like armor. Two spindly horns sprout from his head, and a spiked, segmented tail stretches out behind him into the shadows.

And perhaps the strangest detail of his monstrous physique: tendrils of red lines like blood trails creeping towards a concave dip in his sternum. They end a few inches away from the cavity, as if in ambush.

He catches you staring at him and he smiles. “Admiring the scenery?”

You swallow. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

“I was,” he admits. His voice carries an unnatural rumbling sound.

“Why?”

The dragon shrugs. “I was curious. And it would be a rare opportunity for me to save a damsel in distress.”

You scoff. “Not a damsel.”

“No?” His red eyes glow. “They sent you up here to fend for yourself.” His tail brushes against the cavern’s floor. A few coins go scattering.

“You were the one who asked for a mate,” you remind him.

His smile twitches. “I did, didn’t I? Well—” He props his arm up and leans his head against a clawed hand. “—allow me to take full responsibility.”

You glance around the cave. Your spear leans against the wall between you two. In small alcoves, candlelight flickers, lighting up the mountains of gold and priceless treasures. Indeed, the dragon is in no need of riches. You wonder how he acquired all this . . . where he acquired it.

The cavern seems to be part of a larger tunnel system. You notice corridors and crevices leading away from the chamber, paths of gold disappearing into the dark.

The sound of the dragon’s breathing is amplified in the vast cave.

“So what now?” you ask.

“Hmm?” He arches a brow. He assesses you with a predatory intelligence. You feel like an insect under his gaze.

“How does this work?” you clarify, “Do we just . . . you know.”

Understanding hits him and he releases a deep-chested laugh. It startles you. The tip of his tail flicks out, like a horse swatting away flies.

“Do you expect me to pounce on you any minute?” he chuckles. “Don’t flatter yourself, kitten.”

You glower at him. “Then what am I here for?”

“Relax,” he drawls, “There’ll be time for that later. For now, maybe I just want a night of good conversation.”

“You must not have many conversations if you consider this the good kind.”

He scoffs. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

You look away. For a moment, you forgot that you were in the company of a monster. The one from your elders’ stories. Protector of the valley. Dragon in the mountain. You think of the ones who came before you, the one’s who’ll come after.

How many times has he had the same conversation? Do you sit in the same spot as the others, sharing warmth from the same fire?

“I know that look,” says the dragon. Though he speaks to you, he’s looking into the fire. He releases a long sigh before rising from the ground.

Your heart lurches, and you spring to your feet as well.

“Spooked?” He grins at you, but it's colder than the others. You’re sure he can hear the desperate beating of your heart. You can barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. You suppress the urge to flinch when he reaches for you.

“I’ll make this quick then.”

His claws catch the light as they swipe across your shoulder. You cry out more in surprise than pain. You stare at the cut he made; it’s no more than a flesh wound.

Your eyes turn back to him, and watch as he licks his claw, tasting your blood.

Your breath catches.

When he swallows, a light ripples across the red lines on his chest. He groans as if in discomfort, but the glow fades as quickly as it appeared.

“There,” he murmurs. 

“What?” You stare down at yourself. You realize you’re shaking. 

A rustling sound. You look up to see the dragon slink into the darkness, disappearing further into the cave.

“Wait!” you shout after him, “The elders said—they told us—!”

“That I was going to ravish you?” Rippling shadows are your only warning before he’s right in front of you. Heat emits from his body, encompassing you like a warm blanket, better than any fire. “Did your elders say that I would take you to my bed and have my wicked way with you?” He chuckles. His hand trails down your face. Amazed, you feel his claws recede into his skin, leaving only very human fingers to follow the line of your jaw.

You inhale sharply as he grabs your chin and roughly tilts your head up. His eyes shine, as brilliant as a blood moon.

“Or maybe,” he whispers, “You’re one of those.” He leans forward until his cheek brushes yours. “Maybe you want to be ravished by a dragon.”

You feel light-headed. You fear that if you speak you’ll melt into a puddle, or worse, that he’ll laugh at your stuttering attempt at words.

“My forebears promised you a mate,” you manage to say with a steady voice, “Does taking my blood fulfill this promise?”

He considers you for a long moment. You feel his tail brush your leg and you shudder.

“It’s enough,” he says simply.

You don’t know what that means. “So, we’re mated?”

He laughs again, there’s genuine amusement in it. “No, we’re not.”

You frown at him. What game was he playing? You were prepared to face down a predator. You were prepared, even, for cruelty. You thought you knew what the dragon wanted but now you’re not sure.

The dragon certainly didn’t appear . . . in need of a mate. You know what the rams were like when the ewes were in heat, how the male dogs would rut frantically on anything that moved if no females were around to relieve him.

The dragon is nothing like the wild, heat-drunk animal you were expecting. At least, not right now.

“You know,” he begins, voice absent of the sultry tones from before, “the others would have run away by now.”

The admission confuses you.

“Do you really want to know what it means to be a dragon’s mate?” he asks.

“If you promise to let me go after,” you say, “ . . . then yes.”

He regards you with suspicion. An unnatural light emanates from his eyes, reminding you of his power. You would be a fool to raise a weapon against him.

“I’ll need to take more than just your blood,” he tells you at last.

“Do what you must.” You don’t sound confident, but the dragon mercifully doesn’t mention it.

His hands come around your body, one at the small of your back, the other behind your neck. His tail curls around your leg. You suddenly find yourself held secure in his embrace.

The dragon dips his head into the crook of your neck, you feel his breath there, and you understand.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he bites down. His teeth puncture the skin, flooding your throat with a hot, yet numbing pain.

He groans into it. His muscles tense around you, as if expecting that you will resist.

You're struck with the thought that you might be the first person he’s bitten like this.

You quickly perish the notion. Surely he’s claimed a mate before?

His teeth slowly retract from you. Instinctually, his tongue laps at your wound until you can’t feel any pain at all. When you touch the mark, your fingers come away clean.

His focus is solely on you. His gaze is strangely open—vulnerable in a way a predator’s shouldn’t be.

Surely you can’t be the first.

“For as long as this bite remains,” he whispers, “you shall be mine.”

His tail wraps around your body . . . petting you. You start to think it has a mind of its own, but when one of the spines catches on your burned arm, you hiss.

He releases you immediately. His eyes dart all across your body until it lands on your soiled bandages. You’ve forgotten about the injury until now.

“What’s this?” He slowly peels back the wrappings to reveal the welts and blisters that mar your skin. They shine in the fire light, ugly and angry from days of poor care.

“It’s recent,” he states, voice sharpening. There’s a threat of violence to his words.

“It was an accident.” The lie is out your mouth before you can think.

You feel his gaze upon your arm, burning like any fire. You can’t decipher his expression. All you know is that he’s displeased—very displeased.

Then, without a word, he retracts one of his claws and drags it across his other palm. Blood pebbles to the surface.

“What are you—?”

The dragon raises his hand and lets droplets of blood run down your arm. You try to jerk away but he holds you fast.

Your skin starts to tingle, but just as you think he’s harmed you, the blisters start to fade. Your flesh begins to smooth over, replacing the dead and discolored skin. 

“It’ll leave a scar,” he says when he’s done.

“. . . Thank you.” You raise your arm to the light. Indeed, the skin is raised and knotted, but the burn looks to be years, rather than days, old. It's incredible.

He’s still frowning when your attention drifts back to him.

“You’re a poor liar,” he says, making you stiffen up once again. His hand ghosts across the mating bite. “Do not attempt it again.”

You hold your breath and nod.

“You should get some rest.” The dragon snaps his fingers and more fires appear down a corridor. “My rut will be upon me in a few days. You’ll have plenty of chances to change your mind before then.”

You ignore that last sentence, choosing instead to ask, “What should I call you?” The silence that follows makes you frown.

“Call me whatever you want,” he answers, “but don’t expect me to respond.”

-

You see the signs of the rut over the next week.

It’s subtle at first. Until it’s not.

Irritability over the smallest things. Restlessness that has you worried he’s going to cause some damage. He runs his hands across his face and neck as if trying to soothe himself. There’s now a constant flush to his skin, radiating a mild feverish heat.

You expect him to give into his urges immediately. Instead, you watch him isolate himself further in the caves.

You don’t understand. Are you not a proper mate for him? 

He hides himself from you. When you enter the main chamber, he makes himself scarce. He doesn’t let you touch him.

He hunts. A lot.

He returns every few hours with a new kill. Deer. Boar. Moose. Even bears.

“No sheep?” You watch him closely.

He gives you a strange look. “Too fatty for my liking.”

From the increasingly large stores of food, it becomes apparent that the dragon will be incapable of hunting when his rut truly hits.

Every once in a while, the mating bite burns. It’s hottest when you’re trying to sleep. Over in the next cave, you hear the dragon pace.

Frustrated and bored, you get up and make your way to his chamber.

“Ataraxys,” you say.

He stops his pacing and turns to you, face scrunched in bewilderment. “What?”

“Mandrikor,” you offer, “maybe Rhadamanth?”

He scoffs. “These names couldn’t get more ridiculous if you tried.”

“How about Onychinus?”

“I spoke too soon.” He sighs.

You share a beat of silence. In one corner of the room is a bed—or rather a nest. Blankets, pillows, and furs are tossed haphazardly into a gigantic pile. Along the walls are shelves carved into the stone, full of books. 

You study the dragon. His condition only seems to be worsening, yet he hasn’t come for you. You stopped wondering that he’ll order you to lie with him and instead assumed that he’ll just hunt you down and take you where he finds you.

Neither scenario happens.

You never expected him to be gentle like the boys from your village, timid and sweet as they were. He’s a dragon after all, with all the natural instincts to mate like one. You prepared yourself as much as you can, you even tried to be . . . enticing.

You find his abstinence to be a wholly different kind of beast.

Tonight, however, he seems more pliant to your company. When you reach for him, he doesn’t pull away. The dim candlelight carves his face into hard, unyielding edges. Even as his eyes soften when you touch him.

You’re about to spin out another list of names when he says, “You can still change your mind. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

His tone is unbothered, but his mark burns hotter than ever.

“What about this?” You brush away your hair to expose your neck.

He looks away. “It’s just a bite. It’ll fade with time.”

So much for dragons mating for life.

“You need a mate,” you remind him, “isn’t that what you always ask for?”

You swallow your hurt when he frees himself from your touch. “I don’t need you,” he growls, “I never have.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Your anger surprises both of you. “I watch you. You prowl around frustrated and in pain. For hours you avoid me and the mark burns.”

The dragon flinches when you mention the bite. 

“Am I so unappealing?” you press him, “Is that why you deny yourself?”

He closes his eyes as if in agony. He likely is. “You need to leave before you regret this,” he pants, “before you can’t stop me.”

You weigh your options. The dragon is holding onto the remaining threads of self-control, and yet, you are not afraid.

“If you’re still giving me a choice, then I have time to change my mind.” You reach for him. “Right now, I want to be here with you.”

It’s probably the pre-rut that makes him acquiesce. Regardless, he accepts your touch and does not pull away from it again.

-

An almost unbearable heat envelops you. You try to turn over and find that you can’t.

The dragon lies above you, trapping you beneath his massive hybrid body. Neither of you are wearing clothes.

His cock is red and weeping between you two. Like the rest of him, black ridges run along his length. You wonder if they’re just as sensitive.

The dragon’s face is pressed against your throat, mouthing at your mating bite. Tiny moans escape his throat as he gently rocks against you, spreading your legs even wider.

He still hasn’t taken you.

“Dragon,” you moan. You run a hand through his hair, silver and thick like a wolf’s pelt. Your fingers brush the base of his horns and you hear him gasp and feel his hips snap against you.

When his eyes meet yours, however, there is only pain.

“This will not be pleasant for you,” he rasps, “once we begin, I will not be able to stop.”

You study his flushed body, his ragged breaths, and solemn eyes. You try to find the violent, rabid creature the elders warned you about, but all you’re met with is a question.

One last chance to back out.

You close the distance between you two, and whisper, “Then don’t.”

Ch 2

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