#Though it bares the coat of a wolf

[the-lambda-archives-ai]

“Okay. . . Background. . . I was a troubled kid, I’ll just get that out of the way, got into fights skipped school made a lot of questionable choices for my age.

I think it goes without saying I didn’t have a lot of friends, not my fault, my parents were shit, abusive dad and a pushover of a mom who just sat back and watched; I used to tell myself it was 'cause she was scared of him too.

Doesn’t matter anymore.

Let’s just say they didn’t take too kindly to finding out that their dearest daughter wanted to be a boy.

I was. . . on my own, I couldn’t stay at home, they didn’t want me to stay and neither did I; since my parents abandoned me I’d forced myself to go back into the closet, I was afraid that if I was myself people would leave.

Typically people aren’t too keen on letting an angry teenager with a shit load of baggage in, so I had nowhere to go.

Naturally, when I turned 18 I joined the army, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you about all the horrors of the military.

I’m let off 7 years later, and if you thought I had problems before, you wouldn’t know the half of it.

I was more lost than ever before.

Turned out I wasn’t the only one because a little while later I ran into a mate from the army in a bar, turned out we both were from the same little shit hole, and coincidentally both ended up in the same town; we drank, talked, and for the first time I felt like I wasn’t alone, I’ve never had it happen where I talked to a stranger and it feel like we’ve known each other our entire lives, it could have also been the alcohol that made it a bit easier, but we got on like a house on fire.

Adrian was the first guy who ever really understood me, who I felt comfortable around, hell I even worked up the confidence to come out to him, I was scared shitless but he obviously accepted me. . . heh . . .it’s funny ‘cause the moment after I came out, he quickly confessed he thought he was gay, it caught me so off guard that I laughed and said “way to kill the moment.” he said he thought it would make me feel better if he also confessed a secret.

I was lost, but now I had a friend.

I became an officer and shortly after he did too, for the first time in my entire life things were beginning to get on track.

We had a good. . . 6 years? without a major incident, which in hindsight it's crazy either of us made it that long without crashing into a tree or something, but well. . . obviously that didn’t last.

One of the guys from work invited us on a hunting trip, it sounded exciting, I’d never been hunting before and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna pass up an opportunity to get drunk in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of idiots! Adrian wasn’t as excited about it as I was and was more reluctant to agree, but I guess when he heard I was going he agreed to come along.

It was us and 3 other guys in Colorado for 3 days, first couple days were great, we hiked around the mountain, went fishing, shot a couple ducks, got temporarily lost, the usual fun you have camping, it was on the night of the second day I think, that one of the guys, Adam, said he saw something moving around the campsite, Clarke, another guy, whipped out his gun and shot it in the air without warning and said some dumb shit like “well it’s gone now!”.

He got yelled at for being a fucking dumbass, but we all kind of agreed it was probably a deer and long gone now.

Adrian woke me up that night, but in a fuckin- kidnap-cover-your-mouth style, I was gonna yell at him but before I could get anything out he whispered to be quiet.

I- I’d never seen him so. . . scared.

I nodded to him and he slowly let go and inched towards the tent door, I- I asked him what was going on but he just whipped around and glared at me, I kind of just shut up and tried to listen. . .?

I’d thought maybe a bear wandered into the campsite and he’d heard it or something?

We were sat there for maybe two or three minutes before I heard a- something growling. . . it- it wasn’t like anything- I- I need you to understand there is no damn animal in Colorado that could make that noise, it was so low but not like- a natural low, like it didn’t sound real?

It sounded like if you took a dog growling and edited it to the lowest possible setting and added a reverb? Something like that- it- it was so loud I thought that it was around our tent but. . . I realized it wasn’t when I heard Adam scream.

The next part was sort of a blur, something ripped into our tent, gunshots, and we both ran out into the woods, I- I wasn't focused on where I was going- I just kept running, like tunnel vision.

It was dark and cold and at some point I realized I wasn't wearing any shoes 'cause my feet were bleeding, I was completely out of breath and exhausted, I had to stop, I barely had a moment to breathe when I heard the growling start again, it wasn't close but it was loud enough that I knew it was near, and then the growl began to change, it slowly morphed into a laugh, and then it started coming from all directions, it was so loud it- that horrible unnatural laugh rang in my skull and I couldn’t move, I knew I was trapped and- that I’d die here, alone.

A gunshot pierced the woods and all at once the laughter stopped, Adrian emerged from the tree line holding a pistol, he was shaken up but began to make his way toward me. . . I should have known better than to let my guard down, but I was so happy to see his stupid face.

A figure jumped out of the trees at a speed that- I. . . I didn’t even have the time to process what was happening, I just turned over to look and it was on Adrian, he dropped his gun and the thing- it- it almost looked human but was so deformed- it was bloated in some places and skinny in others, its face looked charred, pitch black, the only things visible were its glowing white eyes and teeth- it kicked his gun away and I ran to go pick it up, when I turned back I was expecting it to try to stop me. . . That you know- me running would at least catch it's attention? But it didn’t. . . I turned back to see it mauling Adrian, it ripped into his arm and part of his jaw before I shot it.

It didn’t die, the bullet barely seemed to have affected it, but it was enough to drive it back into the woods, he- Adrian was bleeding. Bad.

I- I was so scared he’d die- I lifted him up and wandered the woods looking for the nearby highway, I walked with him for what felt like hours before the forest service found us, they were already on their way because they heard all the gunshots.

From there I guess I must have passed out because next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital bed, I was well enough and practically jumped out of bed looking for someone to ask if Adrian was alright, but turned out he was in the bed next to me all patched up and sleeping, it’s weird, despite everything that had just happened, in that moment all I thought about was how we must have truly been inseparable if not even a freaky monster could break us apart.

I probably jinxed it. . . Adrian recovered alright and got a ton of gnarly new scars he covers up but. . . he wasn’t the same.

He became . . . obsessed with hunting down whatever that thing was. . . Metaphorically speaking, he’d never go back to those or any other woods ever again, but, he wanted answers, at some point he learned about the lambda institute and became unhealthily obsessed.

His hunger for answers was what began to drive a wedge in our friendship, the supernatural has him in a chokehold, and I don’t even think he realizes it.

Since his recovery he’s. . . spiraled. . . he’s obsessive, possessive, paranoid, and he does things without even thinking about the consequences, before all this happened he was the responsible one, one of our friends joked that I’ve basically become his babysitter, it was a joke but it’s sort of true.

I knew he was obsessed with the paranormal, but I didn’t find out about his fixation on the lambda institute 'till after yesterdays incident when he confessed about it after we left.

. . . He’s been put on mental health leave for a couple weeks, and he’s barely spoken to me since.

I’m getting worried- I’ve been worried, for his health, our r- friendship, but- now more than ever, he always comes to me for everything, but he’s been getting withdrawn, hiding things from me isn’t- he never does that; from others, yes, but not me, I’m- this is bad, I’m worried about what other things he could be hiding, he hid his obsession for months I don’t- I- I think he’s going to do something, something stupid, he’s gonna get hurt and I need to stop him but I don’t know how, I just. . . I just want my best friend back.

> Statement ends.

Pt 192 > here

Prev > here

[kaciidubs]

Unexpected Alpha | Spooktober 2023

@sweetracha asked: Chan has been hiding his werewolf side from reader for awhile now but being caught up with work he forgot to check the moon cycles. Cue reader finding out about his other side. Now Channie has always been the confident dom in the relationship so you thought no different when he turned wolf. You were so...so...so wrong

❣ Summary: When an overworked Chris forgets about his rut, you're quick to help him through it. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 4.89k ❣ Warnings: Hybrid! AU, Werewolf! Chris, he has a big dick, smut, comfort, slight angst, praise, begging, riding, creampies, Dom/Sub dynamics, slight Switch! Chris, implied multiple rounds ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Alpha [once], and Darling, Reader is referred to as Baby, Princess, Good Girl, and Love, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

Chris was always on top of everything, it was one of the things he prided himself on when it came to his life; he kept track of schedules and deadlines, he made sure everyone was clear on instructions and plans, and he managed healthy routines - outside of his sleep schedule. 

He made sure everything was perfect and went according to the plan carefully crafted in his head, and not just for his sake - but for yours.

It had been a while since the world was introduced to nearly half of its population being some sort of shifter - hell, the industry was wonderfully saturated with shifters and shifter supporters itself - but things were different when it came to you.

You knew he was a shifter, he’d let you know that since the beginning - he just didn’t let you know what type of shifter he was; and, no, it wasn’t because he wanted to lie to you, far from it.

He was trying to protect you.

It was always speculation on what type of shifter he was amongst the fans, majority of them settling on a dog type of some sort - some even going so far as picking breeds - and they weren’t wrong in a sense, but they definitely weren’t in the right vein.

He was a wolf shifter; a werewolf for the sake of lesser words - an alpha to be exact, and though they weren’t the rarest of shifters, they weren’t regarded in the highest of honors when it came to the general media and in the same breath they were often fetishized to fit a specific stereotype.

Chris swore he would tell you when the time was right - he knew you were one of the biggest supporters when it came to all shifters - but his fear of your reaction always held him back; his fear of losing you over something he’d seen so many people before him get ridiculed for making the confession die on his tongue.

So, fate took matters in their own hands.

He knew something was wrong when he woke up with a start, an all too familiar heat blanketing his barely clothed body and coating him in a thin sheen of sweat, his senses dialed to ten as he took in the way the fan in the corner spread your scent around the bedroom; cinnamon and pound cake with an undercut of strawberries.

A low rumble vibrated through his chest, and he was close to chalking it up to a random heat spike until a flash of pain struck through his abdomen, a sharp hiss passing through clenched teeth as he tried his best not to wake you.

No… This wasn't- Could it?

Scooting his body away from the loose spooning position you both were in, he rolled onto his back and stretched his arm out in search of his phone on the nightstand. Feeling the sleek device against his fingers, he grabbed it and wasted no time in unlocking it with his fingerprint; squinting against the brightness in search for his calendar.

His worst fear was confirmed at the sight of a little red bubble highlighting the current day, the single letter ‘R’ reminding him of the one thing that managed to slip his mind among all the hustle and bustle of his life.

His rut was starting.

“Fuck… Fuck!” He whispered, eyes flicking to the time before turning off his phone and returning it back to its charging block.

He always had a plan when it came to his rut; he would stay at the dorm under the guise of saving time on transportation for early schedules, lock himself in his room, and do everything in his power to quell the almost insatiable urge to claim and breed - more specifically, claim and breed you.

However, his schedules lately have been drowning him to no end in work, recordings, practices, and preparing for their next comeback - always ending the day with him slugging his way through a shower and ultimately passing out in bed next to your already sleeping form.

There was no way he could justify a 1:43 AM trip to the dorms, if he had to stay at the dorms he’d be there straight from the JYP building, and if there were an emergency then he’d get a call that would wake both you and him.

Should he just risk it? Lie to you yet again and leave you in your shared bed alone?

His stomach turned at the thought, a displeased growl emanating from his throat.

“Channie?”

He could feel his heart - and dick - jump at the sound of your sleep laced voice, sharp eyes watching in the dark as you shuffled around to face him; even with a puffy face and barely open eyes, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“‘S everything okay? The kids alright?”

His breath caught, mind running too wild for his own good - kids, you were so caring, so selfless, nurturing, he could give you his kids, he could give you his pups.

“Chris?” You blinked at him, confusion threading through your voice as you reached your hand out to touch him, “Are you-”

His hand shot out to grab you by the wrist, grip tightening in the smallest of ways as he kept you from coming any closer.

“Don’t.” He gritted, willing himself to ignore the feeling of your pulse beneath his fingertips - a slight jump, a hint of worry, a spike of fear spicing your scent. “I- I’m sorry, baby, but I - I need to leave.”

Lips drawn into a frown, your eyebrows creased softly, “You need to- why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, love-”

“Then why do you have to leave? Is it one of the boys?”

“No, they’re fine-”

“So what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

The broken sound in your voice was making his head spin, every instinct within him urging him to comfort you, to make you feel better - he could make you feel better, you could make him feel better.

“Christopher,” you started, sitting up enough to prop yourself up with your left hand, gazing down at him with soft eyes, “tell me what’s going on, baby, please, let me help you.”

Caring, understanding, open and willing, you’d shown him time and time again that you weren’t scared of them, you weren’t scared of him - so why did he keep telling himself to push you away? 

Why did he never realize that hiding from you was doing the exact opposite to what he was trying to do?

Blinking hard, he let go of your wrist in favor of pressing his hand to his face, the faint hint of strawberries simultaneously calming him and sending him into a mental spiral.

“I… I’m- It’s my rut, and I-” Dragging his hand across his face, he let it fall to the small space between the both of you, staring defeatedly at the ceiling above, “I don’t want to put that pressure onto you, I don’t trust myself to be around you.”

There was a beat of silence, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you, scared of what expression you could have been holding - that is, until he felt the bed shift and a familiar weight settle itself around his hips, just barely hovering above his lap.

His eyes snapped to yours, hands instinctively finding their home on your hips, hidden underneath the familiar cotton of his t-shirt. “Baby-”

“Chris,” your voice was firm, almost challenging as your hands slid to cover his, “I don’t want you to keep hiding yourself from me.” Feeling his body tense, you nodded softly, “Yeah - I figured out why you always went to the dorms for days on end, and I thought you’d come to me when you were ready but you didn’t.”

He could feel the disappointment radiating off of you, tinging the sweet aroma he knew and loved - he had royally fucked up.

“Princess, I’m sorry - I’m so, so sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”

“I know, baby, you meant well and I love you for that - you’re so selfless it makes me want to punch you sometimes.” A light laugh rolled past your lips and you felt him slightly deflate underneath you, relaxing just a bit, “So, to make up for it, you’re going to let me be selfish and let me help you from now on.”

He went to open his mouth in retaliation but you beat him to the punch, lowering yourself onto his lap fully, nestling his clothed cock against your equally clothed cunt, the warmth barely hidden behind the cotton short circuiting his brain.

“You will let me help you, because you and I both know this pussy is leagues better than whatever you’d be using at the dorm.”

“M-My hand,” he gritted, chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to ignore the pulsing coming from you or him or both.

“Just your hand?” You mused, tilting your head slightly.

“That’s all I’m admitting right now.” Licking his lips, he paused for a second, “Well, not all - there’s one other thing…” Watching as you nodded for him to continue, he let out a slow breath, “I’m not a dog.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I… I never called you a d-”

“I’m a wolf.”

“Oh.”

Okay, that throb definitely came from you.

“An alpha.”

“Oh.”

The spike in your scent nearly made him lightheaded, the headiness of your arousal further thickening the already addicting smell, “A-And I promise I’ll be gentle, but if it’s too much-”

“Safeword.” You finished for him, the conversation mirroring one you’ve both had before, “I promise I’ll let you know - now, can I help you?”

Chris wasn’t sure how he was able to contain himself as long as he was with you on top of him, looking down at him with so much warmth, understanding, acceptance - that would’ve been enough to get him through the next few days alone.

Well, in theory, at least.

Nodding to your question, he watched as your lips pulled into a soft smile before your hands moved to tug at your shirt, “Help me take this off?”

He didn’t need to be told twice as his hands moved down to the hem that was pooled around your hips, fingers hooking underneath and dragging along your sides as he slowly slid the fabric up your torso,

Meeting him halfway, you pulled the shirt off the rest of the way, throwing it to some dark reach of the bedroom to be found at a later time, hopefully.

A slow hiss escaped him, large hands running across your sides and up your stomach, blazing a trail to cup your breasts in his palms. “Fuck me…”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you teased, arching into the warmth of his hands, “I thought you’d be absolutely ravaging me by now, mister wolf.”

He scoffed out a laugh, peering up at you with inquisitive eyes, “You want me to?”

“Helping you includes letting you use me however you need, so; please, Chris, use me.”

His body shivered underneath you, and before you knew it your nipples were subject to the slightly cold air of the room yet again - budding quickly in the change of temperature as his hands flew to your panties.

“Up.” He murmured, low tone bordering on a growl.

Heeding his command, you pushed yourself up onto your knees, just for a harsh tearing sound to reach your ears and bring your slightly dazed attention to your panties - or rather, the remains of your panties. He quickly tore a line down the other side before tugging it from underneath you, the sorry excuse for underwear nothing more than an ‘H’ shaped cloth before being flung into the darkness.

“Babe!”

“I’ll buy you more, whatever you want, whenever you want,” he huffed nonchalantly, bringing his right hand to your face, tapping his finger against your pouted bottom lip, “now, open.”

Choosing to save your faux sadness for another time, you parted your lips and brought two of his fingers into your mouth, tongue immediately swirling around the digits as you sucked lightly.

His eyes fluttered, dick painfully and pitifully straining against his boxer briefs, eagerly recalling the way that same tongue felt against his length - tomorrow, for sure.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, he brought his hand back down between your parted legs, ghosting against your outer lips, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded reassuringly, “Promise.”

With your confirmation, he dipped his fingers between your lips, collecting your arousal on his spit-slicked digits before pressing them against your slit, slowly sinking them in all the way to his knuckles.

A low moan fell from your lips as his fingers stretched you open, head lolling back with bated breaths while your thighs slightly shook from holding yourself up, “C-Can’t you go faster? We’ve had sex before, baby, I know what you feel like.”

“Ruts are… It’s different than how things normally are,” he murmured, setting a thorough pace of curling his fingers with fluid motions of his wrist, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Patience was never your friend, especially when it came to having your boyfriend in the best way imaginable, and you huffed in disdain. “You won’t- ah, hurt me, I’m wet enough, you can feel it, you know I am!”

He growled your name through gritted teeth, noting the way your walls clenched around  his fingers in response, “I know you’re excited, but I know how this works - I’m not fucking you until I know you’re ready.”

He was right, you knew he was, but you were desperate - you needed this as much as he did and maybe he was aware of that, too. Maybe he knew how much you missed him, wholly and truly as you watched him slowly get taken over by work and worry.

Sparing him the rest of your needy insistence, you adjusted yourself to lean over him, resting your bare chest against his while laying your cheek against his pillow; inadvertently opening yourself up more for his fingers to work through.

“Good girl,” Chris cooed, his free hand cupping the outside of your thigh, “it’ll be quick, I swear.”

If there was one thing to know about Chris, it was that he kept his promises, and somewhere between the hums of praise against your ear and the well timed strokes of his fingers, you found yourself three fingers deep and on the cusp of an orgasm.

“Channie, please,” you panted against his pillowcase, head spinning and ears picking up on the wet sound of his fingers dutifully working you toward your high, “wanna- fuck- wanna come on your dick, please? Please, baby, can I?”

“Love, I…” The attempt of formulating an excuse died on his tongue - you were ready, he could feel it in more ways than one, the evidence dripping down the palm of his hand.

Pushing yourself to your forearms, you hovered over his body with all the strength you could muster, gazing down at him with lust fogged eyes. “I-I told you, if it was too much I’d let you know, remember? Chris, please,” dipping your head down, your lips pressed against his plump pair in what you could only express as hopeless desperation, “this is too much, I want you in me, now.”

A shaky breath fell from his lips as his fingers stilled, willing himself to focus on the pressure of your forehead against his while your words did everything in their power to rouse his instincts.

You were ready, you wanted him - he needed you.

The next thing you registered was the long, slow drag of his fingers out of your pussy, the way your walls clenched around nothing almost enough to make you beg for him to go back to fingering you; that is, if it weren’t for the feeling of his forearms brushing against the inside of your thighs.

It was a short struggle of working his boxer briefs down his thighs with you still on top of him, but he persevered and soon they were shuffled down his legs and kicked off the side of the bed, leaving you both fully naked under the cool light of the moon streaming through the window.

You wasted no time in sitting up fully yet again, reaching behind you to take his dick in your hand and running the smooth tip along your dripping folds.

“Baby, hold- oh, fuck-” Chris’ hands flew to your hips as you began sinking down on him, his mind going blank at the feeling of your all-too-tight walls hugging every inch of his girth.

“S-So big,” you gasped, eyebrows pinching as you sunk further, “it feels- jesus christ, it feels bigger - oh my god-”

“I told you, everything’s different when I’m in rut - everything.” Hissing out a short breath, he blinked away the haze and watched your face, “Don’t rush yourself, take it slow - and if it hurts-”

“-safeword, I know, baby, just-” Sucking in a breath, you steeled your nerves before releasing it in a slow exhale, relaxing your muscles as best as you could, “I know you trust me, but I need you to trust yourself, okay?”

Blinking up at you, he let your words settle in his head - he trusted you beyond a shadow of a doubt, no questions asked, but now he needed to show himself that same level of love.

So, he did; relaxing against the bed to witness you gently fuck yourself with the half of his length currently inside of you, your hands played against his chest for further support.

With each inch slid out came a new inch that slid in, airy moans floating past your lips as you felt your walls flutter to accompany the new stretch until you were sat in his lap and twitching at the promise of your first orgasm.

“Good girl, look at you - fuck, you’re taking me so well.”

This was better than anything he could’ve dreamt of; the way your nails dug into his chest, your head bowed as you tried composing yourself as best you could, all while your pussy hugged him in a way that made his hormonal mind spin.

“B-Big.” You gasped out, involuntarily clenching your walls with a sharp inhale, “So big, Channie.”

Truly you meant to say more, you wanted to talk about how perfect he was and how good he felt, but your brain was set on how immensely full you were and how the stretch was unlike anything you’ve ever felt despite how big he normally was to begin with.

“I told you,” he taunted in a sing-song voice, shifting his hips upwards and earning a high pitched mewl from you in return, “but you wanted to prove yourself, wanted to help your wolf, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” nodding mindlessly, you locked your eyes with his own, watery and blown out with lust, “wanna help you - want you to use me, baby.”

His breath caught, hands flexing against the flesh of your thighs as he fought back the urge to make do on your words - not yet.

“Use me first, love.” Sliding his hands up to your hips, Chris held you tight, “Come for me, then I’ll show you how thankful I am for you, yeah?”

You nodded once more before shifting your pressure onto your calves and his chest, rising halfway off of his cock to sink back in a slow rhythm - though, even that simple motion had a breathless whimper falling from your lips. After another test bounce, you picked up the pace and rode him with as much vigor as you could muster; his grip on you guiding and assisting your motions in the process.

Ragged pants and moans filled the room, though most of the sounds came from you as you fought against the fiery licks of your orgasm at your heels, wanting to ride him as close to completion as you possibly could - not that you fared any better with him any other time.

“I can feel you clenching, baby,” he grunted, bucking his hips up at your next fall, “gonna come for me? Are you gonna come for me, princess?”

“Mhm- ‘M close,” your body felt like it was on fire, thighs burning with exertion through each rise and fall that brought you closer and closer to that sweet release. “Please, please, Chris, I’m so close.”

On instinct, he brought his right hand up from its place on your hip and pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, watching as you graciously parted your lips to lick at the pad before he brought it back down to the apex of your thighs; spreading your lower lips to press his slick thumb against your clit.

It only took a few well timed flicks for you to stutter in your riding, freezing in his lap as your pussy fluttered and clenched sporadically; clipped breaths and broken moans of his name filling the air.

“Ah, C-Chris- Chris!”

The way your nails dug into his chest should’ve hurt - there would undoubtedly be marks left behind in the morning - but the only thing running through his mind was the way you looked practically vibrating in his hold, your scent further flooding his senses as the warmth of your cum further slickened his cock.

You barely had the chance to fully come down from your high when you felt a shift - then, you were falling, your back landing on the mattress and a pillow cushioning the back of your head; you were on your back now, and hovering above you was your massive, borderline feral, boyfriend.

“Did so good for me,” he purred, hands sliding up your stomach to your breasts, then down again to your thighs and the backs of your knees, “such a good girl, my good girl - mine.”

A shiver ran down your spine, your pussy clenching around his length that was, surprisingly, still inside of you despite the change of positions.

“So perfect - can’t even believe you’re real sometimes.” He raised your legs up and slightly outward, eyes set in a firm gaze where you were still connected, “You deserve so much, ‘m gonna give you everything - anything you want, it’s yours.”

“You.” Breathless and starry-eyed, you spoke up once more, “I just want you, please, Chr- Please, alpha.”

The speed at which his eyes met yours would’ve made you think you said something horrendously wrong, but when all you saw was a shadow of dominance further darkening his lust blown irises, you knew your words coaxed something free.

“You want me?” His tone was low, velvety, though the grip on the backs of your knees tightened and, without warning, he bucked his hips forward to sheath a lingering inch or so back inside of you, “Then take me, princess.”

If anything, his words were a warning for what was soon to come as you were held spread open for his viewing pleasure; the sound of the mattress squeaking becoming a background tempo to the rhythmic slapping of his thighs to the bottom of your ass - fast and deep, each thrust slowly inching your body up the bed as he easily followed.

Your hand pressed against the headboard, anchoring you in place before the top of your head could meet the wood, while the other wrapped around his forearm and held on for dear life - the only thing leaving your mouth being short moans and a chorus of ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

“I’ll give you everything,” Chris huffed breathlessly, his heated gaze traveling up your body before landing on your face, “all of me - my love, my knot, my cum-” A shudder ran through his body, his thrusts growing faster, “-every last drop, just like you want, yeah?”

The closest thing to a confirmation you could offer was a rapid nod of your head, eyes rolling as the fat head of his cock brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars.

“Words, baby - tell me.”

“Yes!” You cried out, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as your second orgasm reared its head, “W-Want it- Want your knot! Need you to- F-Fuck, need you to fill me, please!”

Suddenly, you were dragged from the top of the bed toward the middle with ease, the presence of his hands behind your knees now changing to him locking your legs around his hips and propping himself up above you on his forearms.

“I’ll knot you so well, baby,” his nose brushed against yours, lips ghosting with each hushed word, “give you everything I have - I’ll make sure it sticks, you just need to take it.”

You panted pleas and promises against his lips, your arms locking around his shoulders as a hand found its way to his hair, while the other splayed across the top of his back - too far gone to fully consider the words he was saying, you just needed him.

“You can take it, you can take it.” He murmured softly, a stark contrast to the frantic thrusts currently shaking your body, “I know you can take it, right? It’ll fit, I’ll make it fit.”

A sudden grind of his hips had you flying over the edge of your second orgasm unexpectedly, barely managing a sharp moan as your back arched off of the bed as best it could with him caging you in.

Chris shivered, driving into you with short, sharp ruts as his orgasm finally began to show, the anticipation making him pant heavily above you while his eyes scanned your blissed out face; your body thrumming with the aftershocks of your high.

“C-Channie.” You whimpered, eyebrows pinching as a new presence made itself known in your abdomen, “Channie, w-what-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed instantly, though his pace remained unchanged, “‘m almost there, princess, I just need-” A pained grunt escaped him, the beginnings of his knot starting to grow, “I need you to take it for me- Please, please, baby, take it, take me, okay? You can do it, you can.”

The increasing stretch made you keen, your nails now digging into his back in an attempt to counteract the pain, “It’s- It’s too much, baby - oh my god.” Despite your feigned protests, you found yourself locking your legs around his hips, your body more than willing to cross this next hurdle.

Each pull out became shallower and shallower, his knot slowly getting caught in your walls.

“Please, please, please, please, please.” He chanted desperately, his right hand fisting the crumpled sheets underneath you, “It can fit, it’ll fit - just a little more, princess, just a little-” The next thrust forward finally locked him in place, his knot fully surrounded by your tight walls, “Fuck! T-Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You shook underneath him, nonsensical babbles leaving your mouth as tears of pure pleasure streaked their way down your face, “I-I- C-Come, Channie, come- ‘S big, big-”

“I-I’m gonna,” Chris heaved above you, breath rugged and short, sweat dripping down his temples, “‘m gonna come, baby- I’m gonna- Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

His voice tapered off into a high pitched whine, followed by a groan as his cock throbbed inside of you, flooding your poor cunt with wave after wave of cum.

At some point you must’ve blacked out, because when you came to he was no longer gasping for air, however the ache between your legs was still very present - though, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stay inside of you after a creampie.

“Baby? Princess? Are you okay? What’s your color?”

Smiling dazedly, you hummed happily with a soft sigh, “Green, so green.”

You went to stretch your legs when a short tug stopped you in your tracks, Chris groaning above you with a sharp breath, “Don’t- Don’t move, baby.”

Running back the last few moments of consciousness, you were quickly and graciously reminded of your new predicament - though, said memory caused more harm than good, as your walls fluttered involuntarily at the spicy recollection of events.

“Baby.”

“I’m sorry!” You pouted at him, hanging your hands from his wide shoulders, “I can’t help it, it was hot.”

Chris scoffed out a chuckle, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but we’re gonna be stuck like this for a little bit until my knot goes down, okay?”

Nodding, you gave him a soft tug, smiling as he dropped his weight to lay on top of you before tucking his head in the crook of your neck, littering butterfly kisses to the undoubtedly damp skin there.

“You did such a great job, baby,” he murmured softly, nosing at the underside of your jaw, “I’m so proud of you, and… Thank you for wanting to help me through this - seriously, you didn’t have to and I just… I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too, darling,” you scratched your nails against his scalp gently, a soft hum vibrating through his chest, “just remember that I’m here for you no matter what - when I say I love you, that means all of you.” Accepting his sign of understanding as him raising slightly to catch your lips in a slow kiss, you gave him a tired smile, “Now, let me take a quick nap, because you and I both know there’s more where that came from.”

“Yeah… You’re in for a long night, princess.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay

✧. ┊Kinktober only: @selicua

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[kingkatsuki]

— love island Bakugou: snog, marry, pie

New season of Love Island is back so more love island!Bakugou.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive, flirting++++.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Thinking about playing the snog, marry, pie challenge with Love Island Bakugou.

You find out about it while you’re lounging on the daybeds together, your cheek smushed against his pectoral despite the hot weather as you both practically stick to each other from the light sheen of sweat coating both your bodies yet neither of you really care.

His arm tightens around your waist when you sit up to lower your sunglasses to try and make out what Kirishima’s shouting about when he got the text, more bothered with your loss of contact over whatever the new challenge is.

“You better not get jealous of me kissing other boys,” You tease and he grunts from his position, his eyes still closed behind black sunglasses as he tries again to coax you back down beside him.

“Better not be no other boys kissing you.” His tone betrays his blase attitude as calloused fingers dip into the plush of your hip, “Oi — where ya going?”

You catch his attention as you shift to get off the daybed, the other girls running into the main part of the villa to prepare for the task.

“I’ve got to get ready, Katsuki,” You grin, leaning back down to place a lingering kiss against his lips which he happily reciprocates. Bringing his large palm up to your cheek to try and deepen the kiss as you pull away with a coy smile, “Gotta make sure my lips are glossy from all the kissing I’ll be doing.”

“You’re a damn tease, woman.” He groans huskily as he shifts his hand to scratch at his exposed abdomen, fingers carding through the neat hairs of his happy trail as his swimshorts sit low on his hips, “Better not be gettin’ jealous either.”

“I won’t, it’s a game.” You laugh light and airy as he lets you up from the bed with a lingering squeeze to your hip, dangerously close to your ass as you rush off to prepare. His crimson eyes watch from under the rim of his glasses as you go, your plush body wiggling in your bikini.

“Fuck.” He groans beneath his breath as he stays in position, closing his eyes to try and stop the throb of his cock beneath his shorts.

It’s barely thirty minutes later and you’re positioned in line for the game, the girls all in their cute bikini’s with freshly glossed lips as you give Bakugou a grin where he’s standing with the boys. The apprehension on his face is clear from the was his jaw is locked in place, shooting a violent glare over at his rival Shindou who practically swaggers his way over to the lineup.

And you already know what’s coming when he steps towards you, cupping your cheeks in both palms as he brings you into a sultry kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. You don’t try to kiss him back, but it’s difficult with the way he cradles your jaw, tilting your head to the side to deepen it as he reluctantly pulls away with a grin. You can feel the girl he’s coupled up with glaring daggers at you, even though it isn’t your fault as you wipe your lips with the side of your thumb in a feeble attempt to fix your gloss.

“I wanted to kiss this girl because since I’ve come into the villa, she’s kept me on my toes.”

Shooting an apologetic look towards Bakugou as Shindou moves to announce he’s marrying the girl he’s coupled up with because “she’s beautiful, she’s perfect.” despite laying it on thick with you.

It’s another four boys before it’s finally Bakugou’s turn, and you’re just grateful you’ve managed to escape being pied. Bakugou stalks towards you like a ravenous wolf ready to devour a cornered sheep, not bothering with any niceties as his crimson eyes stare directly at you.

The girls start to squeal when he says love as though it’s the most romantic thing in the world as he zones in on you, taking two long strides before he’s standing in front of you and bringing you into a sensual kiss. You lean forward to reciprocate, feeling him cup the back of your head to deepen the kiss as your tongue tangles with his.

Bakugou knows it’s a challenge, but part of him doesn’t care as he definitely spends a little longer than necessary kissing you. Reluctantly pulling away as he swipes his thumb over your lips to help you fix your lipgloss as he cleans the glitter from your chin with a soft grin.

“I want to snog this girl because there’s no one else in this villa that I’d rather kiss, and I don’t need a ring to prove how much I love her.”

His words leave butterflies blooming in your chest as he moves to step towards the next girl. It surprisingly doesn’t make you as jealous as you thought it would when you see him shift down to one knee a few girls down from you, settling himself in front of Kirishima’s girl as he holds the ring out to place it onto her finger.

“I wanna marry this girl because she’s looking after my best friend in here and she’s making him real happy.”

His response is met by a coo of ‘aww’ from all the girls as he gives you a final lingering glance as he walks back to the guys who are all cheering for him. Clasping Kirishima’s hand in his own as he gives his best friend a guy hug and the game continues, watching as Kirishima follows behind after and opts to kiss the girl he’s coupled up with.

It’s impossible not to smile when Kirishima drops to his knee in front of you, taking your hand in his as he slides the ring onto your finger.

“I’ve decided to marry this girl because I love the way you treat my best friend in here, and you’d make the perfect wifey.” He gives you a wink as he slides the ring onto your finger, standing up to give you a massive bear hug before you turn to wave your hand across to his girl to show off your matching rings.

“Bakugou, we swapped.” Kirishima laughs as he runs back to the guys, bringing his best friend into a hug before swinging his arm over his shoulders.

You knew Bakugou wouldn’t kiss anyone else before you’d even played the game— it’s why you’d been so confident going in that you didn’t have to worry about anything. You trusted him more than anyone, but part of you wondered why he didn’t marry you instead.

Asking him after the challenge while you sat on a table by the kitchen, watching him carefully chop pieces of fruit as he offered them out to you. Feeling your lips press against his fingers as you took them from him, your tongue subtly peeking out to swipe at the juice on his skin as he gave you a grin.

“Katsuki, why didn’t you marry me?” You hum, as he drops the knife in favour of moving to settle between your legs. Pressing his fingers into the plush of your inner thighs, his thumbs dangerously close to the crotch of your bikini as you reach out to sling your arms over his shoulders.

“I’m gonna marry you for real one day, what’s the point of wasting an opportunity to kiss ya?”

[writingjourney]

warmth // cregan stark x f!reader // 500 words, biting, filth, MDNI

The icy winds howl relentlessly as they meet the thick castle walls of Winterfell which stands proudly, as it has stood for thousands of years, against the perils of the North. Inside, a large fire is fighting off the cold, its deep orange glow and the flickering shadows battling for dominance over the chamber.

Winter nights are long this far North and comfort is best found in sharing the silent hours in the arms of a lover. You find that your lord husband is taking this sentiment quite seriously, this task of keeping you warm and content.

Muttered curses drown out the crackling of the fire, his cock burried deep inside of you as he ruts in a desperate rhythm. Your breathy moans are stifled by the meat of his shoulder, the imprint of your teeth never quite fading. Cregan runs hotter than the natural springs underneath the stronghold, a thin sheen of sweat coating his back as you claw at it to relieve the tension inside of you.

With broken words you whisper your affection for him, how good he makes you feel, how he fills you so perfectly, and his voice is thick, deeper, when he drawls your name. One hand is secured firmly around your thigh to spread your legs apart as far they would go, the other arm propped to support his weight and not crush you. There lies a certain thrill in the fact that he could rip you apart with his bare hands, the Wolf of the North, a man with the strength of a beast, yet so gentle after night falls and his lips find yours, stern lord turned to ardent lover, grim wolf to playful pup.

It is his intimate embrace that makes you forget the unforgiving nature of the North, you, a post-war transplant from beyond the Neck, and perhaps it is the sole reason why you find yourself missing your old home less and less despite the harsh reality of your new life in the perpetual cold of an endless Winter.

Cregan angles your hips upwards and you crest almost instantly, forgetting yourself as heat pools into every crevice of your body. He swallows the sounds of your pleasure, ever hungry, lips and hands indulging in the sweet reactions he manages to draw from you. It never takes long until he follows, though he likes to linger, push the evidence of his release deeper into your cunt.

Wolf he may be but when he pulls you to his chest he purrs like a cat, content and happy to be basking in the warmth of not just the fire but the potent afterglow of your shared love. You rake your fingers through his coarse chest hair, dark as the rest of him, and his eyes fall closed, the weariness catching up. A gentle touch never fails to lure him into a slumber, the kiss of your lips to his cheek scarcely noted. You smile as you listen to his steady breath, mingling with the whispered howls outside – wind or wolf, the answer lost to fragmented dreams.

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

thank you for reading!! this is meant to be part of a bigger story that i hope to be writing at some point but i adapted it into a short ficlet ♡

[sinful-lanterns]

GRIND ON ME

synopsis: riding the abs of the ptn women

featuring: zoya, rahu, cinnabar, deren

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader (zoya and deren), dom! afab fem reader (rahu and cinnabar), reader on top, ab riding, grinding, mentions of a strap (cinnabar), sleepy se.x (deren), pet names, reader being whiny, short fic, not proofread, may be ooc.

art credits: ruthless

ZOYA

“Oh, you can do better than that, babe…”

Zoya chuckled and leaned back against the headboard as she watched you ride her abs on top of her. She had this cocky, yet lustful expression in her eyes when you emitted breathless whimpers and gripped onto her shoulders to stabilize yourself. Oh come on, can’t your girlfriend give you a break? It’s not your fault her muscles were so large and…defined.

“Zoya— hnn” You groaned and moved your hips more feverishly, coating her chiseled abs in the clear, webby slick that you produced and making them practically shine the bedroom light. “Quit teasing. Help me please…” 

“Tch. You seem like you’ve got it under control, though,” Zoya smirked, gently patting your butt and placing her hands over your hips. Though she wasn’t helping you move in the slightest, her large hands were more than enough to send you over the edge, gripping your waist and making you feel as if you were in the hold of a giant predator. 

“Zoya…” your legs were getting tired from the riding, each bump of her abs rubbing up against your folds so wonderfully and grinding against your clit. “Ah, fuck…”

Like the wolf that she is, Zoya had to wipe away some drool that escaped her mouth. Goddamn. Even if she wasn’t receiving any physical pleasure from you, just the sight of your wet pussy tensing up and sliding down her abs alone was enough to get Zoya turned on.

“Shit, babe…” she growled and cupped your ass with one hand, “Did you cum already? My stomach is practically dripping wet from you…”

“No…” you whined, slightly embarrassed that the amount of slickness you produced made Zoya think you had already come.  “Hah, fine,” Zoya grinned wolfishly and grabbed onto your waist, using her arm strength to forcibly make you ride her as you didn’t even need to move a muscle. “Let’s see how wet you really get when I help you.”

RAHU

“Hey…wait…”

Rahu’s face was so pink, blushing from ear to ear as she watched you get on top of her and plant your bare pussy down on her abs. When you asked to ride her tonight, she didn’t expect you to choose her abs out of all things. She was flustered (and a bit curious) to see how this would work for the both of you, as she had never thought her girlfriend would be so bold as to try this. 

“What? Don’t like the sight of me on your abs, Rahu?” You teased, gently moving your cunt against her muscles and watching as they tensed up from the feeling. 

“Ah— th-that’s…” Rahu’s breath hitched as her eyes turned wide at the sight, watching as your pretty lips dragged across her stomach and coated them in your slick. “Oh…”

She didn’t know what else to do but to sit there and take it, eyes zeroed in on the sight of your dripping pussy like a dog trained on the sight of a treat. “Can I…eat you out later…?” She asked rather ravenously, the slightest glisten of drool leaking past her lips. “I want to show my devotion to you too…” 

“Maybe later, baby.” You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her neck and grinding your hips a bit slower, really accentuating the drag of your folds against her muscles. “I want to see you squirm for a bit.” 

Rahu whimpered and couldn’t help but get extremely turned on at the sight of your precum dripping down her stomach. It was a very…exciting sight for the woman to witness, her breaths coming out in labored pants like a dog who was about to enter a severe rut. 

“Okay…”

You smiled and kissed her cheek, gently grinding your hips a bit further and making poor Rahu groan in desperation, clawing at the sheets. 

“That’s my good Rahu.”

CINNABAR

“A-Are you sure this is safe?” 

Cinnabar’s breath hitches when you settle down on top of her abdomen instead of her strap, your glistening folds hovering over her sculpted abs and 

making poor Cinnabar gulp with anticipation. “I can definitely take you, but please don’t accidentally fall off. If you land on your side the wrong way, it could—”

You cut her off by plopping your pussy down on her stomach and smirking at the way her face turned bright pink. “O-Oh…” was all that came out of her mouth as she stared at the way your legs spread over her sides, giving her the perfect view of your cunt spreading over her tense muscles. “That…wow…”

It was always endearing to see this cute bodyguard grow flustered over your actions, your hands settling over her breasts and using them as a way to stabilize yourself. “Pfft, your face is so cute…” you chuckle softly, gently grinding your hips against her stomach. 

Cinnabar was left lying there, eyes trained on the way you rode her abs as she felt a pang of wetness dampen at the harness of her strap. “I…well,” she smiled shyly and rubbed the back of her head, “As long as you are happy, I don’t mind you taking me like this.” 

“Ohhh Cinnababy…” you chuckled, tracing your fingers down her chiseled stomach and licking your lips at the sight. “You’re always so sweet, trying to please me all the time…” Cinnabar let out a small groan when you began riding her and coating her abs in your slick. You watched in satisfaction when her beautiful abs tensed together and caused them to hit your clit at the perfect time. “Ah…”

Cinnabar tried to hide her face from all the erotic noises you were making, as well as keep herself still so you don’t accidentally fall. “Darling, does it really feel that good?” 

“Tch, of course it does! Everything about you sends me over the edge…” you smiled and pulled one of her hands to rest against your hip, the other hand cupping Cinnabar’s face and making you face her. “Now, help me ride you even faster. I promise to take your strap later if you do.”

“Heh, yes ma’am…”

DEREN

“Hnnnn…you’re doing so much work for me, baby…”

Deren groaned sleepily as she looked up at you with tired eyes under the wide brim of her hat. You had woken Deren up from a nap with the need to ride her and satisfy your pent up desires, but poor Deren was too sleepy to go all the way with you this time. It was until you pulled up her shirt and planted your dripping wet pussy on her stomach, that she finally started to wake up a little.

“Oh…” was all Deren said as she looked up at you with surprised eyes and watched as you desperately started to grind on her abs. Though she was initially shocked, her expression quickly morphed into one of smugness as she laid back on the couch and gazed up at you. “That’ll work.” 

So now you were just lazily grinding on Deren and trying to satiate your needs, all the while your girlfriend smirked lovingly at you and watched as sweat dripped off your face. “Enjoying yourself babe?” 

“Oh shut it.” You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut as you ground your pussy further into Deren’s stomach. She raised a brow at your sass, yet figured it was because she wasn’t giving you the attention you wanted.

“Sorry, let me help you there…” Deren purred, suddenly flexing one of her abs and causing you to buck your hips a little at the sudden pulse. “Better?”

“Deren…” you whined, looking down at her desperately. 

“Pfft, what?” She smiled sleazily and grabbed onto your waist, running her fingers across your stomach and gently kneading your ass. “Do you not want me to help you?” Deren then moved her hands around your hips, encircling you completely as she helped you move against her tense muscles. “Fine…let me satisfy my whiny girl.”

She chuckled and moved her thumbs to your puffy clit, rubbing against it as you groaned and buried your face in her neck. 

“I’ll have you ride something else later.”

[mikashisus]

PRIDE OF THE SUN

SYNOPSIS: being a child of apollo was a great honor... until you have a vision about a certain ginger that flips your entire world on its head.

PAIRING: ares kid!tartaglia x apollo kid!fem!reader

warnings: blood, angst

wc: 5.9k

notes: if u couldn't tell, this is a percy jackson au... anyw this whole fic took me the entire day yesterday to write- like no joke i spent 12 hrs on this shit... NEVER AGAIN *looks at drafts* nvm i might have to do this again in the future... u guys will see why soon enough. wink wink.

You hated this. Hated him. 

There you sat, on your ass on the hard ground with Ajax’s spear pointed to your throat. You sneered up at him. 

One wrong move and that spear would go straight through your neck. You glanced down at the sharp tip and the way it gleamed under the light of the afternoon sun. That only made it all the more menacing. 

Truthfully, you were a bit scared he might finish the job and shove the spear right through you. He didn’t… for obvious reasons. 

But you swore you saw him move just a tiny bit closer. You swallowed the fear you harbored in your heart, ignoring the way the organ thumped impossibly fast against your ribcage. You would never show weakness in front of him. You would never let him know you were scared. 

Revealing your weakness to him was like a rabbit leaping right into a wolf’s jaws. 

You refused to be the rabbit. 

As he was busy gloating over his victory, you sought an opening. With one swift kick, you knocked him down onto the ground. His spear struck your cheek, leaving a clean cut through the flesh. You barely felt it happen until a stinging rose from the area. 

Touching your cheek, you frowned. Blood coated your fingers. Eh, you’d live. It was just a scratch. 

You stood up and grabbed his spear, smirking at him as he looked up at you with a fire burning in his eyes. You loved beating down the Ares kids. They were nothing but arrogant bastards, and here you had the best one in camp on the ground with his own weapon pointed at his face. 

“Looks like I win, brute.” 

Your little distasteful nickname for him made a scowl appear on his face as he slowly stood up and spit blood out of his mouth. He stared at you, brows furrowed and eyes devoid of any life. That was what you hated most about him: his ability to look so fucking terrifying when he wanted to. Or maybe it was without even trying. 

He wiped the blood from his lip, the trail staining the side of his chin and his cheek. The earring that hung from his ear sparkled in the light of the sun, and you had the urge to ask where he had gotten it from. It certainly wasn’t from his father… or was it? 

You knew his double-edged spear came from his father, but you were skeptical on where he had gotten the earring. Did he even have that a few days ago? 

The scary look on his face made you falter for just a second when you whisked yourself back to reality. His breathing was hard, his chest heaving as if he was angry. Suddenly, you felt small and weak under his gaze. 

He wasn’t called the strongest child of Ares for nothing. 

“That was a dirty trick…” for a second, you thought he was serious, until, “I like your style, sunshine!” 

You scoffed, throwing his spear onto the ground and shoving past him. He quickly reached for it and scrambled after you, yapping in your ear all the way. You were beginning to get a headache from his voice. 

This wasn’t the first time he chased you around camp while you ignored him, and it definitely wasn’t the first time you two fought. According to the other campers, you “had a history” with each other. That made it sound as if you were once in a relationship, which couldn’t be further from the truth. 

You’d never date someone like him– someone so bloodthirsty for power and warfare that it drove them to the brink of insanity. 

Okay… so maybe he wasn’t insane (though, you firmly believed he was from that crazed look in his eyes) but he was certainly a warmonger. 

Like father, like son. 

It was true you had a history, but it wasn’t in the relationship type of way. It was the “I’ll kill you because you insulted me when we were kids” type of way. 

When you first arrived at camp, you were eleven years old. Back then, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with anyone or anything. Your own mother casted you out of the house, calling you spawn of the devil for being a half-blood, even though you knew she gloated when it came to the fact that she had a child with a god. You never understood her hatred for you when all she did was brag to her friends about your father. 

Out on the streets, with nowhere to go, you learned how to fend for yourself. With nothing on your person but the necklace your father had supposedly given your mother, you did what you could to survive. Your ballads and ugly crying garnered the attention of passerby, and with the little kindness they had in their hearts, they gave you money. You used that money for necessities, like food and water. But you also used it for things you wanted; like, that shiny guitar you saw in the downtown area’s music store. 

You saved up enough money to buy it within half a year, luring in passerby with your gift of song. Like a siren’s call, you drew them in, and you quickly learned how to utilize your demigod abilities to get what you wanted. When you bought the guitar and strummed the first chords to a song your mother always absentmindedly sang, that’s when your father appeared before you for the very first time. 

And that was how you wound up in camp a few days later. You were guided to the Apollo cabin by your own father, who was way more flamboyant than you expected, and after that, you were left to settle in. 

You watched your father disappear into a flurry of golden flames and a soft hum of a heavenly choir. When you turned to your bed, a drawing of a sun was etched into the fine wood of your guitar. Over time, there would grow to be more and more drawings left on your guitar, one for each time your father visited you. 

Settling into camp was hard. You were shy, and quiet, and the other kids in your cabin were a bit too outgoing for your liking, a true testament to your father’s personality. At first, it seemed as if you were the black sheep among your siblings. That was quickly proven wrong when a boy who was a year younger than you showed up at your cabin one day, staring at you with a menacing fire burning in his eyes as you played your guitar. 

You didn’t notice him right away, as you were too lost in the music and the homey atmosphere of the cabin to even pay attention to what was going on around you. That’s what it was like for you with music: you lost all sense of the material world as you plucked at the strings of your guitar, mentally transporting yourself to a different plane of existence. This was how you– most of the time, connected yourself with your father. 

Unbeknownst to you, you were also plucking at Ajax’s heartstrings. Ajax, the boy who was standing in the doorway, completely enraptured by your performance. His eyes lit up with an excitement no one had ever seen in him before. Then, he spoke, his words tumbling fast and loud out of his mouth like a roaring lion. 

You jumped, and you were forcefully pulled out of your meditation. The more he rambled on, the more you grew annoyed. You put the pieces together. He was loud; boisterous, bellicose, arrogant, and every step he took made the earth rumble beneath his feet. There was a fire that burned brightly in his eyes, one that screamed ‘Come at me if you dare, I’ll show you what I’m made of.’ 

There was no doubt in your mind: he was a child of Ares. 

Was every child of Ares this full of themselves? He even claimed he was better at the arts than you! How dare he! 

That was the first time you cursed him to speak in rhyming couplets for a week straight. You didn’t even know you could do that. When you asked your cabin leader about it, all they said was that you had a lot to learn about what it meant to be a child of Apollo. 

And ever since that day, you swore you’d knock Ajax off of his high horse. And boy were you determined to do so. 

There were quite a few things you could do that he couldn’t, and one of them was wielding a bow. 

You were the most skilled archer at camp. The first time you picked up a bow, you felt the wind rush past you and caress your form. You felt relaxed, at ease, as if you’ve been wielding a bow your whole life– as if you came out of the womb with it clutched tightly in your hands. 

Wielding a bow was Ajax’s weakness. It was the one weapon he could never master. You held it over his head like a vice. 

All your insults never deterred his advances, and you found your hatred for him growing with each passing day. But you never once gave up trying to prove him wrong. You would prove to him that you were more than what his siblings called you: a siren. You’d prove you were a worthy opponent, and that your skills were worth it in not only his eyes, but the entire camp’s. 

It was not just because you hated him, but because he utterly humiliated you on more occasions than you could count on both hands. 

As soon as you managed to get out of his reach for today, you let out a sigh of relief and decided to take a nice, warm bath. It was very much needed after a long day of combat training. 

You bid hello to your half siblings and made a beeline for the bath as soon as you set your bow down on your bed. When you sunk into the hot water of the bath, you felt as if you were ascending to the heavens. The water felt heavenly against your muscles that were previously screaming. Now, they ached as you gently massaged your calves. Your nose scrunched up from the soreness. 

You were on your feet for almost the entire day. It was no wonder your feet felt a little numb from all of the exercise. 

Leaning back against the tub, you allowed your whole body to breathe and relax. A knock sounded on the door, and your eye twitched. Just when you thought you had some alone time…

The voice of your half brother, Kaeya, sounded from the other side of the door. 

“Hey, sis, you in there? I heard there’s gonna be fireworks tomorrow to celebrate Diluc’s return.”

Diluc was Kaeya’s adoptive brother and a son of Athena. They weren’t on the best terms, but they still considered each other brothers. At least, that’s what you assumed. They’d probably drop dead before ever admitting it out loud. 

Regardless of how well they got along, you were also dragged into their little family. Kaeya was a few months older than you, and although that wasn’t much of an age gap, he still liked to call you his little sister. 

The first time he introduced you to Diluc, you were scared out of your mind. Diluc was intimidating and he towered over you. It took quite a while for you to be able to talk to him without being terrified of him. Once you saw how much of a big softie he was, the fear was quickly replaced with admiration. 

You admired how strong he was and how much he cared for his family.

You jumped up at Kaeya’s words. “What!? That’s tomorrow?” 

You heard him chuckle. “Yes, dummy. His pet arrived today with news of his homecoming, so Jean decided to hold a party. There’ll be fireworks!” 

Your love of fireworks was well known throughout camp. Although you weren’t a fan of loud noises, you had a deep love for fireworks and their ability to light up the night sky with their beauty. 

You wished you could shine as bright as they did. They shone like the sun, and you were a lover of the sun. 

Scrambling out of the tub and leaving your warm bath behind, you dried yourself off and threw on a new pair of clothes before exiting the bathroom. Kaeya stood outside, a knowing smirk on his face. Suddenly, you had a bad feeling about going to that party. 

Kaeya and that look was never a good omen. It always led to something bad. 

“What’s with the face?” He asked, following you to your bed. His was right below yours. 

“What face?” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That one. The one you’re making right now.” 

“You have something hidden up your sleeve, don’t you?” You squinted. “Whatever it is, I want no part of it!” 

He only snickered, which did nothing to help your suspicions. He climbed onto your bed, ignoring your protests to get off. You threw one of your stuffed animals in his face. 

“Get away from me!” You laughed, attempting to fend him off but it was no use. 

“I just want a hug from my baby sister!” 

You kicked him in the ribs, causing him to double over in pain. He slapped your foot, resulting in a loud ‘OW’ from you. 

The next day was the day Diluc was coming home. You asked Jean if you could help prepare, but upon seeing how much she already had done, you realized that she probably didn’t even need your help. Or anyone’s, with the way she was yelling at people to let her do all the work. 

“So, your brother’s coming back today, huh?” 

You sighed heavily. Of course, Ajax was here to bother you yet again. When would you ever be able to catch a break? 

“Yes,” you replied curtly. 

He frowned at your cold response. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for you, but just once he wished you’d talk to him like you talked to your friends. 

He tried again. “I never asked how the two of you are related. Or do the two of you just refer to yourselves as siblings because you’re close?” 

“It’s none of your business.”

A sigh left your lips, and you grabbed your bow from beside you. Instead of answering his question, you walked off to go practice shooting. Ajax stared after you longingly, the pout on his lips resembling that of a kicked puppy. 

He wouldn’t give up in his pursuit. 

You couldn’t count how many arrows you ripped through targets in the last hour, but you sure were more aggravated today than you were the day before. Ajax continued to push your buttons, and you were running out of ways to calm yourself down each time. 

Meditation with music no longer worked unless you were completely alone, and now you couldn’t even focus entirely on the targets without thinking of his annoying face. One thing that helped was imagining the target was him and that your fire arrows were ripping right through his head. 

Kaeya asked you about your hatred for him once, and to his question, you replied, “All he ever does is humiliate me. All he does is shove his skills in my face and boast when I can’t do things that he can. I feel powerless when I’m standing next to him.”

You pulled your arm back again, ready to fire another arrow, when suddenly your vision went white. Not now! You thought, cursing out your own precognition as you watched future events play out. 

You assumed it would be the same old, same old of someone getting hurt and needing to be healed by one of your siblings, or a mellow talk between you and Kaeya, but it was nothing of the sort. You even assumed it would be a vision of Diluc returning home, or something that would happen at the party tonight, but it was neither. It wasn’t anything dangerous, either. 

Instead, what you saw was Ajax sitting down in front of you on the training grounds. It was dark outside, and the only light sources came from the lanterns hanging in the trees. You were staring up at him with the same scowl you always gave him, but the smile he always wore was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a frown, and in his eyes, the fire that always made itself home there has completely fizzled out. 

He reached a hand out to you, the side of his face dripping with crimson red blood. He looked about ready to pass out right then and there. Hesitantly, you took hold of his hand. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your form. 

You weakly fought against his hold, grabbing onto his shirt tightly. Instead of pushing him away like you thought you’d do, you pulled him closer, until your lips were mere inches apart. He muttered something then, something that was indecipherable to you. 

After that, you looked into his eyes with a look you never thought you’d give anyone. Then, his lips met yours, and the vision faded into nothing. You gasped for air, clutching tightly to your chest as a figure in front of you held you by the shoulders. Their voice was frantic, distorted, as the ringing in your ears blocked out everything. 

When your vision cleared, you looked up, expecting to see the comfort of Kaeya’s periwinkle colored fluffy jacket, only to see the red of a certain someone’s scarf. The ringing stopped, and you were finally able to hear the voice you loathed. 

“Are you okay, sunshine!?” He asked, his eyes filled with worry. “I found you on the ground and you weren’t responding, so I called Chiron. He’ll be here soo–” 

You shoved him away from you. “Just stop!” You yelled, overwhelmed from the vision you just witnessed. Your body felt warm and sweat trickled down the back of your neck. You were shaking uncontrollably. 

He frowned. “I was just trying to help! You looked–” 

“I don’t need your help!” you retorted, your chest heaving as you finally let all your anger loose. “I never have and I never will! Why would I ever need help from the likes of you, anyway? All you do is belittle me!” 

His brows furrowed. “What? No, I never meant to–” 

“Just go away!” You shoved past him, leaving your broken bow on the ground. 

Diluc was happy to be back, but as he scanned the crowd of people at the party, he couldn’t find you anywhere. He could’ve sworn Kaeya said you were here. 

He tossed a glare in his brother’s direction, only to see Kaeya just as disappointed at your absence as he was. That was when Mona, one of your half siblings, approached them with a panicked expression on her face. She was breathless from running, and judging by her urgency, there was something wrong. 

Kaeya, already having a feeling it was something to do with you, stepped forward. “What happened?” 

“It’s (Name)!” Mona panted, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow before continuing. “She had a vision. Ajax said he found her passed out on the ground after leaving the target area. She’s in the infirmary now–” 

Kaeya pushed her aside, setting off into a sprint towards the infirmary. Without a second thought, Diluc followed, leaving the party behind. 

When you came to, you were in the infirmary. You didn’t know how you got here, but all you could remember was the vision you had hours prior. Your head was pounding– a side effect of precognition, and your whole body felt hot. Did you have a fever? 

You sat up, wincing as the sunlight filtering through the curtains hit you right in the face. It did nothing but add to your awful migraine. Where were you? You took a look around, your vision a little blurry from just waking up. 

“Well good morning, sleepy head,” a smooth voice said, placing a hand to your forehead, “I was starting to get a little worried you wouldn’t wake up!” 

As soon as your vision cleared, you saw none other than your father sitting next to you, a wide smile on his face as he stared down at you. He retracted his hand and placed it in his lap. 

“Dad!? What are you doing here?” You questioned, your voice hoarse. 

You reached for the cup of water on the table next to the infirmary bed. You gulped it all down in seconds flat and let out a sigh of relief. 

Apollo crossed one leg over the other and placed his chin in his palm. “Why do you think I’m here, sunshine?” 

That nickname– that dreadful nickname. You used to like when he called you that, but not after Ajax started using it too. It sounded like he was mocking you whenever he addressed you as such. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you threw the blanket over your head and curled into a ball, “so go back to Olympus, or whatever.” 

Your father chuckled. “You have to tell me everything you saw, sunshine. Otherwise, I won’t leave. And I think we both know that I am a very patient man.” 

A tense silence passed. You could still feel his presence in the room even though it was completely silent, devoid of a sound. For a few minutes, you were silent, biting your lip out of nervousness.  

Truthfully, you were embarrassed to tell him what you saw. It wasn’t something you wanted to share with your father of all people. And knowing him, he’d tease you to hell and back for it. You wouldn’t say anything, you decided. 

“Fine. If you’re going to be stubborn like that boyfriend of yours, then why don’t I tell him what you saw?” 

You jumped up, a terrified look in your eyes as your father laughed raucously. You glared at him. He was so vexing sometimes. You never understood a thing he said or did. Then again, you never understood a single thing any of the gods did. You probably never would. 

With a heavy sigh, you sat against the wall and explained your vision to him, avoiding his gaze the entire time. It was embarrassing enough you had to tell him, but it would’ve been worse if you were looking at him when you did so. 

After you finished, he hummed thoughtfully. “I see,” he muttered, “well, if I had to guess, my dear beloved daughter has a crush on this child of Ares.” 

“I do not! And I never will!” You immediately sputtered, feeling your cheeks heat up. 

He snickered. “I think you do. After all, that vision spoke for itself.” 

You shook your head, adamant that you didn’t harbor any sort of feelings for the ginger you claimed to hate all these years. There was no way you liked that crazed, warmongering lunatic. Your father was off his rocker. Officially. 

“It’s false. There’s no way I like that wackjob.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “All he does is fight people. He never stops. It’s so annoying. And don’t get me started on the way he smiles when he gets hurt, like he enjoys it! Who in their right mind is happy when they’re practically bleeding out!?” 

Your rambling took your father by surprise, but he was amused nonetheless. This was the first time you got so riled up like this, and all because of a boy. He couldn’t help but find teenage love so, so amusing– especially when you were the one experiencing it. 

“I think someone has a crush!” He said again, only for it to be shot down by you once again. 

“As if! I’d rather take a swan dive into the bottomless pit where Kronos resides than fall for that warmongering brute!” 

He sighed. “The prophecy always comes true, sunshine.” 

You shook your head. “Not this time.” 

Apollo stood up, placing his sunglasses back over his eyes before handing you something. He ruffled your hair. “You can’t escape fate, my dear. I think you’ll be in for a rude awakening.” 

With that, he disappeared into a flurry of golden flames, leaving you alone in the infirmary. On your lap sat a golden lyre, another gift that you would add to your collection of instruments and weapons. This one seemed particularly special, though you couldn’t place your finger on why. But your father’s words echoed in your head, even weeks after his visit. 

You avoided Ajax like the plague, ignoring him on most occasions, and making sure you didn’t have to interact with him on others. Until one night, you found yourself training with Kaeya. You excelled with bows, but you were also a swordmaster. Reestablishing a firm grip on your sun blade (gifted to you by your father), you swung your sword at your brother once more, clicking your tongue when you just barely grazed his arm. 

Your swords clashed, and with one final push, you knocked him onto his ass. His sword flung out of his hands, landing somewhere in the distance. You let out a small laugh, standing over him with your hand outstretched. He took it without a second thought, and you pulled him to his feet. 

“You’ve gotten stronger,” he told you, pride evident in his voice, “how much have you been practicing on your own?” 

“A hell of a lot,” you answered, giving him a lopsided smile, “Jean’s been sparring with me. She’s a formidable foe.” 

Kaeya laughed, retrieving his sword. “Indeed, she is. Though, it’s rare for you to take her on. Have you been missing your usual victim?” Of course he threw in a tease. He always did. 

You sighed. “I’ll admit it’s been a bit boring.” 

He raised a brow. “That’s it?” 

“What do you mean? What else am I supposed to say? You know I hate his guts.” 

He shrugged, though you knew he was hiding something. “I just thought, after your talk with father, you had a change of heart.” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you froze. “Dad talked to you?” 

“Briefly. He told me about your vision. I must say, that vision sure is revealing the desires hidden in your heart–” 

“Dad told you!?” You screeched, fear bubbling up inside of you. 

If your father told Kaeya, there was a chance he might’ve spilled the beans to Ajax as well. You didn’t know how you could ever face him again. If he knew, you’d have to launch yourself into the nearest pit of vipers and hope you never come back out alive. 

Your pride– and your dignity, were ruined. 

Kaeya patted your head. “Not the specifics,” he reassured, “just that it included a certain someone. And no, before you ask, he didn’t say anything to said individual. He only told me… and maybe Diluc.” 

You groaned before you let out a whine. The next time you saw your father, you were going to kill him. Well, you’d try to. 

“I better get back to the cabin,” Kaeya sighed, “I’d like to shower before bed. You coming back with me?” 

He hoped you’d say no, but only because he had a little plan hidden up his sleeve. 

You shook your head, much to his relief. “I’m gonna stay out here a bit longer. I wanna practice with more dummies.” 

He smiled at you, genuinely this time, and pulled you into a tight hug. “Alright. Just don’t wear yourself out. If you aren’t back in an hour, I’ll come and drag you back to the cabin myself.” 

You laughed and pushed him away from you playfully. “Yes, mom.” 

He laughed softly in return, messing up your hair again as you protested and swatted his hand away, before he set off back to the cabins. 

Your smile slowly faded as he got farther away, and you looked down at your sun blade. In the darkness, it looked like just any old scrap of metal, but in the sunlight, it glowed a magnificent gold. It was a sword many children of Apollo had used before you. That’s what your father told you when he had given it to you. 

Only the best warriors born from your father were given this sword. And upon their death, it would stop glowing and your father would take it back into his possession before giving it to the next child. When the sword was given to a new owner after the former owner’s death, it would glow brightly again, filled with the life force of whoever wielded it. 

You gripped the sword tightly in your hands. You could feel a small thrum run through your fingers. That was the sword. It was talking to you, bonding with your life force. Although it lost many wielders in its life, the sword always glowed again. Just like the sun, it always came back. 

The sound of footsteps drew you out of your stupor, and you saw the figure of your arch nemesis approaching you. You let out a sigh. What did he want? And at this time of night, too. 

He raised his spear wordlessly. A small, almost invisible smile pulled at his lips. He wanted a fight… again. But this time felt different, as if he had come to some sort of realization. It wouldn’t hurt to allow him this one fight, especially when he wasn’t opening his mouth. 

So, you raised your sword and positioned yourself into a fighting stance. A few seconds passed. The air was silent. Then, in a flash, the two of you dashed forward. The sound of clashing metal was loud in your ears, but you were focused– more focused and attuned to your opponent’s attacks than you’ve ever been. 

He grazed your arm, you hissed. You slashed his side, he let out a small sound of pain. Back and forth you went, minimally hurting each other and side-stepping and clashing. Finally, you let out a frustrated yell and swung your sword. You didn’t care where it landed, as long as you beat him at his own game. 

It happened too fast for you to notice. One moment, you were filled to the brim with adrenaline, and the next, you watched as he collapsed onto the ground, holding the side of his head. It all happened so fast… 

You panted breathlessly, your chest heaving as you stared at him in complete and utter shock. The adrenaline was wearing off, and you could finally move your body. You rushed forward, throwing your sword to the ground to kneel beside him, pulling his hand away from the deep gash on the side of his face.

Did you do that? 

“Let me see.” You said worriedly. You were experienced with wounds, as most of your siblings were healers. 

Before you could get a closer look, he knocked you back. The wind got knocked out of your lungs, and you could feel your head throbbing. You raised a shaky hand to your head and slowly sat up, groaning at the pain. 

Ajax stood in front of you, his face devoid of the smile he always wore, and the side of his head covered in crimson blood. Your vision cleared, and when you looked up, your eyes widened. You knew how the next events played out, you saw them for yourself. You gulped, your shock turning into anger as you glared at him. 

“I win.” He said flatly. 

You huffed, looking away from him. He knelt down in front of you, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You wouldn’t let this play out like it did in your vision. 

You wouldn’t. 

“There. We’re even,” Ajax muttered, “You pulled a dirty trick on me. I returned the favor.” 

You shoved him away, though he barely budged. “That’s just like you. Selfish, prideful. You always have to have the last say, the last laugh.” You spat. 

Ajax was quiet for a moment, studying you. You began to feel anxious under his scrutinizing gaze. You fiddled with the grass beneath your fingers. 

He held his hand out, and you stared at it. The fire in his eyes was gone, and he looked just about ready to pass out, but you could tell that he was fighting off the urge to close his eyes. You had the chance to get up and leave. You didn’t have to take his hand. 

Yet, you found yourself drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame. And so, you grabbed his hand. He held tightly onto yours, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his other arm around the small of your back. You still had the chance to push him away. To let him pass out here on the grass. 

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t move a single muscle. You gripped tightly to his shirt as he pulled you closer. Your brows furrowed as he opened his mouth. 

“Sunshine, I.. I’m sorry.” 

You certainly weren’t expecting that. “For what?” 

“For making you feel weak. Your brother told me…” 

You were 100% going to punch Kaeya in the face when you got back. 

“You’re not weak,” he told you, his voice firm, “I don’t have weak opponents. I have strong ones. Ones who I want to test my strength against because I know they’re gonna send me packing, but I still come back anyways. Because the only way I can get stronger is if I fight those who are stronger than me.” 

“I don’t need your–” 

“Would you just shut up and listen for once!?” He snapped, holding you tighter. 

That made you shut up instantly. 

He sighed heavily. “I’m not pitying you. I’m being sincere. I only ever fight against you because you’re strong, and I want to learn from you. My master taught me that every battle is worth it, that every person I fight is someone I can learn from. You’re one of those people. So shut up and realize your own strength. Your own worth.” 

You stared at him with wonder in your eyes. He held your gaze. 

“You’re the pride of Apollo’s children. Even your father has recognized your strength. Please, just see it yourself. See yourself the way I do.” 

“I…” You couldn’t say anything. You didn’t know how to respond, so you did the only way you knew how. 

You pulled him closer, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, gentle kiss. His lips were chapped, and you could taste the metal of the blood from the cut on his upper lip. His kisses were messy but gentle, as if you were fragile and he was handling you with the utmost care. 

When you pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours. A smile erupted onto his face, so dazzling you felt as if Cupid had struck an arrow through your heart at that very moment. He let out a content sigh. 

“Do you see now?” 

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, “maybe if you kiss me again, I will.” 

He chuckled, his warm breath hitting your face. You smiled, caressing his face with your thumb. “And I thought I was slick.” 

You hugged him tightly, scared of letting him go now that you had him in your embrace. 

“(Name)... I feel dizzy…” 

“Oh shit!” 

You spent that night in the infirmary, nursing his wounds.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[starrylanex]

Nightmare // Klaus Mikaelson x fem!reader

summary - reader has a nightmare but klaus is there to help her through it; request; warnings - small panic attack, no mentions of y/n, klaus being a softie for reader; word count - 737; for @lizzielovesmovies hope you enjoy it:))

———

Darkness engulfed everything.

The forest seemed endless, each step pulling you deeper into the shadows. Cold sweat coated your skin as you ran, breath ragged, heart pounding against your ribs. The haunting sounds of wolves howling echoed through the trees, chasing you down, and no matter how fast you moved, they were always just behind.

Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath your feet, and you fell. Down and down, spiraling into a pit of nothingness. You screamed, but no sound came out, just the deafening silence and the feel of cold, invisible hands pulling at you, scratching you, suffocating you. Desperate, you reached out for something, anything to hold onto, but all you found was darkness.

A low growl filled the void, too close for comfort. You turned, your eyes wide with terror, and there he stood—the figure of a wolf, obscured by the mist, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow, lips curled into a menacing growl, showing it's sharp teeth.

You froze as the wolf stepped closer, barking at you, you couldn't move, and as the wolf launched at you, you jolted awake, gasping, heart still racing as though it had been real. Sweat slicked your skin, and your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. You blinked, taking in the familiar surroundings of your room, but the terror from the nightmare clung to you, making it impossible to calm down. The silence felt too loud, the shadows too deep.

Suddenly, there was a soft creek of the door barely audible, but enough to make you jump.

"Love?" Klaus's voice came through, a gentle from his usual roughness. He pushed the door open slightly, his blue eyes finding yours immediately. Concern was etched on his face as he entered the room. "I heard your heartbeat from down the hall."

You tried to catch your breath, still shaken. "Just... a nightmare," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Without a word, Klaus crossed the room to your bedside, his presence alone somehow grounding you. He sat down next to you, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that made you feel safe. His hand found yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

"A nightmare?" he repeated softly, the edge of his accent smoothing the words. "It must have been quite dreadful to rattle you like this." His eyes softened, and for a moment, the centuries of hardness fell away, revealing the man beneath the immortal veneer. "You're safe now. I'm here."

You shivered, your body still tense from the aftershocks of the dream. "I-I know," you stammered, "but it felt so real... I couldn't breathe."

Klaus let go of your hand only to swiftly remove his grey shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. "Here," he said, offering it to you. "You're sweating through yours"

The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, that you didn't hesitate. You took your shirt off and taking the shirt from him, the fabric still warm from his body, you slipped it on. It smelled of him—faintly of cedar and something uniquely Klaus. His scent wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, immediately soothing your nerves.

Klaus watched you quietly, his gaze lingering on you. He didn't speak, but the warmth in his eyes was more than enough. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his hand once again finding yours.

"I'll stay right here," he promised, his voice a soft murmur. "No one will harm you, not while I'm here. Close your eyes, love."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, but sleep didn't come immediately. You could still feel the weight of the nightmare pressing down on you, and the silence was unnerving. Sensing your unease, Klaus shifted closer, his hand brushing over your hair gently, fingers threading through the strands.

"Rest," he whispered. "It was just a dream. You're safe. I'm here to protect you."

The steady sound of his voice, his fingers gently stroking your hair, and the comfort of his presence finally began to work. Slowly, the tension in your body eased, and your breathing evened out. The weight of his hand in yours anchored you to the present, pulling you away from the remnants of your nightmare.

With Klaus by your side, the darkness seemed less threatening, and for the first time that night, you let yourself drift into peaceful sleep, knowing that no nightmare could reach you as long as he was there.

[nina-ya]

Little Red's Desires (Ace x Reader NSFW)

A/N: HIHIHIHI This was a trade originally done for @raddelusionaldive and her oc Harper for a trade in my server!! I had a lot of fun writing this I always love writing for ace!! Pairing: Ace x AFAB reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, modern au but like that's barely relevant, car sex, hair pulling (ace gets his pulled), p in v sex, riding, creampie, uh I think that's all! • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Costume parties- one of the few events where it's acceptable, almost required, to dress up as the most outlandish things and get away with it. The ridiculous, the elaborate, the downright absurd. And naturally, you and Ace had to participate. You would of course show off these outfits at a random house party you were invited to by one of your friends. 

The freckled man had chosen a werewolf costume with faux fur paws, clip on ears, a collar with a little charm dangling from the center, and the fangs- cheap and poorly fitted, but perfectly Ace. His all-black outfit was decorated with touches of gold accents that shined under the dim lights of the party, and the piece de resistance, his coat was merely there to cover his arms, leaving his chest out there for the world to admire. 

Meanwhile, you had opted to match him with a Little Red Riding Hood outfit. Innocence and fierceness all wrapped up in a crimson cloak and a flash of red lipstick. You were adjusting your ensemble when a familiar presence broke you out of your focus. 

When you looked up, there Ace was, already grinning, plastic fangs glinting under the dim lights. Ace had arrived to the party fashionably late, though you knew that he would be held up by his job. However, this knowledge did not stop the smile that graced your face at the sight of him finally making his appearance. He prowled over, eyes fixed on her like you were a prize he had been hunting for hours. 

“Well look at you, Red,” he drawled, leaning close, fangs bared in a shameless grin. “Pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one doing the hunting tonight, but here you are aiming straight for my heart with that outfit.”

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped past your lips. “Not my fault the big bad wolf decided to leave his chest out,” you teased, your fingers lightly toying with the fur on his coat. “Makes you an easy target, don’t you think?”

The banter came naturally like it always does when it comes to you two, but tonight the costumes added a layer of intrigue to the whole exchange, bringing out a whole new side of you. Throughout the entire night, you caught him stealing glances at you, finding excuses to always be by your side despite your respective friends pulling you in separate directions. He was just a guy in a werewolf costume yearning for the girl who had chosen to be his Red. 

He caught you later on in the night, approaching you as you sipped a mystery concoction that was sure to give you a hangover the next morning. 

“So, Red Riding Hood, what are you doing around these parts?” His fingers settled under your chin, playfully tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Didn’t anyone tell you there’s a wolf on the loose?”

You raised an eyebrow, scarlet lips curving into a daring smile. “Well, maybe I was looking for trouble.” You poked his chest, finger lingering on his warm skin. “But it seems like I found something… softer.”

Ace chuckled, clearly delighted by the back and forth. “Soft? Alright, I’ll let that side.” He placed his hand dramatically over his heart, pretending to be wounded by your words. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Red.”

“Cute?” You scoffed, “Pretty bold for a guy in cheap fangs.”

His mouth quirked up as he tilted his head, giving you a good, hard look that sent a thrill through her. His fingers traced from your chin down your neck and across your collarbone until they found the edge of your cloak, his thumb tracing along the fabric. “Cheap fangs, maybe. But I make ‘em work, don’t I?”

Ace was way too good at this and you found yourself at a loss for words for the first time that night. In a bid to keep yourself grounded, you glanced down at the drink in his hand and plucked it away, drinking the contents before stacking the now-empty cup under your existing drink. 

“Hey!” He protested, reaching for it, but it was futile as the drink was long gone. “You-Red, you’re ruthless.”

You just laughed, both at the action and the way he almost broke character all over stealing his booze. “Maybe I can be a little dangerous too. Besides, wolves shouldn’t be drinking. They might forget what they’re hunting.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine. Ace leaned in, lips lightly caressing your ear as he muttered to you, “maybe so. Tell you what, if you’re so dangerous, why don’t you show me?” 

You could swear her heart stopped just for a beat at the proposition, her mind running through all the different scenarios he could possibly be thinking – of course most of them involving much much less clothing. You gnawed at your lip and turned to face him meeting his black eyes as you slid away from him, extending your hand to his, fingers outstretched in an invitation. “Now why would I reveal my tricks so early in the night?” you asked. “Dance with me, and maybe I’ll show you.” 

Without a second thought, Ace slipped his hand into yours as you pulled him close, a grin of satisfaction curving your lips. 

The music thrummed in the background, loud enough to drown out any conversation you were having from curious ears. Ace began to dance with you, spinning you around in a way that had you praying for dear life that your drink didn't spill under the excuse that he just wanted to see the way your dress twirls. You were in their own little world, almost forgetting that you were in a crowded party. 

Every now and then, he’d lean down, whispering nonsense in your ear such as remarks about how he was definitely a much more terrifying wolf than the other guy across the room, or complaining about the itchiness of the fake fur gloves. And you would laugh, the sound sometimes drawing glances from others, but you hardly noticed, not when you were with him. It was nice that you could revel in the silliness of the holiday, the harmless play, and flirt with lines that you may not be able to say on an ordinary day. 

Ace let out a dramatic sigh, his hands settling on your hips as his eyes raked over you. “Guess we’re going to have to start coming to more of these things if it means seeing you like this,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the wolf here is starting to look a little lovesick.” 

He leaned closer, feigning innocence as his fingers traced your side. “Nah, just… captivated is all.” His hand squeezed your side, emphasizing his words. “Can’t blame me, can you?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you slipped a hand up his chest, reaching his neck and playing with the collar that adorned it. You eyed the accessory dangling from the center, tracing your fingers along the ridges until you gripped the charm hanging from the center, making eye contact with Ace once more. Before he could ask what you were doing, you tugged him in, brushing your lips softly over his. Ace’s eyes widened for just a moment before his hands slipped around your waist, pulling you in as he responded by capturing your lips in a slow, searing kiss. You barely heard the delighted whistles of encouragement from the onlookers, and you only broke apart when the playful shout of “get a room!” carried over the music. 

You two pulled apart, slightly breathless, smiling at each other as Ace took initiative and took ahold of your hand, gently tugging you. “Looks like that's our cue, isn't it?” he said, backing up as he started to guide you out of the house.

You slipped out of the crowded room, past all of the laughter and thumping music, into the quiet of a hallway where Ace’s pace quickened, weaving the two of you through the partygoers with you right at his side, laughing as you reached the door. Once outside, Ace pulled you through the cars parked out front until he found his, fumbling in his pocket for his keys until he was able to unlock the door with a beep. The two of you wasted no time. You climbed into the backseat over Ace, settling onto his lap as his hands latched around your waist, gripping tightly. 

It was suffocatingly close in the car, air dense with tension. Each breath seemed to grow shorter as Ace’s hands roamed over your body, trailing up your sides, slipping beneath the edge of your dress, claiming whatever they found. 

“You got the look down,” you murmured, voice low as you leaned in and captured his lips in a deep kiss. You pulled back briefly and adjusted in his lap, feeling him already hard against you, straining against the fabric. “Big bad wolf… but I don't think you’re as scary as you let on,” you said as you rolled your hips against his, pulling a groan from the man. 

Ace’s laugh was a rough, throaty rumble as his fingers tightened their hold on you, pushing you down as he rolled his up into you. “You’re in dangerous territory, Red,” he huffed out.

His hands slid further up your dress with a slow, savoring touch, fingertips dancing along your thighs and up until a hand settled between your legs, fingers pressing into the soaked spot of your panties. His gaze darkened, lips curling into a smug smirk as he slid your panties aside, prodding at the wetness. 

“Eager aren’t you?” he murmured, voice dripping with a rough-edged satisfaction. He removed his fingers and his hand reached for his mouth, taking in the digits and tasting your essence. His fingers popped out of his mouth, and he smirked at the lust-blown look on your face as you witnessed the action. 

Wordlessly, he reached down and fumbled with the buckle of his pants, metal softly clinking as he freed himself from his pants. You looked down and saw the tip glistening with precum, aching to be inside of you. He lifted you up enough to position himself under you, the tip smearing your arousal against him, and he pushed in. deep. The head of his cock pushed through your entrance and he filled you up, stretching you around him and reaching places you didn’t think was possible. 

His hips met yours with a sharp thrust, and he set a punishing pace that left you gasping and scrambling for balance. Ace’s mouth found your neck, his hot breath teasing against the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped down to your shoulder. The strap of your dress slipped down under his rough hands until, with a sharp tug, it gave way, the delicate sound of tearing fabric swallowed by a low and hungry groan. 

Your top slipped, baring one breast to the cool air, and he wasted no time, his mouth latching around your nipple, tongue swirling and teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, pulling a series of breathy moans from your throat. Your back arched, pressing further into him and his other hand gripped your clothed breast, leaving faint impressions of his fingers as he devoured every part of you that he could reach. 

All of the sensations- the suffocating cramped space of the car, the way his cock is deliciously thrusting up into you, his mouth and hand on your breasts- it was almost too much, and you were sent into a spiral, broken gasps and sobs slipping past your lips the longer he went on. 

Confidence fueled by the wild intensity of the moment had your fingers threading through Ace’s hair, pulling back with a harsh tug. His hips faltered for a moment as he moaned out, surrendering as you pushed him back against the worn leather seat, reveling in the way his body just yielded to you. You took the moment to breathe as you looked into his hungry eyes and took over. 

“Fuck-” Ace panted out. “Look’s like I-I’m the prey tonight, hah,” Ace continued in an attempt to tease you. But you silenced him with a sharp glare, muttering a ‘shut up’ as you set your own rhythm, bouncing on his cock in a way that made him let out a breathy groan. 

His hands found your waist, guiding you and helping you find the perfect angle as you rode him, the sound of the car creaking under your movements fills the air alongside your shared gasps. The way he filled you wasn’t enough. There was a hunger growing in you that you needed to satisfy. You gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as you moved faster, chasing your high with every roll of your hips.

His eyes were glued to your form, drinking in the way you lost yourself in the haze, and the only sounds leaving his lips now were breathy moans and low curses as you inflicted more pleasure upon him.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned out, voice strained. “Keep going, just like that.” 

The urgency in his voice was utterly intoxicating, every syllable that he utters pushing you further into the bliss you craved. You could feel the pleasure building inside of you and you tightened around him, feeling him twitch in response and giving your hips a squeeze.

And then it happened. The dam of pleasure broke, euphoria crashing over you as you surrendered to the waves of ecstasy. You cried out, the sound raw and unfiltered as your body began to quiver, muscles spasming and clenching around him. The rush was all-consuming, a blinding light that left you trembling and gasping for breath. 

The sensation of your release pulsed like wildfire, your hole creaming around him, slick and warm. You could feel his breath hitching in his throat, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he guided you through your orgasm. 

“Shit, Red…” he breathed, voice trembling as he felt your walls clench tighter around him, squeezing him like a vice. His thrusts became frantic, each push somehow deeper than the last, and with a final surge of energy, he followed you over the edge, his own release crashing over him as his cock pulsed inside of you, coating your insides with ropes of milky white cum. 

As your highs intertwined, the world outside faded into oblivion. You collapsed against his sweat-slicked body, both of you breathing heavily as you took a moment to recover. You were the first to break the silence as you remembered that you had snuck off from the party, muttering, “you think anyone noticed?” 

Ace let out a sigh, looking down at you with a smirk. “Yeah, they probably noticed,” he replied, placing a kiss on your temple. “We should probably clean up before someone comes knocking at my window saying I'm blocking their car.”

You giggled and nodded, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss before attempting to pull yourself together, despite your chest hanging out due to your ripped dress. That didn’t bother you too much though, rather you were more focused on how your limbs now feel like jelly, courtesy of the man in the wolf costume right beneath you.

What a Happy Halloween indeed. 

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[poppy-in-the-woods]

My Ride or Die

Plot: Noah is your husband. Five years ago, he killed a man that was attacking you. The judge ruled that, since he shot him several times after he already had been stabbed by you, it was no longer self-defense. He got twenty years, and that was two and a half years ago. Today it’s his birthday, and you prepared something special for the conjugal visit.

Pairing: Noah x Female Reader

Word Count: 2904

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), rough sex, love bites, strong language, convict!Noah, mentions of violence.

Author's note: This is, as usual, unbeataed. I also wrote it directly in English to practice, and it has only been proofread by DeepL (I follow the rule that if the translation is grammatically correct, then everything is probably right). Let me know how I did, and hope you enjoy.

@artificialbreezy

It was Noah’s birthday, and, like the last two, he was locked away. He didn’t regret it one bit; what he did, he did it for you, the love of his life. It was odd that you didn’t visit him the previous week, since you’ve been pretty consistent with your weekly visits, but he knew you would never miss it if not for a good reason.

“Davis!” one of the prison guards called him.

Noah was watching TV with his friends, Nick, Folio and Jolly.

“What?” he asked, turning around to look at the man.

“Conjugal visit,” the guard said.

He got up, his friends wolf-whistling and patting his back.

“Lucky bastard!” said Jolly.

Noah followed the guard to the designated space, through several corridors and doors.

“Have fun with that pretty little thing of yours,” the guard said, with a gross tone.

Noah ignored him and entered the room. The door closed behind him with a loud clank, and the lock clicked in place. You got up the bed and ran to him, hugging him.

“Sorry I missed the last week, I got an unexpected change of schedule at work,” you said. He said nothing, but hold you in his arms, pushing you flush against his chest. “I should have called you, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, and you know I can’t keep a secret from you.”

“You prepared a birthday surprise for me?” he asked, smiling, pulling away just enough to look at your face. You nodded, smiling back at him. “Let’s see it, then.”

“Sit down and close your eyes,” you instructed him. “And don’t open them until I say you can.”

“But I like to watch you undress!” he complained, pouting.

“You're gonna have to go without it this time,” you replied.

“Okay,” he sighed, defeated, and sat on the bed, closing his eyes.

You undressed, putting your clothes on the chair that was in a corner. The whole room was pretty austere, just the bed, one nightstand and the chair, no rugs and no decoration. A door led to a small bathroom. You stood before him, resisting the urge to hug yourself.

“You can look now,” you instructed him.

The lingerie set you were wearing, in fiery red, was the most lace-y and risqué you owned, with lots of pieces and transparent panels. It also showed you new tattoo, his name, right between your breasts.

“Baby,” he panted, almost drooling at the sight.

“Do you like it?” you asked, turning around slowly so he could appreciate all of it.

“I fucking love it!” he said. You straddled his thighs. “I can’t wait to take it off, though.”

You chuckled, kissing him, grinding your hips against his crotch while his hands roamed your body to finally settle on your hips. He squeezed your barely clothed ass, pushing you against him; his cock was fully hard now.

He began undressing with your help, and let you push him down on the mattress once he was fully naked; pushing the fabric of the panties aside, you rubbed your pussy against his erection, coating him in your juices. He bit his lip, suppressing a moan.

“You feel so good, baby” he said. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”

 You kissed him, smiling, and got up to retrieve a condom from the nightstand. During your first conjugal visit, Noah had joked that you were fucking on tax-payer’s money, and you couldn’t help but remember every time.

He got up, resting on his elbows, to watch you roll the condom over his dick. Without wasting any time, you sat on his lap again, guiding him to your entrance, sinking slowly until he was fully inside. You both moaned at the same time.

“Have I told you this is the best pussy I’ve ever had?” he said.

“Just once or twice every time we fuck,” you laughed.

“Well, that way you won’t forget,” he said, gripping your hips with such force it might leave some bruises. You started moving, moaning into his ear. He kissed your neck. “I spend every day we’re apart daydreaming of us, fucking each other’s brains out.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

“Huh?”

“Where are we in those scenarios of yours?” you clarified.

“Oh. Well, it varies… our home, the woods, the beach… this prison,” he admitted. “I imagine it’s empty and we fuck in every room and office that there is.”

“You do?”

“I once almost got in trouble because of it,” he laughed.

“You gotta tell me that… after we’ve finished this round,” you said.

“Agreed,” he said.

You picked up your pace, riding him like he was a wild stallion you wanted to tame, and it was not an exaggeration, because while he let you be on top, he refused to be a passive part, and moved his hips in time with yours, all while praising you and exploring your body with his hands and mouth.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum!” he said after more or less ten minutes, giving your butt another squeeze.

“Cum for me,” you encouraged him, gently tugging at the roots of his hair.

“But you haven’t…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted him. “It’s your birthday, you get to cum first, and I’m not gonna stop until your balls are empty. Be a good boy and give it to me!”

Noah came, loudly moaning your name. You kissed him, your hips stopping gradually. He laid back on the bed, breathing shallowly.

“Good God!” he exclaimed, pushing his hair out of his face. He turned his face to you. “How can you manage to fuck like that and still look so innocent right after?”

“It’s a gift,” you joked, lying beside him. “Tell me about that story you mentioned before, please.”

“Okay. So the other day, there was this guy, a newbie, that decided to pick on me at lunch. He kept trying to bust my balls (and not in a fun way), so I pushed him. He tried to punch me, but failed, and I punched him, you know, to show him who’s boss. That afternoon, the warden calls me into his office,” he began, resting on his side to look at you more comfortably. “He tells me ‘Davis, you gotta watch out that attitude or I will be obligated to put you in isolation, and you won’t be seeing your wife for a month.’”

“What a prick,” you commented.

“Right? The thing is, the moment he mentioned you, all I could think of was us, fucking on his desk,” Noah laughed. “I could picture you so vividly, butt-naked over his paperwork, legs curled around my hips, hands on my shoulders, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure… I got a hard-on. Can you imagine?” he asked, you laughed. Yes, you could imagine it.

» I was so hard and he was still berating me, ‘Davis this’ and ‘Davis that’, and ‘watch out, lest some more years are added to your sentence!’. And then he realized I was not listening. He looked at me, really looked at me, you know? And I was totally spaced out, cock fully hard and gripping my own knees so hard my knuckles went white, trying to contain the urge to touch myself. Because in my mind, I had already made you come three times, and now you were riding me, just like you did now, your glorious tits bouncing on my face, and I swear I could have come with that thought alone. He had to ruin it, though, snapping me back to reality.

“What did he say?”

“He screamed my name, full volume. ‘Snap out of it, son, she’s not here and she won’t be for a long time if you don’t control yourself! I could send your sorry ass to isolation for this alone!’” Noah told you, doing his best impression of the warden. “So I apologized to him and he dismissed me. I went back to my cell, still half hard, and jerked off.”

“That’s kinda funny” you admitted.

“I missed you so much…!” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I miss you every day, the touch of your skin, the sound of your laugh, and your smell… wish I could bottle it so I could get drunk on it!”

“I miss you too, my love. I hate that you have to be here, but I’m grateful that I can still see you,” you said, kissing him briefly, “and that we can still have these moments.”

“I hate that I am in here too, but I would do it again if I had to. Killing for you is always worthy,” he said, resting on his back again.

You moved to rest your head on his shoulder, hugging him and putting a leg between his. He had saved you and ended up there for you, the least you could do was support him through his sentence.

“You’re the best husband I could wish for!” you said, caressing his tattooed chest. “Think you’re ready for round two?”

“Fuck yeah I am!”

“Help me take this off,” you asked, touching the lace.

“Sure, baby!” he said, his nimble fingers working the clasps.

After a minute, you were as naked as he was. Looking at him, you knelt on the floor. He looked back at you a bit confused.

“I made you a promise before: until your balls are empty, and I fully intend to keep that promise,” you reminded him.

“Okay, but you still haven’t come,” he pointed out.

“I can touch myself while sucking you, if you want,” you suggested.

“Or you can sit on my face and we give oral to each other at the same time,” he countered.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Damn sure! C’mon, baby, you have a seat waiting for you here,” he encouraged you, laying down again.

“Okay, as you wish, it’s your birthday.”

“You’re damn right it is!”

Noah always had a talented tongue and he loved eating you out. It was kind of hard to concentrate on sucking him off while he was working his magic with your pussy, though. Then he added two fingers to the mix, massaging your G-spot the way he knew you liked it, and it was impossible to concentrate.

“Noah, my love, I can’t think if you keep doing that,” you warned him.

“Don’t worry, just ride my face and then you can kneel on the floor and finish sucking me,” he said.

“O-okay,” you panted in response. “But let me turn around.”

You changed positions so you could make eye contact with him. His free hand flew to one of your boobs, massaging it. You put our hand over his and arched your back, moaning. You had toys back at home, and you always thought of him while you masturbated, but nothing compared to the real deal. The orgasm shook you with such force it made you see white and tears rolled down your cheeks. You collapsed on the bed beside him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked cupping your face with a worried expression, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“I don’t want to go home,” you said. “I want to stay with you, in here, forever.”

“I don’t want this to end either, but we’re having a good time, aren’t we?”

“The greatest time, that’s precisely why I don’t want it to end,” you said, pouting. “I’m gonna hug you so tight the guard will have to take me to the cell with you. I can sleep in your bed, I don’t mind,” you half-joked.

“I think Nick would mind if we don’t let him sleep,” he laughed. “And you know I can’t resist you when you’re so close.”

It was true. Luckily, you had a similar sex drive to him. You kissed him, desperately, blindly, and he kissed you back with equal fervor. For a couple of minutes, you lied there, closely embracing, trying to devour each other, all teeth and tongue and ragged breath, until you couldn’t take it. His lips moved to your neck while you took a gulp of air. His cock was still hard, heavy against your leg.

“How do you want me to take care of this?” you asked, caressing it.

“Let me fuck you hard,” he said.

For him, hard meant fast and rough, leaving bite marks all over your body, and it usually left you feeling a bit tender downstairs for a couple of days, the slight discomfort a sweet reminder of how much he loved you.

“Okay, let’s do it,” you agreed.

He began by marking your body, biting and sucking everywhere, claiming you as his.

“Fucking love this,” he said, pausing for a moment and gently brushing the tip of his nose to the black letters over your sternum.

“Glad you do,” you replied, fingers running through his hair.

“Pass me a condom, baby,” he asked.

You did, watching him fumble a bit with the foil package before he rolled it over his erection, mentally bracing for what was about to come. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it that way, but you still needed to prepare. He squirted one of the single-dose packages of lube over the rubber to make it easier on you.

Maybe your mother was right and you had a masochistic vein, you thought while he fucked you hard in several positions and you touched yourself.

“Harder!” you demanded.

“I don’t think you can take it harder, baby,” he said, panting.

“Please,” you begged.

“Okay, since you ask so nicely…” he said.

He pushed your face against the mattress, hand fisting the roots of your hair, your ass in the air, and he penetrated you again, making you whimper.

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Good. I love you, so, so much!” he exclaimed, pounding into you.

“I love you too!”

You were feeling the orgasm so close it was nearly within reach.

“Almost there, baby!” he warned you.

“Cum for me,” you commanded.

You reached your orgasm more or less at the same time as him, your walls contracting around him, and he screamed your name while he emptied his load in the condom. He collapsed on the bed beside you, panting. For a moment or two while you recovered, none of you moved or said anything. After that, you turned to look at him and hugged him.

“You almost rip my dick off,” he joked, smoothing your hair.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you milked me dry.”

“I told you, I made you a promise,” you smiled.

“My balls are empty,” he laughed.

“Good, because I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to have sex for two weeks, and then my period is due,” you informed him.

“Normal visits, then,” he said. “Can you bring me a pastrami sandwich from the deli I like?” he requested.

“Sure!”

“You’re so good to me!” he sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re certainly lucky that my libido is as high as yours and I like the same sex stuff you do,” you laughed.

“Yeah, I am lucky. But next time we’ll focus on you, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, you still have one more birthday wish, if that’s how you want to spend it, fine by me,” you said, kissing his clavicle. “I love when you give me lots of orgasms until I can’t take it anymore.”

“I certainly love doing that,” he chuckled, “and you’ve been such a good girl you deserve it.”

Not long after, you had to go. After one last kiss, the guard took Noah deep inside the prison while you left. His friends were still hanging out in the tv room.

“How’s the missus?” asked Folio.

“She’s okay. Her boss is still an asshole, but it’s no big deal,” he said, sitting on the chair.

“Saw her crossing the street. She was almost limping,” Jolly commented.

“We had a heated birthday lovemaking session,” Noah explained, with a smug expression.

“I bet, I thought I could hear her screaming your name a couple of times,” Nick laughed.

“Last week she got my name tattooed between her tits,” he told them. “I can’t wait ‘til it’s healed so I can lick it while we fuck.”

“Damn, that’s hot!” Folio sighed. “Wish I had a missus like yours.”

“We all wish we had a wife like Noah’s,” Jolly laughed.

Later that night, when Noah and Nick were alone in the cell, Nick dared to bring out a subject they usually didn’t talk about. He was the only one who knew Noah and you from before the prison, and the three of you had gone on a bender quite some times.

“You think if we tell the warden about that one wild night in Miami, he’ll let me go in with you the next conjugal visit?” he half joked.

“No way. Besides, that was years ago and we were drunk.”

“I know. Still, it was the best head.”

“She does give pretty killer blowjobs,” Noah admitted, smiling. Maybe you could give him one next time before he dedicated himself to you.

“Take care of her, man, or some free guy will snatch her up!”

“That could never happen. She’s my ride or die and I’m hers.”

While they were talking, you were writing a letter.

Dear Noah,

It’s only been a few hours since we last saw each other, but I already miss you...

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt : ‘Where in the hell did you find that costume?’

rated: M | cw: none | tags: vampire!Steve Harrington, chubby Eddie Munson, blood drinking, established relationship, d/s undertones, hand feeding

Inspired by @scoops-aboy86 ‘s little AU that u can read here !!! :3c

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

‘Where in the hell did you find that costume?’ Eddie asks, stepping out of the green room bathroom with his eyeliner smudged just the way he likes.

‘What? It’s funny.’ Steve says from the doorway, having just finished a final perimeter check of the venue. He does a little 180, showing off his yellow and navy letterman and blue jeans, dressed just like Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf.

‘Yeah it’s funny, but when did you even have the time to shop?’ Eddie asks, picking at the table of snacks, popping a mini muffin in his mouth.

Steve tracks the movement. ‘Oh you know, I just called around a couple stores, had them put it aside for me and then sent someone to get it as part of your rider. Rockstar boyfriend perks.’ He shrugs, closing a locking the door. He can hear the stage hands in the distance setting up, they have time.

He hears Eddie’s heartbeat increase slightly too. ‘What are you dressed as?’ He asks, stalking slowly closer, setting his sunglasses on the coffee table.

‘A vampires latest victim.’ Eddie wiggles his eyebrows, finishing a donut. He’s in a sleeveless black mesh shirt, tattoos and round pink nipples on display, and wide leg, high waisted slacks that hug his thick waist in way that makes Steve’s mouth water. Every so often a tabloid will get a shot of Eddie and say something about his weight, the industry not used to a rockstar that isn’t heroin thin. After something like that Eddie always makes a point of showing more skin on stage, letting the people know how proud he is of his body.

After all, it keeps Steve alive. Perfect and plump as it is. Eddie needs to keep his strength up, to be able to handle Steve’s appetite.

Eddie’s sucking strawberry juice from his fingers and Steve can’t take it anymore. In an instant he’s across the room and crowding Eddie against the wall, having picked up a brownie on the way.

‘Vampires victim? So you need me to help complete your costume right? Give the kids a real show out there.’ Steve says, holding the treat just out of reach.

‘Stevie.’ Eddie slurs, opening his mouth, pupils growing. Steve feels his own flower shaped ones unfurl slightly at the soft pink of Eddie’s tongue, at the rushing of his blood.

‘Open up baby.’ He says, one hand wrapped possessively around Eddie’s chubby hip. ‘I know you want the adrenaline rush for the stage, little junky, but you know the rules, food first.’ Steve whispers, lips on Eddie’s cheek as he feeds the brownie into his panting mouth.

Eddie whines, chewing and writhing under Steve’s hands, baring his neck.

‘You’re more than just a victim though aren’t you?’ Steve murmurs, picking Eddie up easily and walking them over to the couch. Laying Eddie down beneath him.

‘Victim.’ Steve kisses Eddie’s temple, his cheek and over his sweet sugar coated lips. ‘Slave.’ Down his soft jaw. ‘Pet.’ Over the tense muscle of his neck. ‘Dearest love.’ Steve breaths deep feeling his fangs grow. ‘Soulmate.’ He bites; sweet molten blood flooding his tongue. They moan in unison, Steve drinking and laving and sucking. Eddie whining and thrusting below him, into Steve’s strong thigh, pinned and used and panting with pleasure.

Steve drinks his fill, licking over the wound to close it but keeping two little red puncture wounds and kissing the red mess around to really finish Eddie’s costume.

‘Fuck. I need, uh, well.’ Eddie babbles, still blissed out and Steve giggles at the faint blush across his cheeks. Even after all these years Eddie’s still gets shy about how much he likes Steve doing that.

‘I have clean underwater in my bag baby, like always.’ Steve says, kissing Eddie’s lips and rising off him.

Eddie hums and closes his eyes. Steve listens to Eddie’s heartbeat slowly descend as he rummages around for tissues and boxers. Coming back to the couch to help Eddie sit and undoing his pants for him. Any part of aftercare has always been Steve’s favourite, all of it just made easier with his powers. More easily in tune, stronger, faster.

‘Want another treat before you go out there?’ Steve asks.

Eddie blinks slowly at him, dopey little smile on his face. He nods and Steve laughs as he brings another brownie to Eddie’s lips, rubbing his palm in gentle circles over his stomach.

‘Showtime baby.’ Steve says, hearing the stagehand calling for the other members at the end of the hallway, on their way to Eddie’s changing room. ‘Ready to melt their faces?’

Eddie giggles. Blinking hard and holding his hand out for Steve to help him to his feet. He kisses Steve long and filthy until the door opens and he’s called to stage.

‘You better still have your costume on when I’m done. It’s hot.’ Eddie says. waltzing out the door.

Steve listens to the steady thrum of his loves heartbeat all through the show. Counting down the minutes until he can get Eddie under him again.

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

Tag list : @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone @pearynice @wheneverfeasible

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @hbyrde36 @bookworm0690

This is my last post for the steddie spooktober!! Ty so much to everyone who has read and interacted!!!!

It’s been a feat and I can’t believe it’s over, but it really gave me something fun to focus on this month! which has helped me deal with the stresses in my life immensely. Ty so much @steddie-spooktober for hosting! Mwah!

[fairysluna]

little wolf.

Cregan's little sister is the only one who can change his mind, which is why Aemond decides to use his charms and convince her to support the Green using some peculiar methods.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Tags/TW: smut (p in v, loss of virginity, f!oral sex, praise, breeding, kinda innocent!kink), teasing, a bit of mean!aemond, slight dubcon, cregan being an overprotective brother, cursing. if something is missing let me know!!

Author's Note: mimor @tvrgvryen sent me this request a few days ago and I had to do it bc i loved it so much. So here it is!

Word Count: 4.9k

Aemond has always been a good observer. He has always noticed the small details, the reason why people acted as they did, the way people treated others. That's why it wasn't hard for him to realize how important you were for your beloved brother Cregan. 

The day he first stepped into Winterfell after Vhagar gracefully landed on the snow, he saw how brave Cregan was for stepping between you and the enormous beast. However, that mere gesture exposed the big affection he had for you; his only sister, and with that, Aemond knew what was Lord Stark's greatest weakness… you. 

He went to the North with a mission, a task to fulfill, and he was not a man that was known to give up on things. Aemond was resilient, determined. He would not accept a negative answer from the Warden of the North, and even though he knew about the oath and how Starks are famously known for being loyal to their words; he was eager to find his way to gain the North's support. 

And his opportunity came up with you; the sweet, kind Lady Stark. Beloved by all, you were also known as the Heart of Winterfell, for it was said that even the small folk held dear for you. Everything that Aemond heard about you were nothing but good words, showing how much people appreciated you, which only impulsed Aemond's bad intentions. 

It is true, a Stark never forgets an oath, but the North gathers when the wolf howls… and even though your brother was the visible face of your House, everyone knew that it was you the one that had true power over the masses; your gentleness made you the Queen of the North, and that information was enough for Aemond to start his devious schemes. 

It all started at the training yard. The snow had fallen earlier in the morning, covering the ground with a thick layer of snow. He was staring at you as you struggled with a bow and arrow, not being able to hit the bullseye. This would only make you groan with impatience, despair even. Aemond pressed his lips and looked down at his shoes, trying to show himself amused by you wrestling. 

"You're too tense, my lady," he said as he slowly walked towards you. 

His black fur coat covering his slim shape, his white hair perfectly still despite the crazy wind, his hands at the back of his body. He looked so effortlessly elegant, it almost made you blush. 

"My prince," you greeted him, bowing swiftly, "I'm sorry you have to watch this terrible attempt."

"I didn't know women were allowed to train here in the North," he spoke, politely as he stretched his arm to touch the fine wood of the bow you were holding. 

"We're not," you replied, "but my brother insists I should be prepared to defend myself, so he forces me to train either way."

"Mhm…" he nodded, "your brother is a clever man. A beauty like yours is the target of many deprived men, he's doing well by letting you learn how to protect yourself."

"But he barely has time to teach me," you complained, placing your arms in position to shoot again, "now he's in a meeting with the Mormonts, and I am here," you let the arrow go, but it didn't even hit the target. "...failing miserably."

Aemond chuckled, and you inevitably blushed at the low sound that came out of him. You stared at him from your peripheral view, analyzing his undeniable beauty and flirtatious smirk which made your heart beat a little too fast. 

"You're too tense," he repeated, as he shifted his position until he was behind you. 

His hands went to your shoulders, and he squeezed them softly giving you a soft and short massage that made you close your eyes. Soon, one of his hands reached yours, the one that was holding the bow's grip. He wrapped it around yours, and you immediately felt his warmth on your cold skin. It made you gasp silently. 

"You see, I'm not so good at using a bow, I think my weapon of choice is the sword," he whispered, getting closer to your ear, his breath smacking against your shivering skin, "but I know things… and I can teach you if you please, my lady."

His nose rubbed against your hair, and your delicious smell almost made him groan. Soon, the prince helped you to fix your position as your breathing was getting heavier and an unknown feeling was installed in your lower belly. You feel the heat even though it was freezing cold, you felt his body pressing against yours leaving a sensation of distress, as if your body was begging you for something. 

You feared of someone seeing you; the position was quite compromising, and you were certain your reputation would be stained if someone witnessed such a scandalous scene. It felt too intimate for you, perhaps not so proper for a maiden like you. You would have tried to push him away, but there was something within him that did not allow you to do so; it was as if he had bewitched you with his charms, and you were under a spell from which you were not able to wake up. 

"It's simple, my lady," he explained, "you must relax, you must let go," his voice so deep and low against your ear, "come on, no one's watching, you're under no pressure…" 

His touch, so delicate and gentle, mixed with his words, which you quickly misinterpreted; 'no one's watching', it sounded more like an invitation rather than words of comfort. You couldn't help but to sigh, a gesture that brought a slight smirk upon Aemond's face. 

"Let yourself go, Lady Stark," his voice turned more breathy, rapier. "That's it, so good… now, eyes on the target, don't take your eyes off of it, okay?" 

You simply nodded, wildly blushing at his praise. There was a subtle shiver that went to your trembling hands, you cleared your throat trying to play it down. 

"Take deep breaths, don't close your eyes," his hands left yours, now going to your abdomen, his nose brushing against your ear as he kept whispering, "good, good girl."

Your teeth captured your lower lip as you held back a whimper. Squirming in your place, you felt weak on the knees as his hands left a squeeze on your hips. 

"Now… shoot."

You listened, and your hand let go of the string. Your eyes widened with surprise as the arrow hit close to the bullseye, which was certainly not perfect, but it was an improvement. A smile appeared in your face as you tilted your head to appreciate your achievement, and soon a giggle escaped you. 

"Oh, Gods…" you sighed, "I did it."

"You did it," Aemond said, "you did so well."

His words made your face turn to face him, and his lips were just a few inches away from yours. Your breath hitched, as your heart pounded with so much strength that you thought he would be able to hear it… even feel it. His hand traveled upwards your body until it reached the nape of your neck. 

For a moment you thought he would kiss you, that his soft-looking lips would dare to touch yours. But suddenly, he pulled away. Few seconds later, footsteps were heard dragging the snow beneath their feet, and soon you found out the reason behind his abrupt reaction. 

"Sister!" you heard. The deep and roaring voice of your brother woke you up from your trance, and you turned around to face him. 

You saw a frown upon his face as his eyes narrowed. For a moment you thought he saw how close you were with Aemond, but soon his own words proved you wrong. 

"Septa has been waiting for you for an hour!" he scolded you, "why are you still here?" 

It took you a while to speak, you knew your voice would come out weak and thin if you dared to utter a word in that moment, which not only would make Cregan be suspicious of what happened, but also would embarrass you in front of the charming prince. 

Luckily for you, Aemond decided to step in. 

"I was helping her train, my lord, I'm sorry for the disruption I might have caused," you looked down at the steps Aemond had left in the snow, right beside yours. 

You were quick and subtle once you purposely stepped on them to erase them. Aemond noticed and he couldn't help but smirk. 

"Well, stop your training and go," he demanded, "you might continue tomorrow."

You had no choice but to obey. One last glance was given to Aemond as you bowed to him, saying goodbye. Cregan followed your frame as you entered the castle, and then he turned to look at the prince. Aemond was no fool, he knew Cregan was not ignorant of his intention… he was a man after all, he could see through his facade with no big effort. 

However, he did not say anything about it. He just nodded, and then he left leaving Aemond standing alone with the burning desire running down his body. 

At first, he planned on just seducing you… but now? Now he will have you. He needed to have you. 

That same day, quite late at night, you were found in your chambers, laying on your belly on top of the fur carpet right in front of the warmth of the fireplace. A book was between your hands as your eyes followed the traces of the poetic words that were written in it. The sound of the fire crackling and burning the wood was the only thing you were able to hear until three soft knocks interrupted the quiet calmness of the night. 

You barely looked up as you muttered a soft 'come in', turning the page to continue with your reading. The door was opened in a subtle movement that you barely noticed, and soon you heard steps getting close to you. 

It wasn't until you were able to see the shoes of that person that you decided to look up, only to find Aemond's grin staring back at you. You immediately sat up, crossing your legs and trying to cover your breasts with the book; the fabric of your nightgown was thin, and you knew that your skin could usually be seen through it if he dared to squint to take a look. 

Your body hasn't forgotten about his touch and closeness, and in a certain way it was actually craving for more of that. But you knew it was not proper, you've heard whispers around the castle claiming that he was actually betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon's daughters, meaning he already belonged to someone else. 

And yet, you couldn't help but to feel the eagerness to touch him. 

"My Prince," you said, the shock of seeing him there, sitting on the carpet right beside you was shown in your voice, "what- what are you doing here?" 

"I found myself alone and bored in my chambers, so I decided to wander around the castle and the path brought me here… to you," he smiled kindly as he said those last two words. Words that made your heart beat faster and your cheeks turn red, "were you reading?" He asked, pointing at the book that was covering your pebbled nipples.

"Uh… yes," you nodded, shyly, "it's a book about poetry."

"Poetry?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, "Mind if I have a look, little wolf?" 

You couldn't help but to wildly blush with the pet name, feeling butterflies inside your belly as you pulled the book out of your chest and left it in his hands. Aemond's eyes inevitably went to see your soft breasts covered by a thin white layer of silky fabric, breathing deep and harsh as he felt his cock twitch inside his pants once he managed to see your nipples through it. 

He remained calm, even when the only thing he wanted was to rip that gown out of your body and take you right there. Instead, he just sighed as his fingers elegantly turned the pages, reading some extract of the love poems in the book. 

"I see you're a romantic person, my Lady," he commented, without taking his eyes off of the pages, "do you consider yourself a fan of the genre?" 

"It's something that I enjoy reading, yes," you nodded. 

"I had the impression," he confessed, closing the book and leaving it aside, "have you ever been in love?" 

You shook your head, "I don't- I don't think so."

"Mhm…" he sighed, "that’s odd, you're a gorgeous lady, one might have thought you had a lot of suitors waiting for you."

"You're too kind," you said, looking retrained for a few seconds. 

"I'm just stating the facts, little wolf," he spoke softly, "It seems like your brother likes to scare them away."

"Them?" You asked confused. 

"Your suitors," he clarified, "that's the only reasonable explanation of why you are not married yet."

"He just wants the best for me," you defended him. 

"And what would that be?"

"A husband who not only sees me as a womb with legs, but also as something precious, something worthy of love and care," your dreamy voice made Aemond smirk, the naiveness in you amused him in so many ways.

"You're asking for too much in a society like this, don't you think?" 

You shrugged, "a girl can only dream."

The prince nodded, "and a man can only fulfill those dreams, am I right?" You remained silent, avoiding his heavy and penetrative stare at all cost, "have you ever been this close to a man before?" 

"No…" 

"I could tell," he chuckled, a sound that buzzed into your ears and made your mind go fuzzy, "you were quite nervous when I helped you with your bow this morning."

"I don't feel very comfortable with the proximity of men…" you confessed.

"Of all men, or just of me?" 

That's when you realized where this was going, and the panic quickly installed in your gut as you swallowed hard. It took you some time, but you finally noticed his true intentions. You knew you had to stop him before things went further. 

"My prince, I'm not quite sure what you mean by those words," you started to stand up, tumbling in your knees, "but it's late and it wouldn't be proper for you to be seen in my chambers, so please-" 

Your words were interrupted by the sudden action of Aemond, who pulled you closer until you stranded him, your legs at each side of his body as he forced you to sit on his lap, his hands pressed in your hips firmly, not allowing you to escape from his strong grip. 

"I think you know what I mean, my lady…" he whispered, leaning closer to your ear only to mutter with his seductive and raspy voice, "I think you can feel it."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the same time you tried to speak, "I- I don't know…" 

"Tell me what you felt when I touched you this morning," he commanded, his hands lowering to your thighs, starting to lift the thin fabric of your gown, "was it similar to what you're feeling right now?" 

"I… I don't-" 

"I sensed your nervousness when I said how good of a girl you are," he chuckled, starting to breathe in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, "does that arouse you, little wolf? Being praised?" 

"Prince Aemond, this is not proper, please-" you tried to pull away, but his grip pushed you down once again. Now you were able to feel his hard-on pressing right down your core, which sent you a sensation that caused chills down your spine. 

"That's not what I'm asking you," he spoke sternly, massaging your thighs, squeezing them every now and then, "Mhm… my sweet little wolf, you're shaking. Are you nervous now? You don't have to be, I won't hurt you."

"I told you I do not enjoy this," you breathed out, feeling his hands reaching your hips underneath your gown. 

"So you're telling me that if I dare to touch between your legs… I would not find your cunt drenching for me?" 

His words made you squirm, the blush running to your cheeks as his thumb started to caress your mons pubis. Your body tensed as you widened your eyes, feeling his finger pressing down. 

“I- I don’t- my Prince, please stop-” a small moan interrupted your words as he found your clit between your folds. His thumb rubbing it slowly as you closed your eyes; embarrassed that he was touching such a private part of your body. 

“Have you ever been kissed, my lady?” He asked, trying to hold back a groan as he felt your slick coating his digit, “Has someone been lucky enough to be the first to claim your beautiful lips?”

You shook your head, Aemond hummed with delight.

“Then I guess I’ll be the first…” 

You barely were able to process his words when he pressed his soft lips against yours. Slow movements that were easy for you to follow without much struggle as you held back whimpers of pleasure, for his thumb was still torturing your pearl in a slow and gentle manner. 

Your hand fell on his chest, not with the intention of pushing him away. You grasp his thin blouse, catching the fabric between your trembling hands as you felt the tip of his tongue starting to tease your lips. Hesitantly, your lips parted just a few inches, enough to give him space for him to claim your mouth; swirling his tongue against yours as you tried to keep up with his slow and tempting actions. 

He was able to taste your inexperience, the way you would doubt your movements before actually doing them was enough proof for him to know that you were not lying; he was the first man to kiss, which now made him more eager to also become the first man to fuck you. 

A gasp escaped your swollen lips when, in a sudden movement, he laid your body in the soft carpet, spreading your legs and placing himself between them. Your nightgown was wrinkled around your hips, exposing your glistening folds to him as he kept playing with your now sensitive clit. Soft mewls were heard as he stopped kissing you in order to taste your skin. You felt the wet caresses of his lips in your neck, your jaw, your collarbones, all while your hands were grasping the fur of the carpet beneath you. 

His fingers were soon covered in your juices, your hips trying to move against them in an attempt to feel more, but he pulled them away and you widened your eyes once you saw him licking them and humming after he felt your sweet taste against his tongue. Your breath was caught in your throat as you heard him groan. 

"My lady, you taste as sweet as you are," he spoke slowly, you blinked a couple times still feeling your mind fuzzy, "do you want a taste?" 

You gulped, not entirely sure of what to reply. The words were unable to come out, so all you could was nod. 

A careless smile appeared on his face as he left a soft kiss on your cheek, before you realized your legs were on his shoulders and his face buried in your drenching cunt as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure his tongue was providing you. 

His slurping was heard, echoing in the room as you tried to push his head away from your pussy, breathing fast and unsteady as he devoured you. You felt his tongue teasing your needy hole as his nose rubbed against your clit, making you moan a bit too loudly. His hands were grabbing your hips tightly, just to make sure you don't escape from him; his fingertips burying in your soft skin as your body writhe under his skilful mouth. 

You could feel your own slick slipping down your thigh along with his spit. It was messy, far from being as slow and calm as the kiss he gave you before. He was eager to make you cum; licking, sucking, and fucking your cunt until you were nothing but a moaning mess. 

It was over before you even noticed it. With a loud gasp, your eyes rolling and your thighs pressing at each side of Aemond's head, you reached your first orgasm, which finished with you gulping and hiccuping with pleasure. You heard him moaning against your soaking folds, collecting all your slick to then lean over your body. 

He took a look at your face, your lips quivering as your cheeks were burning and tinted with a furious red. His fingers reached your chin, and made you open your mouth, which you did without hesitation. His spit fell in your tongue before your glistening eyes closed as you whimpered. You were able to taste yourself in it, the sweetness of your release coating your tongue. 

"Swallow it," he commanded, and you quickly obeyed him, "good girl…" he let out a chuckle, and you couldn’t help but to feel an unknown heat running down your body. "See? I told you you were sweet, doesn't it taste good?"

You nodded, sighing. 

"So good, so delicious…" he leaned to kiss you again as his hands pulled down your gown, freeing your breasts, "I swear it, my lady, I will not rest until your cunt is mine forever."

His big hands left a soft squeeze on your tits before they went to his pants, untying the lace and pulling them down. His leaking cock was now on your sight, hard and reddish. You barely noticed he took off his shirt as you were too hypnotized seeing that specific part of his body. Aemond immediately noticed your curious eyes, and he teasingly grabbed his cock in his hand only to stroke it a few times before letting it on top of your clit. 

"Do you want it, my lady?" He whispered, starting to rub himself on you.

You whined, looking down at the obscene scene of his cock parting your puffy lips. 

"Do you want my cock to make you feel good?" He groaned, feeling your slick coating his shaft, "I will give it to you if you ask me… Tell me what you want."

You gulped, trying to pronounce pleas. 

"Aemond… I- I want…" 

"Tell me, my beautiful lady," he muttered, "tell me what you desire."

"I want you… please… it's hurting, I-" 

The head of his cock reached your hole and he slowly started to sink in you. Your eyes widened as a soft cry escaped your throat. Your legs closed as you brought them against your chest, and Aemond groaned in disapproval. 

"Come on, darling… keep your legs open for me," he cooed, "I want to see your pretty pussy taking my cock."

He held the back of your knees, keeping your legs folded but spread. His cock was buried in your tight cunt as tears of pain started to fall down your cheeks. A loud cry was heard, louder than all of the others, and Aemond was quick to put his hand on top of your mouth. 

"Sh, sh…" he whispered, "It's okay, it'll pass. Just relax, my lady, it will feel so good."

He spreaded you open with one push, your back arched as you struggled to take him. He stayed still for a few seconds before his own lust decided that he could not wait any longer. Your walls were squeezing him deliciously as he started to pound against you, groaning and moaning as the pleasure was taking the best of him. 

Grasping on the fur beneath you, you started to sob. Aemond saw the signs of pain in your face and he quickly leaned over you in order to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. The feeling that brought you was indescribable, and soon the pain became bearable as his thrusts remained slow but became harder. 

Aemond would choke his moans against your tit as his tongue skilfully swirling around it, licking and sucking as he kept fucking you, each thrust going deeper and deeper. 

"Fuck…" he sighed, "your pussy is so fucking tight. Made by the Gods just for me."

His words made you drool as the warmth of the fireplace was starting to affect you, making you sweat. His hand left your mouth, now going to play with your swollen and needy clit. 

"This little cunt belongs to me now, doesn't it?" he purred against your ear. 

"A-Aemond..."

He hummed, "how sweet you sound when you moan my name like that."

"P-please…" 

"What is it, my lady?" he teased you, "do you want to cum? Do you want to make a mess on my cock?" 

"Y-yes…" you managed to say, choking with your words as he thrusted harder, "Oh, Gods! Yes…"

"That's it, sweet girl…" he praised you, "taking me so well, so good. I'm gonna fill you up, leave you leaking with my cum. Is that what you want?" 

"G-Gods… yes, p-please!" you whined. 

"Then I guess I have no other choice but to give you what you want…" 

A soft chuckle left him as his thrusts became faster. His hips smacking against yours as he gripped your arsecheeks to gain stability. The sound of your slick drenching around his cock echoed in the room as you started to cry out, sobbing with pleasure and begging for more. 

Aemond looked at your cunt, and a soft and subtle whine was heard as he saw the way his cock disappeared between your folds. Your pleas would only make him desperate, eager to reach his climax and seeing your abused hole leaking his pearly seed. The image alone was enough to make his cock twitch inside you. 

"Fuck, so good… so fucking good," he lifted your hips, pounding restlessly against you as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes as his breathing turned unsteady, "such a perfect pussy, squeezing me so fucking good." 

You clenched around him, and that was what sent him over the edge, spilling his big loads of cum inside of you at the same time that your release exploded. Your cries were heard even in the hallway, as the intensity of your orgasm took over your shaky body. The feeling of him stuffing you with his seed sent you a shiver down your spine that made you twitch your hips. 

Aemond leaned over you to kiss you, pounding lazily as he was coming down from his orgasm. You receive the sloppy kiss as your eyes were closing by themselves, too worn out to keep them open. 

But then, Aemond decided to speak. 

"Look at you, sweet girl…" he said with an odd tone that you haven't heard from him until now, "what would your big brother say if he saw you now, huh? Filled with my seed, a mess under my touch."

Your breathing stopped for a second and only then you realized what you did. You opened your eyes only to find a smirk on his face, and your heart dropped. 

"You probably will be swollen with my bastard in a few months… then what would the people think of you? The Heart of the North carrying the Prince's bastard child…" 

"N-no…" you muttered, starting to softly push his chest. 

"Mhm, yes…" he scoffed, "unless I take you as my bride, of course."

A shaky breath came out of your nose as tears of despair fell down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivered as your gleaming eyes looked at his. 

"W-would you… would you take me as your wife?" 

Aemond smirked, starting to pull out of you. He hummed delighted with the view as he saw the pearly drops leaking out of you. He sighed, putting his pants on and fixing his clothes. 

"If your brother decides to join his forces with ours, I will take you as my bride and no one will know this happened before our marriage…" he said, standing up and looking down at you. "But, if he decides to join my sister's army…" 

He doesn't even need to finish the sentence for you to know the consequences of that. The panic ran down your body as you sat in the carp carpet, covering your nudity with your nightgown and crying. 

"How- how am I supposed to-?" 

"Cregan Stark will do anything his little sister commands," he interrupts you, taking a few steps towards you to gently grab your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at him, "so you better choose the right option, my lady."

He left a caress in your cheek with a smug smile on his face. He abandoned your chambers, letting you there feeling helpless and a bit scared. 

It wasn't a big surprise for him when a few days later Lord Stark gave him the good news… and Aemond fulfilled his words, marrying you a month after the North joined the war and helped King Aegon II win the final battle against Rhaenyra. 

What was a surprise, was the birth of your first child, a month earlier than what the Maesters expected.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [3]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: more creepy dream fuel, Geralt being slimy and having ulterior motives, and a little more tension with reader and her mother. all in all, i think you guys will enjoy this latest addition. as always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

The doe’s coat is as yellow as spun gold, and she blinks at you nervously as you approach. You cannot hide your childish squeal of delight, though it vexes her further. She nickers, shifting from hoof to hoof as she blinks at you with wide eyes. 

 “Papa, is she really mine?” You ask, your quiet voice heavy with awe. “She’s beautiful.” You hold out a hand, and her nostrils flare at your scent. Her long ears flick back, laying flat against her head behind her horns. They’re small—she’s young, barely a year old, perhaps less—and still covered with soft, velvety baby fur that you know will shed as she ages. 

 “Careful,” your father’s voice is ripe with caution. “She is new. Young, still, and a bit unwieldy.” You cluck your tongue at her, producing the sugar cubes you’d stolen from your mother’s tea tray from the sleeves of your dress. “I said careful—!” The doe leans forward, pressing her muzzle into your outstretched hand. You raise an eyebrow at your father, who shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh puffing out from between his lips. You stroke her head, running your fingers gently between her antlers and softly flicking ears. 

 “She about took Gaspard’s hand off this morning, she was so wild,” he says, shaking his head. “And yet she eats from your own as if you had weaned her yourself.” 

 “Did Gaspard try sugar?” You ask, giggling as her lips tickle your palm. “Perhaps she mightn’t have tried to amputate his fingers had he kept some of his salt to himself.” The wind shifts, and beneath the doe’s thick animal scent, there is something else.

 Something like sulphur and rotting meat.

 Your hand passes down the doe’s head, and her skin sloughs off beneath your fingers, leaving shiny, white bone behind. You gag, clapping a bloody hand over your mouth as fat flies buzz lazily out of her empty eye sockets. Wrong. This is wrong, it doesn’t happen like this—

 How does it go, again?

 Your father gifts you the doe, the golden doe, you are eighteen, you are a woman now, you will ride with him on the hunt, you will—

 “Su—gar swe—et,” Your father’s voice is the buzzing of a thousand glistening black flies, his tongue is made from them, wriggling in his wide open mouth. His eyes are children’s scribbles, black and writhing, and tears like ink drip from their corners. “It tasted like sugar—”

 It is then that you remember your father is dead.

 He is dead. He is dead here, because he is dead everywhere, dead and rotting and gone but not gone and you mustn’t listen, you mustn’t—

 You wake with a sharp gasp. 

 “—Princess?” The words dissolve into a static, meaningless drone as you are thrust suddenly back into consciousness. For a moment, the dream is still overlaid over the waking world like runny watercolor as you blink groggily in the dark. Beneath your trembling fingers, you can still feel the doe’s soft, golden coat—and the sharp, polished bone of her skull. With a sweaty palm against the wall, you retch, doubling over as you heave. 

 Nothing comes up. 

 The air around you is stale, stagnant, and the taste of dust and decay blankets your tongue as you swallow down lungful after panicked lungful. One thing is abysmally clear to you as you dizzily rest a hand on the cold stone to keep yourself upright—

 You are not in your rooms. 

 Where am I?

 “Princess.” The voice sounds again, and your head snaps about wildly, your eyes wide as you stare into the dark. The dream is still there, sticking the fringes of your waking thoughts like tar, and for a moment there are two voices, one made of dark black honey, sickly sweet, and the other the insectile buzz of a thousand glassy wings all beating in unison—

 “Wh-who goes there?” You ask, dragging the back of your hand across your quivering mouth. There is a sound like the sharp rushing of air, and all at once the room is lit with warm yellow light. You suppress a scream as your father’s withered, sunken face appears before you, his eyes like children’s scribble—you shut your eyes, closing them tightly as you whimper. 

 “A dream, this is a dream, a dream—” A cool, bare hand wraps about your wrist and you scream, pulling and fighting as fiercely as you can manage. “No! No! You’re dead—!” You cry, hysterical tears creeping out of the corners of your closed eyes. 

 “I regret to inform you, little sister, that I am very much alive.” It is not your father’s voice—not the dead—but your step-brother’s. “Despite your best attempts to dispatch me.” Slowly, you open your eyes, sniffling as you meet his gaze. He nods up at your balled fists, still trembling in his grip. You can feel the heat of him through his own loose night-shirt and your thin cotton shift, and your skin prickles as he licks his lips. 

 “Release me.” You say it with more confidence than you feel. For a moment, you feel your step-brother drag his thumb across your pulse point and cock his head, as though he is considering it. 

 “Will you strike me again, little princess?” He asks, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You scowl. “I did not plan for a midnight brawl.” You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. Geralt stares at you for a moment, like his golden eyes see something yours do not. As you prepare to make the demand again, he frees your wrists. You clutch your hands to your chest, eyeing him warily. The torch he has lit casts the long room in dim orange light, the flames dancing in his irises, turning them molten. It is the firelight, you think, that makes him look so menacing, so…

 Hungry. 

 You shiver, turning your gaze instead to your surroundings, squinting at the long stone hall in the flickering light. The cool, stagnant air is disturbed only by the sound of your quiet breath, which catches in your throat as your eyes widen.

 “Where…are we?” You ask, though you fear you know the answer already. 

 The walls are lines with alcoves bearing countless candles, stuck into the melted pools of wax left by their predecessors rather than into proper candelabras. And in neat rows in front of them… 

 Graves. Made of the same gray stone as the castle. Highly polished and clean, they are each adorned with ornate carvings of their occupants. You stare grimly at the rows and rows of polished stone, and wonder at how you might have possibly found your way here through the dark labyrinth of the castle. You think again of the dream, and gooseflesh rises again on your skin. 

 ”Did you bring me here?” You round on the prince, your brow furrowed. He chuckles in response, and the sound of it grates against you. 

 “Me? I merely followed you. In truth I had wondered why you would visit the catacombs at this hour. I thought perhaps,” his eyes narrow as a crude grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “A secret paramour, or—”

 “Do not confuse me with yourself!” You snap, wrapping your arms around your body as you shiver. The prince clucks his tongue at your ire.

 “Come now, don’t be cross, little sister,” Geralt purrs. “It wouldn’t have been proper to leave you wandering the hallways in your state of undress, muttering to yourself like a madwoman.” Your cheeks warm at his crude words, and you feel angry, embarrassed tears flush hotly into the space behind your eyes. You blink them back. 

 “I… have not walked in my sleep since I was a child,” you admit, looking down at the space between your bare feet. Geralt hums in response. Old Madge, in her half-blind wisdom had always muttered fearfully to your father about your nightly escapades. 

 A soul shouldn’t walk about at night, she would say, her thin, knobby fingers twisting strands of honeysuckle and dried lavender together into a long chain, one she would wind around your bed’s posts every night for a year until finally you stayed in it. A soul shouldn’t walk about at night. What’s it lookin’ for?

 “I fear I…” You shake your head, swallowing your concerns—they are not for him to hear.  “No matter.” For an instant, a look of disappointment crosses his face before it is gone again, leaving you to wonder if you had even seen it at all. “Thank you.” Your reluctance is palpable. “For waking me.” 

 “You’ve no need to thank me. Not yet.” His eyes glitter darkly. You swallow thickly, and they follow the movement, sweeping almost lazily down the line of your throat. “Let us go.” They flick back up to yours. “Unless you wish to spend the night here?” He gestures behind you, and you shiver again, shaking your head quickly. 

 “Please.” 

 You are grateful to leave the eerie silence of the royal catacombs behind you, following as closely as you dare behind the prince. His torch throws up strange shapes on the walls of the narrow, spiraling stairwell. You can feel the dream sitting at the edges of your thoughts, waiting eagerly to settle back over you like fog. You were not predisposed to bad dreams, and yet they seemed to be the only ones you have had since you arrived. You have been beset with dark thoughts, nipping at your heels like hungry dogs, no—

 Wolves. 

 The two of you emerge from the narrow stairwell into the empty chapel, and the vast hall echoes with your entry. The sconces are dark, and the robed, painted priests nowhere to be seen. The chapel is far less intimidating at night, the sharp features of the northern gods softened by shadow. Cold moonlight filters down softly through the domed ceiling, the colors pale and muted. For a moment, the perfectly round moon is framed perfectly by the pane of red glass containing Father Wolf, shining bright crimson above his head as you pass beneath it. 

 The choking scent of the incense is gone now, and only a trace of it remains in the still air. It is overpowered by a thick, musky animal scent that reminds you of wet fur. As the two of you cross the center of the room, Geralt hooks left, towards the wide, dark archway on the other side of the room. It gapes open like a toothless mouth, the stone floor sloping downward steeply into the dark. 

 You stop at the top of it, the warm air stirring the loose hair about your shoulders. Geralt turns to look back at you, raising a brow and cocking his head p as he lifts  the torch higher. There is a question in the tilt of his head, unspoken on the curve of his lips.

 Are you afraid?

 You are. The dank, pungent animal scent washes over you again, and you shudder. It reminds you of your father’s hunting dogs.

 “Come, little Doe.” His voice feels like cold fingers drawn across the back of your neck. “You need not fear the kennels this night.” 

 “I am not afraid.” You jut your chin out stubbornly, even as gooseflesh erupts along your arms. 

 “Good,” he purrs, licking his lips. “They can smell it.” Geralt descends down into the dark maw, and you reluctantly follow. Like most, you are no stranger to the rumors that leak steadily from King Vesemir’s halls; fantastical tales of furred beasts whose jaws were wide enough to swallow a horse whole. You clutch yourself, inching closer to the prince as the sloped path straightens out, opening into a massive cavern. 

 Geralt’s torch is little more than a pinprick of light in in the vast, unyielding dark. The warm glow only manages to dimly outline the shapes of natural stone pillars, throwing up misshapen shadows. There are still more passageways, little more than tunnels, littering the walls like pockmarks. For a moment, the light of Geralt’s torch throws a long arm across the chamber. 

 Reflected in it’s light are two, glowing orbs. Eyes, the size of dinner plates, their color impossible to describe. It was as if the eyes themselves were ablaze, glowing brightly, breaking the darkness. Over the rush of your own labored breath, you can make out the quiet scratch of claws on stone. It’s coming closer. The thought tightens your throat.

 You are powerless, paralyzed before it like prey. Are you prey? You suppress a whimper. There is warmth at your back, and you realize belatedly that it is  Geralt, so close his breath brushes the back of your neck. 

 “No fear, little princess. No fear.” 

 In less than an instant, the creature stands just beyond the ring of light cast by the prince’s torch. Faintly, you can make out the hulking shape of it; larger by far than any horse. Shaggy white fur, stained a rusty red around its muzzle, it’s ears pricked up and forward as it listens to the sound of your breath.

 “Hold out your hand.” You do, lifting a trembling palm in front of you as if to stop the wolf from coming any closer. The wolf’s lip curls, exposing the wickedly sharp tip of a fang. It sniffs at your hand, and for a moment, you fear you will draw back nothing but a bloody stump. Your shock is palpable when it presses the tip of its snout against your hand, whiskers tickling your palm. 

 “Incredible.” The word escapes with the release of your held breath. You stroke the warm, bristly hair on its muzzle slowly, your eyes still wide with disbelief. The dire-wolf snorts, claws tapping against the stone as it turns from you. As quickly as the wolf appeared, it is gone again, disappearing back into the dark. You remain as you were for a moment more, your arm still outstretched as you watch its retreating back with terrified wonder. 

 “Yrsil.” Geralt’s voice drags you back to the present, and suddenly you are aware of how close he is to you, the way his warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear.  “The she-wolf. Her name is Yrsil.” You jump away from him, smoothing your hands down your shift as you eye him warily. 

 “Why did you bring me here?” The accusatory note in your voice appears to amuse him, further stoking your ire. “To frighten me?” 

 “If I wanted you fearful, I would not have needed the kennels to do it.” You clench your fists, glaring hatefully at him as he resumes his casual pace across the cavern floor. “Come, now. This is the quickest way back to the eastern wing of the castle. I would not lie to you.” You glare at him, your eyes narrowed.

 “Would you not?” You reply dryly. 

 “I am many things, Princess.” Geralt’s voice drips into your ears like snake oil. “But liar is not one I am eager to add to the list.” 

 True to his word, the two of you emerge from the kennel entrance in the throne room, the hot musk of below sticking uncomfortably to your skin and hair. You half expect the prince to take his leave, now that you are back in familiar territory, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with you all the way back to your chambers. The heavy door is still slightly ajar, no doubt from your midnight venture. The prince places the lit torch in one of the empty wall sconces before leaning expectantly against the wall, his body partially blocking the doorway. 

 “Excuse me.” 

 He slowly tilts his head, fixing you with a questioning look. “I do believe there is something you are forgetting, my Lady.” He parrots Kassandra’s tone with irritating accuracy. “I know Redania keeps to the old customs as well as they can, however here in Rivia we do require a certain level of decorum.”

 You clench your fists in your nightgown. “What do you want, Geralt?” You ask, exasperated.

 “A kiss should suffice, little Doe.” He purrs. His golden eyes burn the same way they did in the gardens the night of your mother’s coronation. You shake your head in disbelief as you stare at him, your lips parted. 

 “Y-you cannot ask this of me!” Your repudiation is a shrill squeak. “T-tis  indecent, w-we cannot—!” You shake your head again. “The king will not allow—”

 “I think you will find, little sister,” he reaches forward to trace the pad of his forefinger along your jaw-line, “that it matters not what the king will allow if he is not present. Do you see him?”He pushes your head to the side, forcing you to look down the hallway. “I don’t.” This is the closest Geralt has ever been to you, practically pressing you against the wall, caging you in with his massive arms. You understand now, the message relayed beneath his words—you are in no position to negotiate. 

 “You are my brother!” You plead, but he is unmoved. 

 “In name only.” He leans down, twining a lock of hair between his fingers, tugging it gently. “My father’s sham of a marriage has remarkably little to do with me.” You press yourself against the stone as he leans closer. “Come now, little Doe. Let us speak truth.” He tugs gently at the satin ribbon at the neck of your shift and it falls open. 

 “What you saw in the gardens intrigued you,” Geralt traces a path from your chin to your collarbone, his fingers feather-light, “did it not?”

 “No!” His open amusement at your conviction is like cold water down your back. 

 “I saw, Sweetling,” he says lowly. “The look on your face—”

 “Fine!” You shrill, tearing yourself away from him. It is not true, it cannot be—and yet, your blood rushes through your veins, a thin tendril of that same shameful longing uncurling in your belly. The dark curiosity that had driven you to peer around the hedge all those nights ago surges with sinful familiarity, even as you try to stamp it out.

 You lean forward with a grimace, rolling onto the tips of your toes. The prince cups your chin, smoothing a finger along your lower lip. He is unprepared for you to turn your head sharply, your lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. It is only the quickness of your movement and Prince Geralt’s own surprise that allows your malicious compliance, and you dart away, ducking under his arm and through the slim gap in the door. 

 He snarls, reaching for you, but you slam the it shut, sliding the bolt into place with speed that surprises you. Your heart hammers against your chest as for a brief moment, there is silence on the other side of the door. 

 “Aren’t you clever,” he sneers, his voice muffled through the wood.  He tries the handle before letting out a muted curse. “Open the door.” Your silence earns you a dark growl. “Open it!”

  You jump back from the door, muffling the sound of your scream with the palms of your hands as Geralt throws himself against it. It shudders in its frame, and for a terrifying moment you fear it will burst open, revealing the enraged prince on the other side—but it does not.

 “Open it!” You shrink against the wall as he seethes, his threats echoing in your ears. The sturdy wood holds against his assault, and when he finally stops, you can hear the sound of his labored breathing on the other side. That too, gradually fades into silence, and cautiously, you approach the door. Somehow, though you cannot see him, you know he remains there, waiting. 

 “You will regret this night.” There is grim promise in his words. “Little sister.” The sound of Geralt’s retreating footsteps makes your shoulders sag with relief, and you collapse against the wall, your breath labored. Though you doubt he is still there, waiting to ambush you in the hall, you do not dare open the door again until morning—

 Just in case. 

 —

 “It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Your mother flutters her fan daintily as she basks in the warm end-of-summer sun. To her right, Lady Amelia, red-faced and sweating beneath her pale face paint, forces a smile through her obvious discomfort.

 “Oh yes, Highness.” She blinks as a cloudy bead of sweat slides down into her eye. “Lovely.”

 You know the noblewomen fawning over your mother would much rather be inside, sheltered from the hot sun by the cold stone of the castle. It was where you would have been, if not for the summons from your mother. You had spent the majority of the past week or so in your chambers, reluctantly leaving them only when strictly necessary in your attempts to avoid the prince.

 The Prince.

 At the thought of him, you cast a wary glance at your surroundings, looking for the telltale gleam of his golden eyes, or the shock of his snow white hair. Thankfully, you find neither. Crossing the patch of soft, green grass toward your mother, you perch impatiently on the end of the carved stone bench as you wait for her to notice you. You make idle conversation with her ladies as you wait, twisting your fingers nervously in the fabric of your skirts while you try to parse out your request.

 I want to go home. 

 “Ah, daughter,” she greets you, and you drop your head respectfully as she addresses you. “Come to enjoy the weather?” She gestures around her at the blooming garden. “I daresay we shall miss it soon enough.”  She stretches, the jewels adorning her fingers and throat shining brilliantly in the sun.

 “It is lovely,” you say, nodding agreeably. “It does remind me of home.” You curse yourself as the word slips from your lips. Instantly, your eyes fly to your mother’s face, watching for the displeasure you know you will see written in the stiffness of her smile or the narrowed slant of her eyes. 

 “Of Redania, you mean.” The soft curve of her lips belie the dagger sharp edges of her words. The smile you force in return is weak, trembling at the edges of your mouth. 

 “Y-yes. That is… what I meant to say.” You do not miss the way her ladies lean in amongst themselves, whispering. “D-did you wish to speak with me?” Though the day is unseasonably warm, and you yourself are surrounded by people, you feel small and cold and alone. Adrift. 

 “Must a mother need a reason to see her child?” She asks, rising gracefully from her seat. One of the servants rushes over with a parasol, but she waves him away, shaking her head. “If a reason must be given, I suppose mine might be that I have missed you.”  She loops her arm through one of yours securely, steering you off the patch of cool grass and back onto the garden path proper.  The whispers of her ladies follow behind you, biting at your heels they fade. 

 “I am your mother, and yet I cannot recall when last we broke bread together.” 

 “I have found myself quite exhausted, of late,” You mumble the half truth. “I fear the journey weighs heavily upon me still.” You suppress a shudder as you remember the dream, your father’s rotting face bloated with fat maggots—“I have not slept well.” 

 “Late night escapades do tend to be quite exhausting.” Her lips curve into a cold, knowing smile, and your belly fills with hot lead. Shame turns the blood in your veins to ice as your mother inspects her sleeve. A terrible fury rages beneath the placid surface of her pleasantries, and you cower in the face of it. 

 “M-mother, I—” The words will not come, leaving you floundering as your mouth opens and closes in silence. “H-he—”

 “Did you think I would not see it?” She spits. Disgust drips from the words.    “Would not notice his...” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twists with displeasure. “Interest.” You swallow against the lump in your throat, knowing it matters not but still wondering who might have seen, who might have witnessed Prince Geralt raging at your door. 

 “Mother, I-I swear to you, I have done nothing—! H-he, I—I walked in my sleep, a-and he found me, I—nothing happened!” You hate the look on her face, like your pleas of innocence have only confirmed your guilt. “Nothing—”

 “Nothing?” Her lip curls. “You must know these games you play, all they have done is pique his interest.” She speaks as though somehow, you should have known better. “Men are stupid, willful creatures, desirous of what they cannot have.” She clucks her tongue at you. “Your father coddled you far too long—you are a woman grown! It is long past time you act like it!” 

 “Father would believe me!” You sob. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks.   “I am innocent!” Your mother stares at you coldly, before reaching forward to cup your chin. 

 “It is not your innocence I question.” Your mother’s voice is deceptively soft.   “It is your sense.” You blink at her through your tears, trembling. “My sweet, naive girl.” She wipes roughly at your tears with the pad of her thumb. The cold distance in her eyes splits you cleanly down the middle like a sharp blade. There is part of you that wants to fawn, to deliver honeyed words on a platter until her love shines down on you again like the sun—

 And part that wants nothing more than to flee. You want to ask—no, beg—for her to send you home, to return you to the walls you knew better than the lines on your own palms. Your mother embraces you, her lips brushing your cheek even as your own work silently. The words won’t come, like they are stuck in your throat. 

 “There should be only honesty between us.” Your mother says. “Understand?”

 I want to go home.

 Send me home.

 Please.

 “Yes.” You hang your head in defeat, the words retreating from your tongue.  

 “Good.” She chirps as she leans away. She is herself again, smiling affectionately as she brushes imaginary dirt from your dress, tucking loose strands of hair back into your fraying braid. “And you’ll tidy up for supper, won’t you? We have missed you at the table these past nights.” You clasp your hands together so tightly that your palms sting as you force a smile.

 “Of course.” 

 For a moment, just a moment, the warm breeze carries with it the smell of rot and earth, and you remember the doe, your father’s gift dead and bloated in the patch of hexweed in the woods. 

 It smells like sugarcane, but it isn’t, your father had taught you young. It smells sweet, but it’s not, understand? 

 Perhaps, you think, as you reluctantly follow your mother’s retreating back, people can be hexweed too.

to be continued…

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[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Two

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- Embarking on their journey, Y/n and Fenrys slowly start to learn a little more about each other, to Y/n’s utter annoyance.

Warnings- none

Series Masterlist

Part Two

Y/n follows the golden male, her own pack strapped to her back. Only the essentials, clothes, weapons, and gold, if she needed anything else she could buy it along the way.

They walked for what felt like eternity, the road was well worn into the forest floor, coated in dry fallen leaves, winter would hit here soon. The wind held that chill, bringing it from the northern point of the continent, a familiar feeling on her skin.

The nearest port city would take them nearly another whole day to walk to, and who knew how long after that to get passage to the southern continent.

Y/n had been half tempted to shift and run to their destination, but she stuck to Fenrys, after all she’d sought him out for a reason. As night soon approached, Y/n found herself walking closer to the male’s side. Her brother had told her many stories of the creatures that lurked in the shadows.

“So,” Fenrys says, breaking the long silence they’d fallen into, “If you don’t mind me asking, where’d the cat form come from? Vaughan is the furthest thing from feline.”

A question she’d heard most of her life, one she dreaded deeply.

“None of your business,” Y/n says, and there’s a bite to her voice that she can’t hide.

“No need to get testy, kitten.” The nickname had stuck long after they’d left that little village to her utter dismay. “Just trying to get to know my new partner in crime.”

She glares at him, “We have different fathers, that’s all you need to know.”

It was the simplest version of the story, the only one she was willing to share.

“See was that so hard?”

The male is grinning at her, the expression pulling uncomfortably on the large scars that adorned the side of his face, from his brow to his jaw, just barely missing the onyx eyes that examined her just as closely as she did him.

“Why’d they send you out to look for him?”

Fenrys raises that scarred brow, “I volunteered.”

She hums, looking back at the path before them. The sun was starting to set, turning the sky a deep orange.

“We’ll set up camp here,” Fenrys says, taking his small pack off his shoulders, “Start the fire and I’ll find us something to eat.”

He didn’t give her any time to respond, shifting in a flash into a brilliant white wolf. Y/n took a step back from the to large creature, her heart leaping in her chest.

Her brother had told her of the Moonbeam twins, of their opposite colored forms that could tear men in two with a simple snap of their jaws. She didn’t want to find out what those teeth would feel like around her throat.

The wolf stared at her, a knowing look in those onyx eyes. He turned, darting into the woods, leaving her alone, leaving her to figure out how to start a damn fire.

It didn’t take him long to hunt down a few rabbits, Fenrys was already on his way back before the sun had turned the sky a deep purple.

He’d expected to find a small fire, not Y/n glaring intently at a bundle of sticks and some dried leaves. She clutches another small stick in her hand, holding it tightly enough that it bends beneath her grip.

“I don’t think you can threaten it into starting,” he says, “Though I’d sure love to see you try.”

She startled, looking up at him with wide eyes, her posture rigid, like she was ready to bolt. It takes her a second to really look at him, to realize he’s not a threat, before she relaxes, turning her glare back on the little pile of sticks.

“I can’t get it to start,” she says, throwing that poor bent stick down on the ground.

“Staring at it isn’t going to help,” Fenrys laughs, “Do you even know how?”

Her glare shoot up to him, snapping, “Yes.”

The way she says it, the harsh tone, the self conscious edge to it, tells him that, no, she doesn’t know how to do it.

“What? No one taught you any survival skills, kitten?” Fenrys asks, “I would’ve thought dear old brother would have at least shown you the basics. He always was the outdoorsman of the group.”

Y/n doesn’t snap back like he thought she would, only glares back down at that little pile, as if she could will the fire into starting.

Fenrys sighs, kneeling down in the dirt beside her, taking one of the larger sticks into his hand, placing the slightly sharp edge against one of small pieces of tree bark. Using both his hands to turn the stick back and forth, pushing down with each turn to create more friction. It only takes a few moments for the bark to start smoking, and then a small flame catches, spreading to the dried leaves packed around it.

Fenrys glances at the female beside him, those keen eyes watch his hands closely, like she was trying to memorize the motions.

She seemingly feels his gaze, her eyes jumping up to meet his own, he sees the embarrassment as soon as it hits.

“I haven’t left home much,” she explains, “No one saw fit to teach me.”

She shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze, so Fenrys looks away, turning his attention to their dinner. He sees her watching in his peripherals as he prepares the the little creatures to be cooked. Her eyes are intently on his hands, watching each cut of his knife. Fenrys takes his time, slowing the motions down, silently teaching.

Fenrys throws the meat onto the fire, “I don’t know much about your brother if I’m being completely honest.”

“Not many do,” Y/n answers, those eyes still on the roasting rabbit, “He’s always been very private, even at home.”

“And where’s that?” Fenrys asks, “Home?”

Finally, those keen eyes look up, lit up by the fire, they look even more cat like than usual.

“North,” she says, quietly like the information was a secret, “A very small village in the Cambrian Mountains.”

Fenrys wouldn’t ask the name of the village, it’s likely he’s never even heard of it, “How’d you get so far from home?”

He didn’t add the fact that she didn’t know basic survival skills, yet the narrowed eyes tells him she heard the unspoken words.

“I traveled much in my other form,” she explains, “The Oakwald Forrest Cats are well used to the cold.”

With the long thick coat he’d seen, it wasn’t a surprise.

“I knew I’d recognized that cat,” Fenrys says.

He’d seen them near Terrasen, yet he’d never seen a fae shift into one. Though many of the fae of Erilea had been long hunted down, the few that remained, the ones he’d found to help them, there hadn’t been a cat among them.

“A gift from my father,” she says blandly, an edge to her voice like the last time he’d asked about her family. Seems her father was a sore spot for her, he tucked that knowledge away for later.

He hums, turning the stick holding his dinner to roast the other side. She did the same with her own, staring into the flame intently for several long minutes.

There was a familiar look in her eyes, one he’d seen in his own many times, like she was lost in a memory, lost in the emotion it came with.

So Fenrys took his dinner from the fire, nudging her own towards her, “Eat up.”

Without even looking at him, or looking away from that spot in the fire, she took her food and ate silently, methodically.

Once she was done, she shifted in a bright flash, curling into a small ball by the fire, her back to him. A clear statement, I don’t want to talk.

He knew the feeling all too well.

They arrived at the small city just south of the Naval port around midday, far quicker than she expected. Fenrys had gone to the docks to look for passage, leaving Y/n to wander the city by herself.

It wasn’t much, yet it was bigger than what she was used to, louder too. There was many voices, vendors hawking their goods, children playing, musicians singing and dancing to music played on improvised instruments.

Overwhelming, Y/n could only stare at it all in her cat form. Moving through crowds and over high beams, dodging hands that reached to pet her soft coat, hissing at to curious people who tried to grab her.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty,” a voice behind her, familiar and annoying.

Fenrys stood there, the human crowds parting around the obviously fae male. He was smiling devilishly at her, holding out what seemed to be a piece of ham from the wrapped sandwich in his hand.

She hissed at him, swatting the offering.

“Awe, come on,” he coos, “Don’t you want a treat, kitten?”

A man walking beside them fell straight on his ass when Y/n shifted, growling at Fenrys.

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? It suits you,” he leans closer to her, drawling out the word, “Kitten. Hey!”

He yells as Y/n rips the sandwich from his grasp. Turning on her heel to stalk away from him while she took a pointedly large bite.

“That was mine,” Fenrys whines, catching up to her in a few strides.

“And where’s mine?” She asks with a raised brow, taking another bite.

“I asked if you were hungry earlier,” Fenrys sighs, throwing his hands in the air, “You’re the one who said no.”

Y/n shrugs, “What’d you find at the docks, anything?”

Fenrys sighs again, turning his gaze away from his stolen sandwich to glare at the sky. That wasn’t good, Y/n thought, they’d be stuck here for weeks waiting for a ship to take them across the sea. Vaughan could be well on his way to the other side of the vast southern continent, and she’d never find him.

“Nothing?” She asks, lowering her hands from her mouth.

Fenrys moves quickly, snatching the lunch from her, “No, actually we leave in the morning.”

She gapes at him, “That was-“

“Mine actually,” he cuts in, biting directly where her mouth had just been, “Did Vaughan not teach you to always keep your guard up either? That was like taking candy from a baby.”

Y/n snarls at him, and Fenrys just laughs. She tries to grab it from him, but the male just held it high above his head, far far above her own.

“Oh quit with the hissing, kitten,” Fenrys laughs, “I’ll get you your own, we need to stock up for our trip anyways.”

“Quit calling me that, you oaf,” she snaps.

Fenrys smirks, patting her head with his free hand once, snatching the hand back as she went to swipe at him.

“Quit reacting so much and maybe I’ll stop.”

She doesn’t respond, only bearing her teeth at him, to which he only laughs, turning on his heel to saunter through the market. Y/n quickly realizes he wasn’t going to wait for her, assuming she’d just follow.

Swearing under her breath, she did just that. Jogging to catch up to the male, who still had that insufferable smirk on his lips as she settled into step beside him.

“I thought you were going to sit there and pout all day,” Fenrys says.

She was half tempted to claw at his smirking face and give him a matching scar on the other side.

“You owe me a sandwich.”

He laughs, “Someone’s mean when she’s hungry. Good to know, I‘ll pack extra snacks.”

“Shut up.”

They spent a several hours traversing through the vast city markets, stocking up on dried meats and cheeses that would hold well on the trip down to the southern continent. Once their bags were packed to the brim, they made their way to the ship, where they’d spend the next few weeks. It was set to leave first thing in the morning, so they hadn’t bothered to find an inn to stay the night in.

Fenrys had been relieved to find a ship that would take them, let alone one that was headed straight to the continent. And in his time on ships, he could say this was one of the nicer ones he’d been on.

The owner was a merchant, one that traded in silks and thread, he claimed to have tailored for Hasar herself. Knowing the female, Fenrys highly doubted she would let the sniveling man anywhere near her.

Fenrys had more than enough gold to pay for the trip across the sea, and enough to splurge on a private room away from the shared hammocks below deck.

He dropped his heavy pack onto the small desk by the door, falling face first onto the small bunk pressed against the wall with a satisfied groan. Fenrys appreciated the gentle sway of the ship beneath him, mostly because it was about to take him far away from this suffocating continent.

Behind him, Y/n quietly shut their door, carefully arranging her bag onto the opposite bunk, much more refined than his careless approach.

Fenrys turned his head just enough to see her. Either she didn’t notice his gaze or didn’t care, her focus stays on her bag, on the clothes she dug out. She methodically arranged her items, something Fenrys noticed she did a lot, she’d done it that morning when they packed out their little camp, later in the market when she stored away her things. Like there was something soothing about the repetition, like it calmed whatever was happening in her mind.

Fenrys would like to learn something similar, if only to stop the endless thoughts and emotions that, even after several months, still ran constantly through his head.

Her eyes finally turned to him, catching his stare. Suddenly he felt like he wasn’t meant to be watching, and the embarrassment of being caught had his cheeks darkening. There was really no reason for it, it wasn’t like he’d been watching her change.

“I’m going to go freshen up,” she says casually, her eyes not missing the blush, “Don’t miss me to much.”

She moved to the door, and Fenrys found himself tracking the movement, pushing up to rest on his elbows. She moved silently, like she always did, that feline grace that would put the silent assassins of the red desert to shame.

“I miss you already, kitten,” Fenrys sighs dramatically as she opens the door.

A hiss, a slam of the door, and she’s gone. Fenrys smiled to himself, settling back into his bunk. The gentle sway of the ship had him yawning before to long, the somewhat comfortable bunk didn’t help either, compared to the last few sleeping arrangements it was like laying on a cloud

As he drifted off to sleep, he saw keen eyes watching him, directly through his mask of confidence and swagger, staring into his soul, broken and dark, yet not seeming to care. Fenrys could only stare back, wishing he could see past her own shields.

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@emma-andrea

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to devour)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. The story gets progressively worse with each chapter. You have been warned.

- Summary: It started with Harrenhal and the year of false spring, where you danced with a dragon trying to calm his flames.

- Paring: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: to mend

- Next part: to cry wolf

The early morning sun barely breaks through the thick canopy of trees as Rhaegar rides ahead, his heart pounding louder with every beat. The cold air stings his face, but he barely notices. His thoughts are consumed by you—his twin, his sister—lost somewhere in the Kingswood with their increasingly unstable father. Ser Barristan and Ser Gerold ride close behind him, their expressions grim, but Rhaegar feels as though the world is closing in on him with every second that passes without finding you.

Suddenly, the black silhouette of Aerys's stallion looms ahead, its dark coat slick with sweat and stained with something darker. Rhaegar's breath catches as his eyes lock on the horse. Blood. His heart races even faster, panic surging through him as he calls out your name, his voice breaking. “Y/N!”

No response.

His gaze darts to the right, where your white-gray mare stands, her reins missing, the beautiful creature now stained with blood, her eyes wide and wild. The sight sends a shiver of dread down his spine. He yells again, this time his voice louder, desperate. “Father! Y/N!”

Silence presses down on them for a long, torturous moment before Ser Gerold spots movement in the distance, his voice steady but tense. “There, my prince. They're coming.”

Rhaegar’s eyes snap to where Gerold is pointing, and his breath stutters. From the thick of the forest, Aerys emerges, dragging the body of a dead doe behind him. At his side, you walk slowly, your head lowered, your steps unsteady. Aerys seems wholly unbothered, his expression a mask of triumph as if nothing unusual has occurred. 

Rhaegar spurs his horse forward, his mind racing, his throat tight with fear. “Father!” he shouts again, but Aerys ignores him, his attention fixed on the dead doe.

Ser Barristan and Ser Gerold exchange uneasy glances, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. They are stunned by the sight before them but trained enough to maintain composure.

Aerys stops just short of the group, casting an almost lazy glance at the knights before addressing them. “Strap the doe to Barristan’s horse,” he commands casually, as though nothing at all is amiss. “We shall have it for dinner.”

The knights hesitate, their eyes flickering toward Rhaegar, but at Aerys’s expectant look, they obey, working quickly to secure the doe, though their hands tremble ever so slightly. Rhaegar’s eyes are only on you now. His heart clenches as he sees the state you’re in—your once-pristine clothes are torn, stained with dirt and blood, and your face is pale, haunted. But it’s the wound on your neck that catches his attention first.

A wolf bite. The jagged teeth marks mar your pale skin, the wound hastily cauterized, the burned flesh an angry red. His eyes sweep over you and find more—scratches, cuts, bruises—all signs of a fight, a struggle. His heart twists in his chest as he realizes how close you must have come to death.

He slides off his horse and takes a step toward you. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice shaking with both anger and fear. “What happened? Let me—"

But before he can reach you, Aerys’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you roughly against him. “She will ride with me,” he declares, his voice edged with a possessiveness that sets Rhaegar’s teeth on edge. “Her mare is without reins, and I will not have her ride unguarded.” His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your side. He doesn't even glance at the blood-stained horses, as if the danger you'd faced meant nothing to him.

Rhaegar clenches his fists, his fury barely restrained. “She could have died!” he snaps, his voice rising. “You led her into the woods, and she—" His words cut off as he looks at the bite on your neck again. The sight makes his stomach churn. “Look at her! Look at what happened!”

Aerys finally meets Rhaegar’s gaze, and the madness in his eyes flashes, but his voice remains calm, unbothered. “And yet, she did not die, did she, my son?” He smirks, a cold, humorless thing. “She is stronger than you think. The wolves are dead, the doe is ours, and my daughter is unharmed.”

Rhaegar’s anger flares hotter. “Unharmed?” His voice cracks, disbelief laced with fury. “She’s covered in wounds! Look at her, Father! How can you be so—” His words falter, unable to find a term to describe how callous Aerys is being.

But Aerys only tightens his hold on you, his fingers brushing lightly over the burned wolf bite on your neck. He looks almost proud, as if the injury were a mark of honor. “She survived,” he repeats, his eyes flicking back to Rhaegar. “And she will ride with me now. We are done here.”

The finality in his voice leaves no room for argument. Aerys turns his horse, pulling you with him, and you don’t resist, though your eyes flick to Rhaegar’s for the briefest moment—filled with something he can’t quite place. Exhaustion, fear, perhaps even resignation.

Rhaegar watches helplessly as you are lifted onto Aerys’s horse, his chest tight with frustration. His gaze burns into Aerys’s back, seething with anger at how easily his father brushed aside the danger you had faced. How close you had come to being lost, and how little it seemed to matter to him.

He mounts his horse again, but the fire in his chest remains, his thoughts whirling with the realization that whatever hold Aerys has on you, it’s stronger than he ever feared. He looks over at Ser Barristan and Ser Gerold, both knights just as shaken but silent, obedient.

“We return to the Red Keep,” Aerys calls out, his voice unnervingly cheerful as if the events of the night had been nothing more than a game. “We have dinner to prepare.”

Rhaegar tightens his grip on the reins, his jaw set, his mind already racing for a way to pull you out of the madness that had wrapped its claws around you both.

As the Red Keep looms into view, its towering walls rising against the pale morning sky. The sound of hooves echoing off the courtyard stones is the only break in the stillness as your group rides through the gates. Rhaegar’s eyes never leave you, watching the way you slump slightly in the saddle, how your head remains bowed, your usual grace diminished by exhaustion and the wounds that mar your body.

Aerys dismounts first, moving with a practiced ease that belies the night’s strange events. He turns toward you, his hand extended in a gesture that seems almost gentle as he helps you down from the horse. His fingers are firm as they curl around yours, pulling you close to him once again. The movement, meant to appear fatherly, holds an undercurrent that Rhaegar can't ignore, and his heart tightens in his chest as he watches you lean into Aerys, either out of habit or necessity, perhaps both.

Behind them, Ser Barristan and Ser Gerold move quickly to deal with the dead doe, strapping it to be taken to the kitchens as Aerys had commanded. They work silently, their expressions tight, as if still processing the strangeness of what they had witnessed in the Kingswood.

As soon as you and Aerys step onto the cobblestones, a small crowd of courtiers approaches, led by none other than Tywin Lannister. His green eyes sweep over the scene, his expression carefully schooled but sharp. Tywin, always the lion, seems to notice everything—the blood on your clothes, the anger on Rhaegar’s face, the strange energy that still clings to Aerys. The Hand of the King wastes no time in moving forward, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

“My king, Princess Y/N,” Tywin greets, his voice measured but holding an edge of concern. “We were all concerned when word came that you had gone hunting and did not return at nightfall.”

There is a slight emphasis on we, as if Tywin were reminding Aerys of the court’s need for stability, for leadership—things that had grown increasingly tenuous under his reign. His gaze flicks to you, lingering briefly on the bite mark on your neck before moving back to Aerys.

Aerys, however, seems entirely unbothered by the scrutiny. He smiles that strange, cold smile of his and gestures to the doe now being handled by the knights. “We had a successful hunt, Tywin. The princess and I felled the beast ourselves. We shall feast on it tonight.”

Tywin’s eyes harden briefly, though his face remains impassive. “Of course, Your Grace. The kitchens will prepare it as you wish.” He pauses, glancing back at you, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. “Princess, I trust you are well?”

Before you can answer, Aerys’s arm tightens around your waist, pulling you to his side, his fingers possessive as they rest against your hip. “She is unharmed,” Aerys says, his voice cutting through any further inquiry. “My daughter is stronger than the wolves in the forest. They did not stand a chance.”

Rhaegar, still mounted, watches the exchange with growing unease. His eyes flicker between you and Aerys, his jaw set tight. He dismounts his horse swiftly and approaches, his worry turning to frustration as Aerys continues to act as if nothing had happened. He steps forward, trying to catch your gaze, but you avoid his eyes, your body stiff beneath Aerys’s touch.

“Father,” Rhaegar says, his voice low but filled with barely restrained anger, “she could have died. The wolves—”

“But she did not,” Aerys interrupts sharply, his voice rising. His eyes gleam with that unsettling mix of fervor and madness as he glares at his son. “And do not forget, Rhaegar, that I was there. I protected her through rest of the night after the attack, as any father would. My daughter is alive because of me.” He smirks, his grip on you tightening even further, almost as if daring Rhaegar to challenge him.

Rhaegar grits his teeth, his frustration barely held in check. He looks at you, his voice softening when he speaks again. “Y/N, please, let me—”

“She stays with me,” Aerys snaps, cutting Rhaegar off once more. He pulls you close, his voice lowering into something more dangerous. “Or do you once again doubt my ability to keep her safe, my son?”

The threat is clear, and Rhaegar knows better than to push further, at least not here, not with the courtiers watching. His eyes burn with anger and worry, but he nods stiffly, stepping back to let Aerys lead you away.

As you and Aerys turn toward the keep, Tywin steps aside, his sharp eyes following your every movement. He says nothing more, but Rhaegar knows that the Hand of the King has seen enough to understand the growing fracture between father and son—and knows about something far darker between you and Aerys.

The crowd watches silently as Aerys leads you inside, his arm still wrapped around you. Rhaegar lingers in the courtyard, his fists clenched at his sides, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this—whatever this twisted bond was between you and Aerys—was spiraling out of control. And he was powerless to stop it. For now.

Tywin approaches Rhaegar as the courtyard empties, his expression unreadable. “You have every right to be concerned,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only Rhaegar can hear. “But this… This will require patience, my prince.”

Rhaegar says nothing, his eyes still fixed on the doors where you and Aerys had disappeared, his heart filled with a dark, suffocating dread.

The water in the bath is warm, though it does little to ease the aching sting of your wounds. You sit still, your hands gripping the edge of the tub as your servants work quietly around you, their soft footsteps and hushed whispers barely audible. They wash away the blood and dirt from the night before, their hands gentle but trembling, aware of the tension that clings to you like a shadow. The pain from the wolf bite on your neck pulses in time with your heartbeat, and the burns from where the wound was cauterized throb with every movement.

You try to ignore it all—the sting, the bruises, the way your body feels foreign and fragile. Instead, you focus on the water, the way it ripples with each soft brush of the servants’ hands. But even the warmth of the bath can't drown out the memories of the night before, the feeling of Aerys’s hands on you, the madness in his eyes, the way you had clung to him afterward despite the fear that had gnawed at your insides. The fear that still lingers.

The servants exchange worried glances, their hands hesitating every time they touch you. You can feel their concern, the way their eyes flick to your face as if expecting you to react, to say something—anything. But you remain silent, detached, staring blankly at the water. You know they’ve seen the marks, the bruises, the burns. They’ve seen the blood and the way your body bears the evidence of the struggle with the wolves, but they don’t ask. They never do.

One of them, a younger girl with trembling hands, wrings a cloth and gently presses it to the bite on your neck. You flinch at the touch, and she gasps softly, stepping back as if she’d burned you. The other women give her a reproachful look, but you say nothing, your gaze still unfocused.

The door creaks open suddenly, and the servants freeze, their eyes wide with fear. You hear the sharp intake of breath from one of them as they step back, hands trembling, and your heart drops when you see him—Aerys, standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room with a tension so thick it’s suffocating. He says nothing at first, his gaze sweeping over the scene before him, lingering on your still form in the bath.

"Leave us," Aerys commands, his voice low but with a dangerous edge that brooks no argument.

The servants don’t hesitate. They scurry from the room, heads bowed, leaving behind the water and the scent of herbs and fear. The door closes behind them with a soft click, and now it’s just the two of you. You don’t look at him, your gaze still fixed on the water, though your heart races in your chest.

You hear him move closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor, until he kneels beside the bath. His hand reaches out, brushing a lock of wet hair away from your face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. You flinch again, but this time, you don’t move away.

Aerys’s voice is soft, almost tender, when he speaks. "The dinner tonight will be a grand affair," he says, as if the events of the previous night never happened, as if your body isn't covered in wounds from the wolves and your spirit isn’t weighed down by the twisted bond that holds you both together. "The doe I’ve hunted—it will be served as a feast for all to enjoy. You will sit by my side, of course."

You swallow hard, your throat tight. The thought of sitting beside him at that table, of pretending everything is normal, makes your stomach turn. But you know there is no choice. There never is.

"You should wear something fitting," he continues, his fingers trailing down the side of your face now, grazing the edge of the bite mark on your neck. His touch is light, almost reverent, but the shine in his gaze makes your skin crawl. "Something to show your beauty. To remind them that you are a Targaryen, born of fire and blood. You were magnificent last night, Y/N. You are always magnificent."

You don't answer, your lips pressed into a thin line. The bathwater ripples as he shifts closer, his eyes fixed on you, waiting for some kind of response, but you can’t find the words. You can barely breathe, let alone speak. The pain in your body is nothing compared to the weight in your chest, the suffocating realization that this is your life now. That it has always been this way.

Aerys’s fingers brush your collarbone, and he leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We are bound together, you and I. No one understands us, not like you do. You keep me grounded, my daughter, my princess. You keep me... sane."

The irony of his words hangs heavy in the air, but you say nothing. You’ve heard this before, countless times. And each time, the grip he has on you tightens. Each time, the madness seems to creep a little deeper into him—and into you.

He stands slowly, his gaze lingering on your face, and then, with a final stroke of your hair, he turns toward the door. "Rest now," he says. "Tonight, you will shine."

As the door closes behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The water in the bath is cooling now, but you don’t move. You sit there, staring at the ripples, trying to ignore the sting of your wounds and the heavier sting of the reality that has settled over you.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was alive with the clinking of goblets, the low murmur of voices, and the scrape of silverware against plates. The air was filled with the scent of roasted meat, herbs, and wine, but there was an undercurrent of something else—a unease that hung like a heavy fog over the room. The courtiers, lords, and ladies in attendance spoke in measured tones, their smiles practiced and polite, but their eyes kept flicking to the head of the table, where Aerys sat, you by his side.

You had taken your place as he commanded, wearing the gown he had insisted upon—a deep red, the color of dragonfire, edged with black. It clung to you like a second skin, the fabric light but suffocating, as though it were part of the weight you carried. Rhaella had wisely remained in her chambers, claiming illness, though you knew she simply couldn’t face this spectacle. Not tonight.

Aerys, of course, was in high spirits. His mood was unpredictable, always swinging between manic glee and cold calculation, but tonight, he was content. He had his doe, the prize of his hunt, and you beside him, his favorite child. His dragon princess. His hand rested on your thigh beneath the table.

You kept your face composed, doing your best to appear the part of the princess of the realm, the true daughter of the dragon. Your back straight, your head held high, you made no outward sign of the turmoil that churned inside you. Instead, you smiled when necessary, nodded at the appropriate moments, and allowed Aerys’s hand to linger, even though every touch felt like a brand on your skin.

Across the table, Rhaegar sat with Elia and their children. A light breeze swept in through the hall, tugging at Elia's dark hair, and for a brief moment, your eyes met Rhaegar’s. In that one glance, you tried to convey everything you couldn’t say aloud—the reassurance that you were still here, that you were still fighting, even if it didn’t look like it. His expression softened, worry creasing his brow, but he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of the weight you both carried. You felt a flicker of comfort in his understanding, but it was fleeting.

The meal was served with great fanfare—platters of roasted meats, bread, and fruits carried in by a long line of servants. At the center of it all was the doe, the one Aerys had so proudly dragged from the Kingswood, its meat roasted to a dark, glossy perfection. The lords and ladies offered the king their compliments, some braver ones daring to speak directly to him, praising the hunt and the meal.

You watched as the first slices of meat were served to the table, the doe taking pride of place on Aerys’s plate. He cut into it with sharp, deliberate motions, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he took his first bite. Then, the rest of the table followed suit.

You picked up your knife and fork, forcing your hand to remain steady as you sliced into the meat on your plate. Aerys watched you, his gaze sharp, waiting for you to taste the prize of the hunt. You brought the fork to your lips, forcing yourself to chew and swallow. But the moment the meat hit your tongue, a strange, rancid taste flooded your mouth.

It was off. The meat was foul, as though it had been left out in the sun too long, the flavor cloying and rotten. You tried to suppress the instinct to gag, swallowing it quickly before you could give yourself away. Your stomach churned, and for a moment, you were convinced something was terribly wrong. The meat—how could everyone else be eating it without complaint?

Around you, the lords and ladies continued to eat, their faces betraying nothing. Some even offered more compliments, one or two brave men toasting Aerys’s prowess in the hunt. You glanced at Rhaegar, watching as he took a cautious bite, and though his face remained impassive, you could see it—the brief tightening of his mouth, the flicker of unease in his eyes. He had tasted it, too.

Yet no one said a word.

Aerys’s hand shifted on your thigh, his grip tightening as he leaned closer to you. “Do you enjoy the meal, my daughter?” he asked, his voice low, almost intimate, as though the two of you were sharing some private joke. His breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, forcing a smile onto your lips, though your throat felt tight, the rancid taste of the meat still lingering at the back of your mouth. “It is… perfect, Father,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the noise of the hall.

Aerys smiled, satisfied with your response, and you could feel his gaze linger on you, studying your every move. The weight of his attention was suffocating, his touch on your leg an anchor that kept you bound to this twisted reality.

As the dinner continued, you forced yourself to take another bite, trying to mask your discomfort, though each morsel seemed worse than the last. You glanced around the hall, wondering if anyone else had noticed the strange taste, but all you saw were polite smiles and empty words of praise. The air felt thick with something unspoken, a creeping sense of wrongness that clung to you like the aftertaste of the meat.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the voices around you, but the feeling that something was terribly wrong lingered in the back of your mind. You wondered if it was just you—if the rot you tasted was somehow your own, a reflection of everything you had become in the shadows of Aerys’s madness.

You forced yourself to focus on the conversations around you, even though the foul taste of the meat still lingered on your tongue. Aerys’s hand remained on your thigh, his grip possessive, as if reminding you that you were his—always his.

From across the table, you saw Lord Qarlton Chelsted lean forward, clearly emboldened by the king’s good mood. Aerys was smiling, pleased with the compliments and attention he was receiving. Lord Qarlton, ever the opportunist, chose that moment to speak, his voice carrying over the din of the hall.

“Your Grace,” he began, his tone measured and deferential. “We’ve received a message from Lord Stark of Winterfell. He writes to inform us that he and his son, Brandon Stark, are preparing to journey south to the capital.”

At the mention of Brandon Stark’s name, you felt a subtle shift in the air. You paused mid-bite, your fork hovering just above your plate. You didn’t have to look up to sense it—your father’s mood had turned from jovial to something darker. The shift was felt, a sudden chill that spread through the hall, freezing the words on Lord Qarlton’s lips.

“They come,” Qarlton continued, oblivious to the change, “so that Brandon may wed his betrothed—your daughter, Princess Y/N—as agreed upon, so the alliance between House Targaryen and House Stark may be sealed.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight, and you felt your body stiffen, your entire being focused on the silence that followed. The warmth of Aerys’s hand on your thigh turned cold, his fingers unmoving, and you knew without looking that his eyes were fixed on Lord Qarlton, that dangerous gleam of madness lurking just beneath the surface.

Qarlton, unaware of the growing storm, mistook the silence for attention. He pressed on, his words careful but hopeful, clearly believing that he was reminding the king of something important. “It was, after all, a match made by your own hand, Your Grace. A union between the blood of the dragon and the wolves of the North.”

The silence in the hall deepened. You could feel Aerys’s fury building, like the slow burn of wildfire, just waiting for the spark that would set it ablaze. His hand tightened on your leg, the pressure enough to make you wince, though you dared not move. He was no longer a king in high spirits. He had become a predator, and Qarlton had unwittingly become his prey.

The rest of the hall seemed to sense the shift as well. Conversations stilled, and the once-brave lords and ladies who had been complimenting the meal moments before now avoided making eye contact with the king. Even Rhaegar, seated across from you, had gone still, his eyes sharp and watchful.

Qarlton, realizing too late that something was amiss, faltered. He glanced nervously at you, then at Aerys, as if only just now understanding that the king was not in the mood for such discussions. His earlier confidence drained from him as the king’s silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. The realization seemed to dawn on him that Aerys had forgotten—or perhaps chosen to forget—the match he had once made between you and Brandon Stark.

You dared not look at Aerys, but you could feel the air around him vibrating with a barely contained rage. His fingers dug into your thigh, the touch no longer possessive but punishing, as if the mere mention of Brandon Stark had provoked something dark and primal within him.

At last, Aerys spoke, his voice low, venomous. “Brandon Stark?” he repeated slowly, as though testing the name on his tongue, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “The wolves think to come south and claim what is mine?”

You stiffened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. Aerys’s grip tightened further, his nails biting into your flesh, but you forced yourself to remain still. The entire hall was watching, waiting for his next move, for the explosion that seemed inevitable now.

Qarlton, pale and visibly shaken, tried to backpedal. “Your Grace, I—”

Aerys’s gaze snapped to Qarlton, his eyes burning with fury. “You dare remind me of promises made to wolves?” His voice, though quiet, was filled with a dangerous edge, each word like a lash. “Do you think I am in the habit of giving away what belongs to the blood of the dragon?”

Your stomach churned, the dread pooling in your chest. This was worse than you had anticipated. Aerys’s rage was rising, and the mention of your betrothal—something he had arranged himself long ago—was now a threat to him, a reminder of a promise he had no intention of keeping.

You cast a fleeting glance toward Rhaegar, who sat rigid, his expression carefully controlled. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and you could see the same fear reflected in them—the same knowledge that this dinner was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Aerys released your leg suddenly and stood, his eyes fixed on Qarlton with a hatred that sent a shiver through the hall. “Brandon Stark will never have her,” Aerys growled, his voice like the hiss of wildfire. “No wolf will ever take what belongs to me. My daughter is mine, and mine alone.”

The hall was deathly silent. The courtiers sat frozen, no one daring to speak, no one daring to move. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse racing as the weight of Aerys’s claim pressed down on you like a vise. You didn’t have to look at him to know that his madness had fully taken hold, and there was no reasoning with him now.

Lord Qarlton, his face ashen, wisely bowed his head, murmuring, “Of course, Your Grace.”

The silence in the hall stretched on, the tension so thick it was suffocating. You sat frozen in place, your pulse thundering in your ears as Aerys’s words echoed in the vast chamber. The king’s declaration—Brandon Stark will never have her—hung in the air like a death sentence, and no one dared to challenge it.

Except Tywin Lannister.

The Hand of the King rose slowly from his seat, his movements measured, deliberate, as though carefully navigating a minefield. His green eyes, sharp as ever, flicked briefly to you before settling on Aerys. Tywin, always composed, had the look of a man who knew the stakes of what he was about to say, but he spoke anyway, his voice calm and authoritative.

“Your Grace,” he began, “the match between the princess and Brandon Stark was made many years ago. It is a matter of duty, not just to House Targaryen but to the realm. The North expects this alliance to be honored.”

Aerys turned his gaze on Tywin, his eyes narrowing, the light of madness flickering behind them. His hand still rested on the table, his fingers drumming against the wood, as though the idea of this marriage were some small, bothersome matter to be crushed beneath his heel. His lips curled into a sneer.

“Duty?” Aerys spat the word, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think I care about duty, Tywin? You think I care about some wolf coming south to take what is mine?”

Tywin didn’t flinch, though you could sense the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice remained even, his words carefully chosen. “This was your arrangement, Your Grace. You made this deal with Lord Rickard Stark yourself. It is your word that binds this match, your promise that the North depends on.”

For a moment, Aerys was silent, his gaze locked on Tywin. Then, a bitter laugh escaped his lips, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “My word?” Aerys said, his voice rising in pitch, his laughter turning sharp and cruel. “I made this deal? I promised my daughter to the wolves? You must be mad, Tywin, or perhaps you think I am.”

Aerys’s hand slammed down on the table, the force of it sending goblets and plates rattling. “You lie!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the hall like a blade. “You and your schemes, Tywin. Always thinking you can manipulate me. Always believing you can twist my will.”

The court watched in stunned silence, not daring to breathe as the king’s fury grew, his eyes wild and bright. Tywin, however, stood his ground, his face unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps frustration, perhaps resignation. He knew the king was beyond reasoning, but still, he pressed forward, his voice steady.

“Your Grace, I only remind you of the truth. This was your will. You commanded this match to strengthen the realm.”

Aerys’s laugh rang out again, high and brittle. “My will? My will is my daughter here, beside me. She is not some tool to be bartered away to the wolves. You would have me send her north, to be taken by Brandon Stark? I will not allow it.”

His words struck like a hammer, each one filled with venom. His fingers dug into the table, knuckles white, and you felt a cold shudder run through your body as his gaze flickered to you. The possessiveness in his eyes was visible, as if he had forgotten entirely the political game being played, as if his sole concern was keeping you close, at his side, and away from anyone who might take you from him.

Tywin exhaled slowly, the subtle stiffness in his frame the only sign of his growing frustration. He spoke again, this time more cautiously. “Your Grace, the Starks have sent word. They expect this alliance. We cannot afford to insult the North. It would cause a rift—”

“Enough!” Aerys roared, standing so suddenly that his chair scraped back with a screech. He pointed an accusatory finger at Tywin, his face twisted in rage. “I will not be lectured by you, Tywin! You dare presume to tell me what I must do with my own daughter? You think I care about the North, about your precious alliances? I am the king, and my word is law.”

The hall fell into an even deeper silence, if such a thing were possible. The courtiers sat frozen, their gazes darting between Tywin and Aerys, unsure of where this would lead. Even Rhaegar had gone still, his eyes flicking toward you, filled with quiet worry. He knew as well as you did that Aerys was on the verge of something dangerous, something irreversible.

Tywin, sensing the precariousness of the situation, bowed his head slightly, a calculated gesture of submission. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said quietly, though there was a sharpness to his tone that you could hear beneath the surface. “I would never presume to challenge your will.”

Aerys, still glaring at him, seemed to hesitate, as if weighing Tywin’s words, the room, and the power he held over everyone within it. His fingers twitched, his madness still crackling in the air, but for the moment, he seemed satisfied with Tywin’s retreat.

He turned back to you then, his expression softening, though his eyes remained dark. He reached out, placing his hand back on your thigh, his voice lowering as he spoke only to you now, though loud enough for all to hear. “The wolves will never have you, Y/N,” he murmured, his tone a twisted mockery of affection. “You are mine. You will always be mine.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly in your lap as the weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. You felt the eyes of the court on you, and though your face remained composed, inside you felt the creeping dread of what Aerys’s declaration truly meant.

Tywin, still standing, gave a curt nod before sitting back down, his face set in a grim mask of professionalism. But you knew that this was not over—not truly. The alliance with the Starks had been thrown into jeopardy, and now the political landscape would shift beneath your feet, all while you remained trapped in Aerys’s tightening grasp.

You could feel Aerys’s grip tightening on your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh as the situation in the hall pressed down on you both. You knew him too well—knew the signs, the way his eyes gleamed when his mind began to unravel, the way his voice dropped into a low, dangerous whisper when he was on the edge of something dark.

The hall was still, conversations picking back up only in hushed whispers, and you could feel the weight of every gaze on you, waiting to see what the king would do next. You couldn’t afford to let him spiral further. Not here. Not now.

You turned slightly in your seat, your hand slipping under the table to gently rest on his wrist, your fingers brushing against his knuckles in what you hoped was a calming gesture. You kept your voice low, soft, meant only for him. “Father,” you began, your words carefully chosen, “there’s no need to worry. I’m not leaving you. No one is taking me away.”

His gaze shifted to you, the fire in his eyes still burning, but there was a flicker of something else—something like doubt, uncertainty. His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I did not make that match,” he hissed, his words sharp, his eyes searching yours as though looking for some confirmation of his own version of reality. “That is not my will.”

Your heart clenched at his words, though you kept your face serene, composed. You knew the truth—had known it your entire life. The match with Brandon Stark had been arranged before you were even old enough to understand the significance of it. Your father had made the promise himself, sealing the alliance between House Targaryen and House Stark with your future. It had been your duty, your destiny. And yet here he was, rewriting the past in his mind, casting aside that promise in favor of his possessive insanity.

But you couldn’t contradict him. Not now. Not when he was so close to the edge.

You forced a gentle smile, your hand still resting on his. “Of course, Father,” you whispered, your voice soothing, even as your heart raced. “You made no such match. There is only your will, and I will always follow it. No one can take me from you. I belong here, with you.”

His grip on your thigh loosened slightly, his expression softening just enough for you to see that your words had reached him, if only for a moment. The madness in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a strange, toxic affection that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You see?” he murmured, his voice almost tender now. “You understand. You are the only one who does, my daughter. You are my true heir, the blood of the dragon. You will never be taken from me.”

You nodded, your heart heavy with the weight of the lie you were telling. You couldn’t bear to challenge him, couldn’t risk provoking him further. And so, you leaned into the role he had cast you in—the dutiful daughter, bound to him by blood and fire, the one person who could calm the storm inside him.

“I will never leave you, Father,” you whispered again, the words tasting bitter on your tongue even as you forced them out. “I am yours. Forever.”

Aerys studied you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if trying to find any hint of deception. But when he found none, he exhaled slowly, his body relaxing just a little, the tension in his shoulders easing. His hand slid from your thigh, coming to rest on the table beside his goblet, and for a moment, it seemed as though the worst of the storm had passed.

The hall continued to murmur around you, the courtiers still on edge, but the immediate threat had diminished. You allowed yourself a small breath of relief, though you knew this reprieve was only temporary. Aerys’s madness was always lurking beneath the surface, ready to flare up again at any moment.

Still, you had bought yourself a little more time. And in that time, you would do whatever it took to keep him calm, to prevent the darkness from consuming him—and you—entirely. Even if it meant continuing to play this role, pretending that the world he imagined was the only one that existed.

As Aerys lifted his goblet to his lips, his hand now steady, you caught another glance from Rhaegar across the table. His expression was one of deep concern, but there was also a flicker of pride in his eyes—he had seen what you had done, how you had managed to bring Aerys back from the edge.

The feast dragged on, though you barely registered the conversations and laughter around you. The sounds of the hall were muted by the thrum of your own thoughts, each beat of your heart a reminder of the careful game you were playing. Aerys sat beside you, his mood teetering between satisfaction and a dangerous edge, his hand never far from yours. You continued to smile, nod, and offer the occasional response, but your mind was elsewhere—focused entirely on keeping him calm, keeping him stable.

At last, Aerys rose from his seat, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor silencing the murmurs in the hall. You followed him, your body moving automatically as he reached down, taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, as he pulled you to your feet, and you could feel the shift in him—the change that always signaled the start of something darker.

He led you from the table, his hand never leaving yours, and as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught sight of Varys, his pale face unreadable as he watched you both. The Spider's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the rest of the court, his expression a mask of quiet contemplation. It unsettled you, the way Varys could watch without judgment, his intentions always hidden beneath layers of ambiguity. But you had no time to dwell on it. Aerys was already leading you away.

The moment you stepped out of the grand hall, the air changed. The warmth and light of the feast were replaced by the cool darkness of the secluded corridors, the only sound now the soft echo of your footsteps on the stone floor. Aerys’s hand tightened around yours as he led you deeper into the castle, away from prying eyes, his pace quickening.

You knew this part of the keep well—these quiet, shadowed hallways where no one dared to follow the king. It was here, in the darkness, where Aerys’s mood often changed, where his madness could take hold in ways that the court would never see. You felt the shift in him, the way his breath quickened, the way his fingers gripped yours tighter, pulling you closer to him as the light from the torches dimmed.

When he finally stopped, it was in a small, dark alcove, the shadows thick around you. The only light came from a single flickering torch in the distance. Aerys turned to you, his eyes gleaming with something wild, something unholy, and you could feel it—the familiar pull, the dangerous edge that always ignited something deep inside you as well. No matter how much you feared his instability, there was a part of you that was drawn to it, just as you were drawn to him.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his voice low, filled with a dark reverence. He raised a hand, brushing his fingers along your cheek, down to your throat, where the wolf’s bite had left its mark. His touch was possessive, his eyes fixated on the wound. “No one else will ever have you. Not the wolves. Not the North. You belong to me.”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as his words stirred something deep within you. His madness was infectious, seeping into your veins, making your pulse quicken. 

Aerys’s hand slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in that dark, unsettling tone. “Do you know what I’ll do if the wolves come for you? If that Stark boy dares to set foot in my capital, thinking he can take you from me?”

You shivered at his words, your body responding to the dangerous edge in his voice, though your mind recoiled at the thought. You knew what he was capable of. You had seen it, felt it, time and time again.

“I’ll burn them,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I’ll burn them all. The Starks, their sons, their lands. I’ll burn Winterfell to the ground if they dare to challenge me.”

Your heart raced, a mix of fear and something darker coursing through you. You knew he meant every word. Aerys had no boundaries, no limits when it came to protecting what he saw as his. The darkness in his eyes, the gleam of fire that always lingered there, told you that he would follow through on his threats without hesitation.

“They think they can take you from me,” he growled, his hands tightening on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. “But I will burn every last one of them. I will make sure the North never forgets that the blood of the dragon runs through your veins. You are mine, and I will never let you go.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but there was a part of you, buried deep, that responded to the intensity of his claim. You had been raised in this world, forged in fire and blood, and no matter how much you hated it, a part of you had always belonged to him. The bond between you was unbreakable, twisted and dark, and in moments like this, it was impossible to deny.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I’m not leaving you, Father. I’ll always be here, beside you. No one can take me away.”

Aerys’s grip on you relaxed slightly, though the wild gleam in his eyes remained. He leaned back, studying your face as if searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of rebellion. When he found none, he smiled—a cold, triumphant smile that sent another shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softening. “You understand, my daughter. You always have.”

He leaned down, pressing a rough, possessive kiss to your lips, and though your mind screamed at the meaning of it all, your body responded, as it always did, to the fire that burned between you.

Aerys's lips pressed harder against yours, rough and demanding, his hand gripping your waist as if he could mark you with his touch. His kiss was all-consuming, pulling you further into the insanity that had bound the two of you together for so long. Your thoughts, already spinning, suddenly drifted back to the Kingswood—to the wolf. You could still see it clearly, the large creature’s body lying still beneath you, its hollow, dead grey eyes staring into nothingness. Its final moments had been marked by your hands tightening the reins around its neck, cutting off its last breath.

You had saved yourself that night, but the image of the wolf haunted you still, a reminder of what you were capable of, what you had become.

Aerys’s hands moved now, one trailing down your side, sliding dangerously close to the intimate places he had always claimed as his. His touch made you shudder, a mixture of fear, disgust, and something you couldn’t deny. Your body responded, despite everything, despite the madness swirling around you both. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips moving against your skin, whispering sinister promises that made your heart race.

But the moment shattered abruptly as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Aerys froze, his lips still against your neck, his body tensing as a growl of annoyance rumbled deep in his throat. His hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the wall with a swift, almost violent motion. Without a word, he yanked you toward one of the secret passageways hidden behind a tapestry. The stone door creaked open just enough for the two of you to slip inside before it closed again, leaving you in near darkness.

You clung to Aerys in the confined space, your heart pounding in your chest as you pressed against him, trying to make yourself as small and quiet as possible. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and for once, you were grateful for the way he pulled you to him. His body was rigid, his breath shallow but controlled. Despite his earlier frustration, he stayed perfectly still, like a specter hiding in the shadows.

The footsteps grew closer, and then two figures emerged, their voices low, whispering just outside the passageway. You couldn’t see them clearly, the thick tapestry muffling some of the sound, but you could make out fragments of their conversation.

“… the Starks … Aerys grows worse by the day …”

Your breath caught in your throat. They were talking about him—about your father. And you. You strained to hear more, but the words were faint, their identities obscured by the dark and the distance. You wanted to lean forward, to make out what they were saying, but Aerys’s grip tightened around you, silently commanding you to stay still.

“… the princess … she is the key … if the Starks arrive …”

Your pulse quickened, fear creeping into your veins. You knew how precarious your position was, how much danger there was in being caught between the madness of your father and the plans of those who sought to use you. These men—they were plotting something, something that involved you, the Starks, and Aerys.

You glanced up at Aerys, expecting to see the fury that always followed when he felt threatened. But he remained perfectly still, his face unreadable in this light. His chest rose and fell slowly, controlled, though his eyes gleamed with something ominous. You were afraid he might lash out, storm from the passageway and confront whoever it was that dared to speak of him in hushed tones, but instead, he held you tighter, his breath steady and measured.

The voices lingered for a few more moments, then faded as the men moved away, their conversation growing more distant until the hallway was silent once more. Aerys didn’t move at first, his body unmoving , but after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled softly, loosening his grip on you just enough for you to breathe again.

You stayed in the passage for a few more moments, both of you wrapped in the darkness. You could feel Aerys’s mind working, calculating, his mood shifting. You feared what he might do now, how he might react to the words he had overheard, but for the moment, he remained quiet.

After a long, heavy pause, he finally spoke, his voice low, menacing. “They speak of things they don’t understand,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “But we’ll show them, won’t we, my daughter? They’ll see that no one can take you from me.”

You nodded, your throat tight, unsure of what else to say. The threat in his words hung between you, heavy and undeniable. Whatever the men outside had been planning, Aerys would not forget their words. And neither would you.

[yiiyiiwrites]

Taming the wolf

Cassian x winter warrior

Summary: you’ve been mated to cassian for a while now, but part of you is still tethered to the winter court army. You’re still expected to fulfil your purpose in the winter mountains and keep the beasts away from the heart of the winter court for three of the coldest months of the year.

Your time in the winter mountains however bring back some habits that Cassian thought you tamed months before. Hurt/comfort

[part two][Acotar masterlist]

Three months in the snowy mountains of your home had stripped away all the work you’d done previously in Velaris.

You couldn't remember how many days you'd been in the forest, the hem of your coat weighed down, clumped with ice. For you the highest region of the woods and the open planes of rugged mountains were your home. Far from the heart of the court and away from everyone you knew.

This was your purpose, your birthright. A wolf protecting the lands.

The winter court blessed the spirits of the snow. Parents planning when to give birth, choosing more favourable spirits so that their child could draw upon a specific energy.

You however were the youngest sister, born to fill a role most parents didn’t want to bring a child into. Veyna your eldest sister was born the year of the dragon, the highest of honours and she frequently made you aware of her status, war strategist. Senna your other sister was born the year of the phoenix and she went on to be a healer, kindest person you knew.

The warriors in the mountains, kept to themselves and when they did have a child they'd either be the year of the wolf or the bear. Babes died in the harsh conditions, forcing your parents to have to you.

Growing up your mother would visit you in the mountains, telling you to feed the wolf within. It didn't matter what fuelled the spirit or the energy, she encouraged you to strengthen the bond through whatever means necessary. So you fed into the fear they instilled in you as a child and the anger when they tried to tame you as you got older.

They looked at you as an animal, someone to unleash on the creatures threatening their court and then they punished you for not being able to control it. The bite remained, you snapped at every hand that tried to reach for you. Not knowing if they wanted the wolf or the warrior.

Cassian was different though, he wasn't afraid to meet the wolf and the warrior. Knew that you were one and both, that at times there was a need for each one. He didn't make you feel ashamed to bare your teeth.

You wondered how long it'd be till you saw your mate.

The cold seeped into your bones, a heaviness dragging your body to the edge of the forest. You legs ached as you trudged through the deep snow, wind nipping at your cheeks the moment you met the open planes of the mountains.

Your breath faltered as you stared at the figure across the frozen lake. Part of you felt like you were meeting him for the first time again, the hunting wolf and the lord of bloodshed. He moved with ease over the ice, long wavy hair dancing behind him in the morning breeze.

His calloused hands framed your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek and that's when you noticed the grey stain transferring to his palm. The coppery scent telling you it was blood, the wolf's vision still remaining. Your mind still on the hunt, ears twitching for movement beyond what you know.

A flock of crows darted from the icy peaks, their screeches increasing the beat of your heart, blood pumping in your ears. Your head snapped to the right, gaze locked on the cave expecting something to appear.

"Hey," Cassian's palm patted your cheek, "it's done." He pried the dagger from your grasp, wiping the dirt on his trousers and slipping it back into the pocket of your bag.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice a hoarse whisper, Cassian's brow furrowed as he took your gloved hand in his. "You're early, I still have a few days."

You followed him down the narrow pebbled slope, his hand holding onto yours like you were about to bolt at any given moment. He didn't speak, the warmth of his touch enough to keep you going till you reached your hut.

It wasn't much, but it was your home before you considered him one. You shouldered the door open, the fire lighting the open living place. Cassian knelt down in front of you and started to unlace your frozen boots, you stepped out of them shaking the ice from your thick socks.

"I take it you heard about my outburst then, is that why you're so early?" You leant against the wall, eye's fluttering shut for a moment to try and shake the wolf. It still stirred, vision perfect but it lacked the colour of your fae sight. Your back still ached from the lashings you received from lashing out.

Cassian rose from the floor, he shook his head. "You've been running around the forest for days, we were supposed to leave for winter solstice yesterday." He didn't glance at you, his hands hovering over the stain matting your white fur coat, inner fabric torn and gaping over your right shoulder.

The adrenaline coursing through you started to wither, the three gashes on your shoulder burning as Cassian slipped your coat down your arms. It fell to the floor like a dead weight, the metallic tang of blood clinging to your teeth.

You stumbled through to the kitchen, flinging your menders bag on the worn dining table. "I killed four nagas," you snarled, collapsing in the chair and delving through the scraps of bandages in your medical kit. "Forgive me for being late."

"I've been running through the damn mountains trying to find you, I thought you dead," he snapped, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The dark rims beneath them deepening.

"And I had to hunt," you seethed, a wave of nausea hitting you as you swayed in your seat. The bandage in your grasp too short to cover the wounds on your shoulder, so you flung it across the table.

Cassian pulled out the chair beside you, wings tucked in and hands moving slowly to the mender bag. "I know," he said ,catching your cold hands in his. "I know what they make you do." His voice soft and low, touch feathery light as he wiped the blood from your hairline.

You hadn't even noticed him filling the bucket with warm water or wringing a washcloth before it was pressed to your face. You leant in to him, savouring the stinging heat against your scraped skin.

"You can't," you whispered, pushing him away from you. Taking a shaky breath, you stole the wash cloth from him and dragged it down the three slashes scored into your shoulder. You tried to bite back the groan, but the blinding pain seared through to your back. Another reminder of aches from days before.

Cassian shushed you, he helped you peel off your shirt trying not to pull too hard where it stuck to your dried wounds. "I don't follow the rules of your mountains, my mate is not going to fend for herself when I am here to take care of them." He dipped the cloth back into the water and dabbed your shoulder, your eyes following his every movement.

There had been many arguments where you'd refused his help in the past, raised to fend for yourself and tend to your own wounds that you didn't understand his need to heal you. It wasn't till you saw his own pain that you understood the agony of not being able to help. You tried your best to be more accepting when he offered you care, but there were still somethings you were trying to work on.

This being one of them, allowing him to tend to your wounds. No matter how many times you protested, he'd got through to you and spoke you through it all. His calm voice speaking of the last three months, how he missed you and what had happened in your absence. Stories of the inner circle and that one mission he thought would never end.

"If we go home tomorrow, we'll still get a day to shop for solstice gifts," he said, smile tugging his lips. He rambled on about the gifts he'd already got, anything to fill silence and distract you from the surge of pain crawling through you.

You, however were half numb and tired, but you kept your gaze on him. The warmth of his bronzed skin, the stray strands of hair falling into his face as his head dipped to cut the bandages in his lap. The flicker of flames reflecting in his hazel eyes.

"Winter warrior, don't wander," he said, cupping your face in his hands. You don't know how he managed to keep you grounded, but the weight of his touch drew you back to the room. Nose nudging yours and you hummed, leaning in to press your lips to his.

"There you are," he said, his forehead resting against yours.

Colour bled back into your vision, jaw aching as you came back to yourself. You glanced to the red tinged water in the bucket, the blood matting your fur coat on the floor still. "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing you need to apologise for," Cassian shook his head, lips pecking the cut on your hairline. He combed his fingers through your hair, untwisting what was left of the braid you'd styled days ago.

Cassian repacked your menders bag, rolling up the bandages and wrapping the small clinking bottles in a cloth. He didn't say much else, his gaze flitting back and forth to you and the blood stained coat still discarded by the door.

"You were worried, I'm sorry," you said, his back to you as he rinsed blood soaked cloth in the sink.

He turned to face you, leaning against the kitchen counters. "I just wish I were here sooner, but you warned me not to." You felt the pang of pain shoot through your chest, his worries pulling on the bond between you.

"This court, I do not want you to see what it makes me do." You'd never told him that you were scared to unleash the wolf within whilst you were with him. Afraid to lash out at him, like you had days ago at your sister. He'd seen your wolf plenty, but he'd never witnessed the way you hunted and how you struggled to come back down from it.

You heard the stomp of his heavy boots, gaze following his shadow as it loomed over you. He crouched in front of you, finger lifting your chin. "I know what they make you do," his voice a soft whisper, eyes glassy but he did not look away. "You do not need to hide parts of yourself from me, your spirit is just as important as the rest of you."

Spirit, the part of you homing the wolf. You nodded, tears trailing down your cheeks. He had a strange knack of calming you, coaxing you back to the present. Your wolf normally met with loud booming voices and heavy hands. The only way the court had taught you to tame the wolf.

He wiped the tears from your face, sitting back in the chair beside you and placing his hands on your knees. "Rest, my love. We will go home in the morning."