#isolation and coldness can be things to desperately long for

[happyheidi]

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 & 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Woman Beyond the Wall

Cregan Stark x Wilding!Fem reader

Summary: Cregan must go beyond the wall to aid Castle Black after a large group of Nights Watch men are killed under strange circumstances, only for him to discover the “strange circumstance” is a beautiful and mysterious wilding woman that will make him forget everything he thought he knew.

not proof read yet!!

cw: angst, smut, dom fem reader, dom cregan, freaky cregan, reader is kind of odd 😭

word count: long af

part 2 , masterlist

⛫ ⛫ ⛫

Cregan sat, contemplating the decision before him.

“Forgive me, sirs. The kingdom greatly appreciates the sacrifice you men have made to serve the Nights Watch, but I cannot abandon my duties as a lord to go beyond the wall for Gods knows how long.” He tells them, hoping they won’t take offense to his declination to participate.

“We wouldn’t ask if we were not desperate, my lord.” The maester says, “But 15 men have disappeared just in this past exhibition. The Nights Watch grows scarce of fighters the more men beyond the wall continue to disappear.”

Cregan sighs, not wanting to go beyond the wall and leave his kingdom without a lord, but also not wanting to leave the Watch vulnerable.

“Alright, Maester Devron.” Cregan sighs, “We owe you men a great debt… I need to know what are these strange circumstances you speak of?”

“Men have reported finding the abandoned bodies with arrows in both their eyes, perfectly positioned every time. It’s rather… unusual how perfectly calculated the shot is. It never changes. Then, the bodies are positioned in circles, with no footsteps left behind. We fear it to be witching.”

A shiver ran up Cregan’s spine, but he hid it well. Witches were almost always stories told by Septs to children in an attempt to get them to behave, so to hear a maester say it was unnerving.

“Don’t be ridiculous, maester.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. When you find the group of men who disappeared only a fortnight ago, you’ll see.”

“When? Not if? How can you be so sure I’ll find them?” Cregan asks.

“She leaves them in the same place every time. About 20 miles beyond the wall, facing north.” The maester says.

Cregan sighs, already frustrated with the venture, and eager to kill a wildling.

———

3 days later, 15 miles beyond the wall, and alone in the blistering cold, Cregan couldn’t help but contemplate his decision. Although he was miserable, he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He wouldn’t have done it, if otherwise.

His horse stopped suddenly, its hair raising and body becoming stiff.

“Dusk.” He said her name. “Move.”

His horse ignored him, standing her ground. “Dusk!” He yelled at her.

She sensed something, but he didn’t know what.

They sat there for what felt like hours, but what was merely seconds.

Finally, the horse began to tredge forward… very, very, slowly. Cregan groaned in frustration, his hands gripping the reins.

They walked like that for miles. No matter how much Cregan tugged the reins, Dusk maintained her slow pace, as if anticipating something was nearby, ready to pounce on them at any given moment.

Night eventually came, and Cregan was forced to set up camp.

“Bloody horse.” He mumbled to himself as he tied her to a nearby tree.

He set up a fire nearby Dusk, then leaned against the tree she was tied to. He fidgeted with the dagger he kept in his armor, carving little dire wolves in the bark. He spoke to Dusk, hoping the already timid horse would comfort his feeling of isolation in the barren icy landscape. It didn’t help.

He eventually fell asleep standing up, leaning his weight against the tree, too on edge to leave himself vulnerable on the ground.

The fire near him had gone out, leaving nothing but the red glowing embers.

The wildling who had been following them for miles used this to her advantage.

She stalked quietly, her boots making no noise or crunch as if she weren’t even there, floating like a ghost.

She made no attempt to immediately kill him, but kept her bow poised, ready to grab an arrow and fly it into his eye if he woke. Normally, any crow out here would’ve been dead miles ago, but this man wasn’t a crow.

She believed him to be a lord, and when her fingers grazed the dire wolf on his chest she knew him to be a Stark. Excitement fueled the fire burning in her veins. She had never seen a lord, especially one so handsome.

Her fingers twirled one of his brown locks, but when he shuffled in his sleep she quickly backed away like a scared bunny.

She decided she would let the cold kill the handsome man, but not before taking a souvenir to remember him.

Her slim, dainty fingers wove into his furs, silently snagging the dagger strapped to his chest. She twirled it in her fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. No smith she had ever met was as talented as the one who made this dagger. She traced the wolf sigil on the handle, then ran the sharp tip of the blade along her finger. A drop of blood hit the snow in front of their feet, and then she ran, snow immediately falling to cover her tracks.

When Cregan awoke, he immediately knew someone had been in the camp. But, how? How could someone have even passed through without him waking?

He looked down, and picked up the snow with the drop of blood on it. His blood immediately ran cold, colder than it already was. There were no footprints. Where could this have even come from?

He checked himself, but was free of any cuts. It was here he noticed… his dagger.

“What in Gods…” He mumbled, feeling all around his body to make sure he hadn’t misplaced it.

He angrily yells into the trees, cursing and violently threatening the woman who stole his dagger, hoping she heard him.

And she does. She quietly giggles in a nearby tree at his brutish behavior. He kicks the burnt wood from the fire, startling his horse.

He mounts the horse, slowly trekking onward to find the bodies of the missing men.

Within the hour, he finds himself at the base of the men’s camp, their bodies positioned like how the maester said they would be.

Cregan sighs, dismounting his horse and staring at the corpses, their bodies frozen and not yet decomposed from the harsh cold.

He was, for the first time in his life, unsure of what to do. He knew the woman had already found him, but how was he to find her? He assumed she left him alive out of mercy, but he knew there was no chance of finding her unless she wanted him to.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, slightly embarrassed at his desperation. “Alright, witch! I know you’re out there!” He yelled into the trees, not actually knowing if she was out there.

She was, and she paid attention as he continued.

“I don’t know your goal, if you even have one!” He paused, not even knowing what else to say. “Stop killing these men!” He said, lacking in confidence. She giggled again. Quite an entertaining man he was.

He gave up, tired of feeling foolish. He began dragging the bodies into a pile, preparing to burn them. It took nearly half of his day, and when he was done he finally sat, sweating, despite the cold.

After his brief rest, he burnt them, saying the custom words, “And now their watch is ended.”

He watched, silently mourning the fallen men who gave their life.

Afterwards, he mounted his horse and started his journey back to the wall. There would be no finding the woman. She was rogue, didn’t run in a pack. He’d be searching for the rest of his life if he stayed.

He didn’t make it far, only a few miles before night fell upon him and his horse. He didn’t want to rest, but he had no choice. The day had worn him, and traveling at night was unwise when he couldn’t see his surroundings.

He set a fire again, and sat down, forcing himself to stay awake.

Suddenly, his horse whined. He whipped his head around, standing to his feet quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He said, trying to shush the mare. The horse bucked, breaking its reins from the tree before scurrying off.

“Fuck!” Cregan cursed, angrily. What in Gods names was he to do now?

A voice rang out behind him.

“Pretty little beast you’ve got there.”

He whipped around again, unsheathing his sword.

A woman knelt across the fire, her bow and arrow already drawn. She wore gray, thick pelts and gloves, and a pair of fur clad boots. No wonder she was so silent. She pulled her thick hood off, revealing the most beautiful set of eyes Cregan had ever seen. The woman was gorgeous, ethereal. She literally took his breath away.

“Suppose I should say had there.” She teases.

“It’s you.” He finally says, after a moment of silence.

“Mm.” She hums in response. “And who might you be?”

“I think you already know, given you raided my camp last night.”

She laughs. “Raided? You southerners.”

“You’d do well to mind your tongue, witch.” Cregan spits at her, tightening his grip on his sword.

She notices and stands, raising her bow, “And you’d do well to mind yours, crow.”

“I’m not a crow.”

“And I’m not a witch.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Sharp little tongue on you. Ain’t you lords supposed to treat ladies with respect?”

“What kind of lady are you? Killing good men and desecrating their bodies?”

“I never desecrated them. In fact, I left them better than I found them.”

“Those were noble men.”

“Please.” She laughs. “Those crows were rapists and thieves. The north is better without them coming into our land.”

Cregan says nothing, so she continues. “I suggest you watch how you speak to me, Lord Stark. I could shoot this arrow right through those pretty gray eyes before you’d even realize what happened.”

“Try it, witch.”

“I already told you. I’m no witch!” She lets the arrow fly, only intending to let it kiss his ear and hit the tree behind him, but he raises his sword, and the arrow shatters against the Valyrian steel.

She lowers her bow, shocked, before her features return to their stoic form.

“It appears I’ve met my match.” She smirks, impressed.

“Perhaps you have. For that reason, I’d suggest returning my dagger.”

She pulls it out. “Oh, this pretty thing? I think I’ll keep it… Unless you’re brave enough to come take it from me.”

Heat flushed through his stomach. For the first time in his life, a woman repeatedly left him at a loss for words. He did not know how to approach her, or how to respond.

“You obviously walk these woods often. How do I get back to the wall?”

“Simple.” She smiles, “South.”

Cregan stomps towards her. She nervously laughs, backing into a tree as he presses himself against her, his height towering above her own.

“Show me the way or I’ll put your pretty little head above my mantel.”

She breathlessly chuckles, “All you have to do is ask nicely, Stark.” She places her hand on his broad chest, giving it a light push yet keeping her hands entangled in his armor straps. He grabs her wrist, pulling it from him. He removes her quiver from her back, tossing it on the ground. He takes her bow from her other hand, going to give it the same treatment before she stops him.

“No, wait, please don’t leave my bow.” She asks, genuineness in her voice for the first time. He searches her eyes, but finds no answer there.

“You won’t need it where you’re going.” He responds.

“Leave my bow and you’ll die in these woods. And trust me, southerner, you’ll die long before I do.” He looks at the darkness that clouds her eyes, then grunts and puts the large bow around his body.

She smirks as he ties her wrists together, dragging her along behind him. “We’re going now? These woods aren’t safe at night.”

“The sooner you’re no longer my problem, the better.”

She stops in her place, but he gives her a yank that pulls her to the ground, dragging her body behind him. “I’m serious! We need to stay at your sad little camp.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll cut out your tongue.” He says. He takes a few more steps, still dragging her, before stopping. He knows she’s right, but refuses to admit it. He growls in frustration, turning back towards the camp.

She laughs, still being dragged on the ground. What a strange woman. He thinks to himself.

He sits back in front of the fire, still holding the rope attached to her wrist as she crawls towards him.

“Do you have any food?” She asks. He sighs, taking out a little sack of dried meat. He holds a piece out to her, and not moving from her knees, takes it from his hand with her mouth.

“You’re bloody off.” He mumbles to himself. She laughs, a strange and wicked laugh in an attempt to scare him, as well as mock him for thinking she was a witch.

It works, as it startles him into giving her a confused look. He picks up a big pile of snow, throwing it into the fire to put it out.

He lays down on the snow, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. She crawls towards him, opening his arms and lying against his chest.

“Get off me, woman.” He says, pushing her.

“I’m cold! You’re telling me an honorable Stark is going to let a woman freeze to death?”

“Witches don’t get cold. Your blood runs with fire.”

“You southerners and your silly little-“ He pulls her into him, wrapping his big arms around her. He hates to admit it, but her warmth comforted him from the cold.

“I’ll keep you warm if you shut up.”

She listens for once, saying nothing and nuzzling her head into his chest. He sighs, not having the strength to push her away… but not really wanting to either.

Her knee forces his legs apart to push her leg between his, slowly lifting it towards his crotch. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing?” She says, playing dumb. He doesn’t respond. She wiggles her knee more, rubbing her thigh against the leather covering his manhood.

“Stop. Moving.” He says.

“Was I? Sorry, didn’t notice.”

He shifts, trying to keep her from noticing the bulge growing in his leathers.

———

Cregan awakes before her. He stares down at the woman against his chest, her cheeks are tinted from the cold, and her lips are parted slightly. He admires her for a long time before she stirs. He pushes her away, thinking she’s awake.

“Ow.” She grumbles, sleepily. “Why’d you do that?”

“We need to get moving.” He stands, brushing the snow off him.

“Can’t we just lay a bit longer? I didn’t sleep well with you poking me with that thing all night.” She says, running her hand up his knee.

“I wasn’t.” He responds quickly, pushing her hand down. She stands, stretching as best as she can with her hands tied.

They begin walking for a few miles, with her trying to make conversation with him.

“You’re a rather quiet man.” She says, when her previous questions get no response.

“I just don’t have many words for a woman like you.”

“I leave you speechless?” She says, with a smirk.

“Try annoyed.” He responds flatly.

She steps close to him, pressing her chest into his back.

“What are you-“ Before he can realize what she’s doing, she cuts the rope on her wrists on his sword.

He whips around, prepared to knock her unconscious, but she’s too quick. She ducks, kicking his ankle and sweeping him down.

He hits the ground hard, but is back on his feet almost instantly. She runs, fast, beyond him.

He chases after her.

“Witch!” He yells, turning to look for her in every direction after she seemingly vanished.

“I told you I’m not a witch.” She says, stepping from behind a tree.

He stomps towards her, grabbing her by both of her arms, itching to give her a good smack across the face.

He looks down at her, that sly little smirk on her face, her cheeks red and flush, staring back up at him through her wet eyelashes.

She moves her arms from his grip, tracing her skinny fingers up his armor.

“You’re…” He whispers, starting to lose his strength. “Unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

She grabs him by his neck, and he gasps in shock, but it’s quickly cut off as she pulls him down to meet her lips. Her kiss is harsh and fierce. Cregan had known women, but never one so blatantly unapologetic to be herself. She growls like an animal, ripping to get off his furs and leathers.

He matches her intensity, kissing her with the same energy. He lets the anger she ignited in him release itself unto her by biting and kissing her neck. She tugs at his hair, grinding her hips into his.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” She responds, taking a step back to remove her own furs. He steps back towards her, pulling them off her himself.

“I only ask for your comfort.” He growls, frustrated with her attitude.

“Comfort? This isn’t the south.” She pushes him back, standing before him naked and unashamed. He breathes in the sight before him, his length growing at her beauty.

She practically pounces on him, pushing him to the snow before he’s even fully undressed.

“You are a fucking witch.” He moans, as she crawls her way up his body to rest her wetness above his face.

“Are you hungry, wolf?” She asks him.

“Starving.” He whines, wanting to taste her.

Her grip on his hair pulls him towards her, finally bringing his mouth to taste her sweet cunt. He can’t help but look at her as he eats her. Her nose and cheeks are so red from the cold, all he wants to do is warm her up. His large arms have a hold on her thighs, his fingers resting between them. She pulls off his gloves, letting his fingers grip into her warm legs.

She moans and whines in ecstasy. The sound turns him into a wreck, clawing and gripping at her thighs to the point he draws blood. She doesn’t even care, relishing the sweet pain.

She pulls and tugs on his hair so harshly, forcing his face so deep into her cunt. If he even thought of stopping, she’d kill him herself. She grinds her hips into his tongue, crying and whining into the cold air. It seems as if everything has gone silent, even the winds, the world around them stopping to hear her sweet ecstasy. He moans her name into her cunt every time she pulls his hair, wanting to be her release. He’s desperate to taste her release, she’s desperate to give it to him.

Cregan, the man he was, never having been with a woman so lust driven, couldn’t help but urge his own desires to see her writhe in his arms. One of his hands left her bloody thigh, grabbing a cold chunk of snow to rub against her warm cunt. She gasped at the feeling, whining from the cold. He rubbed his fingers against her sweet spot. Her nails dug into the arm still on her leg, moaning his name as she finally let herself go onto his tongue.

He swallowed every drop, only wanting to taste her sweetness for the rest of his life.

When she came down, he shoved her off him, mounting her and positioning himself between her legs.

Her body was growing red from touching the bitter snow, but it seems like she hadn’t even noticed.

Cregan wrapped his hands around her throat, leaning in and giving her a deep kiss. “I could kill you right now if I wanted, get this whole mess you’ve caused for me over with.” He whispered into her lips.

“You won’t.” She whispered back. “Not before you get to even fuck my sweet cunt.” She reaches her cold hand down, snaking it into his breeches and rubbing his length.

“You’re right.” He kisses her again. “I want all of you.” She unlaces his breeches, pushing it down along with his soft clothes.

She glides him along her wet entrance, and Cregan groans. He pushes himself into her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her lips. He gives her no time to adjust, immediately thrusting his hips back and forth.

She moans, tears brimming her eyes, having never been fucked by a man so large as Cregan.

“What? Why are you crying? Never been fucked like how you deserve?” He growls. She does nothing but nod.

“Nothing?” He asks. “Have I finally shut you up?” He fucks her harder, and she pulls on his brown curls, using her other hand to scratch all along his back. Cregan loved the thought of it, coming home with battle scars from her. He kisses her jaw, licking her salty tears.

He stands and picks her up, worried about the cold getting to her skin. He pins her to a tree, her back scraping against the bark. It hurts in such a sweet way, better than the cold snow. She cries out his name so loud as he fucks her against it. His hands roam her body, wanting to feel all of her but also wanting to warm her up.

“Tell me it true, Cregan.” She moans, her naughty attitude returning with a smirk. “Are you going to kill me?”

She knows his answer before he even does. He growls as a response, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that sweet cunt bested the Lord of Winterfell.

“I hate you.” He growls, fucking her even harder so she shuts up. “You killed innocent men.”

She laughs and moans at the same time, “I killed crows, My Lord.” He moans at ‘My Lord’ “I’d never… fuck… harm an innocent man. That’s why you’re here now, fucking my dripping cunt.”

He wraps one of his hands around her throat, the other holding her up, his thrusts growing sloppy as he nears his peak. “Fucking witch.”

To his surprise, her hand finds his throat too, but he loves it. He loves her aggressiveness. She matches him, she’s practically a savage wolf herself.

He wants to pull out, knows he should pull out, but he can’t find the strength. All he can focus on is the wetness surrounding his length. His hands grip her waist in such a harsh way it’s bound to bruise, and he relishes in the thought of marking her so those other wildlings knew she was his now. He had claimed her, and any other man who dared try to touch her would meet the Gods.

He grabs her and pushes her back into the snow, falling on her hands and knees. His hand takes a grip in her hair, pulling her head back toward him and forcing her to arch her back. He fucks her in such a shameful way. If any lady in Winterfell were fucked like this, she’d nearly be a whore. But she was not a lady, so he felt no guilt fucking her how she deserved, and how she eagerly wanted. Her hips bucked into him, matching his rhythm.

She cried such sweet moans at the pleasure, finding her peak so close. Her fingers spread into the snow, shaking, and she released onto him again, and he growled, fucking into her until he found his own peak.

His spilled into her so deep it touched her womb. She rested her face in the snow, panting. He pushed her off of his length, her body falling into the cold. Cregan stood, out of breath, staring down at the woman in the snow, her body curled into a fetal position as she laid there catching her breath. He was hooked. Obsessed with her beauty and madness, even as she laid there sweaty and cold.

He grabbed his furs and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping the warm furs around her.

“You might catch a chill.” He whispered, slightly worried now that their lust had subsided.

“I’m a witch, right? My blood runs with fire.” She breathed. He laughed softly.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Lord Stark.” She smiled, a soft and sweet smile. His heart nearly melted.

After dressing, they began walking again.

“Can we make a quick stop?” She asked, not letting him answer before she ran towards a cave in the not far off distance.

He sighs, not making an effort to chase her.

He walks into the dimly lit cave. It appeared lived in. He eyed the area, while pulling at his collar, due to the heat in the cave.

“Is this where you live?” He asked, his voice echoed back to him, making him feel alone.

She nodded, undressing herself again. “It’s a hot spring.”

She jumped into the water, moaning at the warmth. He twitched.

“You gonna just stand there lookin’ pretty?” She asked, her thick northern accent appearing. He sighed, slowly taking off his furs and armor before stepping into the hot water. She spit some of the water at him with a little smirk. He tried to hide his smile, but couldn’t. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and into his lap. She curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s stay here.” She said, voice unsure. “You’re a wolf. You belong out here, not in the south.”

He took her hand in his. “My place is in Winterfell.”

“Then stay with me just for tonight.” She said. He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her hand and nodding. She rested her wet head against his chest.

“I won’t cause any more trouble for you, Lord Stark.”

He sighed, knowing what it meant.

He yearned to bring her back to Winterfell, to give her a place in the castle, and to take her in his bed at night, but she was too wild. She would cause too much trouble for the servants and handmaidens. She would never be happy either.

He made it count, fucking her over and over again in that cave. When they slept, he held her close to him, refusing to even let her roll over. Her head fit perfectly against his neck. It felt like a crime to let her go.

———

They had been walking for three days to return to the wall, only growing closer and closer with each moment they spent together.

“I thought you said it was a day’s journey.” Cregan said.

“On horse.” He shot her a look, frustrated with the forgotten mention. She only smirked. He didn’t want to part from her just yet anyway.

“Lord Stark!” A voice yelled. He quickly pushed her behind him, unsheathing his sword and searching for where the voice came from. He was terrified for her, but she showed no fear. He knew if they seen her, they would kill her immediately.

4 men in black, all on horses trotted up besides them, encircling them.

“Gods, I can’t believe it.” The Lord Commander said, “You Starks, damn it. You put the rest of the North to shame. I can’t believe you found the witch.”

“I’m not a witch.” She said, but Cregan only grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing her from starting a fight. She kicked and growled into his hand, but eventually submitted.

“Why is she still alive, m’lord? You should have taken her head the moment you found her.” A boy said.

“It’s not that easy. She’s strong, more useful alive.” Cregan said.

She kicked her foot back into his shin, stealing his sword from his hand. Cregan yelled and grabbed his leg. He grabbed her arm with his other hand with a harsh grip. Her elbow met his face, knocking him on the ground as blood pooled from his nose.

“Took you long enough to find your own way back here, crow.” She said, looking at the Lord Commander specifically, the heavy valyrian steel sword dragging from her hands onto the ground.

He only snickered at her.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to lift that sword. I’d rather watch Stark behead you himself.”

“Can’t do your own dirty work?” She sneers.

Cregan sensed the tension but said nothing. He stood and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her back and taking his sword from her. He stared her down, breathing angrily, his eyes fuming with rage. He wanted to take her on the snow again as revenge for breaking his nose, but restrained himself.

She looked back up at him, anger in her own eyes, his hand lingered on the back of her neck.

Cregan turned back around to face the Lord Commander. “I will not behead her. She is a prisoner of Winterfell.”

The Lord Commander fumed. “She’s killed half our men-“

“You killed half your men when you sent them searching for me.” She spits.

“Enough!” Cregan yelled, but she ignored him. She broke from his grip and ran at the Lord Commander. The horses spooked, bucking the other men off them and scattering.

She jumped, using the stirs of the saddle of his horse to mount it. She pulled out the dagger she stole from Cregan earlier, and slit the Lord Commander’s neck.

Hot blood spewed onto her face as he weakly grabbed at her throat. She smiled, that wicked smile again, licking the blood that spat across her face, her eyes wide with madness.

“Goodnight, crow.” She whispered.

Cregan ripped her off the horse, throwing her onto the ground.

“Do you understand what you have just done?!” He screamed at her. She smiled up at him, blood staining her teeth. She kissed him, the blood on their faces smearing. He briefly matched her love with the kiss, before pulling away.

He tried snatching the dagger back from her, “No, it’s mine!” She yelled.

He pulled her by her collar close to his face, “You have to go now… or I’ll kill you.”

Sadness swept across her face, her lip trembling like a scorned child.

“Keep your fucking dagger, then!” She yelled, stabbing it into his shoulder.

Cregan cried out, letting her go, and falling to the ground. He ripped the dagger from his shoulder. She used this as an opportunity to take her bow back from his body.

She reached into her boot, pulling out an arrow. She knocked it and drew it back. Cregan weakly jumped on the Lord Commander’s horse. The other Night’s Watch men were returning on their horses, having calmed and gathered them.

“Back to the wall!” Cregan commanded them. He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew if he had, she would’ve shot the arrow right through his eye. Instead, she hit him in his rib, perfectly hitting where it would hurt, but wouldn’t kill him. Cregan yelled in pain again.

The men rode off, not stopping until they made it to the wall. Cregan passed out multiple times on the way, visions of her flooding his thoughts as the men had to drag him to the maester.

She stayed in the same place for hours, sobbing and sobbing, as the icy cold froze her tears. Only when night fell then did she turn and leave, knowing she would never see the Lord again.

[twilightkitkat]

I feel like Logan is oftentimes written as a character who wants a large amount of distance and space in a relationship but I think that wouldn't really be the case. Obviously he can't be around anyone every waking hour of the day and he's his own person, but I'm convinced he'd be clingy once he got into a relationship. He knows to function on his own, he knows he can go through the motions but he just... doesn't want to.

One of the main arguments I see for him wanting a lot of space is that he has an eternity to live so he doesn't feel constrained on time when it comes to Wade, who's also immortal like him. And yes, that's true, but I raise you this: he's already had 200 years without him. He's had time to do all the things he wanted to (and didn't want to) do alone—he's traveled to different countries, explored his own origins and backstory, learned about different people and places. And sometimes he enjoyed it, even if most of the time he was desperate and angry and isolated from the world.

He already spent enough time being alone that he knows how it feels. He got it out of his system. He was forced to be alone for so long that he almost forgot what it was like to have a companion, let alone someone like Wade. Someone he genuinely connected to for the first time, who understood him and wanted him.

Logan knows what it's like to be alone. He lived through it almost every day of his hellish life in one way or another. He's tired of it, now. He had 200 fucking years to stew in his own company, 3 times longer than most humans even lived.

But this? The feeling of curling next to someone and feeling their warmth? Burrowing so close you can hear their heartbeat? Waking up next to Wade and seeing his bleary-eyed smile? Fighting next to him, trusting someone to watch his back? Waking up from a nightmare and being held and comforted by someone who understands him?

It's so much better than anything he could've imagined. Why would he ever go back to how things were before, when he knows what it feels like to be next to Wade and be loved just for existing? (How could he go back to being alone after finally tasting happiness?)

He'd want to savor it. To lean into the relationship hard and memorize all of Wade's little habits and routine and quirks. He'd be clingy, letting himself demand affection and attention because he knows he can get it. And he's been starved of it for so long.

He knows he could leave, if he wanted to. That he could go out on his own for a while, back out into the cold. But why would he voluntarily do that when he has a perfectly nice fireplace to keep himself warm? If he really wanted to go out to marvel at the snow, now he could bring someone with him and share that joy together. What could be better?

[kassiekole22]

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

His Angel

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Josh Washington x Fem!Reader

Description: Desperate to save your boyfriend, Josh, you travel through the mines alone to find him, soon to have a bittersweet reunion...

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mention Of Death.

Word Count: 735

A/N: The queen of fluff and angst is back, bitches!!! Haha, just kidding. I'm not the queen. 😂 But I am back and plan on delivering some brand new fics to the Until Dawn fanbase to celebrate the remake, starting with this fic here. I hope you enjoy it. 🖤 (Find all my fics at #kassieuntildawnfanfics until I can fix my masterlist, and comment to let me know if you want to be added to the new taglist!)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

She screams his name, her voice echoing off the rocks walls and dirt pathways, traveling for miles through the underground tomb but falling on the deaf ears of the dead. She runs through the rugged maze that is these old mines, while fear grips her heart tightly. But she isn't as afraid of the possible dangers that lurk in the shadows as she is afraid of losing that one person she searches for.

Jagged stones scrape and cut her flesh as she climbs, painting the environment crimson with her blood. The harsh cold air bites fiercely at her skin, freezing through to her bones enough to cause nothing but a painful numbness to course through her limbs. The agony she feels is more intense than anything she has ever been through, but she must keep going. Her love for him fuels her strength as she pushes through and bears it all.

She won't stop until she finds him... Death wouldn't even get in her way...

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

He sits with his head in his hands, his body trembling from the freezing temperature and his deep fear of isolation. He wishes for redemption—to see her again and make things right. It is the only thing that keeps him holding on anymore. He chews at his dry and cracked lip while familiar voices echo in his brain. Are the memories? Did he create them? Were they even real? He doesn't know. Though he hopes that some day he can get some answers.

But suddenly—amist the sadist voices swirling around his mind—another voice calls out. It's much sweeter than the rest, with a hint of sorrow and a broken sob mixed within it. Though it still sounds warm, just like home. It takes him a moment before he can comprehend the voice, until she is crouching before him and taking his bruised cheeks in her icy, frostbitten hands.

His pale blue eyes lift up, and a gasp of a shaken breath leaves him at the sight of her. Soaking wet hair frames her dirty face, and a few trickles of blood drip from a wide cut on her forehead and a few more from falling from her lips. Then his eyes glance back down to see even more blood covering her clothes. He wants to ask what happened to her, but he can only muster up one word to speak...

"Angel..." He whispers, which filters through a cold breath, parting his chapped lips ever so slightly.

She smiles faintly at this as her glistening eyes light back up with life. It was a word that always made her heart flutter, just as long as it came from him. She wraps her arms around him, embracing him like it will be the last time she ever gets to. And he rests his head on her shoulder while returning the embrace, sighing happily now that he is right back where he belongs. Although she looks a mess, she couldn't look better to him in this moment. His angel—the girl who had saved him time and time again—was finally back in his arms. He couldn't be more grateful for it.

And she is grateful that he didn't hear it—the screams that tore from her blood-stained lips as her stomach and other vital organs got ripped out by the wendigo. He didn't need the guilt weighing him down any further than he had already sunk. She may have died trying to find him, but she reached her goal in the end. She vowed that not even death would stop her. And even though it tried right before she got to him, she continued to push through due to her overwhelming love for him. 

Now she will watch over him while he waits to be saved, maybe even while he tries to heal in the hospital and longer if she's allowed to leave this place. She would hold his hand while he learns of her fate, even if he doesn't know of her presence. She knows that deep down, he would still feel her near. She would watch him find love again and raise a family like they had talked about in the past. Despite the pain of that future no longer being with her, she would watch with a tearful smile, proud of him for all he overcame. She would continue to protect him from beyond for years—she would continue to be his angel.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

[gtgbabie0]

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

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[waterfal-ling]

zenin's shadow - gojo satoru x reader

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

GENRE: 18+, angst to eventual fluff

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, NOT-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things - e.g., Haibara and Nanami's mission happens on this chapter prior to the Plasma Vessel mission).

TAGLIST: OPEN

a/n: I have been looking for a story like this and thought "why do I not write it myself." I have not written an actual story in a minuteeee, so forgive me for the lack of dialogue in this chapter - or going forward. I will try to improve my grammar as I go (also shout out to grammarly). Additionally, I want to add that I will try to update every week, but I do have a full time job, so updates may be slow. The first chapter should be posted soon, once I figure out how to post anything since tumblr is not letting me share anything.

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

CHAPTER 1: The Unseen Edge > next

The Zenin estate stood in eternal silence, a monolithic cold stone structure with a shrouded purpose. With its aged, worn flags, the courtyard stretched out before her like an empty battlefield, the sharp, frigid wind cutting through the air. It was a place where the sunlight seemed unwilling to linger as if even the skies above could sense the weight of the tragedy below. The estate was a labyrinth of oppressive halls and dim corridors, each corner hiding the darkness that held the Zenin bloodline together—secrets buried in the foundation of this ancestral house, its walls as cold as the hearts of those who inhabited it.

Her only companion was her training ground, a narrow courtyard with uneven stones. The world outside the Zenin gates was something she had never seen, never touched. Her hands were pale and practiced, the weight of her cursed tool familiar, though it was more of an extension of her body than anything resembling a possession. Her movements were precise and calculated, but no joy was found in them. There was no pride. There was only the quiet desperation of someone raised to obey, to serve, and never to question.

The Zenin Clan was a machine, grinding its members into a single purpose: power. And yet, she was something of a glitch in the design, a pawn with the potential to shatter the very foundation the clan had built its empire.

She had been born out of wedlock, a consequence of a fleeting affair between her mother—a woman whose name had long been erased from history—and a powerful Zenin man. Her birth was an event hidden from the eyes of the clan, a shame that would never be acknowledged. The moment her cursed energy had manifested, however, it had been impossible to ignore. It surged through her like an ancient, untamed force, a power that could not be contained by the delicate web of family politics.

Despite the tumultuous nature of her origins, her father had been forced to bring her into the fold—though not as a daughter, not as a person of value. She was a tool, a weapon to elevate the Zenin name. To him, she was an asset—a cursed daughter whose energy could be used to tip the scales in the clan's favor. Her mother had given her a name, a gift of love and identity, but that was stripped away with no regard for her. She was only the Zenin daughter, a pawn without a face or voice.

Her father had no interest in her humanity, and the clan, in turn, had no interest in her existence. She was not a daughter—she was the embodiment of their ambition, the living proof that the Zenin Clan could control the most powerful forces, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

From the moment her powers were recognized, she was severed from everything that could have made her feel whole. She was trained in isolation, pushed to the limits of her endurance, her strength honed not for survival but for the singular purpose of being a weapon. There were no games for her, no childhood pleasures. The other children in the clan played and laughed in the sun while she was in shadow. The difference between her and them was glaring and cruel: the boys were the heirs, the future of the Zenin bloodline, while she was nothing more than a tool to be wielded.

Her instructors, cold and distant, did not see her as a person but an instrument. They taught her obedience as much as technique. When she asked why she was always kept apart, the answer was as swift as harsh: "You are a woman. Play is a luxury for those who are born to rule. You must train, or you will never be anything."

Her mind, like her body, was forged in that same fire. Years of such words and training had worn her down and conditioned her to accept this path. But inside, the seed of something dangerous had been planted—curiosity—the longing for something more, for something beyond the endless cycle of pain and obedience. But a longing had to be hidden, buried deep, because the Zenin Clan did not reward curiosity. It punished it.

She had been forbidden to venture beyond the courtyard's walls, but sometimes, the pull of the kitchens would bring her close to the laughter of children, to the food she would never taste. Their joy felt like an unbearable weight on her heart, a reminder of the life she would never live. She had learned to keep her distance, to ignore the hunger gnawing at her soul. It was easier that way.

Her punishment for curiosity came swiftly: a slap across the face when she ventured too close, a reminder that her place was far from those who lived freely. "You are not like them," one of the higher-ranked women had sneered. You are here to serve, to be useful, nothing more."

And so she continued her training, her cursed tool always in hand, her movements becoming sharper, more deadly each day. Her only purpose, as always, was to serve the clan.

The courtyard was empty that day, but the stillness felt like the calm before a storm. She stood motionless, waiting for the mission to begin. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed the presence of cursed energy nearby—an unusual, twisting force that hummed with malice. Her heart quickened, her cursed energy thrumming in response, but she had no time for hesitation. When the mission was assigned, it was simple: eliminate a cursed user. A clean task. One that needed no questions, no emotions—just a job to be done. She didn’t need to know why, or who.

The early morning air at the train station felt sharp against her skin, the quiet hum of the platform interrupted by the steady shuffle of people. She stood at the edge, her gaze distant, feeling the subtle hum of cursed energy around her. She kept her awareness sharp. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but she had little interest in the everyday interactions around her. The sound of chatter, the clattering of train wheels, the laughter—it all blurred into the background. But something in the atmosphere today made it linger.

She noticed two figures standing near the end of the platform, moving in sync, their cursed energy standing out from the rest. Their presence was hard to miss.

One of them was a tall, serious figure—his posture straight, his expression calm but focused. The other was the complete opposite: relaxed, easygoing, his energy light and unburdened. His laugh was effortless, and his easygoing manner was a stark contrast to the first.

The two were talking in low voices, the carefree one laughing at something the other said, a genuine sound of amusement. It made her pause. The first man’s stoic composure was the complete opposite of the second’s casual ease. There was something about the second man—his laughter, his warmth—that made her wonder.

She watched them longer than she intended, but their eyes met for a brief moment. The serious man’s gaze swept across her, holding no judgment, but there was a quiet wariness. The moment passed, and she quickly averted her eyes, returning her focus to the world beyond.

She looked out toward the busy streets. The train station buzzed with life, the sounds of people moving, laughing, and talking. Children played, couples shared moments together. It was all so ordinary. But it felt so alien to her. She had spent so much of her life detached from these small, human experiences. She could only wonder what it would be like to be a part of it—to laugh for the sake of laughter, to live without a mission hanging over her.

Could that ever be her?

She shook the thought from her mind. She had a place, a purpose—moving forward, serving the clan. There was no room for such distractions.

The train ride passed by in a blur, the steady rocking of the carriage almost calming in its predictability. Upon arrival, the routine followed. The serious man and the carefree one stepped off the train together, but their path took them in the opposite direction. They were headed elsewhere while her mission awaited.

She didn't spare them another glance as she moved toward her target—an infamous cursed user whose trail had led her here. Her mind focused, her steps determined. The hunt was all that mattered. There was no room for hesitation or doubt.

As the evening drew near, the streets darkened. She walked through narrow alleys, her movements precise, like a well-rehearsed routine. The pulse of cursed energy was faint, but present—just out of sight. Her senses sharpened as she moved forward, aware of every detail.

But then, something strange stopped her in her tracks.

The veil.

Her cursed energy flared for a moment as the veil shimmered in the distance, a presence far beyond anything she had encountered before. It was overwhelming, ancient. She felt its oppressive weight, and for a brief moment, something inside her hesitated.

She had always been alone—detached from the world and its simple connections. But now, something stirred inside her. The serious man and the carefree one—they were already near the veil, facing this overwhelming presence. Were they truly capable of dealing with this?

She paused. Her instincts tugged her toward them.

For a brief moment, she was torn. Her mission was still the priority, but curiosity held her for a second longer.

The hesitation passed.

She moved toward the veil.

From the shadows, she observed. The two men were already in the midst of the challenge, their energies fighting against the overwhelming force. The carefree one, usually so lighthearted, now had a determined focus. The serious one remained calculated, but neither could match the power of what they were facing.

Her gaze narrowed.

She could end it.

Without a word, she stepped forward. Her cursed energy flared, cutting through the air with precision. In a single motion, the veil was shattered, the overwhelming presence dissipating almost instantly. She barely used any of her power; just enough to break through.

The two men looked at her in surprise.

The carefree one stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, caught off guard by the speed and power. He almost seemed like he might speak—perhaps thank her. But she didn’t wait for it.

With swift, decisive steps, she turned away. The air around her felt charged, like a storm about to break. She didn’t need their questions or gratitude. There was no need for thanks. Their curiosity wouldn’t change anything.

The serious man watched her walk away, suspicion beginning to flicker in his eyes. She could feel it—the shift in his focus.

Their gaze lingered, but she didn't look back.

The hunt wasn't over.

But as she searched for her target, the familiar pulse of their cursed energy faded. The trail was gone.

Had they sensed her power?

A feeling of unease settled in her chest, but she dismissed it quickly. There was no time for questions. The mission would continue, as it always did.

The mission was over, and the Zenin Clan responded swiftly and brutally. They were enraged by her actions, her audacity in interacting with the other sorcerers, and her independence. But their anger was muted by something deeper—the fear that her power was a force they could no longer control.

She was summoned back to the estate, her punishment inevitable. The scars would form, as they always did, the pain a constant reminder of her place. They believed this would break her. But they underestimated her.

The fire in her eyes could not be snuffed out by pain. It was a fire that would burn brighter and hotter until she would rise above them all.

She healed swiftly, the reversed cursed technique working magic on her body, but the scars on her soul remained. They could not touch those.

And so she endured.

She was a weapon, a tool of unimaginable power, but she was not finished yet. Yes, she was a Zenin daughter, but that was not all she was. And she would find a way to be more.

No matter the cost.

But the truth was, she was finished. The Zenin estate had no place for her beyond her usefulness. The fleeting moments when she could glimpse at something beyond the shadows—those brief seconds of curiosity—were long gone. The world outside was an illusion, a dream never meant to be hers.

She would always return to the cold stone, the empty courtyard, the echo of footsteps that meant nothing to anyone but herself.

The Zenin Clan had made her, and they would break her. And in the end, she would be no more than a footnote in the history of their ambition.

A shadow, always watching but never seen. A tool, always wielded but never acknowledged.

In this world, she was extra. Always a part of the background but never indeed seen.

[corviiids]

fic prompt: light in a final day of the yotsuba arc timeloop where he loses and regains his kira memories every day (but retains awareness of the loop).

It's not until the fifth time around that Light slips up and answers the question before L's asked it.

L is staring at him.

Light clears his throat. "Sugars," he says. "Right? You were just picking up the bowl."

"Right," says L after a short pause, though his hand is nowhere near the sugar bowl. He plucks two cubes out with his fingers and plops them into Light's coffee, just like he'd asked. "I always forget how intuitive Light-kun is."

Those cold black eyes don't leave him for some time. Light stares at his hands, trying not to think about the yawning hole in his memory. Over the past five Thursday the 28th of Octobers, it's only grown deeper.

--

The traffic officer dies every time. Light's tried to stop it, but there's little he can do. He doesn't know the fellow's name to call ahead on the radio. He's never stuck around long enough for the investigation to complete, so he's never seen the man's ID. The day always resets before then.

He does, at least, manage to prevent his father from being shot. It's Wedy instead. The next time around, Light closes his eyes to his father's pained shout.

On one occasion, Higuchi dies before they can arrest him. L takes up his--

--something. Something. Something, and. They reclaim something from Higuchi every time they get him. It's small enough to fit in L's hands and every time someone touches it they scream. Something. Each time they reach the helicopter, Light reaches across L and plucks the thing out of L's limp hands, and then his memory goes white and the fourth day of the week begins again. It's the thing Kira uses to kill, it's the only important thing he's learned. Why can't Light remember what it is?

On that one Thursday, Light shouts a new instruction and Higuchi shoots himself in the head before anyone can comply. L takes up the something as Higuchi's body bleeds out. Light tugs it from his hands and his memory whites. With the white comes something else: panic, the likes of which Light had never felt, sickness somewhere deep and coiling. He wakes up on Thursday the 28th of October with the heavy weight of a damning failure resting in his gut.

But it's morning again. The sun warms L's pale, sleeping face and lights up the dark blood vessels under his eyes. Light swallows down a gag.

--

"You've been agitated today," L comments.

It's lonely not having a confidant. It's isolating. Light has thought about telling his father, but their relationship isn't confessional like that. He's thought about telling Ryuk, or even Misa, or Aizawa. But then, anyone he told, L would hear it too.

Light isn't sure why he's keeping the loop from L. He has nothing to hide from L. No reason to hide from L. The two of them, after all, are going to catch Kira.

"Did Light-kun--"

"I slept fine," says Light.

L's expression doesn't change. "I was going to ask if you had any questions for me," he says.

That isn't true. "Oh, sorry," says Light. "No, I'm good."

Each time the white fades and he wakes, L is the first thing he sees. Some remnant of the night before draws back hissing from his sleeping face like grease from soap. Light will watch him sleep until the revulsion eases, until it fades, and L's eyes open wide again. The man never blinks. The skin on his eyelids is thin. Light will not get to see them again until they sleep, so while L sleeps, Light watches him and tries to forget everything L had asked of him the day before, and fails.

--

Higuchi enters the office and takes out Matsui's CV. He pulls out a pen and writes the name down, then he leaves. Light is forgetting something.

"It has something to do with the name," he says desperately, casting about. "Something to do with the way he wrote down that name."

L looks at him strangely. "We know that, Light-kun," he says almost gently.

"No," Light says, frustrated. There's something. Something. Deep in the recesses of his memory, there's something he can't find, something that will lead them to Kira. Higuchi wrote Matsui's name and all the tension left his body.

In the helicopter, he snatches at the something like a vulture at dead flesh and the world goes white again.

--

What if, wonders a small voice. What if he didn't pick it up? What if, whatever the something is, Light left it in L's hands? Perhaps the dark would stay dark and Light might be permitted to see his next Friday. It's worth a try, at least. It's worth a shot. The cuffs slap onto Higuchi's wrists and Light lunges for the thing in L's hands once more.

[frogspond200]

𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗

Requested by: Anon

Ask: OMG I DIDNT KNOW U DID YANDERE and i love a good love triangle if u want to write that BUT CAN U DO YANDERE WINTER KING AND SIMON 🙏🙏😼

Warning: None

━━━━━━���━━━━━━━━━━━

Winter King and Simon Petrikov have a complicated relationship. They strongly dislike each other due to their mutual affection for the reader, but this hatred is usually ruled out when the dear reader decides to run, they'll bond over how they will punish the reader. their feelings towards their reader intensify their rivalry.

Winter King sees Simon as a threat to his possession of the reader and resents him for any attention the reader gives Simon. He may plot ways to keep the reader isolated from Simon, becoming more controlling and possessive over time.

Simon, on the other hand, may perceive Winter King as a danger to the reader due to his icy and possessive nature. He becomes protective and worries about the reader's safety around Winter King. However, he does bond with Winter King over their feelings for the reader.

Their rivalry and animosity are fueled by their obsession for the reader.

But one thing they both have in common is becoming stern it aggressive when the reader tries to escape, I mean what would be the point? We give you everything you want. Do you hate us? You can't do this. I already got over bet I don't wanna lose you next. COME BACK!

Simon, despite his quirky and sometimes unstable mental state, expresses his love through acts of compassion and preservation. He is distressed about the reader’s safety and well-being, often acting as their guardian. His cuddles are hospitable and soothing, like a security blanket, and his kisses are filled with genuine devotion. He may occasionally slip into bouts of insanity, but he always returns to protect and care for the reader.

Winter King is fiercely possessive of the reader. He showers them with gifts, often extravagant and ice-themed. He leaves notes and messages everywhere, professing his love and obsession for the reader. His touch is cold, but he tries to make it gentle, despite his overpowering desire to keep them close. When cuddling, he insists on a freezing palace, but he wraps the reader in warm furs to keep them comfortable.

If Winter King catches the reader attempting to escape, he would likely react with a mix of sadness, anger, and desperation. He’d use his icy powers to create barriers and prevent their dear from leaving. His words would be a blend of possessiveness and longing, expressing how much he needs them by his side. He might promise to make their surroundings more comfortable and lavish to entice them to stay. Winter King would insist on cuddling, holding the reader tightly, trying to manipulate their emotions into staying with him.

Simon would react with anger and worry if he discovers the reader attempting to run away. He’d would most likely start rambling about Betty and how they were the only hope left for him, that they were the reason he was still alive today. He might apologize for any unintentional pressure he put on them and reassure them that he only wants what’s best for them. Simon would offer emotional comfort, telling stories or singing songs to distract and calm the reader. His cuddles would be warm and protective, as he tries to convey a sense of safety and security. He’d promise to be more mindful of their feelings and boundaries, hoping they’d choose to stay because they want to, not because they’re forced to.

[innerfare]

Law Leaving - Part 1

Summary: Law is leaving for Punk Hazard/Dressrosa. Reader is a Heart Pirate and marine biologist. Features mutual pining and unrequited love. This thing I wrote here could be considered a prequel if you want to read it.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // None

Word Count: 978

———

You entered Law’s cabin and closed the door behind you, leaning up against the wall with your arms folded over your aching chest. You wore his hoodie, the yellow one with black sleeves, the smell of your captain lingering on the soft fabric the most comfort you could find as he packed his things for his trip. 

His clothes were folded meticulously, his blade in mint condition. He looked as prepared as ever, completely put together. And yet, he lingered, refolding the same few shirts several times over and inspecting his blade for flaws you both knew were not there. 

You knew to expect this sort of opaque communication with him. Everything with Law at the moment was a gray area, your relationship included. 

Were you captain and crew mate, operating on a strict hierarchy? Were you colleagues conducting research together in the laboratory aboard the Polar Tang? Were you friends brought together by a shared love of adventure? Were you victims of isolation and long nights alone, the few chaste kisses you’d shared in the shadows of the lab nothing more than a mistake, something you’d done because you were lonely and tired? Were you on your way to becoming lovers, with deeper kisses soon to come? Was there something more permanent, more serious, to be eked out, or was it purely physical? 

You made him snacks when you were up late working together, and he always brought you matcha without asking. He borrowed your books and returned them with an origami swan or flower in the pages, and you kept wearing the hoodie he’d given you when you got too cold one night. The two of you discussed what books and papers you’d been reading as of late, shared song recommendations, and even offered each other the parts of your meals you didn’t want. 

Whatever your relationship was, it was a relationship. 

And he was leaving. 

“It’s for your own good,” he said, pushing the last of his things into his bag and drawing it shut, an unreadable expression on his face. 

You swallowed your scoff but couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “Bullshit.” You looked up from the floor and met his gaze head on. “What’s the point of having a crew if you can’t trust them to have your back?” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I’m leaving you in charge.” 

You rolled your eyes again. “I didn’t join your crew to babysit a bunch of nurses. Sure, I love them, but I joined for you, Law.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, y/n-ah. I really am.” He turned away from you. “We can talk about it more when I get back.” 

“I joined for you.” You pushed off the wall and took a step forward, clenching your jaw at the sight of his turned back. He couldn’t even look at you while he relegated you to the sidelines. “And now you’re leaving.” 

“I can’t lose you!” He snapped. When he turned around, there was a fire in his eyes you’d never seen before, a desperation that terrified you. He looked as if he was hanging off the side of a cliff, his fingers barely curled around the edge. He looked as if he was about to lose everything. But in typical Law fashion, he recovered quickly, guarded expression returning. “I can’t lose any of you.” He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but your face. “I won’t risk it.” 

You wanted to reach out and grab him. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, if you would pull him in for a hug and try to cradle him in your arms despite his superior size, or if you would place one of those chaste kisses on his lips, perhaps another on his cheek. Maybe you would run your fingers through his hair. But that uncertainty kept you from touching him at all. 

You stepped out of his way, wrapping your arms tighter around your body. You stared at the ground, eyes burning. You refused to shed any tears, though. You’d never been so angry at Law, and you didn’t want to let him see just how deep he’d cut you by not even asking for your help. And after all those times he’d told you he trusted you. 

Despite you no longer standing in his path, he didn’t leave. He remained glued to his spot by the bed, sword and bag in hand. 

“Tell me you’ll still be here when I get back,” he said without looking at you. “I need…” When he trailed off, he seemed unusually vulnerable, and you thought he might offer you some kind words. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I need to know Bepo will be safe. He buckles under pressure.” 

You wanted to push him, to give him some sort of ultimatum, to force him to come clean and say what he meant rather than leaving you wondering, but you knew that was selfish considering the position he was in; he had more important things to deal with. 

So, you clenched your jaw and assured him, “Bepo will be safe.” Putting your feelings aside was worth it when you saw a little bit of tension leave his body. 

“Thank you, y/n-ah.” He brushed past you, and that should’ve been the end of it. 

But just as he reached the door, you whirled around and stated, “You’d better be safe too, Law. You have people waiting for you, people who care about you. You know that, don’t you? We all care about you.” Your voice cracked painfully toward the end. 

Law stopped in the doorway. Again, you couldn’t see his face, but you saw how he lowered his head, and you thought perhaps your words had landed. 

“When I get back,” he promised once more, and with that, he was gone. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! Parts 1.5 and 2 will be up tomorrow and the next day! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[adiraargent]

Challenge - Levi Ackerman

Levi Ackerman x reader

The walls of the barracks were quiet, the only sounds the distant clanging of blades and the soft whispers of soldiers preparing for another day. You leaned against the cool stone, watching the light shift through the narrow windows, contemplating your place in this relentless world.

Levi Ackerman had always been an enigma. His presence commanded respect, yet he often kept others at arm’s length. You admired his strength and resilience but struggled to decipher the layers beneath his stoic exterior. You’d had your eyes on him for a while, sure he was a bit mean and had a resting bitch face, but he was tidy and he was handsome. His cold eyes and smooth skin… his soft hair, the way his muscles showed through his uniform when he moved even just a little bit

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training yard, you found yourself alone with him. He was cleaning his blades, each movement deliberate and precise. You hesitated before approaching, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Why do you linger?” he asked, not looking up from his task. You stood up straight, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way that you had been staring at him while you pretended to be busy cleaning your boots.

“I was just—” You fumbled, heart racing. “I wanted to see if you needed help.”

He finally glanced at you, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “Help? I can handle my own equipment.” You gnawed at the inside of your lip, worried this was a bad idea.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I just thought… maybe we could talk?”

He sighed, placing his blade down. “Talk about what?” He looked at you, his heart thumping a little bit faster than usual. He knew you well, you were in his squad and had spoken many times, he really liked talking with you, though he didn’t plan on admitting that of course.

You hesitated again, then took a step closer. “About everything. The fights, the losses… and us.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by indifference. “There is no ‘us.’ There’s the mission and the people we protect. Focus on that.” He had already lost so much, he knew he wouldn’t be able to deal with the pain of losing someone so close to him, so he made sure to keep you at a distance all these years, constantly reminding himself not to grow any attachments.

His words stung, but you refused to back down. “You think I can’t care about both? You’re not just a soldier to me, Levi.”

For a moment, the air was thick with tension. Levi’s expression softened, just slightly. “I don’t do well with attachments. They only lead to pain.”

“I get that,” you said softly, “but isolating yourself won’t protect you from it.” You shifted your weight from leg to leg as you stood anxiously in front of him, trying your best to keep up a confident facade

He studied you, as if searching for something. “You don’t understand the weight of this world.” He was right, you’d been on his squad for only 2 years and somehow you’d always been sent with a group that rarely attracted the attention of any titans. ‘Lucky’ you had called yourself, though hearing that someone you were close too wasn’t coming home was enough to make you want to die every time.

“Maybe I don’t, but I want to share that weight with you. You don’t have to carry it alone.” You didn’t know everything your captain had gone through, but you knew he’d seen stuff that was enough to drive an ordinary man completely insane.

He stood, the space between you suddenly feeling charged with unspoken emotions. “You think you can change my mind?”

“I think you deserve to feel something other than pain. Just let me in.” Levi shuddered slightly at your words, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

A long pause stretched between you, the silence echoing your heart’s desperate plea. Finally, he stepped closer, the distance shrinking. “You’re persistent.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Levi’s lips curled into a rare, almost imperceptible smile. “It’s annoying.”

You chuckled softly, relief washing over you. “Maybe I can live with that.”

He held your gaze for a heartbeat longer before stepping back, the barrier still there but slightly more permeable. “Just remember: I’m not easy to love.”

You met his eyes with determination. “I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

With a slight nod, Levi turned back to his blades, but the tension in the air had shifted. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, you felt the possibility of something more—a connection forged in the fires of battle and tempered by understanding.

And as the last light of day faded, you stood by his side, ready to face whatever came next together.

[sissylittlefeather]

Bonded: Part 4

Baby What You Want Me to Do

A/N: Here is the next part to the vampire series I started last Halloween! Things are heating up as we move from 1960 to 1970 with vampire Elvis and our vampire reader. I hope you enjoy!

Need to catch up?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, but they're vampires so also blood drinking, biting, and someone with a pretty serious illness

Word count: ~3.8k

December 1970

He prays desperately that they'll find you. You're his only hope.

Elvis paces the TV room at Graceland smoking his cigar much too quickly. What will he do if the guys can't find you? He's talked to three different vampires and they all refused to help him. Surely, once he explains, you'll do what he needs.

There's also a small part of him that just wants to know where you are, wants to see you again. He's wondered where you were so many times over the last decade and he almost broke down and looked for you on several occasions. But he was never as desperate as he is now.

He sits down on the couch and stares absentmindedly at the TVs as they play three different football games. Hopefully Sonny and the guys can find you. They have to find you.

******

You leave your job at the Moulin Rouge not long after your encounter with Elvis. People start to notice that you aren't aging. But more than that, everything there reminds you of him. So you pack up and move to Rome. You bounce around Europe for the better part of the decade and then decide you'll go home to America. By the mid ‘60s there are more soldiers, but you have no interest in living in Vietnam. Besides, you’re getting a little tired of the routine that keeps you alive. Several times you consider giving up entirely and letting yourself fade, but there’s always a reason to keep going, even if it’s just that you have to go to work the next day.

You watch Elvis's career from afar, see every single one of his movies, and cry when you watch the Special in ‘68. That's when you go home, settling in Las Vegas to become a showgirl. There is a steady stream of male tourists and, if you’re being honest, the vague chance that you might run into Elvis. In a way, you’re happy, despite living alone. After Paris, you stop looking for others like you and learn to be content to live in isolation. Even after all these years, the only one you really want is him.

You get invited to one of his parties once by some guy who is trying to show off, but you bail at the last second, scared of how he might react to seeing you again. He’s married with a child, why would he want to reconnect with the woman who ruined his life? Still, his life doesn't seem ruined when you read what the papers have to say about his grand return to the stage. You're happy he’s happy and you make that be enough.

******

Elvis walks upstairs to Lisa Marie’s room and stands in the doorway for a little while just watching the scene in front of him. His little girl lays in the bed asleep as the nurse sits beside her waiting for the next coughing fit.

“How is she?” He whispers and the nurse looks up at him.

“Not any better. The doctor is worried that the whooping cough will turn to pneumonia. If that happens-”

“It won't.” He can't entertain that possibility in his mind. She's already too sick. He walks over to the bed and kneels down beside it, looking at his toddler daughter struggling to breathe on the pillow. She's not even 3 years old. “I won't let it happen.”

“Mr. Presley, I know it's hard to think about, but she's not responding to the antibiotics. You need to-” He turns to her with his eyes burning and cruel. It's easy to forget he's a vampire until he looks like this. The nurse doesn't know, of course, but she's filled with an icy cold terror anyway.

“I've already fired three nurses for talking like this. Do you want to be next?” He spits it at her and she shakes her head vehemently.

“N-no sir. I'm sorry.” She shrinks like a mouse in front of a violent predator. Elvis glares at her, nostrils flaring, and seriously considers draining her dry. He hasn't fed in days and he feels his fangs descend just thinking about it. Shaking his head a little, he turns back to face the bed and takes a deep breath to get rid of his fangs.

“You just do your job. Leave the rest to me.” He lifts Lisa Marie’s hand to his lips and kisses it gently. “My baby will be just fine.”

The nurse nods as he stands up and walks to the doorway, pausing to look back at the bed.

“She will be fine.” He has to find you before it's too late.

******

You read in the papers that Elvis is back in Vegas at the end of January 1971. Every time you find out he's there, your heart skips and you try not to pray that this is the time you run into him. You attempt to go about your business as usual and ignore the strange pull you feel to reach out to him.

It takes every amount of threatening from the Colonel to get Elvis to go back to Vegas while Lisa Marie is sick. Her whooping cough does turn into pneumonia and she just seems to get worse with each passing day. Elvis has her moved to a hospital in Vegas so he can be with her any time he's not on stage.

In the meantime, the men he's sent to search for you continue to come up empty handed. Nobody at the Moulin Rouge knows where you are and none of their other leads go anywhere. Mary hasn't spoken with you since the day Elvis was turned. And even though they find Anya back home in Russia, she doesn't know where you are either. Last she heard, you were going back to America, but she wasn't sure where you'd gone.

Elvis breaks almost every knick knack in his Vegas suite flying into fits of rage over their incompetence. He could've told them you were in America. There's a strange feeling in him that tells him you're close by, he's just not sure where.

So when he sees you one day crossing the street in front of him on his way to the hospital, he almost doesn't believe it's you. But he'd recognize you anywhere, even with his eyes closed. For some reason, his extreme senses pick up on you better than anything he's ever experienced. He can smell you and hear you despite the bustling city around him.

Without warning, he unlocks the door and hops out of the car, ignoring the pleas from his bodyguards. He's stronger than all of them combined, so they don't even attempt to hold him back as he runs across the street to you.

You feel him before you see him, his scent almost overwhelming you. Your eyes close and you stop dead in your tracks as he comes up behind you.

“Y/n…”

“Elvis.” You turn to him, opening your eyes slowly. For a second, you both just stare at each other.

“I need you.” You're not sure what you were expecting to come out of his mouth, but it wasn't that.

“You… need me?”

“Yes. Please. Come with me.” You're on your way to work, but you don't think twice.

“Okay.” He leads you back through traffic to his car where it's parked as his bodyguards wait for him to come back. Sonny stands there, not sure what to think about the kind of woman that makes Elvis Presley jump out of a moving car.

“What the hell, boss?” Elvis just shakes his head.

“I told you she was close, man.” Sonny's mouth pops open.

“Is that… she's… that's her?” Elvis nods as he opens the door for you to slide into the backseat.

“That's her.” He slides into the seat beside you and slams the car door. You can't get over how good he looks in his velvet jacket. His hair is a lot longer than the last time you saw him, but he's just as handsome as he's ever been.

“Elvis…”

“I need your help. I've been looking for you.” Your body is screaming for you to pull him close to you, but you try to ignore the instinct.

“For me? Why?”

“You'll see.” You ride in silence, not sure what to say to the man you've loved for over a decade when you haven't seen him in just as long. When the car pulls up in front of the hospital, you really start to wonder what he wants with you. “Don't say anything to the press.”

He doesn't give you time to ask any questions before getting out of the car and running to your side to help you out.

“Elvis, what-?”

“Just come with me.” He puts his hand on the small of your back, sending shivers through both of you, and leads you past the paparazzi and through the hospital to Lisa Marie's room. At the door he turns to you with a strange look of desperation on his face. His distress is almost palpable. “I need your help with this.”

He pushes the door open and guides you into the room. When you see the little girl in the bed, oxygen pumping and monitors beeping, your hand goes to your mouth.

“This is my daughter, Lisa Marie. She has pneumonia and it's not responding to the medication.” Your eyes fill with tears, his sadness overwhelming you.

“What do you need from me?” He hesitates for a second and then decides he has nothing to lose.

“I need you to help me turn her into one of us.”

His request hangs in the air like some tangible thing. It takes a second for you to really register what he's asking, before you turn to him with your eyes wide.

“Elvis, she's a child. She's a baby. I'm not-”

“She's dying, y/n. I can't lose her.” You feel the desperation roll off of him in deep waves and look back at the toddler in the bed. For a second, you consider what it would mean.

“No, Elvis! I'm not doing this!” You turn and walk out of the hospital room. In the hallway, you lean against the wall and try to catch your breath. His emotions are making it difficult to think. You don't remember being this sensitive to him before, but it's like the years apart have made your senses even more extreme. There's always a strange sort of connection between a vampire and their maker, but yours seems to be especially strong. Or maybe his feelings are just that intense.

“Y/n! Please. You're my only hope of saving her.” His blue eyes burn with desperation.

“No!” You yell at first and then lower your voice when you realize the nurses at the desk are watching the two of you. “I'm not doing this, Elvis. I can't.”

He grabs your shoulders and shakes you a little, not hard but enough to feel.

“You have to! You did this to me! You owe me this!” He's frantic now, almost hysterical with the thought that you're refusing to do what he needs. You reach up and take his face in both hands.

“Elvis. Not here. Not like this. People are watching.” He blinks a few times and lets go of your shoulders, looking around. He sniffs hard and takes his glasses off to wipe his eyes. Placing them back on his nose, he looks at you intensely.

“Okay. Come with me.” He takes your hand and drags you back through the hospital to his car, ignoring the reporters as they yell questions about who you are and why he's at the hospital. Back in the safety of the car, he breaks down. “I don't know what else to do.”

He leans over in your arms and you hold him as he cries on your chest. Tears stream down your cheeks and your body is wracked with sobs. You're not sure if it's his sadness or yours that's got you like this, but you hold him and rock with him in your arms the whole way back to his hotel.

When you pull up, he groans and sits up, wiping his face with his hands. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to you to wipe your face with. You're not sure why he didn't use it himself, but it's like that would be admitting he had cried. Once you're both cleaned up as much as you can be, he opens the car door and leads you up to his suite. As soon as you're alone, he rounds on you. His eyes are so much on fire that they're almost red.

“Tell me again why the fuck you won’t save my daughter’s life.”

“Elvis, think about what you're asking me. You want me to help you make your baby a vampire.” He turns and kicks a table.

“I want you to SAVE HER LIFE.” He snarls at you angrily. You decide that yelling back is not going to be helpful. Instead you take a deep breath and ask quietly.

“Did I save your life?” He stares at you.

“What?”

“When I turned you, did I save your life?” You say it slowly and deliberately and watch as he puts together what you're asking.

“No, but I wasn't dying.” He seems to have softened a bit though, so you continue this line of questioning.

“And are you happy that I turned you?”

“Not really.” The bitterness in his voice cuts straight through you.

“Is this the life you want for your child?” That strikes a chord and he looks up at you with his eyes cold again.

“I didn't want this life for myself.” Now it's your turn to shake your head and get a little fired up.

“Oh no you don't. You do not get to blame this on me. You begged me to turn you.” You watch as he puffs up again and prepares for a fight.

“And you knew better!”

“I told you-”

“BUT YOU DID IT ANYWAY!” He walks close to you and towers over you. “YOU DID IT ANYWAY!”

“YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME AN OPTION!” He scares you a bit, but you refuse to back down. “YOU-”

“AND THEN YOU SENT ME AWAY!” You laugh derisively.

“I sent you away?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” You take a step towards him and look up into his face. “You left me!”

He grabs your upper arms and shakes you again.

“DO YOU THINK I WANTED TO LEAVE-” You cut him off and scream.

“DO YOU THINK I WANTED YOU TO LEAVE?! I LOVED YOU!” He lets go of your arms and his mouth pops open, but he closes it quickly and turns away from you. You whisper to his back. “I love you.”

You try to suppress your tears, dying to know what he is thinking. He doesn't give you long to wonder, though. Instead, he turns back to you with a tortured expression.

“Why the fuck didn't you say anything?”

“I knew better! I knew you didn't love me!” He shakes his head.

“You decided for me.”

“Are you telling me I was wrong?!” Your voice wavers as the tears threaten to spill over. “You know you didn't-”

And then in three steps he's wrapped around you, his mouth crashed into yours, kissing you with an unbridled passion.

You don't even think, your body just responds and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist. He catches you easily and carries you to the bedroom, his mouth never moving from yours. A decade’s worth of pent up passion is escaping you both as he lays you down on the bed and rolls his hips forward to meet yours. He stops for the smallest second and strokes the side of your face with the back of his fingers. Then he leans in and kisses you softly a few times before the heat takes over again and he tears at your clothes. In a few short minutes he's got you both stripped naked and you press your bodies together, soaking in the feeling of each other’s skin. It's been so long since he's had you like this that he almost forgot what it felt like to be this close to you, but it all comes rushing back to him as you whimper underneath him. He presses his lips to your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses in his wake as he moves down your stomach. His fangs have already descended and he grazes them against your inner thigh in the place where he bit you when you made love before he left Germany. How many nights has he thought of that day? The way you tasted and smelled and how you writhed under his body in pleasure.

You're overwhelmed with the reality of him as he worships you, having spent too many years imagining him, replaying your last time together over and over in your mind with your fingers pressed to your clit, whispering his name into the darkness like a prayer. You feel your fangs against your bottom lip and arch your back as he drags his tongue up your thigh and hovers just over your center.

“You really thought I didn't love you?” He whispers, just before he lowers his mouth to you, letting his tongue dart out over your sensitive bud. You moan softly as he begins to lick and suck you with the fire of a man possessed by desire. Words are beyond you as he works your clit with his mouth and then moves down to press his tongue as deep inside you as it'll go. You whimper and gasp as he fucks you with his tongue and then moves back up, sliding two long fingers into you. The feeling of his rings against your entrance is new and particularly delicious as you feel your orgasm start to gather in between your hips. His fangs press gently into your skin as he licks you hard and slides his fingers in and out. He knows you're close to a climax, remembers the way you feel like this, and is pulling out all the stops to push you over the edge. “Come on, baby. You can let go for me. I'm not goin’ anywhere.”

He's not sure why that's what he says, but it works nonetheless and you feel yourself giving in to the pleasure as it washes over you in pounding waves. He moans a little when he feels you pulse around his fingers. As your clit softens, he pulls back a bit and it takes everything in him not to sink his fangs into your thigh. His dick is so hard it almost hurts and he's dying for some kind of release. He hasn't fed in way too long and the knowledge that you're there and you taste so good is about to kill him.

You watch, confused, as he moves away from you and sits up with his back against the headboard, leaning back and sighing deeply.

“Elvis, what-?”

“I'm trying not to bite you.” You sit up and look at him, so beautiful with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, shaggy hair a little wet with sweat. His body is taut and when your eyes land on his hard cock standing at the ready, your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Why?” You whisper as you slink over to him and crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs and taking his dick in your hand. He groans as you start to pump him and then lean in and kiss his chest. “I don't mind.”

He immediately lifts his head and looks down as you move your hair out of the way and expose your neck to him. It’s been so long and he knows how good you taste. A low growl escapes him as he leans forward and licks a spot on your neck.

“You're sure, baby?”

“Just don't drain me, but yes.” He smiles a little and drags his fangs across your skin. Your hand is still pumping him, but as he moves to bite you, you lift up and sink down onto his cock while his fangs press into your neck. Both of you moan deeply with the double sensation. You roll your hips against him as he sucks the blood from your neck and the passion begins to mount again as both of his hands move to your back. He groans as you begin to bounce on him harder, pushing him so deep inside you that you dance on the edge of another orgasm.

“Fuck, Elvis!” You moan and he backs away from your neck and pulls your mouth to his, your fangs bumping into his as you taste your own blood on his tongue. He moves his hands to your hips and starts to lift and drop you faster and faster, feeling the pleasure rise in him and threaten to explode inside you. Then, he grabs the other side of your neck with his hand and presses his forehead into yours as you fuck him.

“Of course I loved you. I’ve always loved you. I still love you.” You let out a strangled moan at his words and clamp your mouth shut. The instinct to bite him is so strong that you can barely control it. And it only gets worse when he cocks his head to the side and moves his hair off his neck.

“I can't.”

“Yes you can. Please.”

“Elvis…” But it's beyond your control when he moves his thumb to your clit and he pushes you over the edge into another blinding climax. Your eyes darken and the next thing you know, you're sinking your fangs into him as he holds you in place and cums deep inside you. The sweet taste of his blood rushes over your tongue as his cock pulses inside you. The pleasure overwhelms both of you so deeply that for a second it feels like you black out. When you both come to, you're laying on the bed with your head down by his feet and his head by yours. You feel him grab your ankle and kiss it, a smile spreading across your face.

“You okay, baby?” He asks with his lips against your skin. You sit up and rearrange to be in his arms. He kisses your forehead and sighs deeply.

“I'm fine. Better than fine. Are you okay?” You look up at him but he keeps his eyes on the ceiling.

“Yeah, I'm… I love you.” You kiss his jawline.

“I love you too. What is it?” There's a pause as you watch him try to find the words to say what's on his mind. Eventually he just opens his mouth and it comes tumbling out.

“My baby girl is gonna die, isn't she?”

You lay together in silence and the thought hits him that at least he'll have you when it happens.

******

To be continued...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

[xjulixred45x]

I HAVE A ANGST IDEA FOR A HADES GAME READER!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

Did you see how Demeter made all life on earth incredibly difficult for mortals as punishment for having "stolen her daughter"? Well, based on the fact that in myths people literally DYING OF STARVATION (and apparently in the game, of cold) this idea came to me.

Imagine that the reader is a normal mortal, nothing particularly remarkable, EXCEPT that she is a farmer with the rest of her family, who just before the eternal winter came, they worshiped Demeter so they could have good crops and so on.

but then, without warning, winter arrives.

At first it's not so bad, because they can ration certain things and get by with some groceries, but as the months go by and the winter continues to get worse, so does the situation in the reader's house.

The surrounding villages begin to have pests, have problems with resources, not having to eat, etc. and the first deaths begin thanks to this, which quickly spread throughout the community where the reader lives.

The first to fall from the family are the most vulnerable, the grandparents and children of the reader's younger siblings, to whom they perform the appropriate funeral rituals along with all the people who had already died due to the winter.

Everyone's life is turned upside down trying to find ways to survive without having a coast to fish and with now few animals, and the cold gets worse and worse...

The community soon begins to decay and reader participates in the funeral rituals out of respect and to not think about the horrible situation, becoming more educated in the chnotic gods.

They are all desperate to survive, but the snow makes it almost impossible to leave the city where they live, so they are stuck.

It doesn't take long until the reader's parents also succumb, either from illness, from the cold, or from starvation from giving all the food to their surviving child.

and it's not even the worst.

reader is now sick too. So the remaining people of the town cannot allow her to make them all sick and kill them, so after giving the proper services to her family, they lock her in her own house.

but at this point the reader is so tired that she doesn't even mind being isolated. but she knows one thing. she can't allow herself to die like this. not because it is degrading or unfair, but because she knows that if she dies and no one performs an adequate ritual for her, she will not even see her family in the afterlife.

all the pain and suffering in vain.

So against all odds, the reader finds ways to survive on her own at home, constantly being in the limbo of life and death due to her horrible health.

and, thanks to this, the reader meets Thanatos.

I think I'll leave it vague if the relationship would be platonic or romantic, but they definitely got off to a bad start.

We already know that Thanatos finds his work exhausting, so the fact that the reader clung to life and did not want to leave even when she was in horrible conditions bothered him to no end.

and on the other hand, the reader OBVIOUSLY did not want to die and it was annoying that he wished her dead (even if it was technically his job?) and that led to several verbal fights. at first.

Thanatos appeared at the reader's house when she was especially weak, whether she could not move on her own, had respiratory attacks and/or was in special pain, etc. episodes that, although temporary, were still close encounters with death.

When Reader and Thanatos eventually get tired of insulting each other in these moments, at first they just wait to see whether Reader will survive this particular episode or not, in a rather tense silence.

It is not until the third or fourth time this happens that the reader begins a conversation with Thanatos in an "informal" way.

As one can imagine, at first Thanatos didn't even react or try to continue with said conversation, just do his job and leave, but as time went by he began to show more signs of listening to what the reader was saying. and eventually even give short answers.

He doesn't share much, but now the reader doesn't go crazy being alone.

I also imagine that on some occasions, when the reader can't move much, she DRAG to go get food/medicine, which bothers Thanatos because it seems 1- unhygienic and 2- stupid in a certain sense, mortals get sick because of it. not taking care of themselves, does she NOT want to get better?

It is from there that their relationship begins to improve, but the reader's health worsens every day.

It's the same as what happens with the other villagers that Thanatos collects, weakness, coughing up blood, pain in the rib cage, inability to eat, difficulty breathing--

but even so, the reader STILL wants to cling to this miserable existence, she can't even eat or stand anymore and STILL doesn't want to leave...

WHY? WHY SUFFER THIS WAY INSTEAD OF SIMPLY DIE?

and the reader's response is quite simple.

There is no one who can give her a burial, but her family did have one, without that she would simply wander through the Underworld and be alone AGAIN.

but at the same time, the reader no longer has the strength to continue holding on, the pain is UNBEARABLE and the little energy she has leaves her...

Thanatos is there, at least.

I like to think that the reader would agree to go with Thanatos VOLUNTARILY if he even lets her see her family one last time, thus dying peacefully.

And it would be especially ironic if by chance the reader ends up as a shadow in the house of Hades😅

I think that in general, a deceased reader would be like a more responsible Hypnos, she is not going to bother the GOD OF DEATH so she does the minimum ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

She is definitely happier now that she is no longer in pain, but she was quite traumatized by the experience :') although on the positive side, she is one of the few people who can play pranks on Thanaros with almost no consequences!

simply....mortal reader sheneigans.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Maybe i could use this Reader with another characters? Idk. I didn't know how to finish this but i like it!

[venussaidso]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘴 — 𝘈𝘚𝘏𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘐𝘚

Johnlock is an Ashwini-Ashwini ship. Dr John Watson, played by Ashwini Moon Martin Freeman, is the known fictional physician companion to Sherlock Holmes, played by Ashwini Moon Benedict Cumberbatch, who is a sociophathic investigator. The deities that rule this nakshatra are physicians and Ketu nakshatras are known to be cast as mystery-solving investigators. Sherlock's high intelligence is in connection to Ashwini, the nakshatra known for speed and an active mind.

Clara Oswald is to the Twelfth Doctor is what James Watson is to Sherlock Holmes, I just realized. The Twelfth Doctor and Sherlock Holmes portray a similar archetype of Ashwini; both prone to isolation, their intellect and sense of superiority being at the expense of their human emotions, the two being driven by their genius and recklessness. As stated before, Ashwini nakshatra is related to an active intelligence. And it is interesting that the companions they form a deep love and respect for are also Ashwini natives themselves.

Clara Oswald and James Watson embody another side to this Ketu nakshatra which balances and challenges the antisocial genius archetype. As both their partners are abrasive and cold, they counter that by bringing emotional insights and grounding foundation to the dynamic while still being able to keep up with their speedy wit (specifically Clara with Twelve).

For Sherlock Holmes and James Watson, they function like complementary twins— being opposites that fit together. They become inseparable because they offer what the other lacks. These two literally have a deep, unhealthy attachment to one another. But it's not as worse as Clara and Twelve.

Because Clara Oswald and Twelve's relationship evolves to them literally becoming mirrors of each other. As Ketu sucks things in, we see how much Clara takes on his personality through her evolution. She adopts his personality, as he does hers. Their connection becoming so deep that it shapes their identities, until their relationship actually becomes their identity. Which speaks to how receptive Ashwini can be, also speaking to the 1H themes and Libra being the 7th house from Aries.

Clara actually starts to be an equal in the series when she's by his side, the pair functioning like inseparable twins, anticipating each other's thoughts and actions. Their co-dependence and affection for each other so intense that it is addictive as it is destructive to those around them. Their separation ultimately leading him to obsessive, destructive, desperate behaviours — as he feels like he lost a big part of his identity as well. Exactly how Sherlock Holmes would react had he lost Dr James Watson.

In addition to this, but more different, there are two Beauty-&-the-Beast tropes of this Ashwini-Ashwini dynamic. One is Spike and Buffy who have a relationship in which one character embodies the humanity and goodness the other craves and has a choice to learn from, although their toxic duo is marked by conflict and co-dependence.

The Ketu nakshatras being associated with Beauty in this trope, as well as the Beast (after the Jupiter naks of course), highlights the theme of their relationship. His character is marked by darkness and a longing for acceptance, while she seeks to understand the complexities of those around her. He represents the Beast, as she is initially repulsed by his vampirism, before she sees beyond his monstrous exterior to see the vulnerability within.

In the kdrama Sweet Home, Sang-wook is a contract killer who is out of touch with his humanity and it is when he meets a nurse caretaker, Yu-Ri, that he finds himself caring that deeply for someone in such a short amount of time, her presence making him reflect on his actions and identity.

Casey and Kevin in Glass embody this trope the most, as she is the only person who consistently shows empathy towards Kevin’s true self, becoming an anchor for him and reminding him of his humanity amidst his inner turmoil.

This complex dynamic is interesting as it nods, twice, to Casey's Ketu influence. She embodied the final girl nakshatra lord when the Beast devoured its victims and she survived, then she became Beauty to the Beast albeit more twisted in "Glass".

This trope extends to other Ketu-Ketu pairs which I have touched on before.

There is a sense that each character helps the other define or remember who they are in all of these Ashwini pairings as this nakshatra is prone to losing touch of oneself (such as Sherlock or the Twelfth Doctor straying from their humanity and isolating) or not even knowing one's place in the world (much like Spike and even Kevin). The presence of the other Ashwini shapes the behaviour, thoughts, and actions of the other, making their bond almost integral to their sense of self. Touching on those 1H themes, this is what the entire Aries section is learning, but this is Ashwini's important journey.

The Ashwini-Ashwini pair is much like twins who grow up shaping each other’s identities, where the presence of one is key to understanding oneself. And the inseparability of Clara and Twelfth is so twin-like, that of course their companionship to me is literally parallel to this nakshatra's deites; the twin brothers, Ashwini Kumaras, who have adventures and many achievements together (just like Clara and Twelve traveling and going on many adventures). I have noted months ago, maybe even a year from now, that the Ashwini-Ashwini pair can be a nod to that. It may signify having or seeking your soul's other half (neither romantic nor platonic), being how twins are usually described.

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: Part Thirteen

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Drider!Mig angst, mutual pining, hurt + comfort.

Word count: 3600

Notes: The pain starts now, buckle in. Also I'm thinking going forward of adding more rivalry stuff w the Miguel's and also maaybbeee some voyeurism with them spesifically, if anyones up for that lemme know

For the entire walk back, you were both completely silent. He crawled into the nest and dropped you down on the bed, gentle but firm, and then immediately crawled back out to prepare for the storm. He didn’t give you a chance to call him back.

In this rigid isolation, you were forced to pace about the darkening room as he shuttered the place down. He was true to his word, ensuring that the windows and doors were fully covered and that there were no leaks. He was still making sure you were safe and warm, something you did appreciate, but his continued refusal to speak was becoming hard to cope with.

You paced, and paced, listening to the rain get harder and harder. In the distance you heard thunder crack. It was like white noise, overpowering all of your attempts to hear your own thoughts, weighing on your mind and soul.

Eventually you simply couldn’t pace any longer and slumped down onto the mattress to think.

You just couldn’t get over this order 1675.

You didn’t want to be afraid. You didn’t want to doubt him. Really, truly, you didn’t. But, how were you supposed to feel about this? He’d said he had no interaction with the HQ. He’d said he was just out here, alone. How was that possible if this order 1675 thing was also true? How well did you really know him? And what was so important that Miguel, despite being desperate to bring it up, was legally unable to?

You’d known him for a while, but, had you ever really discussed his past? Now that you were thinking about it, you really hadn’t.

It was hard to stop your mind from wandering to unsavoury places, the worst possible places. You didn’t want to sit here, wallowing in fear. You cared about this man. You’d given him so much, and he’d given you just as much if not more. You wanted to trust him.

When Mig eventually re-entered the nest he was soaking wet, and had to physically shake his body dry. He ensured the door was shut before slumping down onto the dry silk floor, and suddenly you were alone, just the two of you here with the rain howling outside.

‘Mig?’

The mention of his name made him bristle and freeze. He was hiding his face, something that you weren’t used to him doing.

‘Mig… What did he mean?’ you asked softly.

Again, silence. You saw Mig gently clenching and unclenching his fists.

‘What are you referring too?’ he murmured back.

‘The um- the section 1675, thing. That they couldn’t talk about.’

‘I… I can’t, talk about it, arañita.’

You squished your lips together and shuffled with discomfort. ‘You said… that you met Miguel, once, to be recruited. You said he was territorial, and left. You never said you had any other engagement with the society.’

When Miguel turned it was slow. In the dark of the storm only half his face was lit, his fiery red eye flickering as the lamplight danced.

‘I did.’

You were shocked to see that his blunt but neutral face was gone, faded away to reveal something deeply troubled beneath. You'd never seen those gaunt lines beneath his eyes before. He looked cold.

‘You- did you, lie?’ you croaked.

‘No’ he said, blunt as ever. ‘No. That was just, the partial truth.’

‘Can… Can I know the full truth?’

You were trying to be gentle with your words, but it was hard to not sound concerned. You saw his red eye narrow, and in the dark it was hard to tell if it was out of anger or pain.

‘It- I don’t, know, how’ he said. He sounded like it hurt to talk. ‘It happened a long time ago, arañita. They signed a deal saying that it would be stricken from my record. That’s what 1675 means, it’s the process for wiping an incident so it can’t be used in the future because the person was exonerated. Miguel- wanted to bring it up to, well, punish me I suppose, but it meant he couldn’t.’

‘Okay, just… I’m just, asking then, what was it?’

Again, Mig went still. He went silent. A good five minutes passed without either of you saying a word.

‘You really won’t tell me anything?’ you whispered.

You watched as Mig turned to face you fully. The pounding rain created an oppressive air, especially combined with the overwhelming darkness. His eyes were the only clear part of his face, their red light crudely illuminating his sharp features.

He didn’t speak, but he did move. To your surprise he suddenly rose up and began walking towards you.

‘Mig, I just- I want to know—’

He reached out to grab you, and then he stopped. You froze in his grip.

He’d put just a single hand beneath your head, cupping it to his chest. You felt his heart beating irregularly beneath his hefty ribs, his breath coming in shaky fragmented gulps.

‘I’m sorry’ he murmured.

‘Mig, what- what are you sorry for?’

‘I forgot.’

Those two words brought your awkward attempt at consolation to a halt. When you looked up and spied his face through the dark, he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at nothing, perhaps seeing something you couldn’t see.

‘I forgot what I am’ he breathed. It sounded painful, like each intake of breath was burning.

‘Mig?’

‘Arañita, I can’t lie to you’ Mig whispered. ‘I can’t. You know that. So if you ask me, I will tell you it all. I need you to know that.’

Those words were so eerily in this context. Did you want to know? Did you need to know? You hated yourself for it, but, you did.

‘Yes’ you breathed. ‘I… I am asking you, please, Mig, to tell me.’

You felt him shudder. Despite his reservations, his fears, he was still honest to a fault. He spoke.

‘I… Arañita, I-I killed someone.’

You stared straight ahead as silence fell. You didn’t know how to respond. Really, how could you respond?

‘I’m sorry’ he rasped. You saw his eyes filling to the brim, causing the red of his eyes to dance. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Mig…?’ You whispered his name, letting it hang in the air as you both trembled in unison.

You were waiting, praying, for an explanation. You were praying for something. Anything. Surely, Mig had a reason, right? There had to be more to this?

For a fleeting second, your body tensed. For a single, fleeting second, you realized you were scared of him. You prayed to not be.

‘Mig, what- what happened?’ you croaked.

You could feel his heartbeat speeding up in his chest, hammering like a frightened bird in a cage. ‘I-I didn’t want to do it’ he gasped, ‘I didn’t- I swear. It- was someone, very close to me, and—’

‘It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m listening’ you said, trying in vain to reassure yourself. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing.

‘They- When I was changed, at Alchemax, it was- chaos. Someone had sabotaged the genetic splicing machine to kill me. I wasn’t supposed to survive. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be- this. This, monster. I was scared of myself, I didn’t know what to do or how to fix it. I was panicking. So… so, I went to someone I thought I could trust. I thought they would- I thought, they would help, because they’d always helped me before, but... I couldn’t talk them down, I couldn’t—’

He paused to breath in deep, his breath rattling his chest.

‘I—I tried, arañita I swear on my soul I tried, but they were too scared. They could never get passed what they saw in front of them. They didn't see- me, anymore. It was like I was dead already. They tried to kill me, the- they grabbed a gun, from a drawer, and my body- reacted. I tried to just turn the gun away but their finger was already pulling and—it hit them.’

You exhaled slowly, releasing a breath you’d been holding for far too long. ‘So- it was, self-defence?’ you murmured.

‘Yes. Technically, it was self-defence’ he said with a heavy swallow.

‘And… Miguel was going to use that against you?’ you asked in disbelief. ‘Why? Why would he do that?’

Mig tensed to a painful degree. Something seemed to be flashing over his eyes. It was a memory, old and worn, of someone whose face he was forgetting. Like a painting in water, its colour slowly seeping away, he clung to those remnants. You felt him shake.

‘It was m—mm… Mmm.’ He screwed up his eyes tight. ‘The person, I killed, w… The person I killed was my fiancé, at the time. Her name was, Dana.’

The rain roared overhead, screaming like a beast. It shook the nest a little as the wind ripped through the trees. Miguel looked haunted.

‘I should have called my brother’ he whispered. ‘I—I shouldn’t have answered her call. I was meant to call my brother. I should have… I should have—’

‘Hey, shh. It’s okay.’ You tried to reassure him by taking his hand, letting him feel each one of your fingers to keep him grounded. ‘We can stop, but- I’m here. If you want to keep going. It’s okay.’

It took a moment, but you felt him settle.

‘The- the spider society found me not long after it happened’ he said, continuing in a trance. ‘Miguel had been planning to recruit me when he’d seen my change, hoping to have another version of him around, but… he found, me. And he found her.’

His eyes glazed over as those long-repressed memories crept across his mind like tar, an inescapable choking flood of remorse. He saw the blood on the carpet, the blood on his talons as he plugged the wound, his variants face when he realized what he’d done. It took your gentle face taps to draw him back to the present moment.

‘Mig?’ you whispered. He shuddered a gasp and tried to continue.

‘Me and Miguel… Our lives, before the splice, were almost identical. Same job, same parents, same body, and same- same, fiancé. His version of Dana just left after he changed, after he found out about his past, but mine…’

Mig paused again to avoid cracking. You kept your hands on his stomach, slowly rubbing over the fine contours of his muscles to keep him grounded.

‘He was disgusted by me, but he was still sympathetic, in a way’ Mig said. ‘I think I just proved him right about his own tendencies. I was exonerated by the society, on self-defence, and it was stricken from any record so long as I agreed to stay away from other people, so… so they didn’t get, hurt, out of- fear.’

‘Mig, that—’ You couldn’t even get the words out. It horrified you. He was almost murdered because his body scared someone he’d trusted, and he was then told to isolate? To remove himself, so he didn’t tempt anyone to try and murder him again?

‘I was exonerated, but… Arañita, I killed someone to keep living. Someone- better than me. Someone with a life, with- love and aspiration and family, and—why? Why did I survive?’

Even with your touch grounding him in the moment he was continuing the spiral. He couldn’t stop his memories from seeping into his vision. He couldn’t stop seeing the same wound on your side, or the blood on his claws.

‘I forgot…’

Mig choked back the urge to crack. Oh god. Was Miguel right?

Was this, right? No. No. In that moment, the reality of it all hit him like a bullet to the gut.

He’d been deluding himself, hadn’t he? High on the rush of being wanted, of having this unobtainable thing, but it was unobtainable for a reason.

He was a monster. He was a horrible genetic failure, who most of the world saw as malformed and mishappen. They would hate him for desiring you. HE hated him for desiring you. You would never get to experience a normal life if you stayed here with him, unable to have a normal family or a normal home.

In the woods you could forget the prying eyes of the world and exist on your own terms, open and honest, but could you hide forever?

He’d always hated Miguel for treating him differently, for beguiling him as a manifestation of his own internal issues, but could he really blame him for it? Miguel could pass for human. He was beautiful, strong, respected. Some string of fate that had failed for Mig had, on a coin toss, granted his counterpart the right to pass in a world where he was loved. No wonder he felt so entitled.

And you, you, his sweet little spider. The one person who hadn’t hurt him, who hadn’t run from him in fear. He’d wanted to believe it so badly. He’d wanted to believe that your optimism would be enough.

But he did not pass.

He was not a threat. He was not a danger. He was guilty only of existing in a body, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether their fear was rational or not. He was a spider, after all, and—

‘Everybody hates spiders’ he whispered. You gazed up at his broken face with misty eyes.

‘Miggy?’ you whispered back. His eyes narrowed as he winced, as if just the thought was physically painful.

‘Why’ he breathed, both a question and a statement at once. ‘Why? I-I tried, I tried—’  

‘Miggy—’

‘What did I do?! I tried to do the right thing and this— This—’

‘Miggy, hey, sweetheart. Look at me. Look at me.’

‘Why wasn’t I made like him? What was so wrong with me?’ he seethed, his voice peaking and cracking as he verged on wailing. Immediately your hands flew to his waist. You clung to him as his chest heaved, his breathing quickly becoming erratic.

‘I’m disgusting’ he choked. ‘I’m disgusting—’

‘Hey, hey. I’m here. I’m here.’

‘I’m ruining you’ he shouted, his voice raising for the first time. 'Look at me! Look at me, and then look at you!'

He pushed you back a little to make you see, to make you see his bloody red eyes and malformed torso, the way his human half blended into that enormous spider half. The fur on his abdomen, the deep scars and claws on each paw, the furthest thing from human. A body that your brain was hardwired to recognise as alien.

'I can’t give you anything!' he sobbed. 'They’ll- they’ll hunt you down, for the rest of your life if you stay with me. They won’t let us have a family, they won’t let us stay together—’

‘I don’t care.' 

Mig paused, briefly, in the face of your quiet interuption. You were unnervingly calm. ‘You do!’ he wailed. ‘Of course you do! You will be miserable because of me!’

‘I don’t.’ You clung to him tight as you whispered those words, your hands frantically stroking his back to try and ground him again. ‘I don’t. I don’t. I—I don’t, care.’

‘Why?’

You pulled back briefly to take his face in your hands. You squished his cheeks against your palms as your thumb gently wiped away a tear from his eye. He heaved at you, his lips parted and his eyes a painfully bloody red, and you met him without a shred of fear in your eyes.

‘Look at me, Miggy. Right here. It’s okay.’

Mig struggled to meet your gaze. His eyes kept closing, flitting, as if it hurt. You tried to press a kiss to his lips but he sharply flinched, so instead you kept his face in one palm and with the other you raised his hand to your lips. You kissed his claws instead, one after the other.

‘Fuck ‘em’ you said, blunt and clear. The bluntness seemed to draw Miguel out of his spiral for just a moment.

‘What?’ he panted.

‘Fuck them’ you repeated. ‘Fuck them. Fuck Miguel. Fuck- all of them. It’s- disgusting, THIS is disgusting. You should never have been left out here. You should never have had to sign away your right to contact. I don’t care if they pull out every fucking excuse in the book to keep me away, I won’t give them anything to use. I won’t leave you.’

‘But… the, family— The rule about, reproducing—’

‘That’s not enough to make me just leave you right now!’ you exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what’ll happen in the future, but there’s options. Surrogacy, adoption, or just- maybe we don’t want kids. I mean- fuck, even if we don’t have a future romantically, I won’t just leave you, Mig. I won’t.’

‘But—’

‘If I leave you, Mig, it will be on my own terms. In a year, two years, twenty years. Maybe we just- aren’t compatible, maybe we change, or- maybe we don’t. I don’t know. But I’m not walking out because of someone else’s irrational fear. You- you’re still my friend. No matter what, you’re still my friend.’

As your words hung in the air, Mig began to soften. His mind stopped playing tricks on him, showing him her instead of you, because she never looked at him this way. Those sweet, defiant eyes bore down into his soul, and warmed it from the inside.

‘I was scared, when I saw you first’ you confessed. ‘You know that. On instinct, you scared me. And I- HATE myself for that. Because you are so, sweet, and soft, and kind, and the fact you could still care about me after I showed you the same fear—’

‘No, no. You didn’t. And that- that’s what I don’t understand’ he insisted. ‘Why do you like me?’

‘Because you’re- you. That’s it. You’re you.’

Mig narrowed his eyes. He seemed so confused, like he couldn't figure out how to believe you. 

‘You would- risk this, for me?’ he murmured.

‘You’ve clearly risked just as much, Mig. The last person you loved tried to kill you, the- the fact that, you trusted me enough to let me into your home, to sleep in your bed, that you tried to help me at all… I can’t imagine it.’

The rain continued to thunder outside as Miguel calmed his breathing. He was still hurting, still in a semi state of mania, but he was starting to claw back a semblance of strength. He clung to you a little tighter.

He fixated wholly on one memory, a buoy in an ocean of blood: the first day you met, when you looked at him in his defensive stance, and you said: ‘Have, other people come here to hurt you?’

He didn’t scare you, you’d said. He seemed nice, you’d said. We’re both strange on the inside, you’d said. Words more precious than diamonds. Words more precious than living.

‘I think… I understand now, why spiders eat each other’ he murmured.

You frowned with your hand still on his cheek. ‘You- what? What do you mean?’ you asked.

‘I would let you eat me’ he whispered, as one more fat tear fell like a bloody pearl down the cut of his cheek bone. It glistened as it hit your thumb, a precious stone filled with a tiny little part of his soul. You shook your head.

‘Mig, don’t- that language isn’t healthy right now—’

‘I would let you eat me’ he repeated. His voice was throaty from holding back tears. ‘Every- ounce of flesh, every bone, every atom. You would take me in, and I would finally become part of something beautiful. I would haunt your beautiful body, and look through those beautiful eyes, and we would be- magnificent.’

Your lips folded, hard, as your own eyes narrowed. The tears were painful.

‘No. You’re beautiful to me’ you croaked. ‘So just- stay. As you are.’

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, and this time he didn’t pull away. You rocked with him as the storm rattled the shutters, as rain pounded on the nest roof above.

Slowly, with absolute delicacy, you pressed your lips to his. You gave one peck before pulling back, and from there you let him lead. He kissed you with quivering lips, first on the mouth and then on the cheek, before ending with one, long, drawn out kiss.

When he pulled away his breathing had become a little more regulated.

‘So’ he whispered, ‘so- what do we do? What do we do now?’

You let out a heavy breath through the nose as you pondered that same question. ‘I guess… we just, keep, trying. I will go back to the society, and I’ll do what they ask me to do as a member, and—I’ll stay. With you. And we’ll see how things go.’

‘But they threatened to regulate us’ he said.

‘They said we can’t have kids. That’s it. And, even then, I’m sure I could get them to research if it’s actually dangerous. Other than that, they can’t do anything. So, we just keep going.’

Mig sighed, his warm breath hitting your face. ‘And, you’re sure you want this? You want to, try, with me? Even after this?’

You locked your gaze onto Mig’s. His eyes were red to the core but round like a puppies, soft and wet and needy. His thick brows were downturned in a hopeless expression of need. It was easy for you to nod.

‘Yes. I want to try. Now, come on, let’s- lie you down.’

You shuffled backwards onto the mattress and Mig obediently followed, his entire spider half gently curling around you. He curled into a circle with his legs folded inward, cocooning you in his warmth, and you listened to the storm burn itself out.

The thundering rain turned to a drizzle, until all you could hear was the pitter of drops on the roof. The lanterns on the wall burned their wax stubs to nothing. Soon the only light in the nest was a single strip of blue moonlight that’d broken through a shutter, its delicate glow highlighting your bodies as they intertwined.

In the warm and the dry you settled against his chest. You felt his heart on your cheek and rubbed his body for comfort, and he clung to you like a little plush toy.

‘Arañita?’ he whispered.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you’ he choked. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ Link to next part!

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

:D what about when charles has to deal with himself during the two years arthur's recovering and they can't touch each other... >:) does he try to hide it and deal with it alone in the barn or is arthur forced to watch since he cant participate >:)

Arthur stirred, sitting up at the sound of Charles pulling his boots on by the door.

The other man was hardly dressed—just his union suit, with his heavy wool coat pulled hastily over his shoulders. His hair was still in the tight braid that he wore for sleep, fly-aways gleaming in the flickering light cast by the low fire in the hearth. In the gentle shadows cast by the bright moon through the cabin’s windows, Arthur could see the unmistakable outline of Charles’ cock straining against the worn red wool of his drawers.

“Don’t,” Arthur rasped, impulsive.

Charles startled, looking up with wide eyes. There was a hint of desperation to him that made Arthur want nothing more than to sink his teeth into the soft triangle of skin bared at his collar.

“Arthur,” Charles breathed, hands stilling on his bootlaces. “I’ll just—” he started, eyes guilty over the cotton of his mask. “It’ll be fast, okay?”

“Don’t know that I’d admit to that,” Arthur joked, then swallowed. He sat up straight in the bed, locking eyes with his lover. His man, off to handle himself in the barn like his need was some sort of dirty secret.

They’d been dancin’ around this for months now. Arthur didn’t consider himself particularly hot-blooded, but he had needs. And so did Charles. Needs that, under the circumstances of Athur’s infectious illness, they’d both been struggling to meet.

Arthur let out a slow breath. “Stay, will ya?”

Charles glanced aside, conflicted. Arthur imagined he was biting his lip, the fullness of it dimpled under the white of his teeth. “Know I can’t do that.”

Arthur hunched forward, hands clenching in the bed spread. He knew, objectively, he wasn’t alone in his wants. That the enforced isolation of his illness was drivin’ Charles just as crazy as it was drivin’ Arthur.

Still, it was a novel thing. To feel wanted. Arthur hoped he never got used to it.

“We don’t gotta touch,” Arthur bargained. “Don’t even have to be on the same bed. Just…” Arthur took a shallow breath. Knew that if he coughed, even once, Charles would be out the door like a shot. Ever since his flare up a few weeks back Charles had been skittish as a cat with a burning branch tied to its tail, twitching and nervous at Arthur’s every little cough and wheeze.

It was sweet, but it wasn’t a way to live.

“Lemme watch?” Arthur asked.

Charles blinked, straightening. Precious confusion furrowed his brow. “Watch?”

“Sure,” Arthur said. Maybe it’d bite him in the ass, watchin’ Charles handle himself. Maybe watching would be even worse than imagining it, the way Arthur had every other time Charles had snuck out near midnight to jerk himself off in the barn. “And I can—can talk you through it.”

“You sure?” Charles’ brow climbed to his hairline, dubious. “Might just make it worse.”

“I’ll sit on the chair,” Arthur offered. It was a coin flip, whether he'd be able to even get hard. “Long as you stay on the bed, should be good.” He paused, swallowing. He could see the line of tension in Charles’ own shoulders now, the continued straining of his cock against his union suit. Knew he had the other man half won-over.

“Don’t know if I can stop myself if you’re next to me,” Arthur said, over-honest.

Charles looked like nothing more than a rabbit that didn’t mind bein’ caught. His pupils were blown wide, eyes dark in the shadows cast by the flickering hearth. “Hell, Arthur—”

“Please, darlin’,” Arthur said, breaking. He didn’t beg for much, as a rule. But he couldn’t stand the thought of Charles—his wonderful, beautiful Charles—roughly handling himself in the lonely cold of the barn. Not for Arthur’s sake. “It's freezin’ out there.”

Charles ducked his head, shoulders rising with a deep breath. His long fingers clenched over his knees, drawing the thin wool of his drawers tight over the thick muscles of his thighs.

“Okay, Arthur,” he said, finally, glancing up with a longing, nervous look in his eyes. “Lets try it.”

(continued here on AO3)