#if you know me i. love jaw mutilation

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue. 

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end. 

All he can see is your body. 

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh. 

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs. 

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me. 

It was him, though, wasn’t it? 

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him. 

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line. 

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking. 

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder. 

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward. 

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.” 

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse. 

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade. 

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked. 

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water. 

But a mortal could. 

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it. 

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver. 

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing. 

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds. 

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away. 

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing. 

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment. 

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds. 

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too. 

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you. 

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him. 

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well? 

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you. 

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens. 

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone. 

—

This place isn’t real. 

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave. 

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps. 

It doesn’t feel right to speak. 

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here. 

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking. 

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory. 

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale. 

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him. 

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.” 

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast. 

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault. 

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold. 

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.” 

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head. 

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you. 

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath. 

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you. 

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?” 

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.” 

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other. 

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before. 

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose. 

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?” 

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking. 

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it. 

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon. 

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst. 

What were you missing? 

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster. 

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it. 

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it. 

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides. 

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter. 

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you. 

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.” 

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone. 

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?” 

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?” 

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim. 

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why. 

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level. 

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.” 

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship? 

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched. 

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting. 

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks. 

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.” 

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms. 

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank. 

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat. 

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it. 

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast. 

You blink. “Mr. Riley?” 

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.” 

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife. 

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up. 

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling. 

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood. 

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant. 

Now or never. 

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness. 

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles. 

Only you’re not touching the handle. 

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened. 

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors. 

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts. 

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close. 

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints. 

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside. 

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked. 

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink. 

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right? 

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this. 

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!” 

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready. 

Hell, you’d already died once. 

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear. 

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets. 

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this. 

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping. 

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away. 

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect. 

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil. 

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once. 

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away. 

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back. 

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again. 

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again. 

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you. 

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here. 

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls. 

Because that was what it was. 

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you. 

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.  

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other. 

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can. 

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. 

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here. 

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands. 

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin. 

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps. 

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands. 

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth. 

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip. 

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself. 

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not. 

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s. 

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on. 

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger. 

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war. 

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens. 

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping. 

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that? 

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch. 

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool. 

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle. 

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred. 

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.” 

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward. 

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall. 

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.” 

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees. 

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.” 

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know. 

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.” 

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter. 

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus. 

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts. 

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath. 

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks. 

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten. 

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do. 

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.” 

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm. 

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes. 

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here. 

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face. 

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside. 

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having. 

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he? 

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another? 

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up. 

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you. 

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking. 

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.” 

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly. 

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much. 

He’d explain it all when you were better. 

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all. 

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him. 

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion. 

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different. 

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners. 

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well. 

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size. 

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone. 

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat. 

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs. 

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place. 

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps. 

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly. 

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses. 

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction. 

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this. 

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut. 

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear. 

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails. 

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you. 

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears. 

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso. 

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach. 

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips. 

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat. 

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height. 

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.” 

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air. 

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils. 

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.” 

Literal or a metaphor, you care not. 

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw. 

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned. 

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls. 

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse. 

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates. 

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear. 

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now. 

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.” 

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins. 

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all. 

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters. 

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls. 

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form. 

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles. 

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds. 

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?” 

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs. 

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core. 

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way. 

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white. 

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm. 

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.” 

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently. 

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.” 

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!” 

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch. 

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze. 

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath. 

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting. 

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees. 

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you. 

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs. 

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs. 

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.” 

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too. 

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace. 

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light. 

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second. 

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder. 

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath. 

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp. 

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response. 

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly. 

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn. 

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything. 

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose. 

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness. 

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation. 

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you. 

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low. 

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more. 

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you. 

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?” 

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.” 

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you. 

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against. 

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over. 

“I’m sure, Simon.” 

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up. 

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control. 

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat. 

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?” 

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch. 

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh. 

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?” 

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core. 

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right. 

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair. 

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that. 

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.” 

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open. 

 The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in. 

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him. 

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate. 

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.” 

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter. 

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides. 

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death. 

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

[osamucide]

Hi! I love your writing sm!!🥰 can I request a jealous Nikolai or Fyodor (nsfw pls) it doesn’t matter either one 🙏

jealous – nikolai gogol + fyodor dostoevsky . . . .ᐟ

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 1.5k

cw: explicit sexual content, gn!reader, language, dirty talk, brief mentions of ownership/belonging, toxic ass men. nikolai: mentions of injury/threats/murder, edging mention, oral (m!receiving), rough facefucking, wrist restraints, cum eating, nicknames (dovey, angel, sweetheart; kolya for him); fyodor: teasing, mild degradation, mild spanking, one religious reference, fingering, penetration, i love yous, nicknames (pretty, my love, whore, милашка/milashka=cutie; fedya, my only/everything for him)

reid: hey anon, thank you so much for the kind words uwu why not both?? inspo for this struck me as hcs/scenario format, hope that's okay <3 this is my first time ever writing for nikolai! he's so insane and he was actually a lot of fun to take a shot at. enjoy!

. . . .ᐟ

i can see NIKOLAI being easily made jealous.

even if you don't mean to provoke it, he's got a screw or two loose enough that his paranoia will get the better of him

and in true nikolai nature, he'll do some unhinged shit in the name of protecting his relationship with you.

he definitely maimed, shot, and mutilated a couple innocent flirters before you could really sit down with him and express how much you...disliked that methodology.

he does not play about you.

he gets better about it further into your relationship - no more murder on your behalf, you tell him, and he can manage that much! with this man, however, the unfortunate soul who fucketh around shall still findeth out.

oh, how he enjoys the look on the handsy stranger's face when he slinks up behind you to curl around your waist and portal-hold the tip of a blade to their chin

likes your reaction even more!

the way you squeeze his arm when you realize it's just your beloved jester behind you -

the blush on your face as you explain to the scum that this is your dear boyfriend (and apologize for the knife pointed at their face) -

the smooch you whip around to press to nikolai's cheek while he withdraws the weapon but never breaks eye contact with the stranger as they back away -

it all works like a charm!

what he loves most, though, comes later...

He's been edging himself with your mouth for god knows how long.

"If other bitches get to hear you talk, it's gonna be with that pretty voice wrecked," Nikolai groans, out of breath. "Feels- ngh, s'fuckin' good."

You can barely take it anymore. The blood's rushing to your head, first of all - it's been hanging off the edge of the bed practically since the minute you got home. Your jaw aches as Nikolai continues to use your throat. Most frustrating, though, is the pulsing heat between your legs that you can't even sate because your lover has bound your wrists up near your chest - all you can do is arch when, off and on, Nikolai reaches down to play with you while he fucks your mouth.

But he's getting needy, you can tell, because he loses himself a bit - he hasn't touched you in a good few minutes and his thrusts are getting greedier. He's long quit letting you come up for air. You think you've run out of tears - all you can do is breathe furiosly through your nose as he holds each side of your head and grunts from his chest as he ruins you.

You claw at him. "So good, dovey," he tells you, "almost done. Keep bein' good f'me- yeah."

You move your tongue how you can, hum around him when you can - eventually your dedication is rewarded when he pulls all the way out and strokes himself frantically over your tongue - and you cough a little, curling up into yourself.

You can hardly help your open-mouthed smile, however, when Nikolai releases the rough grip on your jaw to caress your cheek as he cums in thick spurts across your face. Your lashes flutter, he's moaning - "fuck, angel- angh!" - and you let out the garbled beginnings of a giggle as you lap up what makes it in your mouth.

You feel him scoop his load off your skin before his finger's in your mouth. Immediatley after you suck the rest of him down, he's bending down to kiss you sloppily and uncuff your wrists.

"That's my dovey," he affirms (more to himself than you). He peppers your face with kisses, his messy, snowy bangs brushing your face. "C'mere."

He works you upright just to lay you back down, more comfortably this time, finally and with fervor circling his fingers around your clenching hole.

"Kolya-" you rasp, sore.

"Took me so good, sweetheart," Nikolai shushes you, eyes alight with mania as he starts trailing kisses from your neck to your stomach. "Now that you remember who owns you, 'm gonna show you none of those motherfuckers could make you feel as good as I can."

. . . .ᐟ

oh, demon FYODOR.

i think he's less jealous than he is simply possessive.

he's not super concerned about people flirting with you, doing things for you, checking you out...in fact, he kind of likes watching those things happen! not that he doesn't expect it, you're perfect after all <3

because he knows, as you settle in his arms to whisper about the compliment you received or giggle at the person who offered to pay for your coffee, none of it will ever compare to the sweet words and pure love he showers you with, and he relishes in that fact. they can try anything they want, but you will never belong to anyone but him.

doesn't go needlessly far with expressing his jealousy when it does crop up - he's a tactful man, and he's not going to act out in a way that might put you off like nikolai will

he's patient, too. he's so composed around others. no one expects it - anyone who doesn't know better would assume the idiot who makes a pass at the demon king's beloved would get the whole room aired out in a matter of seconds

on the contrary, fyodor will sit with the closest he can get to a humorous grin on his face while he waits for you to make your way over and kiss him or sit on his lap or hook your arms around his waist

he'll tease you a little about it. "getting some attention?"

if you smile at him reassuringly, lean in, and tell him, "none that truly concerns me," all will be peaceful.

if you tease him back, however - maybe cross your legs away from him and shoot him a smirk and a quick "maybe so" - oh yeah, you're in for it.

He works you up, makes you a mess - then he throws it in your face.

"My gosh, милашка-" He doesn't take the Lord's name in vain even while he's drawing downright sinful noises from your body. "-listen to yourself. Shameless."

Fyodor's a patient man, as mentioned before; he uses it to his advantage in situations like this. He's stretching you out on his lithe fingers, slowly, almost painfully - his other hand traverses your thigh, landing a hard spank to the side of your ass each time you roll your hips unwillingly. You really can't help it either way - you have to watch and feel his pretty, pale fingers disappear into your hole, so it's either squirm and get smacked or whine and get mocked.

You're in a lose-lose situation, it seems. It felt amazing at first, the slow curl of his knuckles inside you, the gentle circling of his wrist, the concentrated sighs that left his rosy lips as he watched you relax into his touch, but now it's just torture. Now, you can only clench furiously and cry out please, please, just a little faster, Fedya, please!

Your eyes water when he finally gives in a little, moving fractionally faster.

"Do you deserve it, my love?" He cocks his head, looking at you as if he really values your opinion on the matter. "Or, my whore - since you're comfortable entertaining the advances of strangers."

You weren't, you must've sworn up and down ten times by now. You were being polite, you promise, but he shakes his head, his soft black locks waving as if mocking you too.

"Polite? You're lucky I haven't forced that filthy mouth shut. That's what got you here, after all," Fyodor explains excruciatingly. Sure, you got a little sassy with him after he accused you of being just that, a whore, after you'd flashed a humble smile toward the fellow restaurant patron who'd sent you a drink. And sure, that was tone deaf of them, considering Fyodor was very clearly holding your hand across the table and sporting your love bites on his neck, but you just couldn't be rude.

His eyes soften when a fat tear rolls down your cheek.

"Oh, pretty, don't cry." He shifts his legs beneath himself; his pace stays the same, but he reaches deeper inside you. "You remember who you're talking to, yes? You learn your lesson?"

You nod frantically. You whimper. "Of course, of course, Fedya, my only, ‘m sorry..."

You yelp like you've been burnt when he pulls his fingers out of you, but soon enough his hand is gripping your waist, his tip is teasing your entrance, and he's cooing into your ear, "Your only. You only love me, right? Say it."

You cup his face, grab at his shoulders, grind into him as you tearily reply, "Only love you, Fedya. I love you. You're my everything, please. My everything. I love you."

He knows you do. He just has to make you say it - make sure you know you do.

Fyodor's tongue finds yours as he thrusts into you - you're his everything, too, and he won't admit that, but he'll fuck you so good you know it's true.

"Relax, my love. Let me make you cum."

[gallusrostromegalus]

My drawing skills suck are very unpracticed but I have a mighty need to create fanart of the garbage tarot. I don't even know anything about the source material but I am in love with these idiots.

Actually... I do a lot more mixed-media than I do drawing........... Hmm...

As a Completely Unrelated Thought, what do you think Zaraki's handwriting would look like?

I'm glad you asked because there's na specific answer for AEIWAM fic! Zaraki!

(Note: in AEIWAM, Kakiyo was Tousen's adopted sister, not an unrequited crush, and she raised money to go to the academy by working as a travelling schoolteacher for a while)

---

The first time Yamamoto gets a report from Zaraki, it genuinely throws him for a loop. Its a thorough if somewhat gruesome report about the 11th dealing with a pack of hollows that had been attacking isolated villages. Nothing Yamamoto was not already used to, but reading descriptions of mutilated villagers is somehow more unsettling when the descriptions look like this:

(a stylistic example)

Yamamoto takes him to task next meeting.

(continued under the cut)

"I know you're still learning the job Zaraki, but you can't foist your paperwork off on Miss Kusajishi." Yamamoto growls.

"I... Didn't? What?" Zaraki looks extremely confused, but the Captain-General is not fooled.

"You mean to tell me THIS is your handwriting?" Yamamoto snaps, throwing the report on the table, sheets spilling out as it slid down the length of it, so everyone could see the bizarre cutesy hand it was written in.

Zaraki's face darkened, jaw clenched. "Yeah. What about it? You goin' blind as well as senile?" He growled.

"THIS IS THE HANDWRITING OF A LITTLE GIRL, ZARAKI, DO YOU HAVE THE SAME HANDWRITING AS YOUR DAUGHTER?" Yamamoto slammed his hand on the table, temperature sharply increasing around him.

Zaraki began to arch his back and crackle with Reiatsu as well, but was stopped by loud ringing chime and a hand on his arm.

Yamamoto blinked in surprise to see Tousen, of all people , holding the giant back. There was a click as Tousen fully re-sheathed his sword. Suzumushi's chime wouldn't effect either of them, but it redirected their attention very effectively.

"My apologies, Yamamoto-sama." He bowed his head before turning his ear up at Zaraki. "Kakiyo wrote about this to me. You could only afford for one of you to receive schooling, right?"

Zaraki huffed and shook himself before answering. "Yeah, I was a broke-ass bastard before this." He grumbled, scratching his neck in a de-escalation feature. "Yer sister was a fuckin' saint and a genius. Neither of you have any business tellin' the whole world though."

"I think it was an exceptionally brave and difficult thing you did." Tousen shrugged. "Even when she used that method, less than one in a hundred parents actually stuck to it, much less achieved what you have."

Zaraki started looking everywhere but at Tousen, thinking. "... wouldn't call it brave, it was just makin' sure she was doin' good in school." He muttered.

Tousen kept listening intently at Zaraki. May I tell Yamamoto-sama so he doesn't cause another scene?"

"You're going to tell me what you're muttering about whether you like it or not." Yamamoto menaced.

"My sister taught Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi how to read and write." Kaname sighed and took off his goggles to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's extremely common in the Rukongai to have to teach children whose parents have never had any kind of schooling. Many of the parents would like to go to school too, but can only afford to send their children- actually , usually only one child. It's not usually an issue of money, but time- the parents can't afford to miss fishing season, or spare any siblings because they're needed on the farm. But, when you have a parent who is as attentive and caring as Zaraki-"

"Tttch!" Zaraki huffed at Kaname, who pointedly ignored him.

"-You can get around the schooling fees and scheduling problems by telling the student that their homework is to teach their parents what they learned in school that day. The homework you give the students is for their parents to do after they pass the lesson on and grade them on how well they taught their family." Kaname explained, putting his goggles back on. "Kakiyo was in awe of Miss Kusajishi's dedication to teaching you, and immensely proud of your efforts."

Zaraki still refused to look at Tousen, but his ears were bright red.

"...ohhh." Ukitake realized. "Wow, that's... I thought it was impossible to learn how after a certain age, that's - well, I don't think it's something I could have done!"

"What?" Glared Yamamoto.

"Zaraki-taicho and Miss Kusajishi have the same handwriting because he learned how to read and write by learning her school lessons from her." Unohana translated. "-An exceptionally difficult way to learn, and commendable for even trying." She continued, arching an eyebrow at him as a warning.

"Yeah and with all due respect Yama-ji? You're not exactly in a position to be complaining about anyone else's handwriting-" added Shunsui. "Zaraki's handwriting is odd, but it's perfectly legible. Nanao-chan framed your last memo because she thought it was an abstract painting."

Yamamoto turned to Shunsui with an aggravated glare.

"I'm afraid I have to second Kyoraku-taicho." Tousen said, without an ounce of chagrin in his voice. "The kido spell on my glasses can translate nearly everyone's hand, but the only person in the ninth who can read your memos to me is third-seat Maegawa, and mostly because she's had several centuries practice."

"Wait, we were supposed to be getting memos?" Mayuri squawked. "Dammit! I thought that squiggly garbage was the fax machine breaking every other week! I disassembled that thing three times trying to fix it!"

"You can all shut up now." Yamamoto snarled, and everyone did, but there were still a lot of pointed looks around the table, and Unohana's eyebrow had not resumed it's usual curvature yet. "Please consider my complaint withdrawn."

Unohana's eyebrow arched further and she cracked her eye open to reveal a coal-black iris, going from Warning to Threat.

"...My apologies, Zaraki-taicho. That was. Inconsiderate of me." Yamamoto muttered.

"Ya gonna shut up about it now?" Zaraki asked, not quite facing Yamamoto, but back still arched.

"I will hold my judgment in check in the future." Yamamoto acquiesced, watching him.

"Sure." Zaraki grunted, shaking his shoulders to drop the subject. "Right, what the fuck were we doing?" He asked, returning to the agenda.

---

After the meeting, Tousen took a minute to stand in the late afternoon sun, exhaling and releasing the tension of the day, when someone grabbed one shoulder and plopped something heavy on the other.

"Yeh didn't have to do that." Zaraki grunted just behind Tousen's ear, his forehead resting on the small man's shoulder, half gratitude, half grumble.

"One of the responsibilities of a captain is to keep the general in check, and I had a particularly good opening to stop that nonsense for good." Kaname hummed, hand reflexively coming up to touch the giant's head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing over the scarred visage and peculiar hairstyle.

"Didn't read that in the employee handbook." Zaraki grunted, grin in his voice.

"Yamamoto wrote those handbooks, and he'd rather we let him do as he pleases. You have to learn how to read between the lines, Zaraki." Kaname teased.

Zaraki gave his strange, low clicking chuckle of amusement and affectionately mock-bit Kaname's ear before standing up, still holding his other shoulder.

"...Thanks. " he muttered, giving his arm a squeeze and stepping away. "Gotta go pick up Sensei, you talk to her if you think I need more tutoring!" Zaraki waved, striding off to collect Yachiru in completely the opposite direction from her school.

"ITS THE OTHER- oh, he'll figure it out." Kaname sighed.

The sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm, and the first Cricket of summer started chirping, startling him. Suzumushi chirped with it, singing her mournful loss of her original wielder, but not so despairing this time.

"Kaname?" Sajin asked, heard before he was felt as usual. The lieutenant's meeting must have wrapped up late.

Kaname smiled and put a finger up, indicating he should listen. Sajin did, helmet tipping slightly to hear.

"Crickets!" Sajin realized, and offered Kaname his gauntlets hand to lead him home. "...I miss Kakiyo too." He sighed.

"You're not really gone if some part of you lives on in someone else." Kaname hummed. "I realized she is not so far gone today."

"Oh?" Sajin asked. "Where does she live on?"

"Have you read any of Zaraki-taocho's reports yet?" Kaname grinned. "His hand is not his hand alone."

[taesankisser]

CHASE ME!

CHAPTER ONE: NIGHTWALKERS

pairing: ???!taesan x vampire!fem reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodlust, a bit of stalking (reader follows him), mentions of the feeling of being burned, reader sort of has an allergic reaction, reader and taesan both pass out, threats, i promise the warnings seem weird but it’ll make sense if you read it (:

writing under the cut!

“nightwalkers…

what are they? they are said to be vampires, who reign in the darkness of the night in search of their next meal. parents would warn their children, “don’t go out at night, there are monsters that walk the streets.” the truth of the matter is that these vampires are simply just a myth, or so most people thought. their existence has been hidden from the public eye, every sighting was somehow proven to be fake. they blamed bloodied and mutilated bodies on “animal attacks.” how cliche. in order to prevent mass hysteria, the media portrayed them as fiction. “here are 10 pieces of evidence to disprove their existence-”

you rolled your eyes while reading the article on your phone. “do you hear this nonsense? look at us, ten! we’re so real!” you gestured to yourself with a pout, groaning as you kicked some of the gravel on the rooftop you and your friend were hiding out on.

“oh hush. our goal is to not get seen, remember? you don’t want to get found out.”

“yeah but they make us seem like cryptids! i’m real, i exist!” you pouted once more.

“i mean, you could always kill the person who wrote it?”

“wait a second. ten, you’re a genius!”

“i was kidding. we don’t kill just for fun. unless you’re one of those evil vampires in which case i will stop mentoring you.” he said with a smirk on his face.

“hmph. i know. i was kidding too. i’m not evil. i’m a very well behaved girl.” you said matter-of-factly, giggling at the way he rolled his eyes.

“yeah. sometimes. although, you do cause me quite a bit of stress.” he admitted, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. he loved you. in reality, you were his little protege and he couldn’t be prouder of you. he saved your life, gave you a new one, and you couldn’t be more grateful to him and for him. you smiled as you looked at him with such love. your best friend.

you then scanned the area below you. the building you and ten were on top of belonged to a popular college. for some reason, you found comfort in this area. it might be because of your past, specifically the age at which you were stuck at, or maybe it was just because you typically found your prey here.

“see anything you like?” he asked as he gestured towards the ground, seeing a flood of students leaving their evening classes.

“no, this is so boring.” you huffed as you looked around.

“are you sure? take a closer look.” ten said as he smiled while gently putting his hands on your head and moving your view to match his. “take a look at that.”

your jaw dropped as you saw the most beautiful human you think you have ever seen. if you weren’t already dead, you think that the sheer beauty of him might have killed you, or at least been enough to make your heart work so hard that you fell unconscious. it was like love at first sight, or lust. not that kind of lust, though. lust for his blood, which you happened to notice. he smelled incredible. the air around him was like expensive cologne, but not the overbearing scent that most people use. it was more unique, more on the lighter side like fresh sheets with a hint of citrus.

his blood smelled like the human equivalent of walking into a bakery and fresh cupcakes were being made. the aroma around him was so delicious that you felt your brain go fuzzy. you thought that scent would be seared into your olfactory nerve for the rest of your undead life.

he was also painfully your type, it almost made you wish for a split second that you were different. in the span of less than a minute, you wondered what if. what if things were different. however, your vampirism took over and it was as if all those thoughts were physically thrown out of your mind. all you could think about was eating. eating him. drinking from him and maybe stealing every last drop that he has in his body. although, you’re not supposed to kill, this was one of those rare occurrences where you wondered if you would truly be able to control yourself. the taste of him was probably so addictive that you would steal his life source and never be able to stop until his body was physically unable to make more. well, maybe, you could make him your little human blood bag, taking from him whenever you wanted. you were delusional, absolutely unhinged because of him. it was the first time this sort of emotion had taken over you.

“i have to have him. i have to taste him or i might actually die.” you said as you started running for the stairs. as you did, you heard ten in the distance, yelling at you to wait for a second, then proceeding to laugh as you ignored him. you chased the college boy, watched him, and followed him as he left the campus with what you assumed were his friends. you remained in the shadows while he stayed blissfully unaware.

he went to dinner with his friends, while you remained hidden. you knew you had to be strategic about this, not wanting to ruin your chance at having probably the most incredible meal of your life. you listened in as he laughed with his friends, noticing the sound of their hearts in sync as they were enjoying each other’s company. your own heart sank for another moment, you wish you could experience true youth.

before you could think too much about the what if’s, he got up, mentioning something about needing to go home to study. he was going ahead on his own. “this is my chance!” you thought to yourself as he was about to be alone; inevitably vulnerable.

he walked out of the restaurant with a smile plastered on his face, most likely feeling fulfilled after time well spent with his friends. you followed him. stalked him like he was some kind of prey- or well he was in this case. the aroma of him never faded as you watched him all night. you followed him on and on until you saw an alleyway you could make your move in. you took a deep breath. “here goes nothing.” you whispered to yourself.

you reached at his arm, snatching his shirt sleeve and threw him into the alley with your enhanced strength. “what the hell?” he exclaimed. you kept your head down as he stayed hidden in the shadows with you. he was even more beautiful close up. you stayed like that for a moment as he looked at you; confused. “are you okay? do you need my help?” he asked with sincerity in his voice. he must have thought you were some poor helpless girl. you took a deep inhale, breathing him in. “you have no idea how much i’m going to enjoy this.” you smiled as the bloodlust took over. he whispered out a confused “what?” you looked up at him, staring into his deep brown eyes with your own piercing red orbs. you concentrated on his for a moment before speaking. “you’re going to let me drink, and not make a single peep as i do so. got it?” you whispered. “i’m going to WHAT?” he yelled out as you realized he was utterly unphased by your compulsion. you were dumbfounded, but didn’t want to miss the opportunity you had in front of you. instead of wondering, and maybe paying more attention to the odd situation at hand, you went for it.

you lunged at him with incredible speed. you were so fast, it was almost as though it all happened in slow motion. he didn’t even have a moment to react. you pulled his hair roughly to the side to expose his neck, and pierced one of his veins. the taste was like nothing you had ever had before, it was almost like you weren’t even drinking blood. it was just as delicious as you thought it would be. except, as fast as the euphoria came over you, so did the dread.

you pushed him away from you as your mouth began to burn. his body crashed against the brick wall, causing him to let out a pained noise. you started coughing and feeling like your airway was closing. your lungs felt like they were on fire, hell, your entire nervous system felt like it was about to go up in flames. your body felt heavy and your vision was blurry. you were on the verge of passing out. before you could even hit the ground, your body was caught and you heard a familiar voice.

“YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” you heard ten yell at the boy. “i-i didn’t do anything? she tried to kiss my neck- i th-think? and i- i don’t even know? she attacked ME!” taesan stuttered while frantically looking between you and ten. ten gently placed your limp body against the wall and whispered to you. “don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” he then got close to taesan, looking at him as if he was going to rip him apart.

“we’re not done here. i’m going to kill you the next time i see you, hunter. i hope you know that this means war.” he spat out as he grabbed your body close to him and sped off to god knows where. he left the poor college boy sitting on the ground absolutely confused and scared out of his mind. he touched his neck, pulling his hand away to stare at the blood. despite the fact that he was bleeding, he felt a lot less pain than he thought he would have.

“what the hell just happened?” he whispered to himself as he felt his body start to heat up. he felt a wave of electricity course through his body as he doubled over in pain, grabbing his stomach. he started coughing, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. he felt this odd burning sensation at the back of his neck, like someone had taken a piece of metal that had been heated up and etched something into his soft skin. he felt like most of his energy was stolen from him in the span of seconds, but with what little he still had he grabbed his phone and called someone.

“taesan what now?” the man on the other line groaned. “i-i think i’m dying.” taesan whimpered out as he felt his head spin. “WHERE ARE YOU?-“ he heard the man yell at him as his consciousness was failing him. “l-location.” was all he was able to mumble out. he was talking about the fact that the man on the other line had his location, it was a safety precaution that he was now extremely grateful for. “i’ll be right there.” was the last thing he heard the man say before he began falling into a deep sleep…

TO BE CONTINUED.

author’s note: AHHH SHE’S HERE!!! i hope you all enjoy and pls feel free to let me know what you think (: have a great day/night my loves!

- lots of love, solar

[milla984]

A Million Reasons

Summary: after a phone call from Penelope, Reader teases Spencer about a potential love interest and things don’t go exactly as planned.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Category: fluff with a little angst

TW/CW: a little bit of angst, brief mentions of food, self-doubt, mentions of anxiety, kissing

Word Count: 1.2k

Thank you @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read this!

The following work is my entry for @andiebeaword's 3,000 Follower Celebration Writing Challenge (prompt n. 12) and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

Spencer scooped out of the paper cup what was left of his ice cream before he finished recounting the events leading to the arrest of the unsub the entire BAU team had been successfully tracking down in Seattle during the past few days. 

“He’ll be charged with ten counts of murder, one attempted murder, and unlawful possession of multiple weapons. He’s facing ten life sentences without parole.”

“Way to go, Justice League!” you cheered, enthusiastic. 

He tucked his hair behind his ear with a cute chuckle. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow so you caught a glimpse of his wristwatch reflecting the light of a lamp post standing along the edge of the walking path; from the bench you were both sitting on you could see the illuminated dome of the US Capitol rising up against the dark mid-summer sky. 

Despite being within walking distance of a major street in the southwest quadrant of Washington, the park was quiet and uncrowded and the nearby gelato shop was one of Spencer’s favorites. 

You took the last sip of your drink, acting very casual. “And that’s all that happened?” 

He shrugged, unsure about which crucial information could have been missing from his story since he was under strict instructions not to fill you in on the most gruesome details of the cases he’d worked.

“Uhm, graphic descriptions of tortures and mutilations are not—”

“I’m talking about a certain homicide detective… the one you gave your number to…?” you explained and his jaw dropped instantly.

“What?!”

You nudged at him with your elbow. “Garcia called me from the Original Starbucks in Pike Place. I couldn’t tell if the hype was about your new admirer or being there.”

“I don't understand how this is such a big deal!” he blurted out in a high-pitched voice. “She showed an interest in what we do so I gave her my card.”

No profiling skills were required to detect his firm intention to avoid discussing the matter, yet the words came out of your mouth like a river in spate. 

“Any chance it wasn’t only a professional interest?”

The way Spencer looked at you, disappointed and hurt, hit you worse than a punch in the liver. 

“What’s with you, guys?! Are– are you all so invested in my personal life because you’re convinced I’m chronically unable to have one without your help?” he snapped, something you’d never seen him do. 

“I’m s—” you tried to reply, even though he was still too angry to let you apologize and cut you off again.

“Or maybe it’s that I’m no Derek Morgan, so why would someone even notice I exist, right?”

“Seriously?! An IQ of 187 and this is the best inference you can come up with?” you snorted, upset by the subtle insult he’d thrown at you - even if you had to admit you deserved it.

His brows furrowed. “Then why did you bring this up?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry. I truly am,” you admitted, “and the Derek Morgan type is not the one I’d go for, just so you know. I don’t think that people hitting on you is funny or weird, it’s… I’m just surprised it doesn’t happen more often. There, I said it.”

He remained silent for a while, quite aware that Penelope’s inability to keep her mouth shut generated from genuine excitement about what she perceived as good news; sharing such personal information with you meant you had been put to the test over and over and, in the end, deemed worthy of her trust. 

The peaceful atmosphere around you served as an amplifier for the sound of splashing water and Spencer indicated the fountain at the center of the large, round basin in front of you with a jerk of his head. 

“I read a book about the architectural history of D.C. on the way back. This piece was created for the 1876 Centennial International Exhibition in Philadelphia, the US Congress acquired it in 1877 and placed it at the base of Capitol Hill. It was dismantled in 1926, then it remained in storage until 1932 when they moved it here.”

The pedestal held three twin iron-casted sea nymphs wearing wet tunics, with their arms raised above their heads to support a shallow vasque; on top was a group of kneeling child tritons, and the base was decorated with turtle-like aquatic creatures.

“It’s beautiful,” you mumbled.

The fact he’d for sure started and finished said book in less than fifteen minutes was among the 999.999 entries in your list of reasons to crush over SSA Reid.  And so were his three PhDs, his crooked ties, his passion for Star Wars, chess and Halloween.

“I don’t talk much about my private life. Especially outside of work,” he confessed after a pause. “A lot of times I have a hard time discussing personal issues—”

“Spencer… you know you don’t owe me an explanation, right?” you rushed to clarify.

He nodded and you did the same in response, to confirm you had no intention of pressuring him into opening up if he felt uncomfortable yet you were also ready to listen to anything he had to say; even in dim light, you could see the sadness veiling his beautiful hazel eyes.   

“Garcia was being Garcia, with her ‘look at the world through rose-colored glasses’ scenarios. I gave my card to a homicide detective to discuss behavioral sciences, it was just what it sounds like. But I understand where she’s coming from, I never told her…”

Your whole body tensed up, courtesy of a rush of anxiety triggered by the possibility of him being already involved with someone he had never mentioned, not even to his closest friends; you wondered if he could hear the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Luckily for you, Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m trying to come to terms with something I’ve been feeling, for weeks now. And I’m worried, because of what happened in the past and I can’t let go of…” his voice broke a little, so he swallowed. “Deep down I’m afraid I'm not the type of person who gets to live out happily ever after.” 

Refraining from hugging him on the spot and holding him close to your heart had gotten increasingly difficult lately, so you settled for a peck on his temple in a clumsy attempt at a comforting gesture.

You feared the worst when he looked at you for a moment that seemed to last forever; you certainly didn’t expect him to lean forward to cup your face in his hands - big hands.  With slender, elegant fingers he tenderly brushed over your cheeks.

You both held your breath, waiting for the distance between you to vanish until your foreheads touched and the tips of your noses rubbed together. 

“... are we really doing this?!” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

You smiled. “Don’t make me wait for another six months.”

Spencer squinted, an indication he was browsing countless data stored in his memory, then he eventually pinpointed the exact moment you fell for him and squeaked in surprise. 

“Christm—”

You pressed your palm on the nape of his neck, guiding his lips over yours for what you both had been longing for. 

Reason number 1.000.000: Dr. Reid was one hell of a kisser.

@thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

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[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Three

Chapter Three: The Wolf In My Living Room

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: Your eventful day starts…RIGHT NOW! *draws mouse ears on the fourth wall* 

Warnings: slight dry humping, slight choking, making out, love bites (hickeys)

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. 

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

You wake to the sounds of the forest coming to life. The leaves in the trees rustling in the morning wind, birdsong as they wake and communicate to each other, and the soft rumbling of snores over your shoulder. 

Puffs of air tickle your neck, and the firmness of the mattress under you seems misplaced. The heavy weight around your middle and the press of the warm body behind you is enough to have you remember where you slept last night.

If any of those things weren’t enough to wake you up, surely the unmistakable bulge of something poking at your backside would do it. You are quite flattered because it has been a long time since you’ve had a man in your bed. You also know that men get boners when the damn wind blows, so it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s there because of you.

Until the surrounding arms tighten and his hips push into yours just slightly. His nose sneaks into the space between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

You can’t help the desperate sigh that escapes you, and the answering groan from the man behind you only inspires you to push your hips back into him. Your name is a whisper on his lips as one of his hands moves to the front of your neck. His thumb on your pulsepoint has you keening, while his other hand slowly glides down your stomach toward where you want him most. But once his massive paw cups you...

“Wait!” The yelp left your throat before you permitted it to do so. Waiting was not at all what you wanted to do, but your brain had other plans. Fight or flight response on high alert.

Walter freezes with one hand on your neck and one hand over your clothed sex. His chest heaving as he seems to try and calm himself down. 

“I’m sorry, I just, it’s been a long time,” you blurt, surprised to be able to put forth words that actually make sense, “Feeling a little overwhelmed, is all.”

“I’m so sor–”

“Don’t be sorry, Walter. I want this. I just, I’m not ready.” Mentally, you are kicking yourself for not letting this man take you to Pound Town.

Walter removes his hands from your groin and your neck, the warmth leaving with them. “Just, please tell me I didn’t force myself on you. I couldn’t live with myself if I pushed you in any way.”

You turn to face him, one hand going to cup his jaw. “You didn’t push me, I promise. I...I want you. My body wants you, too. But, I know I’m not ready. For more. Yet.” The thought of your ex is heavy in your mind, the relationship you thought would last forever.

Walter nods, his eyes on you as he turns his head to kiss your palm. “What do you say we get some coffee?”

You nod, afraid to speak more and possibly ruin the moment. Your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip, your eyes still locked on each other as you both lean in. Once your lips meet, it’s as though nothing else matters. His top lip is between your lips, as your bottom lip is between his. Your hand roams from his jawline to tangle in his curls.

Before you know it, Walter is pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. His intensity only drives you to want him more. The taste of his tongue as it massages yours is almost enough to have you take back your words. You could keep kissing him for hours, days, weeks if he let you. But, then again, you always were a sucker for a good kisser. And Walter? He was something to write home about.

He slows down the kiss to let you breathe, and you pull back to get a firm grip on yourself and on reality. As much as you want this man to rearrange your guts, you would like to continue things on a slower progression. Thanks in part to your ex, who did everything with the speed of a cheetah.

“I don’t wanna keep you in the dark about something, so I’m just gonna say it. My ex is a huge reason why I wanna take things slow, Walter. He and I were briefly engaged and it didn’t end well when I broke it off. He’s not like, dangerous or anything. Just a bit of a dick sometimes is all.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and look up at Walter who is just smiling at you as if you didn’t just ruin his boner.

“Thank you for telling me. I hope you know that makes me want to be even more protective over you.” He pokes at your chin and you duck your head.

“I mean, I guess I should expect that from a wolf, huh?” You slide your hand from his curls, down his neck, and around to his chest. 

“Yeah, you really should,” he says, turning to stretch, and no doubt adjust himself, “Let’s get that coffee, and I’ll take you back to the park to pick up your car.”

The coffee maker bubbles and brews. You sit on the kitchen counter while Walter stands between your legs. His hands stroke your thighs as he kisses and nips at your neck. You did try to keep a bit of distance between you, but the moment he stepped into your personal space, it was all over.

Once the coffee is done, Walter pours you both a cup. While you sip your coffee, you sit in companionable silence. You get the feeling that he doesn’t mind the quiet, he might even relish it. Even though you still have some questions, you decide to wait to ask them, choosing instead to enjoy the non-verbal flirting between you two.

You gather your things and Walter drives you to the park just outside the forest to pick up your car. Your phone is still dead in your coat pocket, but you have an idea. You get into your car and grab an old receipt from the console. Scribbling your phone number on the back of it, you hand it to him and tell him to call you later. 

He pockets the paper and promises to call that evening. With a kiss on the cheek, he tells you to get a move on getting home. You put the key into the ignition and turn it, the car springing to life. Waving to him one last time, you drive out of the parking lot and start to make your way home.

If you are honest with yourself, you miss him already.

Pulling up to your house, you’re not surprised to see a distraught Olivia pacing on your lawn. Her car is in your driveway along with a truck that seems familiar. Once you park a bit behind Liv’s car, she throws her hands up and comes to greet you as you exit your vehicle.

“Oh, my God. Your phone has been going straight to voicemail since yesterday!!” she shouts, seconds before she wraps you up in a bear hug, “Look, I’m sorry, but I called him since he’s a fucking bloodhound. Don’t be mad at me, I was worried.”

“What? Who are you talk–” 

Just then, you see shoulders turn around and those eyes meet yours. Eyes that still held that fire for you, even after everything.

“Hey, Bug,” he mumbles, walking over to where you and Liv are still holding onto each other, “Olivia, here, called me when she couldn’t get a hold of ya.”

Bug. The name he used to call you when you were dating. You close your eyes and steady yourself before detaching yourself from Liv and stuffing your hands in your pockets. You weren’t really in the mood to deal with this right now, but you understand why she called...him.

“Well, here I am. I made it home safe and sound. So, thank you but I think I got it from here, James.” you advised, trying to be calm in the face of your ex-fiance.

“Ya know, you can still call me Sy just like everyone else, Bug.” he offers, smiling down at you while you chew on your cheek.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I’m not everyone else, James. I feel like I’ve made that clear more than enough times.” you seethed, if only your eyes could shoot lasers.

“Got it. You’re still pissed. Well, do me a favor, Bug. Keep yourself safe. Check in with your friend when you’re, uh,” he pokes at a bruise forming on your neck, “Going out to meet somebody.” He snorts, walking back to his truck.

Liv turns to you and smacks you on the arm, whispering harshly as she does, “All this was for some dick? Like, kudos! But damn, you coulda told me!!”

As he backs out of the driveway, he stops just short. “Maybe stay in tonight. Me and a buncha boys from town are gonna be heading out looking for this menace been taking down livestock and all. Probably just a wolf or something. But whatever it is, it ain’t safe out here.”

You hated that he still cared for your well-being and honestly, you didn’t need his judgment either. But you used to love this man. Shit, you were planning on marrying him and raising however many kids he wanted. A little piece of you feels shitty for wanting to bite his head off. You can tell he still cares at least. It’s just hard to skip over the bad times when you think about your ex.

“Look, thank you, James. I’ll worry about keeping myself safe. You do the same?” you reply, pushing away Liv’s hands from your neck.

“Will do, Bug. Alright now. See ya ‘round.” He backs out of the driveway fully, throws a hand up in a wave, and drives off.

You turn to Liv as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “You know you owe me the deets, right? Like, everything?”

“Yeah, I know. But, truth be told, it is barely anything yet. Can it wait until it’s something more substantial, at least?” you implore, knowing damn well you like Walter more than you’d be honest about at this moment.

“Okay, so you didn’t fuck him yet. Did you least taste it?” This woman has no chill.

“Liv! Oh, my God.” you blurt, hand going to your face.

“Alright, so you didn’t taste it. Must have been an intense makeout session though, huh? That’s why you look so tired, hun?” she rambles on as you start to walk past her to your front door.

“Bye, Liv! Good luck getting your car out.” you shout back, the key already unlocking the door.

You watch from the living room window as she makes various turns to get her car out from in front of yours. You love the girl, but she deserves that after the third degree. And after calling your ex-fiance when she couldn’t reach you. Like, what was she thinking? Probably thinking the worst, you’re sure. 

But, really? She called...Sy? If that didn’t open a can of worms later on, you will be surprised. 

But for now, you’ll just put it behind you in favor of a cup of cocoa and possibly a very long shower. That would be enough after your very eventful night in the woods. And you were looking forward to finally plugging your phone in and getting a call from a certain bearded wolf.

Many hours later, you were doing some cleaning around the house, which consisted of walking around with a glass of wine in one hand and a duster in the other. Sure, you tidied up the living area, but you half-assed the rest of the first floor and you didn’t care. You were putting off taking a shower because you could still smell Walter on you.

Not like you were swooning over his smell or anything. Okay, maybe you liked the way his pheromones seem to act differently. It wasn’t just a woodsy, man smell. It was musky, strong, like fresh sweat all the time.

After three-quarters of the bottle is gone, you cork the wine and put it into the fridge to save for later. Turning off the lights and speaker system, you resigned yourself to finally scrubbing this day away.

To keep yourself sane, you plugged in your phone on the bedroom charger before going to the bathroom for that long shower you wanted. Settling in bed afterward, you moisturize your skin and dress in a comfy nightgown. You unhook your phone from the charger and scroll through the notifications. 

A couple of texts from Olivia, checking in on you. A few junk emails that you delete. One missed call from Sy, with a voicemail.

Well, fuck.

You didn’t want to open that voicemail just yet, not that you get the chance to. You hear a crashing coming from downstairs. Not today, bitches. I’ve had enough surprises. You move to your closet to grab your bat. Five seasons of company softball have led you to this point. Kicking a home intruder’s ass. Sliding your phone screen open, you quickly turn on the smart lights for the living room. As you come down the stairs, holding the bat aloft, you hear a groaning noise.

Turning to the sound, you find Walter clutching his abdomen and standing against the entryway to the kitchen. He’s still in the clothing from last night, his gray henley soaking through with blood. You drop the bat to look at the wound but there is no hole in the shirt. You direct him to lie across the dining room table after taking his shirt off while you go find your first aid kit.

Coming back from the kitchen, you get out a pair of gloves and start to clean what looks like a bullet wound. 

“So, obviously I have questions. Like, a ton. But we’ll start with ‘How did you know this was my house?’.” you ask, stitching up the wound.

“I just followed your scent,” he admits, hissing as you tightened a stitch, “And the car in the driveway kinda helped too.”

“Of course. Next question. What the fuck happened?” you press, finishing up the last stitch before cleaning it off and applying gauze.

“I was out in wolf form and a few hunters were out, too. I managed to draw them away from the cabin. I tried to make it back but one of ’em got me. Figured if I shift back to human form, I could drive out here to you. And, I probably shouldn’t have driven with a gaping wound like that, but I wasn’t able to think that clearly. I also might have parked on your lawn and I apologize for that. May I pass out on your couch?” he chatters, already rising from the table and narrowly missing the light hanging over it.

“Whoa there, Wolfie. Let me help you to the couch, at least,” you insist, letting him hang an arm over your shoulder.

Having him against your body again was a welcome consolation, if only for a moment. You deposit him on the sectional and he grips onto a throw pillow as soon as he lays down on his stomach. You pull a blanket off the back of the couch and cover him with it. His hand touches yours as you pull away.

“Just need a little rest, Pup. Be good as new.” he trails off, your hand slipping out of his.

Watching his sleeping face, he looks so peaceful. A curl is over one eye and you reach out to tame it, but it springs back right into place. You laugh to yourself as you walk to the dining table to clean away the trash. 

Once done, you look back over to where Walter is snoring softly. Turning out the lights, one by one, you leave on the light above the sectional. You walk upstairs to your bedroom. Climbing into bed, you think this is the perfect night to go to bed early for once.

But your brain goes back to this morning. Walter’s arms around you. His scent is fresh on you. If you could keep extra quiet, you’re sure you can crank one out without waking the beast downstairs.

Right?

To be continued...

A/N: So, the chapter summary was a nod to Disney Channel. I am not a Disney Adult, I just love nostalgia.

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[tadpolesonalgae]

Tag, you’re it - Part 2[***]

Dark!feysand x reader

A/N: Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you. A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.

Warnings: noncon, smut, mention of whips, kind of sex-slave things?, mentions of rape, impact play, face-sitting, suffocation, fingering

Word Count: 5,444

-Part 1- | -Part 3-

Your eyes snap open, instantly scrambling back at the sound of the key in the lock.

The gate swings open, allowing your self-appointed mistress to step inside, her feet silent on the wooden floor, bathed in a thick, dark red rug. Like blood-soaked moss.

The iron bars dig into your spine as you whimper, pushing yourself into the corner, where the metal meets the plaster of the wall. Your legs curl up to your front, arms hugging your knees tight as you try to tuck yourself into a tiny ball.

“Sweetness, stop doing that,” she tuts, standing at the entrance to your cage, situated near the end of their bed. “It’s been weeks. You know we aren’t going to hurt you,” she reasons, arms folding across her chest as she stares down at your cowering form.

Sometimes you’re lucky, and they’ll allow you to stay in your cage as they couple, forcing you to watch as they enjoy one another. Other times, you’re dragged from your confines kicking and screaming, until one of them inevitably takes your mouth for themself.

“If you mean me no harm, let me go,” you rasp, throat still raw from the night before. You’d kicked off just a little too hard, which landed you a night with the High Lord. And Rhysand, plus the chains and whips he’d subjected you to, wasn’t something you wanted to be reacquainted with anytime soon.

Her brow narrows, lips pursing.

Then she’s walking toward you, eating up the distance in a few quick strides, and you press yourself tighter into the corner. Your padded shackles clink as they drag across the rug.

She squats down just a way from you, making you squirm beneath her piercing blue-grey eyes. “What’s this about, hm? You were doing so well,” she muses, peering at you intently. “What happened?”

Fear and anger pump through your blood, hugging yourself tighter. “You murdered by husband, Feyre,” you snap, vision blurring at the memory. “You murdered, and raped, and stole,” you snarl, tears brimming at your lashes as you glare at her.

Her own brows narrow, a mix of pain and fury in her eyes as she stares at you, hard. Then, “your husband, as you call him,” she says icily, “was a rapist. A rapist, and a coward. We saved you from him.”

“But I didn’t need saving! I didn’t want saving!” You cry, nails digging into your knees as you keep yourself balled tight.

“He was ruining you,” she snarls lowly. “He wasn’t good for you. Couldn’t provide for you. He only wanted you so he could have a wife.” She pushes forward then, gripping you by the jaw as your eyes lock with hers, intent and piercing. “A pretty, little trophy. The Mother knows you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He knew that too,” she growls, lips brushing over your own. “Every damn person could see it. You were too good for him.”

You squirm in her grip, trying to jerk away, but she’s so powerful and strong you can never hope to escape. “I. Love. Him.”

“He’s dead,” she snarls back, pulling you closer. “He is dead, mutilated, and buried. Dumped in the ground for the worms to feed on him. What’s left of him.”

“And I still love him more than you,” you spit back.

You know you’ve found your mark when she goes still, features leeching of colour, turning a ghostly shade of white. Fury glitters in her blue-grey eyes, icy rage surfacing, sealing over.

“We were friends, Feyre,” you continue on. “You were the closest I have ever been with someone, and now you keep me in a cage.” Her jaw tightens, but she says nothing. Just staring at you with that fury that has nowhere to go. “You can say what you like about him. Keep telling yourself those lies,” you breathe, nails piercing your skin. “Maybe you think he was ruining me, that he was tearing me apart, but you’re the one who caused me to be like this. You. Are. My ruination.”

The smack comes out of nowhere.

One moment you’re staring into her eyes, and the next your head is snapped to the side, cheek stinging with pain. Vision blurs and tears fall, unable to stop them, no matter how hard you try.

“You will either learn to love us,” she grits out, a cold fire burning in her gaze. “Or you will continue on like this. If you’ll be so stubborn as to waste away over that miserable wretch, then so be it. Drown in your grief.” Again she grips your jaw, crescent shapes surely indented in your skin by now. “But don’t come crying to me when you become so damaged even we won’t tolerate it.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, regret flashes in her eyes. Pain flares in her gaze, and you feel that final thread be snipped off. The final string connecting a woven tapestry, split into two.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes widening. “I didn’t… You know I didn’t mean that…” She cups your cheeks, staring pleadingly. “Sweetness, forgive me.” She presses her forehead to yours, touching you so gently, reverently, as if you really will shatter.

You jerk away, landing a kick to her stomach, but it merely bumps her away a little—always so much stronger than you. “You’re just like him,” you spit, pushing every ounce of betrayal and hurt you can muster into you eyes. “No, worse. This is so much worse than anything Tamlin ever did to you.”

It’s not a physical smack to the face, but it might as well have been.

Her eyes again grow cold at the mention of her past lover, lip curling. “I am nothing like him,” she snarls, gripping your shoulders.

“Aren’t you?” You snap back, kicking off again—you might be able to get through to her. “Keeping me locked up? Trying to make me dependant on you? Taking away my autonomy?” You spit at her, each word seemingly knocking a brick from that wall. “At least he never raped you.”

The final brick falls, but it doesn’t bring the aid you had hoped for. Instead fury crushes down on you, ire blazing in her eyes, hot like steel fresh from a forge.

You’re thrown to the floor, breath knocking from your lungs, air wheezing from your lips as your head hits the rug with too much force. Your eyes fly wide, paralysed as your stomach spasms with the strength of the shove.

“And here I thought a night with Rhys would have fixed that attitude of yours,” she says icily, walking over to your shackled body. “Where did that come from, huh? You were never so easily agitated before.” She stalks over to you, staring down at your winded body, muscles struggling to move. “Maybe we’re being too soft on you,” she muses, making your blood run cold. “Maybe we need to take a rougher, more absolute approach to breaking you in.”

Feyre’s deft fingers fly to the band of her leggings, pushing them down her thighs, over her calves and off her ankles, leaving her in her shirt and underwear. She steps over your head, looking down your body as you attempt to wriggle away. “It seems the only time you’re at all like your old self is when you’ve got something to do with that lovely mouth of yours,” she growls, squatting over you. Even with your human senses, you can scent her arousal from how close she is.

You squirm away, but she drops down, placing her cunt over your mouth, sealing it shut with her weight. “Much better,” she purrs, thighs spreading as she rolls her hips, clit rubbing over your lips. “You’re so much more enjoyable when you’re just a place for my pussy. So well behaved.”

The High Lady’s hands bury in your dress, and you shriek and squirm as she pulls the fabric away, up to your waist, baring you to her. You squeeze your thighs shut in attempts to hide yourself—they didn’t allow you to wear underwear. That would give you too much dignity. They want you ready at any time.

You twist your head to the side but she shifts her hips, squeezing you with her calves to keep you upright, so she can rub and roll over you to her pleasure. “I think you need the fight beaten out of you. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” Her hand smacks down between your legs, and you scream—with pain and surprise.

Again, you try to squeeze your legs closed, but bands of darkness tug on the shackles attached to your ankles, wrapping up the iron and looping beneath your knees. Forcing your thighs open.

She brings her hand down again, catching your clit beneath bone, and you whimper into her heat. The wet fabric settles over your features, dampening your lips and nose as she grinds onto you, pleasuring herself to your pain. She smacks again, and tears fall.

Feyre doesn’t stop. Spank after spank is landed to your soft, tender sex, until slick is attaching to her fingertips, connecting them to your cunt by thin threads of slippery silver. She snarls with feminine satisfaction, delighting in the way your thighs tremble, how your chest is rapidly rising up and down with your muffled cries. Her middle and forth finger slide down, spreading you wide as she leans down your body, shifting her weight over your face.

The two fingers press to your sopping entrance, before pushing inside, roughly. Sliding up to her knuckles.

She’s pleased when you whimper, nosing at her sopping entrance as you try to squirm away.

“You say you hate us, yet you get this wet from a few harsh touches, sweet thing?” She croons, indulging in the obscene squishing sounds your cunt is making as she slides her fingers in and out. You only whimper, refusing to bow to her will.

Her fingers retract from your cunt, smacking down again, and you scream, jerking violently as the sting lances up your thighs. She lifts up onto her knees, gripping your jaw with the fingers that were just inside of you, arousal smearing your skin. “Come on, sweetness. Tell the truth, for once,” she snarls, lips lifting in a feral grin. “Such a pretty liar.”

Your nose scrunches in distaste, tears rolling back through your hair as she keeps you trapped beneath her cunt, pinned to the rug. “I hate you,” you spit out instead. “I will never love you,” you say, wetness blurring your vision as your chest heaves with sobs.

Her lip pulls back from her teeth as the undersides of her feet slide beneath your head, pulling you up into her cunt as she locks you in, squeezing tight. She releases you long enough for her underwear to vanish, before she’s shoving you back in, wet heat pressing onto you, slicking your mouth and nose.

Again her hand smacks down, and you can’t help the way your lips part in a muffled scream, hands grasping at her as you try to escape, but she pulls you tighter. Can’t breathe.

You sting between your legs, tears spilling as she continues abusing that tender, intimate part of you, pain searing into your tummy as he smacks down on your raw, swollen clit. The world spins a little and you need air, you need to breathe—

Warm, strong hands are pushing her off you, carefully.

You gasp for breath, falling back into the ready arms as cries continue to wrack your body, lungs spasming from the intensity.

Rhysand pulls you to his chest, your back to his front as you shiver and sob, giving you strength to fall into as your own fails you.

Feyre growls in the back of her throat, shifting slowly to face her mate. “Give her to me.”

The words alone drag whimpers from your lips, the little strength you have being used to push yourself back into the male, scrambling into his cruel arms. Arms that are currently holding you so delicately compared to the iron grip she’d just had you in.

You’d always known she was a huntress. Always’d had that slightly wild edge to her, the part that was well-acquainted with cold winters and brutal slaughters. It was different actually facing that part, though. Having it turned on you.

You scramble back further, hands pressing onto the tops of his thighs as you leverage yourself. He’s crouching down, hunching over you possessively. Not quite protective, but not offering you up, either. A strange combination indeed.

Soft, hot lips press to your temple, and you whimper, not having the energy to shift away from him. “I thought she was ours, Feyre, darling,” he purrs, holding you a little tighter to his body. “I’m getting a little jealous over all your time together.”

“Rhys,” she snarls, moving closer.

You snatch your legs in, flinching away from her, curling into the High Lord.

Both of them mark the movement, noting the significance.

You just chose him over her.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you shuffle away from her, burying into Rhysand, burrowing into his warmth and strength. Violet eyes gleam with interest at the pressure you’re creating, as if you want to crawl inside of him, nestle beneath his skin.

“I think you need to calm down,” he says softly but firmly, watching his mate. “You’re scaring her.”

Her brow narrows, but she pauses. “You’re being too soft on her,” she accuses lowly, letters dragging from her tongue. “She’ll never come around if you keep allowing her to sway you like that.” Rhys doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash, hand moving to stroke your hair, as if calming a pet. Strangely, it works.

“You think I’m being soft on her?” He repeats, attention dropping to you, between his thighs. His hand lightly grips your throat, spanning your neck and jaw, allowing him to tip your head back. “Do you think I’m being too soft on you, little lynx?” He asks, violet eyes piercing into your tear-filled ones hungrily.

You shake your head. “No, Rhys,” you whimper, lower lip wobbling, and he feels your heartbeat spike beneath his fingers. He makes a low sound of approval in his throat, eyes flicking back to Feyre’s. “See? So polite,” he drawls, squeezing a little tighter. “So well trained.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Feyre snarls, glowering at the two of you. “If you don’t punish her when she misbehaves, she’ll know she can use that in the future. Are you listening to me?”

His violet eyes have latched onto yours, brows curved upward, expression tired and pleading. He groans in the back of his throat, tightening his hold on you, fingers pressing against your pulse point, pushing tears from the edges of your lashes. “What about you, Feyre, darling?” He asks, gripping your chin so you’re forced to face her. “How would you fair if she gave you those pretty bedroom eyes?”

Blue-grey locks onto your bright, tear-filled gaze and she stiffens.

Rhysand hums. “Thought so.”

Feyre narrows her eyes at her mate. “I don’t like it when she mouths off like that.”

“Well, how about fixing those misconceptions instead of punishing her for them, hm?” He counters, returning to stroking your hair, liking how your sobs subside beneath his touch. “You want to encourage her behaviour?” She snaps irritably, prowling forward a little, making you tense up in his hold.

A low laugh rumbles from his chest at that, but he continues petting you, allowing you to start softening beneath him. “I think our previous method clearly isn’t working. Or rather, it’s worked enough so that now we’re going softer on it, she’ll know the difference. Isn’t that right, little lynx?” You blink bright, gleaming eyes at him, and he smiles.

“If we’re both more gentle with you…would you like that?” He asks, softly stroking your skin. You manage to blink away your tears, getting a hold on your wobbly lower lip. Then you give a near imperceptible dip of your head.

Violet flicks smugly to blue-grey, and you shiver in his arms, wondering what you just signed up for.

“So, we compromise?” She says, drawing your attention to her. “Is that what you want, sweetness? We’ll be more careful with your frail self, and…what? You’ll stop being so difficult?”

“You killed my husband,” you hiss out, weakly. “And you’re upset about me being—”

Faster than you can register, Rhys’ hand has slipped between your thighs. You tense, bracing for another smack that will have a fresh wave of tears surfacing, but instead he softly touches the pad of his finger to your sopping entrance, dragging back up your centre to gently roll over your puffy clit, gliding across the taut bud with ease.

A quiet moan spills from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, toes curling as he plays with you. Heat washes over your body, and you hate how you’re reacting to him. How you’re stumbling straight into his lap.

“We’ll be more careful, and she’ll fall open for us,” Rhysand murmurs, smug grin on his curved lips, enjoying how you’re melting at his fingertips. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

You try to think it over. Them being more gentle with you means no more nights with the High Lord and his whips. No more biting and unending pleasure torment. Your eyes flick away, dropping to the rug. What if this is the best deal they’ll offer you? What if this is the best it gets? It seems like a way to escape their torture. At least, in a way.

Rhysand hums with satisfaction as your head dips, shame warming your cheeks—because you’re considering it. Considering bargaining with them.

“Either way,” he drawls, hands sliding beneath your arms, pulling you up with him as he stands. You whimper, the intimate area between your legs aching, vision blurring at the edges. “I think you two should do some making up. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” He grips you tightly as he guides you from the cage, toward their large bed. Fear spikes in your blood, and you try to dig your feet into the ground, attempting to push away from the haunting structure.

“Uh, uh, uh,” the High Lord tuts, stopping behind you. “I thought you were going to be good for us.” Darkness swirls at your feet, humming and lulling, imploring you to follow his movements. Your toes curl, pressing back into him. “This is wrong…” you whimper, trembling beneath his hands.

You try to turn, and he lets you, keeping a light grip on your hips. “This isn’t right, Rhys,” you say softly, peering up at him pleadingly. He takes a step forward, and you obediently yield. Take a subconscious step back. “What isn’t? What are right and wrong, really?” He counters, taking another sweeping step forward, and you’re aware of the bed closing in on you.

“This,” you say, emphasising as you flick your gaze over him. “I don’t—… How else can I make it clear?” You cry. “I don’t want this. Either of you. I never have. Not like this.” The mattress presses against the back of your thighs, and you stiffen. Your time is up.

He takes a final step forward, so you’re tight against him, hips digging into you, chest to chest, craning your neck upward. “I think you’re lying, again.” And with that, he’s grabbing you by the waist, lifting you up and tossing you onto the mattress with terrifying ease. You squirm and scramble but darkness has already constrained you, tying you to their bed as hunger darkens his violet eyes.

“Like I said, I think you two need a little make up session. Get nice and messy,” he purrs, prowling round the bed, only to settle behind you. His arms wrap over your tummy, pulling you back into him, so you can feel the firm hardness of his length. You writhe, attempting to contort away from his dominating hold.

A secret conversation passes between the High Lord and Lady, then she’s slinking forward, pushing your legs open. You whimper, squirming away in fear of what she’s going to do to you. You’re so sore and sensitive…

“Behave,” she snaps, brow narrowing at you in silent reprimand. Rhys snarls in warning, but she snarls back. Blue-grey eyes flick from his in favour of yours, and you shrink away, a whine building in your throat as they pierce into you. “Feyre…” you plead softly. You need her to be gentle, or…

Something in her features softens, and she uses a slight bit less force as she spreads your legs, baring your gleaming heat to her. “Want me to be careful, sweet thing?” She asks lowly, the pads of her fingers pressing into your thighs. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod, slowly. “Not going to get in my way? Not going to try and stop me?” She drawls, settling comfortably on the bed, mouth prone to attack your clit. You shake your head, muscles tensing the closer she draws.

“No? You’re going to let yourself enjoy it, this time?” She purrs, hot breath brushing over your heat. It’s her own sort of test—to see if you’re really willing to compromise. So you nod, dutifully, praying for forgiveness.

Her eyes spark, locking on yours as she delivers a small lick to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin. Rhys hardens further at your back. “Say it. Tell me you’ll enjoy it. Say how you like it when we do this to you.” Again, there’s a warning growl from Rhys, and your heart drops.

Feyre’s lips quirk, and she moves a little closer to your heat, a wolf circling in on her prey. “Go on,” she goads, “tell me how much you want me.”

“Feyre…” the High Lord warns, her name ripping from the back of his throat. “I thought you wanted us to make up, Rhys,” she snaps, “these are my terms. Either she can accept them, or…” She leans forward, lips latching over your heat so he’s unable to see as her teeth tug on your clit.

You flinch, whimpering, but push your legs wider. “I…” you stammer, softly, hands fisting over your stomach, still slumped against Rhys. “I’ll enjoy it,” you whimper, thighs shaking with the effort of not trying to close them. “I won’t— I won’t try to stop you. And I…” you swallow, arriving upon the hardest part. Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away. “And I like it when you do this to me. I want it.”

Rhys’ hips roll into you, grinding the hardness of his cock into your backside, groaning softly. Feyre’s eyes gleam with delicious satisfaction, removing her teeth from your sensitive skin, licking gently over your slick heat. “That’s better,” she says, kissing your clit softly.

You whimper, trying to ignore your words as they replay in your head, bringing one hand to your mouth, knuckles pressing over your lips. It’s an effort to keep your thighs spread with how sensitive you are, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. She’s lapping and licking, gentle flicks of her tongue sending warm zaps of arousal to your centre.

The High Lord noses your neck, hot lips brushing the sensitive skin as he moans quietly, a lustful exhale of breath. “What lovely things would you say for us, hm?” He asks, canines scraping the shell of your ear. “What sweet sounds could you make?”

You shiver in his arms, sorrowfully tipping your head to the side, giving him unrestricted access to your throat. He takes the offer eagerly, mouth attaching to your smooth skin, already sucking bruises into you, teeth scraping as he searches for a spot he wants to bite. Where he wants to stamp his mark into you, to be seen later. Serving as a reminder.

Feyre shifts, tucking her knees beneath her as she slides her fingers into you, the warm, wet muscle in her mouth swiping over your clit, making you bite back a moan. She suckles the taut bud, soothing the stinging from earlier and you push your teeth into your knuckles.

The High Lord sees, and doesn’t approve.

His hand grips your wrist, pulling it from your mouth as she curls her fingers against a certain spot. A high-pitched whine spills from your lips, and he finally bites down, canines pressing into the soft skin of your throat, printing his mark on you. “Don’t hide those sounds from us,” he scolds, roughly yanking your hand from your mouth.

You attempt to seal your lips, clenching your jaw shut, but they have other plans.

Rhys tugs your dress higher, darkness swirling around your bodice, then it vanishes. You squeal, attempting to cover yourself with your arms. Even now, even after all these times, you hate it. He shoves your hands away, tutting softly, “now, now. You said you’d be good. Or shall I let Feyre have free reign for the night?”

You sob weakly, coil tightening in your belly, resisting the urge to cover yourself, spreading yourself wider in attempts to make up for it. Feyre nips at your clit, and you hiss. The taut bud is sore and swollen, puffy from attention, every flick of her tongue sending sparks burning between your legs.

“Mm sorry…” you manage, opening yourself up to the senses, the pleasure she’s putting into you. “Yeah? You’re sorry for disobeying? For hiding yourself from us?” He purrs beside your ear, hands cupping your breasts as you squirm against him. He groans as your rear presses against his cock, the seam rubbing against him almost painfully. Deliciously so.

You nod, palms settling over his thighs, needing something to hold on to. “Say it,” he groans roughly. “Say how much you like it. How badly you want us to touch you.” Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks from the torrent of emotions they’re subjecting you to.

“Rhys��” you beg desperately. “Rhys, please…” You don’t want to say it. Don’t want to give them another word. Even if they were once your everything. He raises his fingers to your mouth, pushing them onto your tongue firmly, coating them in saliva. “Say it,” he commands softly, stroking the wet muscle. “Say it, or we’ll have to go back to our old methods.”

His wet digits retract from your lips, brushing over your nipples, making them peak, becoming sensitive to the air. You attempt to crane your head back, but are unable to with him so close behind. “Rhys…” you whimper, tears dripping onto your chest, Feyre eagerly suckling your clit, pumping and curling her fingers against spots she shouldn’t know about.

The High Lord tugs on your nipples, making your eyes squeeze shut, spine arching as your rear presses harder onto his cock, straining against the seam of his trousers. “Say it,” he growls, low in his throat, “say you like it. Tell us you want more.” His teeth scrape over the shell of your ear, and you flinch. “And make it believable.”

Feyre’s tongue swipes over your clit, making you squirm against the pleasure, deft fingers dragging in and out, rubbing against your inner walls.

“I…”

The High Lady adds more pressure between your legs, and your muscles go weak, melting into Rhys’ chest as your eyes roll back. Dizzy with warmth. In the back of your mind, you think you can feel his lips lift into a hellish grin, watching from a far corner in your head as one of his hands leaves you, trailing down over your tummy.

Feyre pulls away, a mix of slick and saliva connecting her mouth to your heat as Rhys’ hand takes her place. Her fingers are still pumping and curling, and that heat is still building, and you’re almost entirely relaxed against him.

That is, until he presses the pad of his middle finger hard over the tip of your clit, soreness blaring through your mind.

You squeal, panting and writhing, pushing her fingers deeper into your cunt, letting them touch sensitive, more intimate spots that have small moans spilling breathlessly from you. “Rhys…” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as your nails dig into the muscle of his thighs.

“I’m not stopping until you say it,” he says roughly, slowly oscillating his finger over your clit, the soreness sending blinding white flashing behind your eyelids and your hips buck. Feyre’s free forearm slides over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as you try to roll down onto her fingers.

“Come on,” he goads, amusement lilting his honeyed voice. “Just a few words, and I’ll stop.” The circles tighten, Feyre’s fingers brushing against spots you feel she’s intentionally targeting. “Say it, or I’ll make it worse,” he laughs darkly.

You whimper, mind spinning as you attempt to remember the words he’d ordered you to speak. Struggling to form them on your tongue. Heat builds; the coil tightens. “Rhys…” you moan, hips trying to buck up but she’s keeping you down. All you can do is take them. Every thing they force onto you.

Your lips part, head tipping back as you slide lower down the mattress. “I…I want more,” you whisper, heart splitting as tears drip down your cheeks, wetting your skin. “I—” You cut yourself off with a moan, nails biting harder into Rhys’s thighs and you wonder if he can even feel it. Maybe he enjoys it.

“Come on,” he urges, “just a bit more, then this can all stop.” You don’t want it to stop.

Fuck, you don’t want it to stop.

The realisation slams into you right as Rhys pinches your clit, and the loudest moan yet bursts from your lips. Your hands scramble about, searching for purchase frantically, trying to grip onto something as you feel the wave crest.

“F…Feyre…” you whimper, squirming and writhing. They hold you tighter, restricting your movements and louder sobs spill from your lips. “Please…please, please more.” Rhys’ breath catches and Feyre’s eyes flick to you, each of them memorising the way you move, the desperate jerks as you try to shift how you want.

“That’s it,” the High Lord breathes, letting up on your sensitive clit, only for Feyre to latch on in his stead. “So good. That’s our girl. So well—”

They let you go long enough to move.

You push up and flip over before his hands have your hips in a bruising grip. You cry out from pain but crawl further up his body, arms shooting over his shoulders as you press into him. His violet eyes widen marginally before your mouth opens over his, the echo of pain still reverberating around your thighs.

Feyre reattaches her mouth to your cunt, switching her fingers and her teeth as her tongue pushes against your entrance, thumb pressing into your clit, her nail scraping over the swollen bud. Your nipples graze his chest, and you shatter right then and there—with his fingertips still digging into the softness of your hips.

Your hips wind against her, hands threading in Rhys’ blue-black hair, the thick, silky locks feeling good between your fingers. Your hands fist as you pull him closer, and he groans—a sound deep within his chest. You feel it resonate into your own as his tongue flicks out, stroking over yours as he pushes after you. His canines catch on your lower lip and you moan, sweetly.

You don’t have the time to face what you’ve done as the aftershocks fade, taking the remnants of your strength with them, leaving you with mere scraps of energy.

Arms give out, and you collapse onto him, Rhys lying back on the pillows as he basks in the reassuring weight of your body against his. Quiet pants whisper from your lips as you remain stretched out over the High Lord, void of any clothing, mind still blank from the orgasm.

Feyre presses a kiss to your entrance, before dragging herself away from your heat, trailing a pathway up your spine until she’s draped over you. You feel the full press of her breasts against your back, and subconsciously arch your spine, curving into her shape so you can mould together.

Her lips press to your neck, and a soft sound of pleasure hums from your mouth, a quiet breath of ecstasy.

Rhys’s arms wrap around the both of you, making sure you remain tucked between them.

Right where you belong.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Feysand Taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza

[foliosriot]

SCREAM

ghostface!noah sebastian x reader

WARNINGS!!

talk of death and murder. brief knife-play. vaginal fingering. p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it, my friends). pre-kink. fear-play i guess. non-con but becomes con. please let me know if i missed anything else! 18+ only MDNI or i’ll block you.

TAGS!!

@starsomens @cncohshit @concretenoah + everyone else who didn’t know they needed ghostface!noah in their lives hehe

AUTHOR’S NOTE!!

happy halloween, my fellow noah whores >:)

masterlist

You will admit: the recent string of murders have had your guts twisted with fear and anxiety. Because what if it’s someone you know next? What if it’s one of your friends? What if it’s you?

It has been terrifying just trying to exist the past week and a half. Three people were already dead, and who knows when the next person would be found mutilated? The last one was just down the street from you, for fuck’s sake! What’s stopping that masked psycho from claiming every other life — including yours — on your street?

Nothing, you’re sure. Serial killers are hardly ever satisfied. And this one is absolutely fucking insatiable.

However, right now, it’s a little hard to think about a psychotic killer with your boyfriend looking the way he does. He’s standing in your little kitchen, a mug of tea in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea if you stay over, Noah,” you finally manage to say. Noah had asked if he could stay over for the night what felt like an eternity ago. You had struggled to comprehend what he had said, and were only able to respond when your best friend and roommate, Olivia, had walked up next to you.

“Why not?” Noah asks, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

“There’s a murderer on the loose, remember, dickhead?” Olivia snaps at him. “I would rather not come back to find my best friend all dead and bloody, then adding you into the mix just to make it worse.”

Olivia had a family reunion she had to go to, something that had been planned in advance long before any of the murders had taken place. She wasn’t able to get out of it, nor was she able to convince her parents to let you tag along, even though they love you like you were their own. She was heading to the airport later tonight and coming back in two days.

You watch Noah shoot a glare at Olivia as he says, “Yeah, I’m aware there’s a murderer on the loose. But I, also, would rather not come back here to see my girlfriend dead.”

As Olivia is clearly gearing up to launch herself into a heated debacle with Noah, you stop her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Guys, I’ll be fine,” you assure them, hoping they can’t hear the waver in your voice. “After I take Olivia to the airport I’ll lock the doors and windows, turn off all the lights, then sleep with my dad’s old baseball bat next to my bed. Besides, Noah has a label meeting early tomorrow morning, so he should just head home to get some sleep for once.”

Neither of them look particularly convinced. But the mention of the metal bat seems to be enough for their tense limbs to relax.

This is the exact reason your dad gave you his bat when you first moved out, anyways. He wanted you to be safe and to protect yourself in case of an emergency. And this seems to be an emergency worthy of the beloved metal bat.

Olivia sighs dramatically from beside you. “Fine. The bat is better than nothing.” She returns Noah’s glare. “You better be gone by the time we leave for the airport in an hour.”

Noah clenches his jaw. “Got it,” he says.

With an annoyed grumble, Olivia turns on her heel and stomps towards her bedroom. Your boyfriend and your best friend have never really gotten along, simply because they both want what’s best for you and they both tend to believe they know exactly what that is. They butt heads a lot when it comes to you. Thankfully, they know they can’t have you without the other, so it’s become a resigned acceptance between them, however uncomfortable they may be about it.

You are finally able to relax your shoulders after you hear Olivia shut her door with a loud thud. Olivia is very overprotective of you and would just have you attached at the hip if she could. But sometimes her worry is suffocating. Like now. So you know she just needs a few minutes to herself before she gets on her flight.

“Did you have to be such an asshole?” you say to Noah.

“How was I being an asshole?” Noah fires back as he sets his mug down by the sink.

“You never seem to know when to stop antagonizing Olivia.”

“Well, excuse me for being worried about your safety. She’s not the only one who gets a say in this shit.”

“And you do?” you scoff, resting your hands on your hips. “So would you be okay with me unlocking every door and opening every window? Turn on each light so I’m just a fucking beacon for the murderer to come and get me next?”

Noah narrows his eyes as he stares at you. You’re now beginning to forget any thought of a psycho killer, and instead thinking of letting Noah stay tonight anyways. Let him keep you safe while also letting him do whatever he wants to you. The idea is very enticing.

“But if you don’t want that to happen, just stay the night, ‘cause I know you want to,” you encourage Noah, a small smirk making its way onto your face. “You’ll still be there for the label meeting. Olivia doesn’t have to know. Come over and keep me safe.”

Silence falls around you. Noah just continues to look at you with a dark gleam in his eyes, and you can feel a white hot knot beginning to coil down in the depths of your stomach. You shift slightly under his gaze.

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you spit at him immediately, knowing with 100% certainty that he is going to make you pay for that comment.

“I will if you stop being a fucking brat,” Noah counters sharply. “Unless you want to keep being one, and end up being punished for it.”

You remain where you’re standing. You have zero intentions on obeying Noah, nor do you plan on dropping the bratty act. Noah loves it when you’re being a bratty bitch and defying his orders, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it. You know what it does to him, so why stop?

“Stay tonight.”

Noah doesn’t say anything. His eyes remain fixed on you, and you can feel the searing sensation of his irises roving over every inch of your body. You shift once more, hoping he doesn’t catch the movement, but you know he does.

“Come here.”

His tone is almost casual. It catches you slightly off-guard that he appears to be mildly bored, when he would normally be demanding you to approach. But you’re feeling defiant, because what is he gonna do if he doesn’t get dominant with you?

“No, I’m okay,” you say with a sickly sweet smile. “I’m not feeling very passive at the moment. Thank you, though.”

That earns you a glare. You can see the way Noah takes a grounding deep breath as his gaze darkens even more. You watch him cross his tattooed arms over his chest as he settles his weight back against the kitchen counter. He angles his head downwards, his eyes still trained on you.

God, is he trying to scare you? Because if that’s the case, he needs to rethink his fear tactics.

“I’m not afraid of you, Noah,” you practically scoff at him.

“Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me?” he asks lowly. The tenor of his voice hums in your ears.

“No.”

Noah doesn’t say anything in response. He just continues staring at you intently, his dark gaze fixed on you wholly. You aren’t able to detect any emotion in his eyes or facial features. If you couldn’t see the subtle rise and fall of his chest you’d think he were a statue — a man carved from marble with numerous, intricate paintings spanning across the beautiful stone.

As the silence drags on you begin to grow uncomfortable. Noah staring at you isn’t what’s causing you discomfort; no, it’s the anticipation and sense of the unknown he’s letting fall over you. You roll your bottom lip into your mouth and begin chewing on the skin.

But then the corner of his mouth twitches upward. The action is sly and riddled with intention.

“Then I won’t start now,” he finally says. “Unless you want me to.”

His word choice is deliberate, each one laced with a level of teasing you don’t think you have ever heard come out of Noah’s mouth. He knows what he’s doing. And he knows it is finally getting to you in the way he had initially wanted.

“So what’s it gonna be?” Noah asks. His voice is firmer as he speaks. “You gonna come over here like a good girl … or will I be giving you a reason to be afraid of me? Either way it’ll be worth it, I’m sure. But hey, your choice, princess.”

Now, there is the commanding voice you had been expecting from the start. And your heart is pumping uncontrollably now. The pulse buried beneath the surface of your neck is throbbing and vibrating, making the blood roar loudly in your ears.

He’s giving you an obvious choice: admit you were being a brat and surrender. Or, run like your life depends on it. Because it might at some point, in a manner of speaking, you realize.

“Oh, but I don’t wanna scare you too bad,” Noah continues nonchalantly, like he’s talking about the weather or something. “Especially with that psycho killer on the loose and everything, y’know.”

You’re gonna kill him. He’s being a complete ass but being so unreasonably cool and collected about it. He knows he’s getting under your skin, burrowing further beneath your veins and tendons. It has you growing enraged and annoyed with his antics, despite that searing hot coil deep in your belly.

When Noah casually pushes away from the counter, you stagger back a few steps. His grin slowly grows as he makes his way in your direction. Your feet seem to be glued to the floor as Noah is now towering over you.

“You’re gonna pay for that, by the way,” he murmurs. He brings his hand up to your face, and grips your chin between his fingers. “But not tonight. You said it yourself, princess: I have a label meeting early in the morning.”

Noah uses his grip on your chin to tug your face towards his. Your lips meet in the middle, and Noah already has his tongue in your mouth before you can process what’s happening. And you have half a brain to kiss him back, but he’s pulled away by the time you manage to catch up. You can’t control the whine that bubbles up from your throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Noah says with a grin. “I love you.”

Then he’s stepping out of your space and leaving through the front door.

He leaves you breathing heavily. You nearly sprint outside and stop Noah from leaving when you hear someone walking up behind you.

“Oh, good. He’s gone.” Olivia’s voice nearly startles you. “I’ve got my stuff ready so let’s just go now. I don’t wanna get stuck in traffic.”

You nod in acknowledgement, but your brain feels fried. Your entire nervous system just got short circuited because Noah thought it would be fun to mess with you. He knows you want him to stay over while Olivia’s gone. And, you know he wants to stay over. So why did he just blow you off like that?

You don’t give yourself time to think it over before you’re following Olivia outside. You let Olivia drown you in conversation on the drive to the airport. She doesn’t appear to notice your weird behavior, or, if she has noticed, she doesn’t mention it.

But then she’s getting out of the car with her bags and you’re hugging her and you watch as she walks inside the airport and leaves you behind.

You feel like screaming.

The drive home feels like a blur. You wish you would be arriving home to see Noah waiting for you, but the house is empty. Annoyance strikes your intestines as you do what you promised initially: lock the doors, close the windows, turn off all the lights, put baseball bat at bedside.

It still feels wrong somehow. You want Noah with you, even though he has that meeting very early in the morning. In order to remedy his absence you tug on one of his sweatshirts before climbing into bed.

The next day drags on. Olivia had texted you when her flight landed and when she was reunited with her family. Noah had sent a good morning text and nothing else. You were growing increasingly angry as the hours ticked by.

You were off work today, so you had the entire day to do what you want. But your brain was vibrating with anxiety and had you stuck on the couch. You were able to get through an entire season of your favorite show, though! It still didn’t feel right.

The sun had long since fallen beyond the horizon by the time you’re rummaging through the kitchen to find something to eat for dinner. You settle on making some mac ‘n cheese, and get to work.

You’re pouring the small pot of hot noodles and water into the colander that sits in the sink when the phone rings. Another thing your dad had insisted on when you moved out: a fucking landline phone. You thought it was ridiculous, but you had humored him anyways by getting one.

With the noodles in the colander and the hot metal pot set aside you reach for the phone. You press answer and stick it between your ear and shoulder as you continue making your dinner.

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Can I help you?”

“Who are you?”

“I dunno, who are you trying to reach?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay. Must be wrong number. Don’t worry — it happens.”

You’re quick to transfer the phone back in to your hand and end the call. Dialing the wrong number happens all the time, so the oddity of it doesn’t irk you.

Not until you have the mac ‘n cheese all ready a couple minutes later and the landline rings once more. You furrow your eyebrows as you go to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number again.”

It’s that same voice. There’s a familiarity to it you can’t quite put your finger on.

“It’s alright. I’ll let you go so you can try again. Third time’s the charm, right?”

You’re about to put the phone down when the person on the other end stops you, saying, “Wait! Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?”

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Just in case I accidentally call you again, of course.”

“Well, I’m confident you won’t. You’ve got this.”

“In the meantime, as I’m trying to remember the correct number, let’s play a game.”

You roll your eyes. “A game? Why?”

“‘Cause it’s fun,” the person says simply. “Plus, I think we’re friends now, so it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“I guess…”

“Good. Answer a series of questions correctly and you win. Answer incorrectly, and I win.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Whatever they want.”

You consider this for a moment. Because what’s the harm in answering some meaningless questions from a stranger? But you find yourself anxiously rethinking your decision even as you agree.

“Good. I’ll give you a couple warm-up questions. Starting with: do you have a boyfriend?”

“I do.”

“Hm. Pity. What’s he like?”

“First you wanna know about me, and now my boyfriend?” You’re growing more and more irritated with every passing second you are on the phone with this person. “You planning on stealing him from me?”

“No, of course not. Just tell me about him.”

“Oh, my god. I’m hanging up now—“

“Hang up and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The sheer aggression and violence that ripple through this stranger’s voice forces you to stop. The phone begins to gently rattle against your ear and you can’t suppress the shaking that overcomes your body. Panic is now flowing through your veins as you stand in your kitchen in silence.

“Good girl. Now, where were we? Right: tell me about your boyfriend.”

“Um, he… He has tattoos, a-and he’s really tall. Uh, he— He’s in a famous metal band, and—“

“Yeah? What band?”

“B-Bad Omens.”

“Oh, I know them. Don’t they sing that song Just Pretend?”

You nod, even though you know they can’t see you. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s them,” you murmur.

“Well, let’s start the actual game, shall we? First question: your boyfriend was at a meeting this morning with his band and their label. Who’s their label?”

The question stuns you. You’re suddenly frozen in place and you can’t gather the air in your lungs to even breathe, let alone speak. How the fuck do they know that? Why do they want this information if they obviously already have it?

“S-Sumerian,” you choke out.

“Correct. Next question: what band member left before the production of their second album began?”

You now feel sick to your stomach. You suspect this has to be some crazed fan with an unhealthy obsession with Bad Omens. If that’s the case, they should know already know the answer to this particular question. So why are they asking you?

“Vincent.”

“Good. Final question: where am I?”

“Wh-What? What do you mean where are you?”

“Where. Am. I?”

Dread floods your body. “Are you in my house?!” you practically yell in to the phone speaker.

“Come find out. But if you find me it won’t count as answering the question.”

You’re quick to tear the landline from your ear and jab your thumb against the end call button then tossing it onto the kitchen counter. Your hands are shaking as you take a few steps away from it, silently hoping it won’t ring again.

But it isn’t the phone’s shrill ring that makes you jump. It’s a sound coming from somewhere else in the house.

Your fight or flight response kicks in immediately. You rush to flee through the front door when you hear slow, heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. They sound calculated and deliberate, and you have no choice but to stand there in terror.

From the direction of yours and Olivia’s bedrooms comes a dark figure. They walk out of the shadows and into the dining room. Their body is covered in a black cloak, with a hood up over their head and a white mask on their face. The mask is a simple depiction of a screaming face. But it’s not any less mortifying as you watch them.

The figure comes to a stop when they catch sight of you. Their head tilts to one side, almost they’re considering their next move of action.

But you move first, suddenly booking it for the opposite end of the house towards the laundry room, the extra bathroom, and the garage. You hear them give chase a moment later.

You scramble your way into the garage in hopes of getting the large door to slide open. But the masked figure is one step behind you, and prevents you from hitting the door controls. They have you tripping forwards, and you nearly face plant into the concrete but you catch your weight on your hands. You push yourself up just as the intruder goes to grab you.

Darting around your car, that still sits idly in the middle of the space, you are being taunted by the figure in the hood. They stay near the door back into the house which keeps you on the other side of the car.

Then they’re skirting around the vehicle straight for you. You make a last second decision and make a break for the door inside. The intruder races back after you.

The figure chases you down the hall towards your bedroom. You go to slam the door shut before they can reach you, but you didn’t anticipate their strength. They shove the door open all the way, making you scramble back to your bed. You’re panting as you scoot backwards on the mattress.

The black-cloaked figure says nothing as they slowly stalk towards you. Adrenaline in coursing through your veins and you’re panicking. You are rendered silent as they reach the bed and continue their hunt across the sheets until they’re looming over you. The white mask is haunting as it stares down at you with that soundless wail.

“P-Please… I-I don’t wanna die…”

No response. Whoever is underneath that mask does not seem interested in listening to your pleas.

One of their hands reaches back behind them and reveals a shimmering hunting blade. The metal is clean and shiny, and you can see your fear reflected back at you through it.

Their unoccupied hand goes for your shirt, and you flinch at the contact. Your heart is pounding relentlessly as your shirt is lifted from your body. You couldn’t help but be compliant, especially with how they’ve got you situated between their legs.

You watch as they point the knife at you, then have the fine tip poking at the indent at the center of your collarbones. The barely-there feeling of the cold metal on your skin is sending your brain into overdrive. They then slowly, lazily, drag the blade downwards across your bare chest. You see how they’re clearly enamored by the goosebumps flaring across your abdomen as they continue dragging the knife down, down down…

Suddenly, there’s a hand gripping your throat. But it’s not with the murderous intention you were expecting. Instead, there is almost a gentleness to how their squeezing your neck, with the way their thumb grazes your pulse point.

You’re horrifically confused.

You nearly say something to them, but they’re taking the hand holding the knife to their mask. And then they tug off the black hood and this is the end, oh god—

“Noah?!”

And yes, that is your boyfriend kneeling above you with a wicked grin on his face and a knife in his hand. The terror and anxiety you had been feeling begins to melt away, and you can feel nothing but anger and embarrassment.

“Told you I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?” Noah says casually.

It’s a struggle to comprehend his presence. You can’t understand why he’s doing this or why he thought it was okay with a murderer running rampant.

“Wh-What the fuck?” you stammer.

“Oh, what’s wrong, baby?” Noah takes his gloved hand away from your throat and uses it to brush aside the stray hairs that were clinging to your skin. “I thought you wanted me to stay over? Keep you safe?”

You did want that, yes. But this is not what you meant. Never did you say you wanted Noah to stalk you like he were the predator and you were the prey.

But you can’t stamp down the exhilaration that is igniting your insides. You can’t get rid of it, especially with how Noah is looking at you. You suddenly want to turn in to jelly and be completely and utterly obedient to his every word.

And that sort of terrifies you.

“I-I did, but you didn’t have to do this,” you tell him. Your body is slowly relaxing beneath the weight of his own, now that any imminent danger has been found folly.

Noah looks at you quizzically. “What do you mean?” he asks you innocently. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe and sound.”

Noah begins tracing lines across your stomach and chest with the blade’s edge once more, a careful hold on the hilt in order not to pierce your flesh. The sensation has your brain faltering and not fully processing his words. Your hands inch towards his thighs.

He notices your hands moving in no time. He doesn’t stop you and says nothing.

You slither your hands under the cheap black fabric, and you immediately grip at his legs. You boldly glide your hands upwards until you reach the waistband of Noah’s pants. Noah watches as you tug lightly at one of the belt loops, then going for the zipper.

“Did my little charade turn you on, baby?” Noah moves the knife under your chin and gently pushes up so you’re forced to make eye contact with him. “Did you like me chasing you?”

You nod. And you see him grin.

“Shit, and who am I to deny you?”

But you know Noah. He’s going to tease you and get you all worked up, have you in near hysterics before he finally gives you what you want. And he doesn’t seem to be in a very generous mood at the moment.

Noah drops the knife to pull off the entire costume. He tosses it aside before getting rid of his shirt as well. A part of you knows this is what he wanted from the beginning, when he first offered to sleep over. But you can’t be bothered by that, not when he’s moving back enough to pull down your pants.

When he gets your pants off, and they join the rest of the clothes on the floor of your bedroom, Noah drags his tattooed hands up your legs agonizingly slow. He stops briefly when he reaches the top of your thighs, but then he proceeds to dig his fingernails in to the soft flesh and tugs you towards him. You yelp in surprise and are promptly shut up when you find your legs slung around Noah’s waist and his hand resting at your throat again.

“Good girl,” Noah says quietly. The hand not on your neck has begun making its way to your clothed core, which earns a weak whimper from you. “Are you gonna keep being a good girl for me?”

You whine when his fingers start stroking at you through your underwear. You think you answer him, but you don’t care enough as you are now grinding into his hand.

For a moment, you feel Noah remove his hands from your body. You whimper and whine at the loss of touch, until his hand is back at your throat and there’s a sharp cold resting on your hip.

The knife harmlessly glides against your skin once more. Then the pressure from the waistband of your underwear vanishes, to be replaced by the metallic cold of the blade in Noah’s hand. It slowly travels down past your pelvis, making you jerk in surprise.

Noah chuckles at the way your body reacts. You almost begin bitching at him when the knife disappears and is then substituted for his fingers. And his fingers feel so much better against your folds than that stupid knife could ever dream of.

And he’s just lazily stroking, avoiding slipping any one of his long, tattooed digits inside of you. You try your best to grind back against his hand, but the one at your throat squeezes for just a moment. It makes you pause, whining at the unexpected dizziness you are now experiencing.

Then his fingers are inside you, stroking and rubbing and searching for that bundle of nerves deep within. You cry out at the sudden intrusion. But then you’re pushing back on Noah’s fingers and the pressure on your throat eases a bit.

“Such a good girl,” you hear Noah murmur. “Can you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically and he thrusts his fingers harder into your pussy. You’re moaning and writhing at his touch, and then that same pressure is applied once more to your throat and it’s just too much. Your body clenches around Noah’s fingers and you ride out your orgasm as he slows down his strokes.

The feeling of suddenly being empty is overwhelming. But you don’t have to worry about that much longer when Noah maneuvers your body off of him and onto your stomach. You feel the bed shift as he moves, and the sound of him taking off his pants has you gripping at the sheets.

Then the bed dips from Noah’s weight and he’s suddenly right above you. His bare legs are caging in your thighs and his hands are gently roaming over the expanse of your back. You can feel his cock against your ass; it takes a little too much self control to not push back into him, although you end up failing.

“You look so hot like this, baby,” Noah says. His hands halt at your hips, and he’s digging his fingertips into the bone. “So, so good for me.”

Noah doesn’t hesitate when he begins pushing his hard cock into you and using your hips as leverage. You’re crying out and moaning weakly as he adjusts slightly and then bottoms out.

There isn’t any warning given before Noah is pulling out just enough then slamming back in. He sets a brutal but steady pace as he fucks you. Your knuckles are whitening from your tight grip on the bedsheets. You quickly become a moaning, blubbering mess beneath Noah as he keeps going and going.

He keeps hitting your cervix perfectly and it makes you see stars. His hands on your hips is currently the only tether you have on reality.

Suddenly there’s a hand in your hair and it tugs at the roots until you prop yourself up on your elbows. Noah’s grip on your hair is sending spikes of pain from your scalp all the way down to your shoulders. But each thrust of his hips is another tug on the strands of hair entangled in his fingers. It’s a mashup of sensations that has you chasing your high again.

“Ah— Ah—“

God, you’re so close. You need to cum so fucking bad.

“Ah, Noah—“

“Come on, baby,” Noah breathlessly encourages you. “I want you to cum with my name on your lips.”

And with that, your pussy is clenching around him and you’re coming with a cry of his name. Then his thrusts get sloppier until he’s coming inside of you. You feel all warm as you are filled with nothing but Noah.

Noah then pulls out and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you is definitely the best thing you’ve ever experienced.

His hands are then forcing you to turn over and rest on your back. He straddles your weak body, and the sight of him above you like that makes you want to go again.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he says quietly. His chest is heaving as he drags one of his hands upwards, starting at your stomach and stopping at your tits. He palms one then the other, playing with each for but a moment. “Always so good for me, baby.”

Silence settles over you while Noah continues to just touch you. It’s calming and has your eyelids growing heavy.

But there’s still something that is gnawing at your brain. And you have to say something.

“Are you the killer?” Your voice is fragile when you verbalize your question.

It doesn’t seem to bother Noah, though. His hands are still wandering and touching you as he seems to process what you said.

“Yes. Does that scare you?” he replies. His eyes dart up to meet yours, and the dark glint has your heart pounding. “Do I scare you?”

You don’t have an answer for him, so you remain quiet.

“Are you afraid of me?”

He’s referring to what you had talked about yesterday. A part of you wants to yell out and tell him you are utterly terrified of him, that you cannot fathom the horrific atrocities he has committed. You can’t stand the thought of how much blood stains his hands. The hands that are touching you, caressing every curve…

“No,” you whisper.

Noah’s mouth twists into a lopsided grin. Your answer seems to satisfy him, and you can’t help the satisfaction you also feel spreading throughout your chest.

“Good. I would never want you to be afraid of me,” he tells you as he leans down so your faces are parallel. “You’re mine. And I’ll get rid of anyone that thinks they can take you from me.”

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

♱ foliosriot 2023

[ilikereadingthisiswhatilike]

Vi

(X) = Smut

Your welcome cupcake. @purplegrapevines Summary: You are enemies who in fall love. Warnings: None Special Tags: None

Nightmare @the-faceless-bride Summary: Vi has a nightmare, but she also has you to calm her down. Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping Special Tags: None

Kiss the girl in black @sunricecake Summary: what was supposed to be a fun memory of your first tattoo session with your lover turned out to be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons. Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Sexual Tension. Specials Tags: None

Bottoms Up @sleepyangelkami Summary: vampire!reader hasn't been able to drink blood in what felt like forever. luckily for her, vi's there with open arms and an outstretched wrist. Warnings: None Special Tag: Fluff

Personal Trainer @angelltheninth Summary: Vi is your personal trainer Warnings: None Special Tag: Fluff

Sisters @lolita-lollipop Summary: You are the baby of the family and most affected by Vi leaving. Warnings: Family Issues, Mental Health Issues Special Tag: None

Run away @pathetic-sapphic Summary: You run away Warnings: None Special Tags: Head con

Toxic @pathetic-sapphic Summary: You see how toxic they can be. Warnings: None Special Tags: Head con

Good girl @purplegrapevines (X) Summary: Your fresh meat. Warnings: None Special Tags: Cellmate AU

Bottom @viismyworld (X) Summary: Vi riding Reader's thigh let's go Warnings: None Special Tags: None

Can't talk any more. @purplegrapevines (X) Summary: Vi fucks you so hard you forget how to talk. Warnings: None Special Tags: None

She all you need right? @purplegrapevines (X) Summary: Dating Vi is hard. You love each other more than anything, but her brutal past makes her overprotective of you Warnings: Toxic Special Tags: Bondage

Roommate @pixievi (X) Summary: You are in love with your roommate and she in love with you. Warnings: None Specials Tags: Solo, Ear drooping

Lock Jaw @genacity (X) Summary: after coming home from a long day of work, your darling girlfriend vi surprises you with some gourmet chocolate. a sweet affection laced with something she thinks she’ll get away with, little does she know that you know her all too well. Warnings: None Specials Tags: Sub Vi

lingerie @pathetic-sapphic (X) Summary: You wear lingerie Warnings: None Special Tags: Lingerie, Head con

Could Be a Better Boyfriend Than Him @ceruleanangel Summary: Vi feels a little jealous after one of your performances and decides to show you what's her's Warnings: None Special Tag: None

The Diamond of Zaun @ceruleanangel Summary: During your performance you see a ghost in the crowed. Warnings: None Special Tag: Mutil Part, Performer AU

significant-other @vener Summary: Vi reuniting with her significant-other after prison Warnings: None Special Tag: None

Workout @taintedpearls Summary: Reader has a crush on vi and she's watching vi workout and can't stop looking at her, then vi notice and question reader about it. Warnings: None Special Tag: None

I Could Be Enough @dumblilb Summary: They weren’t super close as children, but running around in the same crowd kept them in the know of each other. But years later she might be all Vi’s got left Warnings: alcohol, mentions of physical violence Special Tag: None.

Oh darling, will you still walk me home? @joannasprose Summary: helping out a reserved, and distant Violet after a pit fight and her unrelenting absence. Warnings: None Specials Tags: None

tickets @babygirlwritessmut Summary: Vi`s weird behavior bothered you, later she decided to have a serious conversation about the future of your relationship Warnings: None Specials Tags: grumpy x sunshine

Hurt @jgrills Summary: None Warnings: None Specials Tags: Platonic

BLOMSTERTID @mo0nfairy  Summary: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead. Warnings: None Specials Tags: Mutli Part, Arcane x reader

Devour me whole @vampiresbloodx (X) Summary: None Warnings: None Specials Tags: None

Shut The F**k Up @that-basic-simp  (X) Summary: vi’s drink at the rink is spiked with something she’d never experienced before. she goes back to the brothel in the hopes of finding you. Warnings: None Specials Tags: None

Unnamed Worked @fluoneia  (X) Summary: vi’s drink at the rink is spiked with something she’d never experienced before. she goes back to the brothel in the hopes of finding you. Warnings: None Specials Tags: None

piltover darling @ijwrsmff Summary: None Warnings: None Specials Tags: Yandere AU

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

37 - The Crows and The Sight

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 21.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, references to torture/rape/mutilation, trauma flashbacks, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, soft dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, bdsm/bondage

Notes: Jon's brain broke a little during this one, didn't it? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“I've never seen you down here so much before, I don't think.”

Her voice echoed as she walked towards Jon. The cool air of night was a little less harsh down in the crypts, closer to the ground with torches lighting the whole path. Jon barley glanced to his sister before turning away to where he had kept finding himself. “Never had much of a reason too until I came back.”

But that reason then, was the one buried a few feet from where Jon stood. As Arya came up to his side, she felt strange looking at it as it felt to hear the truth. Neither said a word for a moment, letting the quiet sit between them as Arya did what Jon kept doing. Looking for him in the face of her statue, and finding not anything near what they both once wished they would learn.

“Still strange to think about. It was her all this time.” Jon nodded, his jaw clenched more as he felt that similar strain in his chest. His heart hurt thinking about it. About how he was even here. He was her son, but if he could take back what it cost to bring him into this world, he would. No one deserved that, let alone his own mother. Arya looked up to him from where she stood, seeing the conflict in how tense he had been. “When I got angry, I didn't mean any of it about her.”

As his voice low and rough, he barley managed to mutter out, “I know.” Arya was finally starting to understand a bit of how Jon must have felt talking to their father about it. Now that he knew the truth, he barley wanted to say anything. He barley wanted to talk about her. But Jon found himself unable to change that.

He didn't want to talk about the worst parts of his life as it was, let alone this.

But what he did talk about, was the one they both knew. “It's not easy to accept. That everything I thought I didn't understand about him, was all beacuse of me. Spent my whole life wishing he'd pay attention to me the way he did Robb.” They both stood quiet for a moment, his voice low enough were it not silent in the crypts none may have heard him. “For a while, I thought he left me to the Wall beacuse he didn't care. Got there and it was worse then anyone had told me, and I thought that meant he thought that's the future I deserved.”

Arya tried to interrupt him, something just as quiet but more desperate in her voice as she look up at him. “He always loved you, he loved all of us.” Jaw even more clenched, he nodded and willed the pressure behind his eyes not to sting.

He still was not strong enough to want to cry in front of his mother, let alone his baby sister. “Lord Howland said what they did to the Targaryean children, they would've done to me if they found out.” Neither of them quite noticed just how separated he phrased that. “The Wall was the only place far enough away that King Robert might not have been able to get to me. That's why he let me go. I asked Uncle Benjen to convince father to let me go, but he only agreed beacuse he wanted me as far away from the crown as possible.”

Her voice still was quiet, more easily full of a heavy emotion then Jon let his. “That's why he wouldn't name you a Stark. He didn't want any more attention on you then there had to be.”

It explained a lot the more he thought about it. Why he refused to talk about his mother, tell him her name or what she looked like. Why he kept Lady Catelyn just as in the dark about it, and put up with the problems between them. But Jon didn't want to think about her either, beacuse then he and Arya would have to face what she had become, what she tried to do. And neither of them were ready for that either.

Jon hadn't once taken his eyes off of Lyannas statue, he was still as much a Stark he always thought he had been, but now it hurt far more then the actual lie ever did. “The last thing my mother did was beg father to protect me. Begged him to promise to keep me safe.” That sting begun and his face twisted almost in frustration over it. “I only ever had a week with her, and the one thing my mother did before she died was beg father to protect me.”

“He did the best he could.”

Jon nodded, his voice just as strained. “He did. I just hope he knows that, knows that I still love him.”

If it were any of his siblings other then Arya, he wouldn't have felt comfortable enough letting something so raw slip out. But she wouldn't judge him for it as he wouldn't had it been her. “Right before Joffery ordered Illyn Payne to take his head, Cersei tried to convince him to send him to the Nights Watch.”

That pain in his heart, just radiated a little stronger in him as she continued. “No one thought he'd confess to treason beacuse he didn't do anything wrong, but he did. To protect Sansa, to protect me.” There was a pause a she considered how to phrase it but came out on the other side with the most simple of it. “And beacuse if he was at the wall, father knew he could still protect you.”

Jon's chest genuinely hurt, the pain growing and growing. He had said that day to Maester Aemon, that if choosing between love and duty, his father would choose duty no matter what. But he didn't. His father chose love in the end, in more then one way. To protect his daughters, and maybe even, to protect him. Jon felt that strange twist of warmth yet agony, knowing he had more of a father in Ned Stark then he ever once previously thought.

But it wasn't quite his father his mind had begun thinking about as they stood there.

The past few days especially, there had been a few boy names running through Jons head. But it was the only easy thought in his head as he looked up at the statue where his mother was buried. That he hoped you would let him give you a daughter. And he hoped you both would be able to raise her the way his mother never had the chance to for himself. He had a few boy names for the father and brothers hes lost along the way. But Jon wanted a daughter too.

Even just one, so he could name her Lyanna.

The night felt as if it were going easy, but the longer it went on the more you thought to what was coming. You both had agreed to it, and discussed it at length. More length then you think you understood it had so much detail given to you, but you agreed to it. Night when little was around, and when the sky was bright and clear so little could cloud your mind if such things were possible.

You did not know Lord Howland well still, but he knew much of you. If just what was possibly happening to your mind, even if neither of you had the proper ways to explain it. All he knew was from what he saw of raising his son, and could only guide you from that as he knew it. No matter how much what you might see continued to frighten you.

It seemed from what you could gather, the people who may have answers more would be the free folk, living with wonders beyond the wall as if normal. But as it stood, the ones you knew, weren't currently here and so it left you and Lord Howland to bond. He knew as soon as you told him you dreamt of that day in Dorne, what that meant.

The Godswood felt even colder then normal, as if the nighttime around surrounded your bones even no matter what you could have done to change it. If any ears were listening, it would make little sense to who was there. “If this wasn't the it worked for your son, why do you think it would me?”

Lord Howland walked calm and quiet beside you, as Ghost followed close on the other. The moon high in the sky, no fire was even needed to see, the moonlight shining against the white snow all around as bright as a sun could. “He was only a boy with dreams, but that is how it seems you started, your grace. It begins with dreams, but in lesser time you have surpassed ever what Jojen was able too.”

It felt quiet, very quiet. As if the time had put everything to sleep but you three in the thick woods surrounded the area. “I thought you said he has the Sight.”

You wondered if this sort of confusion was how it felt when the Reed children showed up to help Bran, the confident calm in the man beside you speaking of things you barley comprehended, but had to trust despite how little your brain was wrapping around it. “The Sight, dreams, they are all things which guide others. They are gifted from one with greater abilities to help aid in whatever goals they need people like us to do. My son was gifted the Sight to aid Brandon Stark, perhaps it has been gifted to you for a greater purpose. If your dreams have become visions this strong, then something much stronger then your mind alone might be needed to understand it.”

As the Weirwood came into sight, you shook your head as the pain increased behind it. “And you think Weirwoods have something to do with that?”

His eyes stretched upwards to look upon how red it shined even now, much like the eyes of the direwolf watching in a protective silence. “The First Men believed that greenseers could see through the eyes of the Weirwoods. That the faces in the trees are involved. Somehow connections to them let those with such abilities see things beyond the world you and I can with our own two eyes.”

Coming up beside him, you found something intimidating for the first time about it. A fear of what your mind could become. But it was not stopping, and you had to do something. If you could understand even a sliver of it, maybe that would help. But you had no understanding of what to do, and Lord Howland could only give so much to that. “So, what do I do?”

Turning with nerves running ragged through your limbs wanting to shake, he merely stepped forward as his hand moved from where he had them clasped behind his back to gesture the carved face. “If answers lay here, your grace, only they know how to do it.”

Turning away, you could see Ghost circling around as if to find a point to keep eyes on you properly at any angle. The face sat as it always did, but the only time you came here wondering why you. Whatever this was, why you, why now, why so sudden and why had it taken over your life without any control?

If it was them, what did they want from you? You were nothing to the kinds of old powers Howland Reed spoke of. You weren't even a Northerner. But you stepped forward. Pulling a glove off, you let your fingertips hovered and traced over the white of the bark and felt nothing but as it always stood. Still no answers came, but you kept on there anyways, hoping whatever could see through the faces weren't laughing at you a foolish Southern girl pretending she mattered to their purpose.

Glancing back, your lips parted as if wanting to say something in doubt but you found nothing but a reassuring nod from the man to continue. He was patient if nothing else. Circling along it's surroundings, you felt nothing and nothing as your hand found itself flat upon the bark. Suddenly, you could hear the barking of Ghost without seeing him, until that barking turned to many and more and even though in the same castle walls, everything was different.

Everything was worse, and you had not the consciousness to know why in your present.

The air was grim, though it always was now. He made sure of it. In the thin dresses given to you, there was nothing but a shift under to hide the rest and only you were lucky if the sleeves were long enough you could hide your hands within them.

He did this often, found ways to make a spectacle of how little you could fight back in front of others, just letting it happen so he would not take it out of them and he knew it. So he instead, always made it a show for no pleasures but him and his hounds. Those same hounds you could hear barking up a storm not so far from where you stood.

Ramsay would starve them for days so they would run rabid and aggressive, these big, terrifying hounds that were trained only for him. You were lucky since reaching Winterfell, Roose Bolton would not allow you to leave the castle walls at all. So you were spared from the terror of him using them to hunt you through the woods, as he would force you and Theon to watch him do to others on the journey here.

He loved that. Bringing his vile mistress with him, and together they would drag you and Theon with them to watch them hunt down whomever they saw fit. Sometimes Ramsay would kill them, sometimes Myranda would, many times though, he'd let his hounds tear them to shreds. At least here, he would only throw you in with them if he saw fit.

You'd rather it be done sooner, then be chased and have it end after thinking only long enough you could escape. Once Ramsay and his hounds chased you, there was no way of escaping him. He'd find you, and if you were lucky, would kill you quick.

But today wasn't about hunting, it was about torment. His favourite past time with his two playthings and it was now your turn to bare the brunt of it. “You look cold, my bride.”

Everyone was looking, you knew it, you could feel their eyes and wished they all would turn away and let you be shamed in private. But you were not so lucky, you were the only entertainment Ramsay saw fit to provide.

“Of course, you're not wearing much. Not that you need too, an obedient little bride you are, giving your soon to be husband access whenever he pleases.” His voice slunk up behind you, into your ear and made you shiver with a desperation to escape it. But he would not let you. Circling around like prey to his hunt and dangling you over the burning fire. “Isn't she so well trained? Of course, what use is being available to me at all times if no one truly sees that?”

Hands slunk over you, running along the back of your neck before grabbing hold of it with a roughness that jostled you, your heart speeding up trying not to flinch but failing anyways. He knew you wouldn't speak, wouldn't say a word. Not like this. You made it worse when you talked and you'd rather save that suffering from pity.

“But we aren't married just yet. And a good little bride doesn't whore herself out to any man who comes by asking for it. A good bride waits for her husband to break her in, but that isn't you is it? If I am to be your husband, why don't I deserve a wife that hasn't been broken in already?”

You weren't his wife, you never would be. You were Robb's wife, you were his. He was your husband, not this. It wasn't allowed to be this, and the sting behind your eyes grew. You would cry the second you were given any privacy alone, but never here. Your tears were only for Robb's memory, not Ramsay's cruelty.

His voice became louder, “Maybe the good people would like proof it isn't my fault I have such a whore for a bride. Show them who she really is, so they understand how much work is cut out for me.” Deep in your ear you stiffened and he grinned. “Tell me, do you miss your precious wolves? Would you like to see them again?”

End it now, you begged. End it now, slit your throat and be done with it so you could see your wolf again. But he didn't, he grinned, and stood somewhat behind you, hands on your shoulders as he spoke louder to the eyes of people with no other choice but to watch. “Were I a generous man, I'd do so right here. Prove my own brides worth, let my hounds out and take you themselves. But it wasn't hounds you loved, was it? No, it was your precious wolves that took your innocence when it belongs to me.”

It belonged to Robb. It still belongs to Robb, it always will.

One hand moved down to his waist before trailing up your front between your breasts now with a blade tracing the path with him. The edge just barley able to be heard tearing slight twinges of fabric as he once more grinned. “If you're a lucky girl, I'll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down,” A tear at your front, the fabric between your beasts tearing to expose the thin shift underneath as he continued to pull it downward. “And throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs.” One much more aggressive tear, and the dress split enough he could tear it off.

Only your shift remained and you felt your limbs freezing already, your body shaking but you said not a word. “Just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too. Would you like that, my bride?”

That time, saying nothing was the wrong choice. A smack was felt across the back of your head with the blunt handle of the knife, before he circled round you. Kneeling to meet your eyes, asking again. “I asked if you'd like that?” Once more, you said nothing and that time his own hand smacked you hard enough you fell.

Freezing hands falling to break your fall in the snow as you felt shivering appear all over. “Speak up now, let everyone hear what a little whore my bride always has been.”

Your mind and the memory connected in one instance as a pair of hands grabbed you by your upper arms in front of you. But Ramsay wasn't grabbing you like that, he was behind you now, knife to your shift hissing in your ear as he tempted slicing the rest of it all open the and there.

An entrancing rasp you never thought would grace your mind ever again floated through the air, and warmth that pulled you into a softness. Until you gasped as they said your name louder then Ramsay did.

Weakly did your hands raise up as your mind returned, hands now sat high on Jons chest, his own cupping your cheeks looking you over, murmuring your name softly before surging forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling back he ran a hand over your hair cupping the back of your head. “Hey, you're alright. It's alright, darling, I've got you.”

If it was just slight fear, he might not have gone against what Howland Reed told him, which was to leave you be in the Sight. But you knew, that Jon could tell what specific terror you were seeing. But you wouldn't say it, not to Jon. Some things about Ramsay he didn't ever need to know.

Shaking your head, Jon helped you stand properly from where you seemed to have found yourself more knelt to the ground as you were there. Turning slightly to the side, his voice a tad louder. “Give me a moment with her.”

Lord Howland leaving with a small bow of, “Your Grace,” before leaving just the cold air between you, Jon and Ghost watching silently close by.

The hand still on your cheek ran back and forth, the warm leather soothing the cold against them as he let the hand at your hair rake through it gently again. His voice a low rasp only for you, “You saw Ramsay didn't you? Wherever you were in there.” Nodding, he sighed out, your hands trailing up so one ran along the skin to the back of his neck. “I don't want you out here doing this, if it's going to make you relive these things.”

Shaking your head, both of you noticed the lack of conviction in your own voice. “Jon, it's important I understand whatever this is.” Letting your other hand run down his chest until it slunk beneath his fur cloak to rest at his waist you pulled him just a tad closer as you felt another shiver. “Sometimes it may mean I see things I don't want too.”

“I don't want you going through all that again, what he did to you? You were finally starting to feel better, but now..” He didn't want your mind going back, neither did you, but you didn't like many places your mind and person were taken now.

Your heart felt heavy at the wide, bright look in his eye of something mixing with a heavy worry with a gentle affection. “Everything I've seen, it has to mean something. Maybe it's trying to show us an answer.” Asking to what, you hesitated before your shoulders dropped as did your confidence. “To a question we don't know yet, perhaps. I need to do this, I have to understand it. It's not going away so we have to deal with it.”

Forehead dropping to yours, he sighed deeply. “The second it starts to be too much, I need you to tell me. I'm not letting you push yourself like this more then you already are. You've done enough.” You'd argue if you either thought you could win, which you couldn't. Or if you disagreed.

It was Robb's memory haunting you in your mind there, but it was Jon who was the wolf in front of you now. He was the one who had done enough, but Jon would never stop doing things, fighting for others as long as someone had too. Maybe, he was right. Maybe your place wasn't a fight anymore, maybe it was something else and you were the one who needed to accept that.

Your purpose couldn't be something risking your life now, beacuse perhaps, your purpose was the man right in front of you. For whatever reason, you didn't know, but you didn't want that reason to trouble him anymore. That wasn't what he deserved.

Pulling him a tad closer, you leaned against the Weirwood as Jon wrapped an arm gently around your waist to pull you in. Your head finding his neck as he pressed a kiss to where his lips landed in your hair to muffle against it. “It's happening to you without your control, I don't want you willingly doing it everyday too. If you're out here, I don't want to find you like this every time.”

There was no true conviction in his order, but you nodded. Wrapping your arms around him more, easing yourself into his comforting warmth. “As my King, commands.”

You felt both a breathy chuckle against you and the smirk he gave doing it. Kissing your hair once more, he pulling you back to look you properly in the eyes, nothing but an affection left. “Since when do you listen to me just beacuse I order it?”

Only a shrug came in response, making him grin more. “Since now.”

Jon shook his head this time, “Good, beacuse my next order is for you to let me warm you up with a nice bath, and find you something to eat for once.” Your smile soft and easy as your tone was light as you asked him if it was in that order. But Jon only narrowed his eyes as he ran his nose over the length of yours. “Call it an excuse to hold you for a while.”

Pulling you very gently to your feet, he kept you tucked to his side without any care of how much the other seemed to cling. It always was like this for a while after your mind did this now. Relying on him, and Jon being glad you let yourself do so. Only with Jon, did you find yourself liking needing his comfort to lean against so much. “I'm your wife now, you can do that whenever you like.”

Perhaps something more playful would've been on his mind, but he still could see the terror on your face. Teasing could come later, for now, his only duty was to make sure you didn't fall asleep that night as haunted as you looked now.

He couldn't bring himself to do it, so easily let you explore such facets of ability when each time he watched it grow harder on you. It was brutal and tormenting, and he refused to sacrifice your well being just to understand what was happening. There were other ways, and he'd figure those out himself.

Constant influxes of reports from the castles guarding the wall, searching for answers on his own, working with what Sam kept finding and connecting things from there as well as building up the defences of the North and training his people. Jon felt swarmed with things to do, but he had to do them and he would happily add taking on what you felt like your responsibilities as long as you didn't end everyday looking as unsettled as you looked now.

But still he thought, why was his family like this? Associated so strongly with something not of this world, why did the blood of the Starks all feel as if something were unique about them when it was not as such for those like his father, like his Uncle Benjen. And why did it now inflict you? The world begged Jon to care about the wars in it's own soils, but his father had told him, he was of the North.

And it was the North that called to Jon more then the running of a Kingdom as normal. His focus has to be on the worst coming and the here and now, and it was a balancing act he struggled with when half of that were things he barley understood. You were good at the day to day things, so that became the focus Jon wanted for you.

Let him do the struggling work and you do the things which laid off on the torment in your eyes at the end of each night. Jon just wished that he could trust you would let it stay that way. But he knew you dreamt strange visions and nightmares too, and as he would lay awake at night, keeping you close in his arms watching you, there was not a thing he could do to stop what was happening in your mind as much as he wasn't able to his own strangeness.

The Winter storms were fast approaching, and they begged answers Jon had not yet discovered the questions too. He just wished the answers didn't seem to lie inside your mind, and yet Jon continued to not tell you of his own dreams. You slept beside him, but he still dreamt of you in visions as if you were thousands of miles away. Your mind was trying to give answers to one thing, Jons the answers to you.

The world was nothing but a mess and everyone in it, but all Jon could do was grab onto those he cared about and hope he was strong enough to keep them close when it all would blow over in the freezing cold.

With a tilt of his head, you could see the pouring amount of petty annoyance dripping from Gendry's expression.

Taking the moment to work over the metal in front of him, you had stopped to see him in the armoury, and Gendry happy to have a distraction. If not with attitude. “You weren't lying when you said everyone in this family is insufferable.”

Of all things, you knew choosing that moment to look away with a smirk only proved his point thus further. So far the only ones who knew who Gendry really was, remained the two of you, Ser Davos, Selyse, and Jon. Gendry wasn't particularly happy at first when you informed him you had told Jon the truth, he had been avoiding him ever since. Not a family in your blood good with facing your problems head on, but in turn you only looked flatly at him. “So which version of him should I have lied to? The part of him that is my husband, or the part of him that is my King?”

He had in turn glared at you with not genuine malice behind it, “You saying you always have told all these Kings you know the truth about everything?”

Many years had gone by since you had any companionship like Gendry. You were far less quick on the tongue with him now compared to your days spent with Renly. Similar they both were, you could see easily the Baratheon charm in his blood, his humour, the ease of how snarky he could be and the degree to which mocking and teasing came at others expense. But he was easier going then Renly, and coming from a life of low birth meant there was nothing about his intentions anywhere you completely mistrusted.

Staring notably as you thanked Olly for something, and who walked off without a word, your head fell to the side slightly, holding a sigh back. Blinking once before turning your attention to the metal work between you both, you felt Gendry's stare as the boy left. Asking what was wrong with him, you shook your head properly before barrelling passed it. It was Olly's pain to work through, and if he wanted to do so in silence towards you, then so be it. But you wouldn't do him a disservice by discussing it with others.

The conversation had mostly turned to him elaborating on the stories he told you that first night in Barrowton, leading to somewhat of a petty disagreement that now sat between you. Mostly, regarding the choice to bring Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrian, with you. He kept no anger from his eyes or voice out here.

“Everything they did to you-”

Turning with a sharp glare, you cut him off quick. “They did not do any of that. Stoneheart did. It was her orders, her choice. I won't blame them for someone else's actions.” You could see there was something else on his mind when you spoke before he could once more. “You're allowed to be angry with them but don't pretend you're doing it on my behalf.”

The silence between you both was stubborn, glares sent the others way before he broke first. “Fine. I'm mad beacuse they said I could stay and be one of them, and then they sold me to the red woman and now it feels like I'm surrounded by all this shit all over again.”

Your face fell almost impassive looking. “Do you think you're the only one surrounded by the things that haunt you?” Gendry's eyes narrowed at you, but your voice was as rough and held back as your expression. “You reached out to me Gendry. I don't want you feeling as if I am forcing you to stay here. If you can't handle them being here then you shouldn't make yourself uncomfortable by doing so. But you aren't the only one here who has to look at the things that caused your suffering every single day.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Quick on the draw, you raised an eyebrow with a tone as even as could be. “No of course not, then who would be there to give Arya those disgusting love sick gazes every day.” It was his turn to go wide eyed, an offensive stammering as if he had anything to negate the notion when you moved towards the main courtyard. “Do yourself a favour, don't get caught staring at her like that in front of the King. The warning he will let you off with won't be quite as cavalier as mine.”

Trying to follow you, a struggle to keep his tone even as noticed easily. “She's a friend, she means a lot to me that's all there is to it-”

Face twisting into an easy disbeleif you looked back at him, “Who are you trying to convince?”

You trusted them little, but you still sat against the wall outside the iron bars. Thoros had most of the answers you sought, or at least he had the interest to do the talking to you. Beric watched in a careful silence most of the time as you were down there. “She served the Lord of Light as I did, it was not my place to assume her intentions.”

Your eyes glared over to him, waiting until he met the gaze before dropping them back down to your lap. Focusing once more away from Beric's stare. “No, it was your intentions to sell him off like cattle with no idea if he would even live through it. Which, if you both were wondering, he almost didn't.”

Legs spread out flat in front of you with one ankle resting gently over the other, you let your head fall flat against the stone behind you, a raise in tone a little more on the edge of condescending. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's beginning to sound as if the charges are piling up against you two.”

Thoros let out a chuckle, coming up more as a hum in his chest as he looked away. “We have been in far worse places then here, your grace.”

Rather short, it sounded from your mouth more angry and dismissive then you had intended. “So have I.” Turning back to look at them both, your voice kept the same but something more sorrowful sat in your gaze then theirs, as you nodded to Beric. “You think those scars are anything? The only thing you lost each time was your life.”

Not much could be said, they heard as much as any else did that night. There was little which refuted that the two of them didn't have any legs to stand on. Beric's tone was quiet as he finally found his voice from where he sat. “And what has your King seen?” The only indication you heard, was your eyes slightly flickering up forwards but did not commit to finding his face in return. “The true fight we are here for. He understands death, he understands returning to life as we do, but does he truly understand what we are up against? How much more important it is then-”

Closer to something akin to a growl as you felt your nails tense in your own palms, digging deeper by the second. “He understands better then you two. Better then any of us.” Finally seeking their gaze, taken back themselves with the darker colours painting your eyes in a seethe. “Whatever your god has shown you is nothing compared to what we are really up against. But what do we have left if we sacrifice everything and everyone we have to stop it? What's left in the world if we treat the people we care about as that creature leading you? What are we fighting for if we let ourselves become as bitter and hollow as she?”

Beric's voice was a whisper, only heard in the echo of the dungeon. “Survival alone isn't enough?”

Your lips parted to answer, but not your voice which spoke out in the darkness. That one was holding far too deep and rough of a rasp to come from you. “No. It isn't.”

Nodding for the guards to wait outside, Jon moved in between them as the door closed behind him. Were you the one in the cell, you would've said he looked rather intimidating this way. Fur dark and broad over his shoulders and the only light in the fire making the blacks in his clothes, hair, eyes all shine in a shadowing way as he approached. Voice low as he stared down both of them you sat on the other side of. “If I let people like you do whatever you want in your gods name, what's going to even be left for us to care about if we win?”

Motioning with barley a twitch of his fingers at the sudden gesture of you moving to stand, Jon came before you, now in between you and the bars as he now blocked part of their view of you, your eyes only able to see the fur and cloak draped down his shoulders, and his hair up and back.

Beric this time was the talker, and Thoros found it in him to be quiet. It seemed both men had their targets of conversation in mind beforehand. “And I would say it's on the side of selfish to think we are the ones who matter. The world we live in matters, not the whims and wishes of the people in it.”

You'd be willing to wager Jon's eyes were growing in a painting from grey to more of a black as the tensity in his shoulders increased. “Have you ever known what it feels like to think you have no one in the world who cares about you?” Heart in your chest twisted as did his, like you both could feel the pain wrapping around the same vines tethering you both to one another as he looked down at them. “I have. I know what losing everything and everyone you care about feels like, it didn't make me feel as if I was doing the right thing. Just made me feel angry. And alone.”

Both men had lost much and Beric more in himself but still, you knew they didn't understand. Not the way you did. Your foot by his just barley shifted to lean against what you could reach of his ankle as if that sensation over all that blocking your skin to his, still was enough to send a shiver up Jons spine. Your voice behind him was equally as quiet, but more breathless in a knowing. “You don't give people a selfish reason to keep going, and they just won't. They'll give up and let winter take them instead of fighting for the nothing they have left.”

From where you were, you couldn't see Beric as Jon likely intended, but you could once more meet the eyes of Thoros. And that feeling chilled in your mouth swallowing down to your lungs as he watched you through Berics words. “We are the Lords servants. You, me, all four of us. We serve him and that is why we have all come together. What we want beyond that no longer matters.”

It was morose. A dreary thought full of no life or love being asked of you and yet that deep love is what drove every action Jon chose. It was what kept him going better then everyone else you'd ever know, Jon was made of something different then any man you had ever met and without that need to protect and love, there would only be the darkest parts of himself left. And he didn't deserve that.

“What would you have me do, walk you out to my people, the ones who lost their loved ones beacuse of your men and tell them their grief doesn't matter?” They wouldn't know Jon well enough to pick up on the edge, but something of a nerve was struck. Something you didn't quite know how deep it was rooted, and yet you felt it ping in your own chest as if your pain. “Or that it shouldn't matter to them if they'll ever be happy again? You two put me in a position where keeping you alive is the right thing to do, but not beacuse you deserve it.”

If Thoros would stop looking at you, maybe you would have found it in you to stand by Jons side to try and even that anger but you felt pinned to the wall with something unnerving. You were truly starting to hate these priests and priestesses of this bloody fire god. They all looked at you the same, as if they knew something you didn't when none of their knowledge ever meant anything to you.

Jon gestured back to you with that edge only sharpening like a blade. “You're alive beacuse of her, and only her. I'd have executed you for what you did, what you almost let..” He struggled to find it in him to call her who she was supposed to be as much as you did. “Almost let that woman do. You can speak to her when she comes to you, but I'm not letting you try and convince her everything she already died for doesn't matter.”

Beric had no emotion in his voice which was different then the last. “And what did you die for, your grace?” If he thought he had Jon on something, he was wrong.

Jon didn't hesitate, but you did feel the weight in his tone heavy as it always was whenever someone was brave enough to bring it up, which was uncommon. “I died for her. She was being kept prisoner here, and escaped. So I tried to go after her, to find her and protect her beacuse I love her.” Don't let them see the clawing at your chest you told yourself, don't clam up now at how freely he could say it any and everyone when in this very home years ago you two were too scared to share those words. “I didn't die for any fight, I died beacuse the men who betrayed me didn't want me to protect the woman I love.”

Finally, Thoros peeled his eyes up. A pale blue that begged a small ask which had not the intentions in his companion. “And where are the men who betrayed you, for betraying the cause you swore your life too?”

Jon, had the only answer that mattered. “Dead. And they didn't come back, one way or another. Not beacuse your god didn't need them, but beacuse no one cared about them enough to even try. If you died, my lord, can you say there is anyone out there who would bring you back?”

Thoros didn't argue that Beric would, nor did Beric speak up for him. And in honest, as Jon stood there that made him feel a bit unwell. There was not a thing any could do to stop him from bringing you back if Jon lost you again, and he knew without any doubt that you would be the same for him. If bringing Beric back to life tethered their fates together like Jons to you, it was tiny in comparison.

Jon had a purpose to protect the North and his people, but he had just enough room for that purpose to also be you. His cause was helping the North survive and fight before the army of the dead could destroy anything South beyond them. But Jon knew, the only reason he wanted to do any of that was beacuse he had people he cared about.

He had many he cared about, Ghost, Sam, Tormund, Edd, but now he had more family then he ever imagined once upon a time. He had you, the woman he loved more then anyone else, more then he could love any other person. But now? He also had Arya again. And Jon too, would not hesitate to kill anyone who tried hurting her, wouldn't hesitate on anything if someone tried to take his baby sister away again.

Jon fought for a purpose, but he lived for you all. Ghost and his girls, that's what Jon lived for. His direwolf, his wife, his sister, and his mother. Jon would never consider her life a casualty needed for something else.

He had been speaking more and more to Howland Reed. Of Rhaegar's actions in the rebellion, and from what he had figured out on his own. He knew some from his son Jojen, but they were always spoken in confusion, not understanding what he saw without his father painting the picture. And perhaps that's why this idea made him sick. That you needed to sacrifice everything for one purpose and damn the people in your life or what happens to them to get there.

The rebellion, the lives lost and ruined, Jons grandfather and uncle burned alive that started it all, none of it was really about Lyanna. It was about Jon, and he felt that burning hatred grow. All Rhaegar needed was to pretend he could fufill some delusion. Once he had raped Lyanna Stark enough to know she was pregnant, he left for war beacuse Jons existence was all that mattered.

Noble knights, skilled Kingsuard and valiant men like the Sword of the Morning did not fight his father and six other men to the death to hide a dying teenage girl from her brother. They had fought to keep the Last Dragon's third child, last living child, from being taken away from whatever destiny the crown prince had thought was his.

Jons father by birth created him from blood and violence beacuse he thought destiny was all that mattered, but the father Jon lost, the father Jon missed everyday? He had taken Jon in as his own son, beacuse he knew what mattered was loving him.

To Jon, as he stood there staring down Beric Dondarrian, he thought to himself, this was exactly the kind of dangerous mentality that Rhaegar had ruined the Seven Kingdoms with. And Jon refused to lead like that into the storms of winter. He wasn't special or a hero, he was just a dead man who had to fight beacuse the innocent deserved someone who stands up for their right to live.

It wasn't until he felt a slight pressure near the fur across his shoulder blades did he realize you had stood up. Breaking his dark glare at the man, he turned to you and the grey returned far softer then before in a split moment. His name soft on your lips like a sirens call that calmed him instead of crazed his mind, that was all it took to bring Jon back down.

Men like this, like Rhaegar fought for fate and destiny. Jon though, looked at you as you held that narrow eyed concern, that silence gazing at him begging him to let you take care of him instead and felt impatient inside now. Turning back to them, Jon let his arm drift across your waist to pull you into his side ever so carefully to not jostle you. His gaze back on the two men as his tone was short and rigid and what came out of it was so unexpected you almost let a laugh burst you. “By the way, I wouldn't let her come down here, but Arya wanted me to tell you both to burn in hell.”

Jon dragged you along with him to leave, and as soon as the door closed behind him did a smirk find its way onto his lips as a breathless laugh did yours. Your side leaning more comfortingly into his as Jon adjusted his grip to keep you against him while walking. “They are behind bars, I presume she would be safe enough.”

Muttering just as low in your ear, Jons eyes brightened watching your own laugh grow at his next words. “It's not her safety I'd be worried about.”

He was trying to keep you away from things, you were sure of it. Taking so much of it onto himself and hide the worst from you, but it left you feeling on the side of rather useless. Trying to do things to ease the amount of weight on his shoulders without going against his words or wishes. But Jon didn't make that a simple task, not with how well he paid attention to you.

Always meeting with someone or another, having to handle this and that and go over the running of a kingdom with trying to save it and everytime you offered your help, Jon would pull you to him with a hand gentle at the back of your head to press a kiss, murmuring he was handling it.

Jon's mind always running around something, even now curls loose, dressed down and settled he stood by the fire in his chambers, a hand braced on the stone above as you could see his mind unable to stop. Likely he barley even heard you, coming up quietly behind him until your palms ran flat up against his back until you were mostly pressed against him. Voice soothing as you leaned up closer to his ear, “Jon.”

Sighing out, Jon let his free hand reach behind him, grabbing at one of your arms to pull it around and wrapped by his front, your other hand willingly doing the same as he grabbed one of your hands, holding it there as best he could from that angle. Rasping low, “We haven't been together since our fight.”

It wasn't anger nor judgment, yet you suspected the trace of insecurity seeping through the doubt you could detect. Leaning your front more against him, you pressed a kiss where the back of his head you could reach first, mumbling against his curls. “I'm sorry.”

Jon shook his head, but there was something else attached to it that weighed on him. His brows furrowed and from what you could see, something more upset on his face then he wanted you to know about. “Don't be, it's not your fault. I just can't figure out if it's only about Ramsay..or if it..” Prompting him to continue, murmuring his last words with an ask to continue, Jon sighed deeply again. That time his voice was certainly insecure. “If it has to do with you learning the truth. About me.”

Were you strong enough, you'd have turned him in your arms to face you instantly. Rather you even tried slinking from his grasp as you gently murmured his name, “Jon,” But he kept you in place, and it pained you. He didn't want you to see how upset the thought made him. As if you cared about that sort of thing. “Why would that have anything to do with us?”

Forehead resting more against his shoulders, as if trying to nuzzle as close to him as possible. Were you not right there, you wouldn't have heard him so clearly. “Being in love with Eddard Stark's bastard is one thing, but it's a whole other to say you want to be with a son of Rhaegar Targaryean.” Oh you knew that stiffness in his body was a desperation to keep that resolve as together as he could.

How long has that been a fear? How long has he been worrying that was it?

Head dropping to what you could of his neck, you left a long but tender kiss to the skin until you felt him relax even the tiniest bit. “Jon, I've suspected this since our first night on Dragonstone. And not anytime after did that ever cross my mind as something against you.” You pressed another, and a third trying to reach his jaw, barley scratching your lips to his facial hair. “Who your blood is has nothing to do with wanting to be with you. I've wanted to be with you since I was a girl, and I'm not about to change that now. You are not someone's son to me, you're Jon Snow. You're my King, and the man I love. No one else is allowed to have a say in that. Not anymore.”

Head dropping a little, he held your hand tighter before taking the hand braced on the stone to grab your other free one and bring it up to his lips. A kiss long and almost needing left on the back of it before he held it more against his chest. It took him a good moment to find any words, and you let him take whatever length of time he needed. “Ever since I came back, I'm always worried I'll scare you. I've never wanted anything more then the way I want you. And it scares me to think I'm too much for you..or you'll realize where that comes from and want nothing to do with it.”

Your heart beat too painfully, you needed to tame this now before it broke you or him. But it was the small smile you saw forming on his face as you spoke that said choosing the lighter path was the right one. “I hate it to be the bearer of obvious news, Snow. But you've always been like this, bringing you back didn't change that. It just means sometimes we add more inappropriate things to what we do, now.” Voice whispering softer, you rested your head somewhat against the side of his. “And it isn't anything. It isn't a Rhaegar thing or even a Ned Stark thing. It's just you. This is how you and I are and no one else has anything to do with that.”

Finally, you felt Jon turn his head just enough to the side he pressed against you a little easier as he muttered roughly, “No, I know it's different this time. Something changed when you brought me back, every moment I'm not with you feels like hell.”

“I don't see anything wrong with that so far.” Jon called your name in a bit of a sternness, finally breaking the hold between you both as he turned to face you. Only, you reached up first. Cupping both of his cheeks, letting your thumbs run gently along his jaw as you felt his hands settle instantly on your waist to pull you closer. “We spent six years trying to not go too far. And now after everything that's happened, we're back here. Together. Maybe this is just our way of making up for lost time. Beacuse I have no complaints about the way you care about me. So if you are not going to let me talk down about myself to you, I will not let you do the same about yourself.”

Running his hands along your waist, you found yourself unable to look away from the bright shine in his grey eyes. A sight you'd never get enough of, as well as the entrancing husk always so deep and rough attached to his voice. “I'm not trying to pressure you. I miss you, that's all.”

Exhaling, you looked up at him quietly for a moment. In some moments Jon was just as insecure about things as you were and it made sense why he fought against that noise so loudly in your head. Jon shouldn't have worries like that, and you felt none of the panic that stopped you before this time.

Leaning up, Jon took over to close the gap between your lips himself as soon as he caught on. Your hands drifted behind him, running through his curls as he reached up to keep your lips in his kiss, hands holding your cheeks with much more urgency then you had his.

Soft and memorizing, but still needing and harsh. Deepening his kiss with every breathe from you he stole, and easily begun to pull small high pitched sounds from you. Gifting the noises into his kiss as it all made him rumble deep in his chest. Pressing himself much more firmly against you as his teeth just barley nibbled your bottom lip. You of course, granted him permission with a shameless ease.

Licking into your mouth, Jon brushed his tongue against yours. Coaxing you to follow ,to explore him as much as he adored doing to you. Your nails scratched along his scalp, and a deep growl came from his chest. His hand tilting your head up more to be at his mercy, keeping you at a perfect position to taste each time he let his tongue slip back to brush along yours.

His other hand moved to trail down your neck, thumb running along the middle of your throat and down, wasting no time nor having the patience to play nice. A rough hand sliding into the collar of your dress, finding your breast and groping with a rough greed. Your insides twisted almost right away and you gasped as his fingers roughly twisted the small bud peaking for his touch.

Almost as if Jon was kissing you in the same rhythm his hand and fingertips teased you, his other joined finally, gently pulling your dress's collar down indecently until he pulled away from your lips with a bite. Frustrated at the fabric Jons eyes flew down to gauge what he had to work with, and instead choosing to yank it down with a tear in the fabric, exposing your breasts to him and the cold air of his room.

Eyes black as the night sky outside, Jon's face was harsh and close to stern should you not know better as he just stared with no guilt nor shame. As if you were on display for him, Jon suddenly grabbing your hip and guiding you further into the room, the back of your knees hitting the bed. Not letting you fall back onto it, he gathered the material of both sides of the skirt, finding nothing underneath of a shift he exhaled, almost pausing before taking it all off.

He let it drop wherever it landed as he guided you to sit, but you had nothing but eyes for his black, harsh ones all over you. Kneeling down however, his touch was gentle when his gaze was pure greed, grabbing at the sides of the only fabric left covering you and pulling it down slowly. Giving you the chance to lift your hips to left him, his head dropping to carefully take it off from each leg.

But then he stayed knelt there. The fabric clutched tightly in his hand as Jon just stared at you, at what was between your legs, before trailing up to your scar and staying silent as he looked to it just as long. Your eyes so focused on his intense ones, had you entirely miss Jon not letting your underwear join what was to be a continued pile of clothes, rather he shoved it in a pocket of his own knowing your gaze was too distracted to see.

Finding your eyes once more, your own hands reached out in an instant, unlacing the middle of his shirt with more care then needed considering how bare Jon had you. Pushing it gently along his shoulders and tossing it more purposely somewhere safe in the distance, Jon was entirely silent as you did the same reaching for his pants. One hand of his cupped your cheek, leaning in enough to nudge your nose with his as his other helped make the process move quicker.

But you however, had other ideas sneaking up in your mind. Prompting Jon to stand up so you could pull them off, the second he stepped out of them Jon had the intention of kneeling between your legs once more to finally taste you as he was so desperate too, but you were quicker then his slower mind was feeling looking at you.

The warmth between your legs grew wet at the sight, as if it were possible to forget, your lungs hitched only for a moment as you looked at him. Cock was long, and despite being with him you swallowed almost nervously at how thick he was. You could feel the sting already and yet, you only craved that more and more. Hard as he could be, tinged slightly red as it begged for attention and you knew Jon would deny it in your favour. Too bad.

The moment your hands gently grasped his hips, one of his hands found your hair, raking through it as he looked down at you with eyes wide and bright. His akin to a frown while your expression being a genuine ask of permission. It wasn't his favourite, he preferred anything else he could do to you, but Jon was weak to the hopeful ask in your eyes. As if the politeness you waited for him to approve of with made his cock throb more then if you were greedy and debauched.

You wanted him to give you permission.

Running through your soft stands, Jons gaze softened, his voice barley audible as the heavy accent murmured through the weighted desire in his veins. “Go on,”

Nodding in his touch, Jon let out a shaking breathe just as your eyes slipped closed. You wanted to focus, only on him only what felt good. Jon so rarely let himself be the one receiving, he wanted to give and give he wanted to do the work but he deserved to be worshipped, and you wanted to be the one giving the offering before the idol. But all you could offer, was your mouth.

Only grasping his thick cock enough to guide you, your hand couldn't even wrap around him properly, a gentle lick along his tip and you instantly felt his hand tighten in your hair along with a hiss from above in your ears. A hum left your throat without notice, the thick taste of what seed already leaked from him as you tasted it like it was there just for you. Jon gave another shaking breathe, trying to control himself as you finally pressed a kiss like any other. One to his tip, and many more so gentle down his entire length. Never gripping him tight in your hand or stroking him, just a gentle hold so you could kiss and leave tiny licks to properly soak him better.

You trailed down one way, pressed a kiss at a tough angle along his lower hips, face brushing against the coarse, rough black hair at the base of his cock before moving kissing and licking down the other side. A light grip the whole way until you unwrapped your fingers, trailing them tenderly along his hips back to hold yourself steady against him.

Jon's hand in your hair adjusted, a sturdier grip as he, himself, contained the desire to ask you to look up at him. But he let you work, and as soon as you licked the tip of his cock until you gently took just that in your mouth, Jon realized how much you with your eyes closed, just enjoyed it as you tried to sigh around him.

You felt the stretch, but continued. Letting the saliva accumulate to properly soak him each inch you let him slide deeper. Only part way before you pulled back and sunk your mouth back on him. Back and forth did you suck him only half, Jon tensed under your hands but said nothing. He rarely did here, words didn't come easy to him normally let alone with this. You could hear his breathing pick up as you soaked his cock more and more, easing yourself into taking more of him at once.

You knew you could but gods he was long and merciless how thick he stretched anywhere inside of you like this. Fingertips flexing against his hips, Jon muttered inaudibly under his breathe as you got closer to taking his whole length. Not once did you pull off, the heaviness on your tongue, the salty taste of his seed as thick as he was coating your taste buds as you had to relax yourself.

Just as you came close, Jon's other hand moved. Grasping at one of your hands on his hips, trying to hold whatever of your fingers he could tightly and in that same instance did you whine as you took the rest of him down throat. “Gods..” Nose brushing against the hair at his base, you felt that overwhelming sensation of panic but yet you still slid almost all the way to the tip and then slowly right down all the way deep once more.

A hum in your throat, each time you pulled closer to off, your core twisted between the fight of needing air and reprieve, and craving the feeling of taking him deep again. Jons hands gripped your fingers and hair tight each time you sunk deep on him, the later trying desperately not to pull you down himself at his own pace.

Sucking and licking any and every sort of way on his cock, you almost made more noise then him, even in just tiny sounds deep from within at wanting more, wanting to taste everything he could spill down your throat with, wanting to feel him let go. Jon's head fell back, jaw clenched tight as he tried to contain every growl and groan trapped in his mouth. Throbbing in you, he raked his hand through the strands once more before dropping back down to look at you. Your eyes still closed, but Jons were wide and blown out in need. Mouth parted as he watched your head bob up and down on his cock, only ever doing what he knew was for his entire pleasure, wanting him to get the most out of it.

If his younger self could see such an image, Jon knew he would've lost his mind.

Deep husk against his voice in the air was harmonizing with the crackling of the fire, and the soft, wet sounds of your mouth around him. Jon wished he could make this exciting, make it filthy and vulgar just to be different but what slipped out was far too entrenched in affection. “Darling, fuck- look at yourself. You shouldn't enjoy this as much as you do, I know it's a lot for you to take,” Jons hand once more ran smoothly down your hair at the back of your head, subtly shifting your pace a little more shallow and a little deeper.

It was a strain on you, taking him so deep so consistently but gods did you hate pulling off him. As if it got harder and harder to stay away, Jon himself kept pushing you forward to take more and more of him as the whine in your chest rose up, fingertips flexing tightly against hips as you eagerly took him deep. You wanted to taste him, wanted Jon to spill down your throat so badly, you wanted him to enjoy something only for him.

Closer and closer did you feel him throb in your mouth, did the rambling grow through the thickness of such a deep Northern accent. “You are so beautiful. Don't deserve such a sweet, beautiful girl taking me like this.” You tried to argue back, but barley got anything passed the minor sound of nonsense protest. The hand on your hair slid slightly to hold closer to the side of your face, thumb running along the skin against your cheeks.

Your eyes closed, but Jon could see the tears slipping down he was so deep in your mouth, for so long with nothing to be your salvation. You would find only that once his seed was in your stomach. He wished he didn't groan your name so deeply, hold you tighter and throb more intensely at the sight but he did. Overwhelming such a small mouth so easily with his size and he wanted to fill it more and more until you had to swallow his every drop just to breathe again.

That was when his hand tightened, his voice dropped roughly. “Let me control the pace, alright?” Not an order, but Jon didn't like that anyways. He liked giving such gentle commands and waiting for you to agree which you always did.

Trying to relax as much as possible, Jon decided to return to your earlier pattern. Pulling you almost all the way off before pushing you all the way down, only his pace was faster. His pace was less kind and your moans and whines only made his cock harder. You were now just along for the journey, and you wanted no other use for your mouth then right here.

Faster and faster did Jon move you along his cock, his ramblings sometimes made sense, sometimes didn't but they were always mumbled or slurring as if he had no control of what the words were. “Fuck, you feel so good, doing so well- Taking me like you were meant too, mouth, cunt, everything made for me..let me spill down your throat, and I'll make you feel good. I promise darling, you just- just have to swallow everything I give you,”

Calling your name at attention, you moaned against him. A vague sound of your name before Jon more gentle then he ever had, carefully pulled your head down to take his cock deep as you could. Your nose pressed tight against the black hair, and Jons hand caressed the back of your head as he held your hand without failure.

Muscles tensing under your fingertips greatly, so did the strain in his voice and pain in your jaw as his cock stretched your mouth. Snapping, Jon finally came. Thick spurts of his seed poured down your throat deeply, spilling more and more as you swallowed around him, only making it worse. It was a taste you teared up at wanting to have had again, and your hands tensed tightly as muffled gagging came as Jon's seed was so copious in how much he fed you.

Not looking away from you the entire time, Jon kept you close as his mouth agape groaned your name like a quiet plea and kept you gently pressed against him while his cock was filling your mouth with him and his seed both. He wasn't even finished yet when he started up, breathless as anything, “Let me taste you, darling. I want- I need to taste you, I've missed you so much. You going to let me between you, make you feel good?”

A nod as you still swallowed him, milking every drop you were allowed to have until Jon hissed, pulling you off himself. Your mouth dripped as you gasped with the remains of your saliva and his seed, but did Jon not care. Grabbing both your cheeks, he leaned down finally, capturing your lips. Hands running though your hair, you felt his cock still just as unbelievably hard as he pressed you back into the furs of his bed, your legs spreading to accommodate him in an instant.

Barley pulling from your lips, Jon brushed against them as he spoke, “You're perfect, everything about you.” You shook your head, but Jon tilted your head enough he could rest his forehead against yours, both your eyes squeezed shut tightly, you could feel him frowning. “I love you, alright? I'd do anything for you, now let me do this one thing.”

You bit your lip, but Jon soothed it with a soft kiss, one to your lips, then forehead then finally trailing downward along your neck. “Jon,” Ignoring you, the needy high pitch of your voice giving away the blatant want, you had no other words. Neck with gentle kisses and brushes of his tongue down to your collarbones, Jons hands reached up to grasp tightly once more at your breasts.

Groping tightly with this thumbs running over the buds before pulling at each, your back arching up with a gasp. Hands grasping at his curls, and your hips moved to meet with his pushing into yours, Jons length now soaked from your mouth and just as hard brushing against your inner thigh. One bite after another and suddenly, with the yank of his fingers did Jon bite and tug at the other with his teeth, the core inside of you burning hot and nowhere to let it out but writhe against his touch and tighten hands in his hair.

Bruising the skin as your muscles tightened trying to contain the gasps in you, but Jons mouth was unforgiving and rough. Marking you up and this time the more you so eagerly moved against him the rougher and rougher he got, the more growls in his chest came out as his hands left marks of his fingertips as well as indents of his teeth.

If Jon was anything it was currently greedy. Yanking his mouth from your breasts, you felt them sting in the air as Jon grabbed a hand in his curls. Placing it up and beside your head against the fur below, he bit at your lip all the same. “Stay just like this, I'm going to take care of you.” You almost whined his name not even knowing what you were trying to ask when he kissed you gentle, hand now cupping your cheek and pulling back. “No, relax and enjoy yourself. That's a command, darling.”

You'd laugh if he didn't have you so worked up, so heart poundingly overwhelmed at how good his bare frame felt against yours, how soft his lips were and how much he changed to rough the second he grasped and bit at your breasts before returning to soft and slow. Trailing his lips along the scar, Jon hovered over it for a moment longer then you knew by until he slunk down on the bed.

Prying your legs wide, Jon moved one to sit with your foot flat as far as he could push it, while wrapping an arm around your other thigh, holding it up and wide closer to his head. You felt his warm breathe hovering over your clit, as if contemplating himself which way he wanted you, but he chose the path he couldn't keep up.

Small, gentle brushes of his tongue along your clit, he would then trail it along your thighs, kissing the length and back to your clit with his tongue and then once more to the other thigh. A pattern until he pressed his tongue wider against you and dove right in.

Flat against your core, Jon licked down to to drink up everything already there as he groaned. Pressing his forehead against your mound for a moment, “You get this wet just having my cock in your mouth?”

Pushed up on your elbows you looked down to see his dark curls rise up just enough to catch his dark gaze as you bit your lip with a nod of yes. Jon practically letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he yanked your hips more up to him, leaning his head down to properly taste you. His tongue sinking deep inside as he could reach, the cry leaving your mouth nowhere to be stopped.

Hands clutching at the furs your head flew back just as much, his tongue brushing against something sparkingly sensitive, and refusing to come back up for any air as he growled into your soaking cunt at the taste. Drinking from you as if the only thing you were made for, was to spread wide for him, his mouth, tongue, cock. All of you made for Jon alone.

His hold on your thighs tightened as you arched your back up into his touch, one hand flying back down to pull at his curls and it only made him more aggressive in his greed. Which in turn gave you the same reaction and round you both went. Driving the other wild, but Jon was the one twisting that feeling inside you with licks now ensuring he let nothing go anywhere but his tongue.

Yanking your thigh up in his hold higher, Jon made a deep sound vibrating against you. The shiver running up your spine and leaving through your lips in a soft cry. Already you could feel sweat starting to drench your hair against the heat around you and building white hot from within. Drawing you closer and closer to that edge and just as your hand grasped tight, and your back arched with a plead of his name a mantra did the feeling get ripped from you.

Eyes flying shut tightly as you tried to contain your protest, as did the air in your lungs hold. Jons touch did not leave, pressing further more his lips along your thigh as he grew bolder with indenting his teeth to leave his mark for only him to see.

Returning to feast only once he could feel you relaxing in his touch, and no longer bothering to build up that time. Tongue flat against your core running up to work purposely over your clit, letting his facial hair rub raw against your sensitive skin and burn you outside as well as in. The twisting inside you screamed hot and fast, less begging able on your lips and just as Jon let his teeth barley scrape along the bundle of nerves, you almost flinched from him.

Jon knew you however, grabbing you by your hip with his other hand and holding you tightly against his mouth. A pattern switching in his licks just as you were able to catch your breathe and then all over once more until he felt you shake around his touch once more. And once more thus, it was taken from you.

Trying to call his name weakly, Jon shushed you quietly. Pressing a kiss to your clit and then your mound as he ran that hand along your hip to waist and back comfortingly. Murmuring low as his dark eyes peered up at you, your hands barley moving other then tight fists in the fur below and his curls as your eyes sealed shut trying to contain your breathing. Trying not to just beg.

Beacuse Jon didn't want you to beg, he wanted you to trust him to know when to take care of you.

You dared not look, but you felt his eyes watching you, his touch trying to bring you down as you felt his breathe warm against your wetness as he rasped, “Do you want to cum?” Your brows furrowed, not quite grasping the question as your heart raced in your chest. A kiss pressed once more to your thigh just above a more sensitive mark already bruising, “I asked you a question, do you want me to make you cum?”

Your mind was foggy in the feeling and the ones too torn away, you couldn't tell if it was trick. If there was a proper answer, or if he was testing you. “Whatever you want,” You felt Jon tilting his head slightly before he pressed his lips to your thigh once more. Pulling it up off his hold before he hauled himself over top of you. Bracing a hand beside your head, he nudged your nose with his to look up at him.

Eyes dark and you swallowed harshly despite how little you had a chance to see your own wetness still on his lips before he kissed you. Tongue only barley brushing against yours as he kept you deep in his touch. Barley pulling back as his kissed down your jaw to just below your ear. “Well I want what you want, so you need to tell me what that is.” His lips barley stopped moving along your skin, his other hand sliding down to grasp at your breast, still sensitive it had you gasp even louder ending on a cry.

You tried turning your head away from him, a flush finding its way up your chest passed his touch, not wanting him to make you say anything about it. You were never good at it on your own, speaking so blatantly free like that. Jon only murmured your name before another kiss that time to the side of your head despite his other hands stinging, addicting touch.

Only a nod, he pushed more up to hover over you, trying to take away your ability to look away from him, “Is that a yes?” Your brows furrowed, an embarrassed feeling flooding your veins but he took none of it in jest, wanting you to meet his eyes. “We can keep going, but I don't want to be inside you until you've cum for me.”

A small voice, you reached up. One hand running through the dark curls loose around him before scratching along his scalp. Eyes fluttering shut as was the exhale he gave a bit shaking. The hand beside you head curled into a fist as Jon tried not to just rut into you. “Please, Jon. I'll be good, I'll cum for you I promise.”

Eyes staring harsh down at you, his expression seemed to be unmoving as it was intense in how focused it was. “You promise?” As if confused almost if you didn't want him thinking you'd disobey. It shouldn't have made his blood boil in such a obsessing way, but it did. You wanting to behave for him.

You weren't trying to be seductive, but it worked out that way regardless just by way of how little Jon knew he could resist anything you wanted like this. “I do. I'll do anything, I just want you inside me, filling me, anything you want for it, I'll do it.”

He almost flipped you over onto your hands and knees on the spot.

Instead, Jon stared down at you hard, the muscles in his limbs screamed at him to take you like an animal, over and over at how easily you'd let him do anything. You couldn't realize however, just how filthy that anything was which Jon could come up with. He spent far too much time thinking about ways to take you, he'd do them all if you'd let him.

Not another word trusted in himself to leave his mouth, Jon surged down. Capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, biting down against your bottom lip he swore he almost drew blood before making the same greedy path right back down to your soaked core.

There was no grace or teasing this time. The moment Jon got between your legs, he hoisted your thighs up over his shoulders and dove in. Licking up everything you gave him while he was away before sucking at your clit enough you cried out, louder then you realized. A wolf devouring the prey laid about at his utter mercy, and Jon had little patience for that very concept. Not here, not when he would sooner kill someone then let anything take him away from having you here in his bed.

Reaching something inside of you, he kept you grounded by your hips,refusing you even let you move from exactly where he needed you to be. Jon left not a shred of tease as he soaked you with his mouth as much as you soaked him in return. Unable to stop the thought in his head, at just how unbelievably smooth sliding his cock inside of you was going to be tonight, he groaned into your cunt while his nails dug into your skin.

Your insides twisted and turned and washed over you like wave along the shores in an instant as Jon pulled you right into an orgasm. Attached to his mouth, you cried his name out once more like a mantra and yet Jon did not let you go. If you even hinted at moving away from the shock of how much more pleasure his mouth was hurdling you towards, he tugged you right back closer.

“Jon, please, I can't-”

Barley detaching himself from you, and even more humiliating in your mind, was how he couldn't even bring himself to look anywhere but your soaked core as he rasped out, “You can, and you will.” Not wasting his time and tasting you all over again, you felt that sharp pain growing as it sat atop the pleasure and only he could make you want more.

You felt a sting in your eyes as he pulled another and another from you, maybe three, it could have been four. Your mind was hardly in the present other then just him. Only as what might have been a fifth clawed it's way to flooding his mouth with your taste, did tears also fall from the corners of your eye, was your lungs in agony.

Soaking you more, sloppy kisses pressed to your clit and up the path between your breasts before he hovered over you. A hand pulling your lips up to his instantly, his tongue invading your mouth as it had your cunt and making you taste yourself exactly as he loved. His free hand yanking your thigh to rest up on his hip as he refused to let your lips go.

Barley feeling anything beyond how shocked you felt between your legs from the amount you came, you could not sense anything until you felt the thick tip of his cock press against your cunt. A hand grasped at his shoulder while the other held tight in his curls, Jon growled as he pushed inside you.

Just as he thought, you were soaked. So soaked he slid inside you as deep as you could accept him without any resistance. Tight and warm around his cock but you were so wet it hardly mattered how much his size could overwhelm you. Keeping you close, Jon only let his lips leave yours enough to look down at you as he slowly slid out of you.

Not quite leaving your warmth before he just as smooth and slow filled you right back, the gasp on your lips captured by a quick kiss before he kept his eyes on your face. Lips parted in an awe as your eyes were closed trying to keep calm, trying to not look so needy but that's what he wanted.

You didn't know how long he kept you like that, ever so slowly sliding his cock in and out of you and each time he pushed forward you felt yourself soaking him even more. The sound of it almost made you turn away from him, humiliated, but his grip on your hair turned you back to meet his eyes. His jaw was clenched tightly as he watched you, but each thrust almost made you close your eyes at how much it tore at your insides.

Burning hot you grasped tightly at him while your other let matched how he was holding up your thigh on the other side of his hip. Letting him almost push deeper at the angle, a grumbling of swears falling from his mouth as he dropped his head more into your chest. Slowly trying to thrust harder but not wanting to sacrifice the pace. But you knew he felt the second you clenched around him with a whine, did he kiss you once more. Speaking between each breathe he didn't let you take, “Come on, darling, come on,”

Tears falling you came hard around him as it paralyzed your nerves elsewhere, nothing more then what Jon could slide his cock inside of, you held onto him only willing to take. Give him what he wanted to take and you'd do that the rest of your life if he'd keep you right here. A biting kiss pushed into a deeper one as Jon groaned your name, shaking above as he hitched your leg higher to barley thrust shallow as deep as he could.

The warmth filling inside of you had you gasp, so much more warm then anyone else and you knew his seed spilled thick. Your other hand grasping his cheek as he thrusted to fuck more and more of him inside of you, not willing to let any of it go to waste anywhere but there. Shifting up onto his knees, he kept the same hold of your hip but now he leaned more over you.

His hand leaving your hair, making sure your eyes stayed on his dark, penetrating ones as he reached up to grasp the headboard behind you. Lips parting you kept your legs up by his waist as he nodded, knowing he was trying to tell you without the ability to speak, he needed leverage.

Jon, was not a man who did not fulfill such a promise. Struggling himself to keep his own eyes open, he pounded far harder into you. Trying to keep slower, trying to make sure he didn't overwhelm you in every way but you felt so good around him. “Fuck..” Like each thrust of his cock inside of you was rougher then the last, the resounding smacking of his skin against yours could deafen a man if it didn't sound so beautiful mixed with your cries of his name. Your hands grasping what you could of his waist, but Jon held the power. Jon was the one choosing the pace, how rough he was and you melted to his needs as if that was enough for your pleasure.

Considering how fast he got another orgasm out of you so soon, you wanted him rough as much as his clawing animal deep inside of him tried to beg for despite how locked away be kept it. When he opened his mouth, he rambled without thought, an entrancing husk you moaned out for. “Fuck, I want to keep you here. Right here, fill you again and again, make sure we don't leave until I've filled you with a child-” Jons head dropped as he lost some of the roughness and picked the pace up, not letting that loud echoing slap go away in any manner. “I should've kept you down in that cell with me until I put a baby in you, that night in Castle Black. Should've kept you from all of them until I filled you enough that it took.”

Leaning up, your hands pressed against his chest trying to get him to lean down to meet your lips, but Jon could only watch how rough he jostled you with each pound and growled.

Tightly grasping the back of your neck did he lean down to meet your lips, biting and leaving your bottom lip bleeding that time no question. But it didn't deter him, and he refused to let your lips get away as his other hand cupped your cheek. His cock was making you feel dizzy, how thick he kept filling you with no chance of escape.

Lightheaded as Jon fucked you, before he shoved you down by your sternum onto the furs once more, a few shallow thrusts as he watched you carefully. “Stay just like that,” You winced as he pulled out of you, tears falling once more as you bit your tongue not to beg so pathetically for him to come back.

Only moving off the bed long enough to grab something from his pockets, he climbed back up before shoving your legs wide. Snatching both of your hands and raising them up high near a post on the headboard. The sound of something tearing you couldn't see hit you as you watched Jons eyes go dark and possessive at his work. Using your own underwear he tied your wrists to the bed above your head as he leaned down to your lips. “You can escape those if you need to, darling. But I really want you to stay just like this, you want to be good for me, but you don't let me take care of you. So let me make you cum, and I'll fill you as many times as you want.”

Your head was not clear, but you didn't want it to be, all you saw and felt was Jon and so you nodded with your stuttering breathe trying to regain control. But Jon slipped back inside of you with no resistance once more. Capturing your lips, he fucked you slow once more.

Twisting and burning your crying core as Jons cock was slow, smooth and you felt every inch of his length run right along something sensitive inside you that had his name now turn to prayer on your lips.

Hands flexing trying to reach up to his hair only to be met with the restraint, melting more into his touch at how much you trusted it. He could take every bit of control away from you, and you'd still trust Jon blindly. You wanted him to do everything he dreamed of to you, and you'd never resist him.

It was hard to tell if you had already cum once by the time the next one hit you so suddenly, Jon left you utterly lost in his touch that you felt nothing in the world but him. His cock slow and thick inside of you, sliding in and out all the entire length and you could clench and shake around him each time you thought he'd leave your warmth again. But he kissed you gently, reaching a hand up to hold at your clasped hands, fingers intertwining best he could as he kept your thigh once more up by his hip.

Voice hoarse but dripping with a deep affection you whispered against his lips so simple, “I love you.”

Fucking deep inside you, he kept himself there for a moment. Dropping his face into your neck when he nodded, picking his cocks pace right back up as he fucked you. Rasping low in your ear, “I've always loved you, since I laid eyes on you I've loved you. You- fuck, you're everything to me.”

Moving you prompted him to look up at you, but it was your turn to lean forward to kiss him. Without much warning once more, Jon felt you clench tight around him, his cock pounding harder and faster to make up for it. Whispering into his lips, you kept your legs high on his hips wanting to keep him as deep as he was. “Cum inside me Jon, please.”

Nodding, it took little less then a few more slow thrusts of you shaking around his cock to spill inside of you once more. He'd keep you on his cock for a while, the other not ready to let the other go, not willing to stop feeling the others bare skin sweating against the other, as he fucked you. But he still struggled to stop.

Jon struggled to leave your cunt, his cock angry if he'd think about it. But your eyes were asking to pass out, having used your body so thoroughly he knew you were losing steam, yet the wolf inside of him wasn't satisfied. But your whisper, ruined him. “Take me as long as you need, whatever you need, I want you to have it no matter what, even if I'm asleep. Take what you want from me, Jon.”

His mind wasn't sound enough to ask questions, but his heart was dark enough that he kept his cock sliding smoothly in and out of you. Only when your eyes slipped closed proper did Jon slow his pace, untying you before turning you onto your side, hitching your leg up properly to keep himself deep, his mind was a cloud of you and only you. Jon wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he did so, with his cock thick and deep inside of you as you both slept in the others arms.

He knew you trusted him with everything, leaving behind that fear that he'd do anything Ramsay did, and you wouldn't scare him with that anxiety ever again. He took what he needed from your cunt beacuse you wanted him to have it, anytime or anyway he wanted. But you knew he'd refuse such a selfish pleasure otherwise.

But it was as you two slept so pleasurably connected together, did your mind fall somewhere else without notice.

You had never been aware of it like this before. Standing in a memory you were always in something of a haze, trapped in the mind of another. The first time, watching Hazzea in the fields you had not understood you were not there, it felt as real as the ship you were on. But this, you knew where you stood and that you had been in bed with Jon.

But now, awake and dressed you stood in the middle of a corridor in Winterfell, the air much warmer then it was now. You looked around at the windows of the main hall only to see not even snow sat on the ground. Steps forward was when your ears picked up too, the sounds of music. Chatter, life, carefree laughter and yelling on top of the music that made it sound much more populated then it did in your waking life.

It was far from winter whenever you stood. Finding your feet, maids and servants passed you by without a notice. No one looked, no guards acknowledged your presence. It was like you walked these halls a ghost, unseen and unheard. But you had not the wherewithal to figure out why you were returning to dreams for such unknowns.

It was not hard to figure out just when you were, and it turned out, the when hurt more then the why most of all. Life was in the main hall and you recognized the sights. Peering in through the door as if a child spying past her bedtime, you first saw the main table high at the back of the room. Cersei Lannister sat there as miserable as you recalled her being in the North, only now you had the vision to see her watching a naive Sansa from across the way.

Next to her, your heart twisted. No longer the brittle white hair, the clawing down of her cheeks and throat slit open with hate in her dreadful eyes. This was not a creature of vengeance, just a woman, a mother who you stood watching as if you forgot she could appear this human. Her hair long and a striking Tully red, wearing a shade of blue that always looked so beautiful on her. This was the Catelyn Stark which had died a mother to you. And the feast around spoke that in over a weeks time, she would be by law.

Some you spotted, some hurt less, some more. Theon stood younger and full of life. A cocksure attitude in his eyes as he smirked at whatever Southern girl had struck his fancy, back in the years when he found such prospects in said venture. Jory and Ser Rodrick looked alive as ever, in both their faces and in body. You had not seen Ser Rodrick's end by the very man across the room from him, but you had seen Jory's.

Jaime Lannister with a dagger shoved into his eye as you shoved one into the necks of one of his own men, a cruel end to a good man who had much love in his heart for the family he served. But the man who he fought to defend? You felt that dagger plunging into your heart.

Ned Stark stood tall as ever, and with the same sternness he always held no matter what. It was that which moved your feet, stepping into the hall. Carefully you walked to avoid touching or bumping into a soul, as if you even could, but you saw something troubling on his face that had lived there the entire last months you spent with him.

The closest thing you had to a true father, and he loved you like one. If you could have dragged him to safety then and there, you would have. Don't die for these people, you thought. The south will not remember you, they will all call you a traitor years after you're gone. But this was not in your control, it was a dream, not a chance to restore the wrongs done to this family.

A figure with darker hair, longer that sat flat against him slunk up to the side of him and you knew you had not seen him since that visit. “You at a feast, it's like a bear in a trap.” Benjen Stark was too much like many Stark fates, lost and unknown. Much like Bran, he was out in the far North and no one would find him.

He and Ned discussed something you hadn't quite caught, catching the laters words only at the tail end, “Said the Others slaughtered his friends.” It was warm in the hall, but you felt that chill once more. As early as that night was this darkness looming before you all, and still, none knew it and would not for years to come.

Benjen adding to his brothers words, “The two he was with are still missing.”

Both Starks were quiet for a moment, a look shared between them that was as knowing as it wished to be unknown. The Northerners always believed such things more then you all in the South, and the Starks understood better then any and all of those who did. But the answer of the question unspoken was not confident, nor did you think he meant it to be. “A wildling ambush.”

Just as the younger Stark spoke, your eyes found a figure passing in the crowd. Tall and broad with dark hair and a long face. You had no reason to notice them, but you did. Making their way from his place in the crowd slowly towards the door you now stood near. “Maybe. Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the Others, and my brother might be the next Hand of the King. Winter is coming.”

Just as the figure without a care in the world walked passed both men, you found a force compelling you to follow. But it wasn't the figure your eyes were focused on, and it wasn't the stranger which clawed at your heart until it beat harsh from your chest.

He looked so much lighter, that weight on his shoulders hadn't burdened him just yet and the bold blue in his eyes shined the way you remembered so vividly. Greeting his uncle, Robb Stark was not at that time the man you loved, but looking at him in such a memory you felt the scar under your dress burn in agony to go back to it.

Not a clue what he would become, what he would lose to get there, and..you dared not. You couldn't, not here, not when he was right in front of you. Speaking with a smile to his uncle, Robb was animated and laughed, smiled and joked and it was only alone with you did he do that by the end. He was still happy here, he had more family and hope then you and an unborn son named for the father standing next to him.

Eyes stinging, you needed to leave. You still felt a force calling to you, the stranger needing to be followed for why you were here but why leave? Robb was rarely happy in the end and you wanted to keep him here, keep him safe. The last you saw of Robb made you ill, even now you felt a sharpness in your mind to strike it from your eyes.

A weight in your chest formed as your hands unconsciously moved to your stomach. Weeks before a marriage he was forced into, he had no idea what lay ahead for you both. He should have stayed here, in this memory where he was happy. And alive. The tears watered and just as they fell you had to move away.

Lingering made the burning under your clothes worse and feeling nothing but the scar under the fabric made it worse. This memory was not about him, no matter how desperate you begged yourself to stay for just that. But you turned away before the tears could grow worse, as if Robb would see them. Follow the figure, not the loss that haunted.

The figure knew where he was going. Quick to catch up knowing Winterfell well, but they knew it well enough you had to run across the courtyard to catch him. The crypts, that was where he moved towards.

Looking around, none but your unseen shadow watched him, and you felt as if the feast was the perfect time. Escape and sneak just when all eyes were on the Kings company. He knew these people, and he was smart.

Stepping down the main stairs, you did not have to walk much to find where the stranger had gone. It was not far or deep or a mystery what he was looking for. It was one of the tombs long passed which he went towards. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew where to find it.

Approaching him slowly, you could not startle him but it felt eeiry in the crypts with such a stranger, like he might turn around and become the danger. But whatever he was searching for, was not there.

A hidden spot within the statue was pulled out and exposed nothing inside of it. The stranger, reacted little but wider eyes and an even wider frown. Standing abruptly, he looked from statue to statue but still nothing was as right to him as here, but it wasn't right. Whatever was hidden, whatever he snuck away from the feast to take, had been taken before him.

Looking right at you, he did not see you. Pulling the hood of his cloak up, he retreated the crypts as swiftly as he made his way to the steps. Your eyes could not see from here, where any you knew stood, they were in another stretch of hall, but you looked anyways. The only one who was in here now, was her, if this was any other sort of dream, you'd take the time, but you had to leave.

The air was so cold when you stepped from the crypts. The snow around your feet was deep and untouched, save for the path you stood at the beginning of. A figure in black knelt in a snowbank only feet from you. No one but a horse was around, and the dark hid the depths of the lands from what the moonlight could not touch.

The same dark hair, still long on him but now sat a fur on his shoulder painted in black. Coming behind him, all alone in the far North, Benjen Stark knelt down in the snow. A black bundle being placed in a hole with a heavy sigh. The symbol on the rock he covered it with, you did not know, but the rock looked old. The bundle, was something wrapped in a Nights Watch cloak.

Piling snow on top of it, Benjen stood on his own. No companions this far, and nothing to indicate why he had come all that way to bury something and hide it as such. Standing beside him, the wind blew against you both as he looked to the far North even further. Wherever Benjen was, you wondered, was the fate you were about to watch look the same was whatever Bran had found in this place?

The wind was cold as you both stood there, but as it blew, it grew stronger. And with the stronger winds, did it grow cold. It grew too cold, plummeting down that could freeze in seconds and the fear built too strong. You knew as Benjen did and fear was the only response.

Mists of snow were clouding the sight already smothered by darkness. Sword and blades all on his person, but it wasn't that which the man reached for, it was a glass like dagger that you recognized even in the windy darkness. Benjen knew what happening and he was prepared. Turning to his horse you moved to follow. Benjen being the compelling force drawing your attention, but it was not with him that you found your sights on.

Nor was it the approaching shadows that came with the winds in the far North. No, something else stood in the distance. Someone stood in the distance, and it wasn't the Others, nor Benjen Stark they watched. It was you. Far enough you could see little beyond the darkness, but you felt a shiver creeping up your spine not from the winds approaching.

Your dreams begged you to follow Benjen, but the man watching you turned and ran into the darkness opposite that. No one knew what happened to him, and the weight in your chest felt guilt and shame choking you for not finding out. But you needed to know this more. So away from the fate of a Stark none knew, you ran into the snowy darkness as the cold winds did not come with you.

Barley visible as they ran, a flowing cloak your only indication as the wind did not die around you, but yet grew warm. Warmer and warmer until the figure jumped from a cliff and as you followed it was not the north you found, but a hell surrounded in flames. The man was nowhere in your sights, but there wasn't anything in your sights but fire and lava, surrounding you as you felt your blood burn within but it did not consume you as it should.

At the mouth of a volcano, men all stood in a language you did not recognize did they chant. The fire burned brighter and the heat grew more unbearable as they shouted and shouted until a boom shook from deep within the earth below you. They did not run, standing brave and unchanging did the rumbles grow to crackings beneath your feet and spouts of lava shot up all around. Bubbling like a cauldron did the red heat grow.

It was as it came for you, this burning end did an arm grab you. Pulling you back, you knew there was nowhere to go so deep in the volcano. You could not run, but you were pulled back regardless. A gloved dressed in a fine silver steel tugged you back and with your stumble did you find fresh air and the brightness of day light in the surroundings. Rubble sat around you, smouldering and lifeless there was nothing of the sight you saw but one.

The man pulled his hood down but you still did not know him. He was not the stranger in the crypts of Winterfell, this was a man who looked with unsettling and bright shining blue eyes right at you, speaking your name.

Backing away many steps, you found your footing loose. Gravel falling from under your feet, turning to steady yourself found much of the ground in utter ruin. Skies tinged in red and buildings left in tatters of what appeared to be a broken stretch of nowhere. Not even the remains of corpses scattered about more then bones, but the smouldering made the air heavy and the vision of any darker then normal.

The sea surrounding you from the scattered, broken lands now crust and dirt looked like they were as fatal as the waters of Dragonstone once you had set it ablaze. Not green in this case, but an orange tint that looked like acid. Miles and miles the only thing was ruin that none could traverse, but yet you stood here in the blighted land.

Finding stable footing, you turned to the man watching with a glint, his eyes almost smiled something sickening at you even without the mouth forming up to match. Lips that were shaded in the vaguest of blue, a stain that was marked into them without care. Longer dark hair and a beard that was styled rather intentionally. Standing quite tall with armour scaled in black. Patterns you could not make out, glyphs and arcane symbols etched into it with the metal work just as ornate looking as the metal on his gloves.

His voice a vile sound that reminded you only of the whispers from Ramsay Bolton. Sharp in a painful way that set your hair on edge at it's very tone. He spoke with a purpose and candor only the danger was outright on this one instead of hidden behind a smarmy smile.

“It has been a long time since I've been in such a place. A truly long time, you have graced me with a rare opportunity.” A step was made towards you, but you made one backward. Your insides screaming to keep him away as you demanded to know who he was. A chuckle was what followed. Another step made closer and you circled around each one, keeping many feet between you. “I am the storm, little girl. The first storm, and the last.”

Shaking your head in the slightest, your voice was little more then a muttering. “That isn't an answer.”

You hated his laugh as much as you hated Ramsay's. Arms spread wide he looked to the ruins beyond and back to you with his blue eyes once more shining in a manner you distrusted. “Do you like games, we can play if you wish. I will tell you who I am, if you share how such a small girl like yourself survives a butchering at the hands of House Frey.”

Your scar burned, but you did not dare blink. You didn't speak either, he wished to talk then let him.

Bringing his arms up to rest across the ornate armour, he propped his chin up by his fist as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Or you could tell me exactly what you did to raise your precious bastard to life. I would accept either answer as the correct one, should you be a smart girl and not lie that is.”

The earth rumbled, winds blowing in the distance as if trying to reach you but couldn't flow passed miles beyond the man. One more you circled far away from him, finding any way to turn and run as if this was merely a chase to escape like waking life. “You shouldn't believe rumours. I was never dead, and neither was he.”

A lie, and he knew it. The grin on his lips would have been described as handsome, had it not once more reminded you of another just like him. Only this man, scared you more then Ramsay. A feat you did not think a mortal man could be capable of.

“We both know that isn't true. I have been from the furthest stretches of land and seen it all and more. From one end to the other, there is nothing I have not witnessed except for you and your King. The old ways can do much, but returning to life in such form like you? Not something I have seen. Tell me how, and I will tell you who I am.” He moved with a swift confidence, but you were quicker. Jumping from a crumbling rock to another before he could think to reach you once more.

Your voice was as even tempered as your stone still face, unmoving and unblinking trying to seek an escape from a dream with no ability to know how. “You must keep searching then, my lord. You will find no answers in me.”

The grin grew darker, “Lord.” A huff of a laugh left him with a grin knowing something you couldn't care less to be in on. “On the contrary, I will find much in you. I have not been here in so long, I've tried and searched and had no answers to take back what that old fuck took away from me. But here you are, all on your own in the world and I finally have a way back.” He jumped to a shaking rock just as you jumped to another in the ruined terrains. He liked the slow chase, a predator who played with his food.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Voice shouting louder, it echoed as buildings crumbled from the impact. “Our dear friend has touched you, I know you know what I am speaking of, you can't not. Do not play stupid with me, little girl. It doesn't suit those like us.” You shook your head once, you didn't have any answers but even if you did, you wouldn't give them to whatever this man was. “We don't need to dance around each other. You can tell me the truths you have seen, I know what it feels to be so knowing when others around couldn't possibly understand. It's freeing, like being able to fly when all others call you a fool for it.”

The earth rumbled under your own stance but he seemed not to notice. Whatever this was, it was his control now and you could only jump to find ground that belonged to you. Stepping backwards more, you could turn somewhat and see flat earth that might not break open to the earth. You only needed a few more feet to jump away to find land and run. “I don't have time for this, I don't have time for any of this. Let me walk away-”

Laugh was condescending if any man could be the most. “Walk? Where do you think you are? In the ruins, hoping to survive what only I have done? No little girl, we both know not even you could survive this. You're likely asleep aren't you? Tucked away in your bastards arms like a good whore would, dreaming of another man beacuse a Snow is nothing compared to a Crow.”

You didn't play word games, but you didn't spill secrets like water. So you stayed silent, letting it fester in anger in this stranger. You felt eyes watching you from deep within these ruins, but you could not see past the smouldering to spot them, even though the feeling crept closer as the man did.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he smirked once more. “We're here for a reason, I have searched for someone like you for years. Imagine my joy upon finding a thing like you to be it rather then the old one who stole it all from me. We are here to work together, you need only come to me. I'll even tell you my name, little girl.”

Land was close, but you couldn't get there fast enough. “I don't need anything from you.”

You felt as if you were beginning to hate every single pair of blue eyes that didn't belong to Robb, they all looked at you like something to torment, lesser then. Only his were the ones who deserved to look at you anymore, and you'd do anything to make this mans stop.

“The old man cannot help you as I can. He's touched you, but rest assured mine is far better. Let me in, and I can teach you whatever you want. How to control it, how to fly. Wouldn't you like that? Leaping from a tall tower and feeling the wind like a bird does? No man ever truly knows he can do it, unless he dares to leap. But I can ensure you will soar right along side me. Just come to me.”

Backing away and away, you refused to let him near. You knew such offers and smiles, that charm which was nothing but a lie waiting to strike. The other blue, the pale ones that still caked your skin in a dirt you couldn't clean tried to sound just as this one did. They were all the same and they were too blind to know you could see through it.

You suspected he hated that you barley reacted to him. Words can only hurt so much, you thought and you had suffered more then words for a year and came out on the other side. It will take more then this to manipulate you by now. “You speak as if you think yourself of a god. I can assure you, my lord, no god would dare waste his time on someone like me. You're just a man.”

Oh that did anger him. His voice growling as if tearing the earth around you as it cracked, booms following each raise of his voice. “I am more then a man. I am the godliest man to ever raise sail, girl. You serve a mere seven gods, but I served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.”

Roars surrounded you as he came close, and quickly you found yourself running out of time. You had no where to go in his control and the moment you felt him grab you, the only blade sat at your side came up in an instant to slash at him. Cutting through the fabric of his hand below the metal he yelled out, only the leap you turned to make found yourself slamming to the ground with once more fire screaming around you.

This time you could see the men in the volcano standing without faces, blank spaces where they should be and no mouths to speak. Only voices from above that sung in your ear one after another as the flames flew around and shot out to the lands with screams above.

“Brave men kill them, terrible evil beasts.”

“You crows with your swords and your cloaks and your bloody fires. That won't help you none when the white cold comes.”

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

Eyes closing roughly, as you tried to force yourself up to your feet. Telling yourself it was a dream, the man had said himself, it was a dream and you could run in a dream and escape. Just as the fire burned around you did you turn to see him once more standing across from you. “Make this easy girl, if you run, I will take from you the likes you've never been had.”

Inhaling deeply, you stepped back and back further. Nowhere to go he would have you believe, but as your foot felt the edge to the lava below, you found a confidence. It wasn't his dream, he had said as much. It was yours. And your dreams followed that of your life. You chose ice not fire. The moment your feet stepped over the empty air it was not Jons bed you woke in, but landing backwards in the daylight of snow.

Where you had seen Benjen Stark, but no sign of him was left. Your dreams had always been vivid in such nightmares but you never had any consciousness within them like this, and that terrified you of when you'd ever come out of it.

Scrambling up to your knees, your head whipped around searching for the spot which Benjen had buried whatever it was he left here. As if the snow was untouched around you, it didn't move when you'd brush it away despite feeling the cold on your hands. You had been shown this for a reason, you couldn't leave without the answer you were forced away from by the blue eyed stranger.

But he was not yet done with you. The feeling of eyes came upon your back, and slowly you turned around still braced mostly on the ground did he approach looking large and terrifying. Voice a shout that echoed over the snowy mountains, “You had a chance to make this easy, girl. But the Crow's Eye will not be bested by a little whore.” The blade had flown from your hand as you fell into the North, and was too far away.

This was a dream, and he was not Ramsay. So why did you feel yourself fill with the same paralyzing terror of the nights he came to you? Why did it feel as real as it ever did?

But the moment he got close, the moment he reached to drag you to him, did a figure leap from nowhere you had seen. Something large and white flew past your vision with a growling snarl, and blood splattered into the ground with a painful cry from the stranger.

Ghost had appeared, and tore into him with little fight back to loosen the grip. Hands weaponless could only try and grab at the direwolf who then growled and snapped towards his neck but was thrown back slightly in the entangle.

You looked at the blade, and the stranger looked at you. You went for it, and so he went for you. Ghost once more tore at him but he was resilient and not even the direwolf could penetrate the ornate armour when teeth found steel. You didn't need to strike his armour though. This was a dream, but the stranger was still a man.

He tried going to you, and as Ghost stood barrier between you both did you grab the blade. Turning up and grabbing onto the direwolf enough to steady yourself. Hands stung painfully as blood splattered across you and the white fur but you sunk the blade deep into his left eye. A violent scream came as he bled and bled, but just as you heard a deep voice in the sky rasping your name did you wake up.

Eyes flying open, you gasped in an overwhelming dizziness sitting up. Not for a moment though did you question the touch behind you. Jons warmth pulled you back into him desperately as he seemed just as out of breathe as you.

Gentle shushes in your ear did Jon calm you with, but you grabbed his arms around you and he found your hand tightly. Neither of you spoke, hell, you both were still as you fell asleep, as bare and connected as before but now your hearts pounded with something terrifying.

As it was not only a dream you had, and it was not Ghost who came to you in it.

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

I got tagged by @isayashai and for once I actually have something on hand to share :) tysm for the tag!

I am not in enough of a brain space to tag people, so if you see this and want to share a WIP, consider yourself tagged!

//

It hit Wyll suddenly, as he dodged the wolf lunging at him—the wolf hadn’t actually hurt him. The snapping jaw always caught a space next to him, claws and teeth just shy of doing any real damage. Even as blood dripped from the wolf’s maw, none of it was Wyll’s.

Wyll slowed his movements, lowered his sword slightly.

Snarling, the wolf stepped closer. Even hunched low to the ground, the wolf stood as tall as him at the shoulders. When the wolf was only a few feet away, Wyll suddenly felt his tadpole squirming behind his eyes, connecting with the parasite in the wolf. Before Wyll could even consider how that could be possible, the wolf’s thoughts suddenly flooded his mind.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll stopped, hesitated, lowering his sword fully. 

The wolf growled, maw stained red, patches of fur matted with blood from where his sword managed to hit. As it stepped closer, teeth bared, Wyll’s tadpole once again connect with the wolf’s.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll’s mind flashes back to the nightmare that awoke him, the horrified faces as he transformed into his deviled form, hellfire consuming him and leaving something monstrous. The disappointment, the terror in the eyes of everyone as Mizora appeared behind him.

Wyll didn’t regret it, he told himself, he didn't regret it. He would make the deal with Mizora again, he would spare Karlach’s life again. He saved countless lives with his pact, he gave up his human form to spare an innocent woman. Wyll Ravengard, The Blade of Frontiers, was a hero, everything he did was right. He killed devils and monsters.

The creature before him was a monster, littered around him were the mutilated bodies of humans and animals alike. It had killed countless people, may kill countless more. 

Yet…

“I don’t think you want to hurt me,” Wyll said quietly, searching the wolf’s eyes for understanding.

I can hear the blood in your veins. I hunger to tear open your flesh and devour you. The desire consumes my mind. I will hurt you. It is only a matter of time.

“You haven’t hurt me yet, you had the chance but didn’t,”

I won’t let you win, I won’t be fooled by the hero act. Not again. Not this time. I won’t let you touch me. I won’t let you pretend it’s love. Show me your true self, not the act.

Wyll dropped his sword, dropped to his knees, raised his hands to surrender.

The wolf only saw the sudden movement.

[lolawritesfanfic]

Yandere Gaston x Female Reader

Concept: Gaston loves you, but you mostly talk to Lefou more then him, you mostly ignore Gaston and the bimbettes are all over him any chance they get.

TW: Murder, use of the word slut. Enjoy reading.

No One's Pov: You had moved into a little house recently ( Belle's House because her and her father moved into the castle.) you only moved recently plenty of space for your books and projects, you had met most of the village in days. You like talking to lefou. His idiot friend Gaston is a bit annoying to you because he keeps trying to woo you but your not interested, you see triplets glaring at you from how much attention Gaston is giving you and you ask Lefou about them. You asked 'if they are normally like that' He said 'dont worry about them they are just after something they cant have' as He said that He pointed at Gaston, you nod your head putting the dots together.

Gaston keeps trying to get your attention you just ignore him your not interested he didn't like that. he tried everything to get your attention like talking to you in the square and sweep you off your feet, literally he arranged with the tavern for just you and him. you somehow got convinced in going you enter the tavern at the time you were told to, you see candles everywhere creating a warm cosy atmosphere you see Gaston by his chair he comes over to you and gives you his usual smile, you don't know what to do so you just look around, Gaston steps closer. "you look radiant." you smile " thank you did you do this." He nods and leads you to a table, you follow and sit, he sits across from you. " you know you'd be perfect as my wife." he says leaning forward, you shake your head " you know I'm not ready for that, and you have the bimbettes they are three of one person" you say still looking around at all the candles. He holds your hand He's getting frustrated that your not accepting his advances "the bimbettes are a bunch of sluts they are nothing compared to you." He says looking at you, you notice some red liquid on the floor "what's that?" you say moving closer to it, Gaston moves in front of you. " what's what?" he says making you look up at him so your not looking at the red liquid, as you look up you look past his head and see Lefou's corpse on the antlers dead and bloody, his blood was dripping on the floor, you back up from Gaston until your back hits the bar. " are you alright my dear-?" He says looking fake concerned, you nod and turn around to face the bar, you see the bimbettes body's are there and they have been brutally mutilated behind the bar, before you can react Gaston grabs you and covers your mouth so you can't scream "don't worry darling they were just in the way of our love soon you'll be my wife and no one will come between us." He sounds manic when he says it. You grip on to his hand on your mouth and try to pry it away. you notice this and lets go but still keeps you close to him "what did you do to them!!!!" you say panicked he looks at you and kisses your neck and jaw, " what was necessary my darling those three sluts kept trying to keep my attention from you and you were always with Lefou and not me, I couldn't stand it" you look panicked and stutter "s-so you k-killed them" you look like you're about to throw up, cry and everything in between.

Gaston holds you in place " this is perfect for us darling just you and me and no one coming between us." he says in your ear. you fight him, you manage to get out of his grip and go to run before you can make it to the door, he pins you to it and threatens "if you leave it's your family next!" you freeze you don't know what to do you don't want your family killed "G-Gaston" you stutter "you wouldn't" you say as tears fall down your face, Gaston smirks and cups your face wiping away the tears " I wont if you stay with me and be my good little wife-" He says getting in your face and his voice getting lower and deeper "or everybody dies" you look terrified you have no choice, "ok" you said.

A couple of years later.......

You and Gaston have been together for a while now everyone was surprised but happy and you had two children and one on the way Gaston comes home from hunting with something big he takes it to the kitchen and then comes to you "Have you been good" He says tilting your chin up to look at you "yes" you say sounding convincing "Good, and your not doing anything to harm the baby" He says kissing you "No" "Good" you know, you can't leave you've given up trying You're Gaston's Good Little Wife.

Finished.

[abbatoirablaze]

Deal With The Devil, Chapter 13

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  mentions of torture, graphic depictions of mutilation/torture/death, murder, mentions of blood.

“You should have called me sooner!”

Tony glared at his former brother-in-law, “I don’t need to tell you anything, Rogers.”

His jaw clenched, “Inez is-“

“Not your wife!” he reminded him, cutting him off. 

Steve’s nostrils flared, “she’s pregnant-“

“With Barnes’ baby,” he reminded him, cutting him off yet again, “is there any other idiotic reasoning that you want to try to use on me to suggest that I should have told you that a bullet caught Barnes?”

“I care about them both, Tony.”

“Really?” he scoffed, “because you disappeared the day you married my sister with one of your lieutenant’s wives.  You didn’t come home for days when she tried to wait for you.  And then my sister came up and told me that not only had you cheated on her multiple times, but also that you tricked her and Barnes into having sex as a ‘hall pass’ for her so you wouldn’t feel as guilty.  You’re lucky that I didn’t call a hit out on you for your bullshit, Rogers.”

Steve glared at Tony. 

“Don’t give me that look, Steve,” he growled, “you’re lucky I called you at all.  Inez thinks that you were the one that ordered the hit on Barnes because they cut you out of the relationship.”

Steve’s glare fell from his face, “what?”

“You heard me!”

“I-I would never…I love Buck just as much as-“

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Steve’s heart fell to the floor as he looked at her, “Inny-“

“Don’t call me that, Steve,” she hissed, before turning to her older brother and giving him a mean look, “did you call him?”

“Inez…you and I both know that he didn’t-“

“It’s his fault that the man I love almost died today!” she hissed, glaring at him, “he has no right to be here.  He had his chances.”

“Inez-“

“I don’t want you here, Steve!” she replied, cutting off any chance of him arguing with her, “and I don’t want Bucky to see you here.  You need to leave!”

Tony was shocked to see the younger man’s face fall.  But he was even more surprised when the normally witty and argumentative man quietly took his leave, leaving himself and his sister in the hall, waiting by the nurses station together.

“You shouldn’t have called him, Tony!”

“Inez-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” she hissed, “I know that you thought what you were doing was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t.  Bucky and I made it clear.  He never came back.  So we moved on without him.  We have to remain that way if we want to be serious about our relationship.  We can’t let Steve back in.”

“Inez…Bucky’s calling for you!”

Inez turned back towards the door to Bucky’s room down the hall, where Pepper was standing.  She gave her sister-in-law a nod before turning back to her brother, “look…I know you don’t think that Steve did it, but I’m not sure, okay?”

“Why would Steve do that to him, huh?”

“To teach us a lesson,” she frowned, “just because…I don’t know.  Steve doesn’t always have a reason that makes sense, Tony!”

“All I’m saying is that his reasoning is why you and Barnes are together in the first place…” he shrugged, “maybe…just maybe you should hear him out.  He’s been miserable since he got back and read the letter from you and Barnes.  When you two were out on your honeymoon he and I talked a lot about it.”

“We’re not talking about this now, Tony!” she frowned, “I’m going to check on Bucky…please, don’t talk to Steve about me or him again.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t tell me what you know, you’re going to be in a hundred pieces at the bottom of the Hudson, you stupid bitch!”

“Steve...”

Steve groaned, rolling onto his stomach, his hand slipping up over his face to hide from the light filtering in between the windows, “Go away!”

“Steve, you need to get up!”

Steve swatted at the air, and something wet hit the side of his face. 

“That’s all I know!” the woman screamed as Steve took the hammer and swung as hard as he could at the juncture of her knee.  There was a sickening crunch as the hammer collided with the ligaments and bone and blood exploded from the splitting skin, “PLEASE!”

“Not good enough!” he hissed, tapping the hammer against his own leg lightly, dirtying his chinos with her blood.  His free hand reached up and tapped against her skull, “come on, Bishop.  You’re going to have to do a whole hell of a lot better if you want me to stop!”

“Steve...you’re covered in blood!”

Steve froze as he heard her voice, “Inez?”

“Come on, punk!” Bucky growled as he opened the bathroom door.  Steve could hear the faint sound of the shower going, “you need to get cleaned up.”

He turned over and squinted past the light that seemed to illuminate her figure.  He sat up in disbelief, “Inez...Buck?  what are you doing here?”

“That’s it!” she repeated, sobbing as Steve continued to interrogate her, “that’s it...please!”

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” he screamed in her face, bringing the hammer down once more, this time on her hand a final time. 

Her scream echoed throughout the warehouse, almost as much as the hammer colliding with the mutilated mound of flesh that used to be her hand and the mixture of cartilage, bone, and human sludge that had fused to the arm of the chair. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?” she wailed, “I’LL SAY WHATEVER YOU WANT, ROGERS.  TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?”

“I WANT THE TRUTH GOD DAMN IT!”

“You need to get cleaned up, punk.  Get up!” Bucky repeated, “I can’t lift you because I only have one good arm right now, and I’m not letting Inez get whoever’s blood you got on you onto her.”

“A-are you okay, Buck?” he asked quickly, “I tried to-”

“Get up, Steve!”

“She doesn’t know anything, boss!” Sam frowned, looking at the tortured and mutilated woman, “she’s just a low-level errand bitch for Barton...she wouldn’t know if he did anything!”

Steve looked over his shoulder to the young woman who was already on death’s doorstep, “you might be right on that...but Barton’s going to learn one way or another...I have the feeling it was him.  He was beyond pissed when Tony turned down his proposal for Inez...”

“So was Odinson boss...”

“Thor doesn’t have the balls to pull it off!” he frowned, “I know it was Barton...and he’s going to get the message that you don’t play around with my loved ones.”

“I’m so sorry it happened to you, Buck!” Steve frowned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes while he looked at his best friend, “Buck...I never wanted you to get hurt.”

“We can talk about it after we get you cleaned up, Steve!”

“Buck...I don’t want to talk about it later!” he frowned, cupping his friend’s face in his hands, “Buck...I love you...”

“Alright...I’ve got Steve’s sheets in the fireplace, so the evidence with the blood-what the hell is going on in here?”

Bucky swallowed as he looked between Inez and Steve, while his face was still between Steve’s hands. 

Meanwhile, Inez looked at Bucky and Steve.  Steve was halfway in the shower, soaking wet, and partially still covered in the blood from whatever it was that he’d done the previous night.  But he was holding Bucky’s face firmly in his hands, staring at the older male desperately. 

“I don’t want to lose you two!” Steve answered after a moment, “I love Bucky, Inez....and I love you...and I-”

“Steve, stop!”

Steve froze, almost as if on cue. 

“Inez-”

“We talked about this, James...”

Bucky frowned and removed Steve’s hands from his face, “honey...he does love us...I know that you know that too.”

“I do!” Steve said quickly, “Inny-”

“Steve, shut up!” she hissed.  Steve immediately stopped talking once again and she turned towards Bucky, “James...you know how hurt we felt when he never came home...how he could never tell you just how he felt about the both of us.  How he never touched us.”

“I know, Inez,” he said gently, walking over to her, “but we both decided that we should come over after Sam called...you know that he still loves us...”

Steve sniffled, his jaw tightening as he handed Sam the recording, “Make sure this gets to Barton...and make sure that someone finds her in the bay first thing in the morning.  Throw her on the edge of the trail.”

“You got it, Steve!”

Steve turned away from the corpse.

Kate Bishop sat tied to the chair, a majority of her bones having been broken with a hammer, but a special little ode to Barton with her own arrow piercing her skull as the final death blow.

While Steve had been a brute in his tactics, and he knew that Barton would recognize just who was the one who killed his little protege, he wanted to make sure that Barton felt the loss just as deeply, by killing Kate with her own personal favored weapon. 

“You need help, Steve...”

“I need you and Buck...” he answered, “please....please don’t leave me, Inny.” 

Chapter 14

Tag List:  @teambarnes72, @prokey16, @lohnes16, @shellybellysstuff, @cynic-spirit

[queerdiazs]

the side effects of eating too many clementines | 3.1k, teen

“I love you.” Buck drops the mutilated orange; it makes a floppy, wet sound when it hits the floor. “What?” Eddie laughs, and everything is right. “I’m in love with you,” he says, quietly, only to himself, reveling in the syrupy freedom that confession brings, and then again, louder, because Buck deserves to hear it, too, “Holy shit, Buck. I’m in love with you.” Buck blinks, bug-eyed and slack-jawed and gorgeous. Eddie drinks him in like a man stranded, left to fend for himself—his face and body, open and big, and voice, like sloping mountains, and touch, gentle and tender and delicate, soft, the way his smile moves slowly across his face like the moon in the sky, crooked and adorable and safe—and laughs again. “I’m in love with you, Buck,” he says, tossing the half-eaten clementine on the counter and walking forward. He cradles Buck’s face in his hands, rubbing the purple skin under Buck’s pretty, pretty eyes. “I love you.” Buck inhales, sharply, and brings his hands up to hold Eddie’s wrists. “Eddie,” he begins, and he’s trembling as he moves closer, stepping into Eddie’s space. “Eddie, I—” “Say it back,” he interrupts, still laughing—can’t stop now, not when he knows. Not when it all makes sense. “Tell me you love me back, Buck.”

read the rest on ao3

[kb1301]

How about some painful Shaxx12?

Clutched Close

Shaxx sat in silence, his hands rested on his knees as he gazed over the covered slab beside him, one that hid something he feared to see. Beneath the one-horned helmet was a man grasping with the reality settling in front of him.

He didn’t like to think of it. Of what happened to that person that hid beneath the cover, that same kind of cover they’ve used for Cayde back then. He would wish for it to be unreal, just some wretched fantasy, but even an Ahamkara can’t help the pain he felt.

And so he stood up. One of anger.

And he stepped closer. One of despondence.

And he gazed down at the cover. One of grief.

He lifted it away, to only see the horror awaiting him.

It was Max… Or what was left of him. His face was nearly unrecognizable, his horn dismantled and shattered. The metal was stripped off of him, by some kind of cruelty. His optics were brutally taken off of him, leaving only one to be seen, and the other lost. Any remnant of the blue strip of paint was nowhere to be found. His jaw was but bits of itself now. He was completely mutilated, alongside Spinner’s broken and destroyed self.

To see this, it made Shaxx so distraught. What had happened to his dearest husband? His loving partner? The one person that always aided him away from his duties? He could hear himself sniffle already, but no breach of tears yet came… for he had another emotion to go through.

Anger.

And in his anger did he proceed to thrash around the room. Breaking things with his fists and using his Light to show his fury within. In each scream, in each shout, in each show of power enraged by his emotions, he vowed nothing but death to those that had done this to Max.

He always had control over his own self, but this? To see the one you loved most die and no longer having their beautiful features, all replaced by ruin… How could he not wreak havoc? Rampage over everything?

And in the wake of his destruction did he stop. He saw the impact of his fists, of his boots, of his helmet. The room was broken with the Light, of all three elements that it had. Solar for the helm that butted in excess. Void for the boots that left scars on the floor. Arc for the fists that shocked the lights abound.

But he could see as well that, in his anger, it had shaken the lifeless body of Max from its rest on the slab. He looked back there and rushed to bring him back to his comfort, even if he no longer could feel it. In trying to fix the cover back, in lifting it... Did he see something worse.

The bond clutched close to the core. To the heart. The bonds that Warlocks wore, each having their own symbolisms and meanings of their own. Though Shaxx already knew the one that Max wore. Always had so.

"Shaxx!"

His focus was shifted away from the screens in front of him to see his beloved come close to him. He turned to face the approaching Exo and gave him a quick kiss to the forehead with his own helm.

"Ah, here comes my dearest soldier... How I've missed you!" He gave him a strong hug, enveloping his arms around his waist and lifting him even to allow each other to see eye-to-eye.

"What have you been up to, my Guardian—" Shaxx noticed the flickering holographic symbol on his husband's left upper arm. "What's that I see there, Max?" He made himself sound curious, amused even.

"Oh! This my love, is a representation of my sentimentality. For you." He revealed the symbol of the Crucible to the Handler of the Crucible itself. "You do sometimes say that you are the Crucible itself, and this," He pointed to the hologram. "Represents you, for myself."

Shaxx smiled beneath his helmet, one of warmth and sincerity.

"Near or far, wherever my journeys and adventures take me... Knowing that I have you close means the most to me. Even through the troubling times and the peaceful moments I get, to know you here," He pointed once more to the bond before facing Shaxx with joy clarified through his optics. "Always reminds me of my loyalty, of my love, of my boundless affection for you."

In gradual progression, four things happened. First was Shaxx's realization of the past, of that memory of when he first saw Max wear the bond. He stumbled in his feet as the gravity of it affected him. Second was the helmet he lifted up, revealing the face beneath to no one but Max, and in that same face were an expression of sorrow and grief. Third was him kneeling close to the Exo's mangled face, and looking through the features left that he had practiced seeing over and over and over again.

And the last one was the kiss. He placed his lips on the forehead, just beside where the horn used to be. And he kept it in place, his eyes trying not to swell from the tears that were threatening to burst. The kiss was always done in secret, always in their own home, done in that comforting place they found together.

The Titan stayed there for a moment. Kissing and peppering the broken metal with his own affection, one that would last for longer than anything... Even past Max's death. He'd whisper what final secrets they had together, of everything good and of everything troubling that their relationship went through together.

After a few more minutes, he placed the cover once more over Max's body. He put the one-horned helmet on him once again, and trudged himself away from the room. He had duties to attend to...

And even with such responsibilities, he would always find himself distracted... Always distracted by the thought of the one thing he welcomed to distract him away from it.

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Thirteen

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Rape and Mutilation, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Smut

A/N: Tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Summary:

"Did you know, Lia? A heart has room to love more than one person in a special way."

"You say that now," she murmurs. "But your feelings might change."

Suguru bites back a sigh. He doesn't want her to think he's annoyed with her, because he isn't. He is frustrated at his inability to convince her of something he knows it will take time for her to see on her own.

"Maybe," he concedes, even though he's tempted to tell her what he knows is true: that it is very unlikely his feelings will change. "But until they do, I want you to stay." He offers her a smile, one that is just as tender as the hundreds of others he's given her before. "So can you do that for me, Lia? Can you stay?"

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Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Thirteen: The Heart Recalcitrant

“I want you to stay.”

His words are muffled into her sweater. She’s still holding him, cradling his head close to her chest, her fingers absently working their way through his hair. He finds it soothing.

“I know it sounds awfully selfish of me,” Suguru continues, raising his head to look up at her. “To tell you what I want without even asking you if you want it too. But I don’t want you to go.”

Lia tries to ignore the way her breath hitches in her chest at what he’s said… the way her heart reaches out with both hands to cling to the hope those words have given her. “Are you sure?” She asks quietly, her gaze sliding away from him and landing somewhere across the room. “Satoru’s back and you--- you don’t need me now that he’s here.”

His brows furrow. “Is that what you think?” 

“Well… he was always going to come back,” she points out with a shrug that’s much too nonchalant for the subject matter and what she’s feeling right now. She knows, however, that her voice is trembling and that negates her attempt to be casual. Still, she continues. “I knew that he would come back someday, and I just figured that when he did, you two would pick up where you left off and…” She trails off, unsure how to finish the thought. 

She won’t look at him. He wishes that she would. 

There is an ache in his chest, one he knows is not tied to the feelings that memories of Nanako and Mimiko evoke. This ache is altogether different, connected directly with her. What she’s said - he knows that’s not how she really feels. He can see by the set of her jaw and the tight line of her lips that she doesn’t believe the words she’s let come out of her mouth. 

And it makes him sad, knowing that her words are reminiscent of the Lia of a year ago. The Lia he’d found bleeding and dying in the woods, the one who was determined to welcome death because she felt she didn’t fit anywhere in life. That is the source of the ache in his chest, and he will be damned if he lets that woman come back and overtake the one she’s worked hard to change herself into.

He sits up properly to face her and to force her to face him. “Having Satoru back and wanting you to stay aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.” He speaks softly to her, the way he always does. “Did you know, Lia? A heart has room to love more than one person in a special way.”

“You say that now,” she murmurs. “But your feelings might change.”

Suguru bites back a sigh. He doesn’t want her to think he’s annoyed with her, because he isn’t. He’s frustrated at his inability to convince her of something he knows it will take time for her to see on her own. 

“Maybe,” he concedes, even though he’s tempted to tell her what he knows is true: that it is very unlikely his feelings will change. “But until they do, I want you to stay.” He offers her a smile, one that is just as tender as the hundreds of others he’s given her before. “So can you do that for me, Lia? Can you stay?”

--

Does the heart grieve on, After its grief is gone Like a slow ship moving Across its own oblivion? Heart! Heart! Do you not know That I have conquered pain, Have parted from my woe? That my proud feet have found their path again, After the pathless heights-long after- And that my hands have learned to bless Their overflowing emptiness, My lips grown reconciled to laughter? -Leonora Speyer, The Heart Recalcitrant

--

There is nothing remarkable about this woman, Satoru thinks. 

Sure, she is pretty… but pretty women are a dime a dozen, and he knows that has never been the sort of thing that turns Suguru’s head anyway.

Besides that, there is nothing flashy about her, nothing that stands out and demands attention. She moves into, out of, and through the spaces of their home without being noticed, without making her presence known. She doesn’t take up space. She acquiesces. She is quiet and calm, a book with a nondescript cover, a book Satoru isn’t quite sure how to open. 

Even now, after weeks of him being there, she’s still reserved around him. Satoru doesn’t think it’s because she’s afraid of him. It feels more like caution, or the apprehension that she will say or do something wrong.

“She’s boring,” he complains one day, as he stands at the kitchen window and watches her. She’s sitting under the branches of the magnolia tree as she so often does, a book in her lap and a mug of tea next to her. “She doesn’t do anything.”

Suguru moves to the window to join him, his gaze following Satoru’s to where Lia is sitting. “Is she supposed to?”

“I don’t know. It feels like she should.” Satoru shrugs. 

“Satoru… She’s not here to entertain you,” the other man says reproachfully. “She’s a person with her own interests. Maybe you should try to find out what some of those interests are.”

“She likes that tree and she likes reading. Those are her interests.”

“Those aren’t her only interests,” Suguru points out. “I think you’d be surprised at some of the things the two of you have in common.”

“Oh?” This seems to pique Satoru’s own interest. “Like what?”

“Don’t be lazy.” The smile that accompanies those words is smug and knowing. “If you want to know, you have to find out for yourself.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

Suguru’s eyes drift to the window again, and he laughs as he looks a little closer at the book in Lia’s lap. “You could start by asking her what she’s reading.”

--

Her tea has long since gone cold, neglected in favor of the story she’s now fully invested in. She’s so engrossed in the pages of the book that she doesn’t even hear the back door open and close; nor does she hear footsteps crunching over autumn leaves as Satoru makes his way towards her. 

It isn’t until he’s standing right over her that she notices him. She barely has time to register the surprise she feels before he’s settling himself at the other end of the blanket spread out beneath her. 

Cautiously, she looks up at him. “Hi,” she offers after a moment. Her eyes are slightly guarded, the way they always are when she speaks to him. 

“Yo.” He cocks his head to the side, looking at the cover of the book in her hand. “You like that one?”

And just like that, her entire face lights up, the shield that had been there just a moment ago dropped and forgotten. Her eyes are shining as she leans forward excitedly. “It’s so good! Have you read it?”

Oh, he thinks. So that’s what she looks like when she’s excited about something. He’s slightly dismayed to find himself a bit stunned, stunned enough that there’s a lag in his brain’s processing time when she asks him the question. He recovers quickly though, flashing her a grin. “Not in a very long time. And probably never again.”

Crestfallen, she leans back again. He feels a little guilty about being the reason the light has left her eyes. “Oh… did you not like it?”

“Nah, I loved it… but it took me twenty-seven months to write it,” he adds casually, “and by the time it was all done, I swore I’d never look at it again.”

She stares at him with those big brown eyes. 

Then she blinks hard at him. 

He can see the exact moment when his words sink in and she processes what they mean. He sees the way her chest rises beneath the oversized hoodie she’s wearing as she takes a deep breath in preparation to speak. 

“You wrote this?” He barely has time to nod before she’s opening her mouth again, and suddenly the questions come pouring out of her like water from a faucet. “Where did you get the inspiration? Was this based on a true story? Did you write it all in one go in twenty-seven months, or did you take breaks? How did you come up with your pen name? Wh--” She stops herself mid-question, clapping her free hand over her mouth as her eyes go wide. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to bombard you with questions. It’s a bad habit of mine---”

“You shouldn’t apologize for things you don’t need to apologize for,” he laughs. “Isn’t that what Suguru always tells you?”

She’s staring at him again. This time, there is nothing guarded in her expression - he can see clearly the curiosity and excitement there, and the effort she’s making to hold herself back. 

“I don’t mind answering all your questions, but it’s chilly out here,” he starts, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. “You should come inside - your tea’s probably cold too, and Suguru has got the fire going.”

Hesitantly, she reaches up and takes the hand he’s offering, letting him pull her to her feet. “Thank you,” she says, when he helps her gather her things. 

“Yep.”

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Chapter Fourteen: Coming soon

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