#leaves and frost hunt

[first-frost-fallen-snow]

Memories of sorrow

/* for... Bukidai, Zahir, Frost... One of the ones Aurelius interacted with (I miss my silly) */

《 TW for self harm, suicide, being impaled. Not graphic, but still deserves warning 》

Some sort of magic had befallen the general. That wasn't news. Dark magic had surrounded him for most of his life. But this was different. He had hunted Aurelius down on his own, ignoring Zahir's advice. Gripping Aurelius' arm to drag him away from the encampment Bukidai brought him to proved to be a mistake.

Frozen in place, General Sharde found himself in a memory he had spent years trying to forget. A blizzard made the world around him hazy, two figures stood on the edge of a cliff. No. No. He didn't want to remember this.

"Frost!" Floris revealed themself to be the figure further from the ledge. Frost was the one staring down towards the endless abyss below.

"You don't want to see this." Frost seemed to control the weather, a shift of his stance causing the snowfall to suddenly still, as if time had stopped.

"What are you-.. Frost, please. Get back on the ship." Floris insisted, stepping closer to Frost.

"You don't understand what's happening to me, Flare! You don't understand what I have to do!" The snow turned to hail, showering down onto them. Sharp ice cut through Frost's skin, sparing Floris entirely.

"Stop this-.. Frost, you're not well. I can help you. Come on-.. we've always been there for eachother, let me help you.." When Floris moved to step closer, Frost quickly moved his hand to summon sharp ice from the ground. He didn't hurt them, no, this was about protecting them. He turned away, letting out the breath he'd been holding. It puffed into the air, and for a moment, he could remember being a child pretending to breathe fire.

Those were simpler times. If only he could go back to then. Closing his exhausted eyes, he could invision playing with Floris on the streets before they were torn to pieces. He just wanted to rest.

Floris' words were deafened to him now, their desperation unable to compete with what he believed to be his destiny. He was chosen by Karithan for a reason.

General Sharde let out a horrified cry alongside Floris when he saw his younger self strike himself through the heart with ice. The spike came from the ground, piercing him through the back and exiting his chest. The power of it pushed him forward, making him dangle off of the cliff.

The memory didn't stop there. Frost, or rather, Sharde was still alive. As the ice crumbled, he fell.

His body was lifeless, and yet... something surrounded him. Darkness. A being that wasn't supposed to exist in this time. It consumed him. By the time he hit the ground, he was something else entirely. A monster.

Slowly, the new body picked itself up. It had remnants of Frost, yet it was more beast than man. It surveyed its surroundings, limping towards a random direction.

Sharde yanked away from Aurelius, his breaths heavy and labored. The machinery forged into his decaying body wheezed and buckled against itself as he tried to grapple with what he saw. Scrambling away like a frightened child, he found himself terrified of the person he'd been trying to hunt down and kill.

He brought his hand to his chest, gripping at it as if to make sure his heart remained beating. Like a cowering beast, his eyes kept focused on Aurelius as if he'd been beaten by him. It didn't matter that Sharde was, by all accounts, all powerful. Such a memory shook him to his core, forcing the small remains of Frost to grapple with what he'd become.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Cregan's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Version

Cregan Stark x Reader | 900< | cw: fem!reader, angst, blood, injuries, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Cregan did not wed you because he was drawn by your bright eyes. He did not wed you because your smile could melt a hole through the ice that held up the Wall. No, he wed you because your house and his were long strained, and taking you as his wife would ensure peace between you.

He wed you because it was his duty, though he could not deny that he would soon come to love you for the prior things mentioned. But how could he, when it was never brought up?

As far as anyone knew, as far as you knew, your husband did you well simply because he was your husband.

Being the youngest of your family, you were rather neglected. You knew little beyond entertaining yourself and others with simple humor and preposterous ideas. Winterfell would come to adore the warmth that was borne from the coldness of your youth. They would do the same in how easily amused their lady was of the Northern coldness.

You loved the snow, but were fundamentally useless in it, knowing nothing beyond making snowmen. You knew not how to start a fire, nor build a tent; you did not know which flora to forage either, much less how to hunt.

Cregan did not fault you for it, for it was not your fault you were not taught. But he did not appreciate how you took more importance in chatting with his men than learning these skills; he tells you as much.

"But what you ask of me is your job," you simply respond, "mine is to keep the spirits lifted."

He huffs, breath turning into fog, "it would do you well to learn. What if there is no fire and no one who knew how to make one?"

"Then I ask if you plan to leave me to fend for myself, my lord?"

He tilts his head, jaw muscle feathering in offence, "do you think so little of me?"

"I thank the gods daily for supplying me with such a reliable husband," you smile, "and I pray the day will never come that I need to fend for myself."

Part of him is endeared by your darling naiveté, another is frustrated by it. He figures if he cannot convince you to learn, then he will make nature your teacher.

He instructs one of the servants to take you berry picking and to leave you somewhere that is not too close but not too far from Winterfell. The servant obeys her lord and does just that. She slips away from you through the foliage, making sure to leave you any tools or weapons you would need.

You were left completely unware, treading deeper and deeper into the forest, following where the berry bushes went. You were too wrapped up in your singing to realize you were completely alone.

That is until you heard a wolf howling.

You did not know where you were going. You did not know which way was North or South or which way Winterfell laid. All you knew was you wanted to go home with your basket of berries, but that seemed impossible when you dropped them into the ground with a deafening scream. Your leg had been snagged into something. You writhe in pain, finding your shin caught in the jaw of a bear trap. Your hot tears turn into frost and your breath grows shorter and shorter in panic.

Cregan was not one to worry. He patiently waited for you by the gates of your home, anticipating that you'd be the next one to come around. But it was never you… and then, it started to snow.

He calls a search party for you. He hears many a man call out your name as the night begins to take the forest. At the same time, the ground became slowly whiter and whiter while his worry thickened at a more rapid pace. Soon, his hair and shoulders were frosted over and his source of light no longer came from the sky but a torch in his hand.

"MY LORD!"

Cregan perks and run towards the man calling for him. He quickly reaches him and looks around for you, but you stood nowhere. He sees the man remove his fur hat and lower his gaze.

By the old gods.

He drops to his knees. The snow scatters, revealing the red that laid underneath. He brushes off your body, rigid and cold. He releases a horrified sound at the sight of your mangled leg. He cradles you in his arms and rushes you back home.

The maesters assure him you were still breathing and that there was hope for you yet. They might save your life, but you would lose your leg.

Cregan laments as the maesters operate on you. He seeks absolution by the weirwood tree and vows to serve you ardently, more ardently so long as your life is spared.

For a moment, the old gods looked upon Cregan Stark. They delivered his wife. You lived… if you could call it that.

You wake up to the face of your husband who immediately weeps at your side, begging you for your forgiveness. You clutch his cheek and tell him, "there is nothing to forgive."

But there is, and he would never forgive himself for how you never smiled at the snow again, or how you died midday as children made snow angels outside your window.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

 There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

How would NRC (only 18+ characters) react to their fem s/o texting them "Come here, I'm horny"?

I'm so sorry these are so short. Your girls getting a bit burnt out as of late for some reason. Anyways, I hope you like them <33

Warnings: MDNI, fem reader, suggestive but not really smutty, mentions of boners.

Request: Yes.

Words: 1,130.

Trey Clover

Trey was working on frosting a cake with Riddle when he received the text from you. And thankfully Riddle was short because he damn near choked at the message. A blunt, “Come. I'm horny." Was all you had sent.

However, catering to your needs, he let Riddle know something important had come up and he had to go tend to a leak in your roof. Riddle of course sensing the urgency had nodded with a simple; “Go, I can manage the frosting." Trey felt no remorse for fibbing to his friend and dorm leader, and went off to find you at Ramshackle.

Entering the broken down household he smiled gingerly over at you. "You needed me, peach? Go and lay back on the bed. I'll take care of you."

Cater Diamond

Cater was at the Light Music club when you texted him, and just in case it was urgent or some spicy drama from magicam had checked his phone right away. It was spicy, just in a way he hadn't thought it'd be. His face slowly flushed a red, gaining the attention of Kalim, who had asked if he was okay.

Cater cleared his throat, nodding. “Uh… Yes! Ah haha, I'm okay! Sorry, I just got distracted there for a minute.” While Kalim was none the wiser, the old fae on the other hand, was.

After he finished the club Cater quickly made his way to your dorm, shoving open your door he crawled over you, leaning down to press a searing kiss against you. “Hahh.. Babydoll, you can't just text me like that out of the blue!”

Leona Kingscholar

You really think this man was anywhere but napping?

He was less than amused to stir awake from his phone going off, alerting him of a text message. And for a moment he wasn't going to even answer it, rather he'd just roll over and go back to bed but something prompted him to pick up that phone and boy was he glad he did.

A smirk formed across his face and he texted back a simple “Omw" before rolling out of bed, hair messy and clothes disheveled before making his way to your dorm. He was there in record time, falling across your bed and grasping your hips to make you straddle him. Yeah, some pussy was definitely better than sleeping.

“Feeling like a whore? Then sit on this cock and take it like a good girl."

Vil Schoenheit

He was at a photoshoot when you texted him. He'd frowned slightly at your blunt order but underneath was particularly amused. His little potato needed him?

"You're going to have to wait, lovely. Photoshoot is almost over.” He could almost feel the way your lips puckered into a pout on the other side of the phone as he got back into position for another photo after his short break. Thirty minutes later he was leaving the photoshoot.

And fifty minutes later he was coming into your dorm room, sliding off his shoes and over coat before leaning over you on the bed, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “I'm sorry for being so long. Let me make it up to you, potato.” He dragged your hand up his leg onto the crotch of his pants, before moving to straddle you.

Rook Hunt

Was enjoying nature up in a tree when his phone buzzed in his pocket. On pulling it out and seeing your text message, you received back a slur of French, with a few heart Emojis after them. “English, Rook." His lips quirked at your sass. “On my way as we speak, Mon amour." He texted back, pocketing his phone before climbing down the tree.

Fast on his feet and in the area, Rook arrived at Ramshackle within five minutes. He hung his coat on the coat wrack and took off his shoes before padding up to your room.

“My petite amour, I have arrived.” He cupped your face, pressing light kisses against your chin and jaw. "Do tell me which part of me you crave first, Mon lapin.”

Idia Shroud

Thankfully Idia was in his room like always when he received your text. Instant red face. (And instant Idia jr peaking up but we don't talk about that) Almost thought you were tweaking or had text the wrong person, despite being your lover. However after getting his shit together he texts you back.

“Can you come here? I.. Might be in a predicament where I am unable to leave my room for a while."

When you came to his dorm instead of the other way around he had a pillow over his lap and his face and hair were both a light red in color. Grasping onto the pillow you pulled it off and crawled onto his bed after shutting and locking his door. Idia’s hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you down to straddle him. “Eheheh.. You have no idea how long I've waited for this." He grinned against your throat, before biting down on your shoulder to leave a hickey.

Malleus Draconia

Remains stone faced despite the very obvious tent rising in his trousers. If his tail were to be out it would've been wagging in slight excitement. Out of everyone, you might just be the only person to be able to boss around and command the prince of briar valley.

“You wish to mate with me? I will be over immediately, child of man." It takes him a moment to answer you. Not because he didn't see the message but because he still doesn't know how to use a phone that well still. Please be patient, he is very happy.

Appears outside your dorm as soon as he texts you back, eagerly knocking on your door in a beckon for you to let him in. As soon as you open the door he is grabbing you by the hips, guiding you against him. “My dearest peony, do feel free to seek me out everytime you have these feelings. I will be more than obliged to assist you.”

Lilia Vanrogue

Doesn't even answer your message. He was in history and then all of a sudden he was floating upside down in front of you. An amused look was on his face though despite the little grin his eyes were foggy with lust.

“Oh my what do we have here? Couldn't even keep your hands out of your panties in the short time it took me to get here? Fufufu~ let's have a look now, hmm?"

Lilia eagerly slots himself between your legs like he's always belonged there, nibbling and nipping at your legs as he makes his way up. “You taste exquisite, and I haven't even gotten to the main course yet.”

[cillivnz]

RUNAWAY BRIDE [Lord Dimitrescu]

pairing. Lord Alcides Dimitrescu x Ex!Wife Reader

genre. angst, smut.

warnings. nsfw (18+). infidelity, abandonment, cannibalism, gore descriptions, murder, separation, hunter-prey-chase dynamics, manipulation, pregnancy, cursing, pet-names, mention of cults, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, overstimulation, clit-play, breast/nipple-play, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, doggystyle, crying.

word count. 3.7k+

a/n. idk how i feel about this :,) sweet anon, thank you so much for requesting this! i apologise for not getting to work sooner, but i hope it was worth the time! feedback is always appreciated <3 NOT PROOFREAD. EXCUSE INACCURATE TRANSLATIONS (I USE GOOGLE)

translations. “Mireasa fugară” - The Runaway Bride. “draga mea sotie” - my darling wife. “mireasa mea fugitivă” - my runaway bride. “Comoara mea” - My precious. “căprița mea mică” - my little doe. “iubițel” - darling/sweetheart. “Draga mea” - My darling.

listening to. HIM — Lose You Tonight - Thulsa Doom Extended Dub

TEARING HELL FOR LEATHER, you were cursing Fate and her knack for irony, because as you galloped like a doe from one forest Spruce to another, you were sure you were being compared to one by your tiger hunters; a dumb doe, too.

For thinking you could outrun them.

Vampiric barbarians that chased prey like you for sport, and devoured your meaty, lifeless bodies for dinner.

‘None of it seemed to be a problem to you then, so why now, my darling?’

You could hear his voice ring in the eye of your mind, a taunt, perhaps a warning, that you had no choice now but to suffer the consequences of a lustful love that once became the root of your existence.

You had been the talk of the town, rather, every town coming under The Four Houses; firstly, for your damn-near blasphemous marriage to him, and then when you ran away from him, leaving him to be a bastard widow of sorts.

Lord Alcides Dimitrescu and his Runaway Bride.

“Mireasa fugară”

Of all titles given to you, from ‘his little doe’, to Lady Dimitrescu, or even ‘Mother Dearest’ by your adoptive children, the one that stuck was this.

As you tear through the verdure of the outskirts of your renounced Castle, you hope the now-grown men chasing you remember how you were their “Mother Dearest” as boys.

“Mother, that’s enough,” grunted Boian, your oldest, ever the most obedient and faithful, but his loyalties will remain to his father, and so he’ll hunt you down for his validation, if he must.

“Yeah, Mommy, aren’t you getting tired of the cats-and-mouse chase?” Cătălin intervened, a snarky comment always on the brat’s lips, but his mischief and naughtiness had always warmed your heart.

“Just come back to father— to us,” begged Dorin, your youngest. He had always been the most attached to the idea of you as his mother, clutching onto your dress and hiding behind you when his father would scold him for blinding the messenger raven by throwing rocks at it, and would always consider you to be the epitome of the ideal woman.

Your eyes well up at their cries for you, but you must do this. You mustn’t ever return to Castle Dimitrescu, the hellish abode of Satan himself.

Not after his cannibalistic tendencies were shamelessly rubbed in your face, a mortal noblewomen who lost the people of her kingdom to her husband’s appetite.

The night was cold, the frost blanketing over the foliage like a cruel lover’s intoxicating embrace.

Speaking of a noxious love, you were preparing in your chambers, to let go and breathe the air of freedom and quit living in a necromantic land ruled by tyranny.

“‘Ya almost done?” A thick transatlantic accent broke the eerie silence of your quarters.

Where the only sound heard was that of your beating heart, now, the planting of wet kisses along your spine was sounded, too.

“Karl…” you whimpered in hesitation,

“I know, bub, we’re leaving as soon as ‘ya finish packing.” He planted one final kiss on your shoulder before leaving you alone; once again the silence fell.

Your heart palpitated, sinking into the pit of your stomach with guilt, making you sigh as you second-guess your decision. It’s ironic how you spent your entire life in the belief of infidelity being the biggest sin— the ultimate blasphemy to betray whom you’re betrothed to, and now you’re forsaking your husband to live a “normal” life with his friend.

“Fuck me,” you groan. You were never one to use profanities so casually, but the given circumstances had you cursing like a sailor. Clutching your bag of belongings, you make your way outside of the chambers. You see your chamberlain bustling about the halls, eagerly preparing for dinner for the five of you— Lord, Lady, and children. She nods curtly at you, “Pasha, where must the Lord be,” you inquire. She immediately stops tending to the kitchen staff and pays full heed to you. “He is still at the Tower of Worship, m’ Lady,” Pasha replies.

Right, so he’s still where he’d said he’d be; where he requested you to accompany him, but you refused, feigning a faux headache that your stress soon turned genuine.

“I am going to accompany him there, don’t wait for me for supper,” you dismiss her and her ‘but’s’ of concern for your health.

As you walk towards the Tower, your steps felt faltered, meek. The damp, chilly air only constricted your breathing and the large ruby on your ring finger that once fit you like a glove, back when he proposed to you on one knee, levelling your height then, felt like needles pricking into your soft flesh— a beautiful but bitter reminder of your imprisonment.

The ruby glowed when you walked past the Tower, as if telling you that the object of your desires— your demise— is in there.

You ignore all omens screeching at you, and disappear into the night; Karl Heisenberg waiting for you on the outskirts of the town in a chariot.

“What happens now,” you inquire, breathless from kissing Karl. “We’ll live off of regular means. I’ll look for a job in welding, and you— well, bub, with a face like yours you could start your own cult,” he smirks, nuzzling his bearded face into your neck.

You try to laugh but your conscious was grim.

“HE KNOWS, IT’LL ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!” Cătălin had a possessed look on his face, his raven hair wild in the wind, yellow eyes fluorescent in the dark.

Tears stream down your face, the wind carrying them to your storming children.

You were tired, wanting the nightmare to be over. Never having anticipated these to be the consequences— hell, had you known, you would’ve never accepted either man’s proposal— neither Alcides nor Karl.

Alas, a woman’s beauty is to blame for bad luck.

When the sound of thunderous strides tearing through foliage is no longer heard behind, you stop dead in your tracks, hidding behind the largest tree of the forest, a century old banyan.

Your haggard breath created a veil of fog around you, your eyes dart in every nook and corner for a sign of your predators, not knowing they’re circling you from each direction, until the leap in front of you.

“Mamă,” Dorin cooed, his voice soft. Cătălin pushed past him, cornering you further in. He wipes the sweat on his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes flick from a pale beige colour to an electric yellow.

“Say you want us to take you back to Dad,” he grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to look into his eyes. Your pupils dilate, your subconscious felt manipulated into a trance.

“No!” You intended to slap away his grip, but what surprised the three was that there was no need for you to. Your own eyes glimmered a fluorescent amber, hypnotising him to back off.

“That’s enough,” Dorin intervened, his voice gruff, depicting maturity you didn’t know he was capable of possessing.

Boian stood closest to you know, your eyes watering with heavy tears, like the reflection of the sun in a stream.

“Rest, mother.” His eyes shined the brightest, compelling you to comply, and your tired mind just wanted it for the sufferance to end.

THE FIRST SIGHT YOU SEE when you awoke was of the gothic ridges adorning the ceiling of your— Alcides’ bedroom.

Wait, what—

You shoot up from your grave of silk bedding, eyes landing directly on the man you were dreading, the man you abandoned, the man you married.

His kept stubble grew into a full beard, tiny specks of grey were illuminating in his roots, and he was seemingly taller, with the pride of having stolen you from the world once again.

“Good morning, draga mea sotie,” he spoke with a nonchalant face, but you of all people knew when you heard amusement in his tone. “I take it you slept well, thanks to our oldest—”

“Keep my boy off of your necromantic ways,” you cut him off.

“Dare you suggest I cut off his diet? Starve my boy? Rob him off of his luxuries—”

“I’m suggesting you raise normal nobles, not cannibals in a cult,” your voice came out weaker than you expected, and the faux offense feigned on the tyrant Lord’s face turned into a smug grin, “There’s nothing normal about nobility, and you’re one to talk,”

“They told me what happened.”

Your eyes widen— the same eyes he’s referring to right now. “No. Th-that was an accident—”

“‘That so? How come you have the symptoms of a plague that never infected you, hm?” He moves closer, from the edge of the bed to right beside your bare knees. “Unless you’ve had it embedded in you, or you’ve resorted to our diet, the odds are not in your favour, mireasa mea fugitivă.”

“How dare you call me that,” you sneered.

“How dare you hide my unborn child from me.”

“How dare you leave me.”

You dare not look at him now, face turned away from him, clenching your jaw while your eyes well up with fury.

“Comoara mea, look at me,” his large hands grab a hold of your chin, and the gentleness took you by surprise. He makes you face him, and when you look into his amber eyes your expression softens.

He stares into your glassy doe eyes, parted plump lips quivering, “There’s căprița mea mică,” he smiled— not smirked in his usual conceit, but smiled— the smile you received when you stood in the chapel of the Tower of Worship, and swore yourself to him.

His lips find yours in a yearning kiss— gentle, longing, and passionate. You clutch his half-unbuttoned shirt, remembering how you’d have to stand on your tiptoes to button them for them, not that the trimmed chest hair ever bothered you, if anything, it got you hot and bothered, which is why you buttoned him up. The fabric crinkles under your grip, and whether you were holding onto him to push him away or pull him closer was something you couldn’t figure out.

His hands tear open your blouse, and you couldn’t help but compare the act with the way you’ve caught him ripping through human flesh.

You pull away.

“You know why I left, and why I’ll leave again,” your chest heaved, breathless.

“Because I’m cruel? A cannibal?”

“Like your little paramour was any better.” He spat, and your eyes widened.

He knew about Karl, “What?”

“Please, ‘y really think he left you in a tavern full of drunken hunters every night and day to weld weapons? He’d deal in his work for a pound of flesh from the very hunters whose tables you’d been scrubbing,” he revealed, running a hand through his onyx locs.

He knew everything.

“Karl couldn’t— where is he?!” The realisation of his a sense dawned on you.

“Being served— as dinner.” He smirked.

The metal man was dead.

“Come on, don’t tell me you felt for that bastard. He was your exit ticket, I know, but other than that what’s he got,” says your ex-husband, meaning to say, “What’s he got that I don’t— that I didn’t?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, so the tantalising question hangs over the cold tension of the room.

This time his hand grabs ahold of your nape, tugging the hair towards him.

“Don’t go all quiet on me now, my darling,” he cooed, voice husky and soft despite the harsh pain he was inflicting on your scalp.

“What do you want, Alcides?” You spat, and he smiled at his little spitfire.

“Another chance,” he spoke almost instantly, a request lingering in the air.

“—To do better for you, and my unborn child.” He’s patient, oh so careful with you, like this doe’s made of glass.

He grips your calf, causing you to wince. Immediately he searches for the reason of your pain, noting it to be a laceration.

“Lie back, relax, and let me take care of you,” he cooed, making his way to catch your lips, “Let me worship you the way I should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but lean into the kiss. He had a way with words, a way so profound that he had you wrapped around his abnormally large finger the minute he set eyes on you.

You succumb. And fuck, do you succumb?

“Mireasa fugară”, her Tyrant Lord— a cruel tale men would recite at the tavern table, laugh at Fate and her knack for irony. Perhaps, they’d compare her beauty to their distraught wives’, curse their luck for not making her theirs, they’d surely have treated her better than the Cannibal, and the barkeep ladies yearn for the sight of a mammoth hulking in their pub, offering a penny to anyone who’d tell him with whom his wife ran away with. He who hunts hunters for sport, lost all wits and appetite for destruction over a woman.

The men laugh, their ale clinks, the barkeeps scrub the tables with a satiated sigh. Such is life, a beautiful ending to a tragic tale.

His kisses follow the trail from the corner of your lips to your jawline, your prominent collarbones. He takes a minute to observe the glass flesh which was earlier always adorned in tyrian purple like a leash of love; now the slate was clean, the collar, erased— a cruel reminder of the last time you made love— so casually that night, and had he known it would’ve been the last for a very long time, he’d have given you a night to remember— not that you ever forgot.

Alcides got to work, gently suckling on your pulse points. His beard pricked your soft flesh, sending jolts of arousal through you. You bit your lip, holding back moans, but the minute his mouth landed on your breasts, you were a goner. He kneaded them, caressed and fondled them. He noticed how your breasts had swell up, your body preparing for sustaining the child that hadn’t even developed into a bump yet. His serpentine tongue peaked out, encircling your hard nipple. Wet kisses trailed along the valley of your breasts, every inch of your body was covered in his essence.

When he reached your belly, he peered at you. Amber yellow eyes were blown out in lust, staring into the crests of your soul as his lips pressed into your flesh in a chaste kiss.

“It’s happy,” he began, causing your trance to break momentarily, “To have its parents back together,” he continued. A swell of overwhelm gathered in your heart, but that was every moment in a relationship with Alcides.

All thoughts and sense left your mind when his face was between your thighs. His broad shoulders were enough to have you fully spread out for him, even more than you’d like. He observed your body, the flutter of your walls, the blood rush to your clit, all were odes to his heed, and with immediate urgency.

The first lick to your cunt sent you spiralling back to doomsday. What every fibre of your being tried to prevent was unravelling right before your eyes, and the worst part? You wanted it to happen, you craved it, needed it like he needed human flesh. Maybe you two weren’t so different in your desires, you gnaw at his being alive and he eats corpses.

“Prettiest pussy,” he spoke, smothered in your thighs. His gentle licks were putting pressure on your sensitive spots, the texture of his abnormal tongue had always coaxed your soul to ooze through your orgasmic tides. Your clit was constantly taunted by the tip of his tongue, flicking and sucking on the bundle of nerves, relishing in the sight of you writhing and pulsating.

Soon enough, his tongue slipped into your velvety walls, the wet muscle stretching your constricting walls in a manner so painfully good.

Sex with Alcides had always been excruciatingly good, and tonight this artist put on his finest performance for his favourite audience of one.

You were squirming in his grasp, trying to get away before coming undone, but he wouldn’t budge, if anything, his tongue dove in deeper into your clenching pussy.

With fervent rubs of your clit, he had you coming in his mouth, a celestial maiden quenching the thirst of a mortal with ichor.

You struggled in overstimulation, but Alcides only lapped further at the juices dripping down his chin.

“One,” he rose, parting your legs further. He positioned his fingers on your mound, pressing down firmly. The feel of your cunt convulsing with need sent him tremors down his spine. He eased a finger in, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. The sharp digit sat fat and deep inside you, slowly curling to the rhythm of its master’s drum.

Your clit throbbed, and with senses as heightened as yours, it ached. Alcides was quick to soothe or intensify the pain, leaning in to lick leisurely at the bud, while his finger teased your sweet spot.

Another digit in had tears welling up in your eyes, and soon the stream flowed down your cheeks as his rhythm picked up pace.

“Hurts, iubițel,” you whined, and Alcides froze.

‘iubițel’, was something he hadn’t been addressed as for years. A genuine smile flashed on his handsome face, you’re accepting it— accepting him.

“I know, Draga mea, but you can take it,” he got back to sucking your clit while scissoring your cunt open with his thick digits. “Alcides, fuck!” You moaned wantonly, gushing all over him. He grinned from ear to ear, eager to coax more of that squirt out. His movements tripled in velocity, and soon enough, he pulled out only to replace his digits with his mouth, drinking every spurt of your juices.

“Two,” he groaned, licking his glistening lips.

He pulled you closer by the neck, crashing his lips onto yours in a passionate tango of tongue. He was quick to turn you around, manhandling you on your fours came naturally to him; too easily did you comply.

The feeling of his fat cockhead rubbing against your tender entrance was nostalgic to say the least, but fear of not being able to take him soon crept it. Even when he’d fuck you day and night, you could barely, just barely accommodate the mammoth’s monster cock, and now that it’s been years without practise, you could only pray to Gods you wouldn’t rip in half.

As the tip slide in, you felt a wave of euphoria crash your shores of uncertainty. Concealing in lust was the love you had now opened yourself up for.

Alcides spread your ass, relishing in the feel of the plump fat of your curves in his large palms. He gave your hips a squeeze before letting his palm fall on the swell of your ass.

You gasped at the smack, looking back at him through wet eyelashes. “My little doe, my beautiful, beautiful wife,” he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

He pushed in further and further until no inch was left, until your thighs were clad together and your bodies conjoined.

Feeling merciful, Alcides decided to let you adjust to his intrusion. As you clenched and cried on his cock, Alcides took a minute to close his eyes and smile on cloud nine. The feel of your warm, tight, wet cunt choking his cock to death was a feeling he longed for, and it was then he knew no other desire of his could amount to you. He would leave it all for you. He will.

“Alcides, fuck,” your pornographic moans were sound in the whole chambers. He set out a slow pace, yet every thrust was felt in your cervix. “Good G-God, darling,” Alcides moaned, his breath hitched as your tight channel gripped him like a vice.

He snaked a hand to settle between your thighs, pinching your clit.

You were in tears, beads of sweat pearlescent on your body, brows furrowed in pleasure and pain, a beautiful symphony.

“Slow down—” you managed to shriek, but Alcides was too far gone to act on it, he could only bring you solace to endure what his desires have in store for you. He kisses your spine, bathing your silk skin in wet kisses.

He pounded into your cunt, the whole room rumbling with the thrusts of the titan above you. He had an ironclad grip on your hips, slamming them back on his cock as he pistons into you. “Fuck, I couldn’t live without you,” he croaked.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he beseeched, causing you to nod rapidly, face buried into the sheets.

“Alcides, I’m going to—” your tears and slick stained the sheets, you broke down on his cock, the sensation, the memories too much for your precious and fragile little heart to endure.

He pulled out.

He glared at your gaping hole, your flustered face crying in frustration at the painful denial.

Alcides slams inside of you, “I need— need to look at you while I cum,” he groaned, resuming his animalistic thrusts.

Your legs wrapped around his narrow waist, nails ripping through the flesh of his broad back.

Rutting into your cunt, he bent forwards to catch your bouncing breasts into his mouth, squeezing the two together.

He left your hip to abuse your clit, tormenting the swollen bud with overstimulation.

“Cum with me. Cum with your husband,” he was lost inside of you. Rambling sweet nothings like never before, making every cell inside of you swell up with love and lust.

“Alcides!” You moaned, feeling his warm seed shoot into you.

“Oh my god!” You saw stars.

It finally came to you, in bits and pieces of your being, Fate isn’t cruel, but comic.

“Three,” he groaned, crashing beside you.

Three earth-shattering orgasms for the three years you abandoned him.

“I love you, I’ll do anything for you,” he caressed the side of your face.

“I love you, too,” you sighed, feeling exhaustion embrace you.

You spent so long running, only for your strides to lead you back to bed with him, to home.

Fate isn’t cruel but comic, because the bones you were so against finding devoured in your house became your daughter’s favourite toys.

Just like her father, Alcides, Alcina Dimitrescu loves the grotesque, but her doe of a mother even more.

main masterlist. more of Lord Dimitrescu. SEE ALSO. important clarification in rgds to this fic.

[greenwitchcrafts]

October 2024 Witch Guide

New Moon: October 2nd

First Quarter: October 10th

Full moon: October 17th

Last Quarter: October 24th

Sabbats: Samhain- October 31st-November 1st

October Hunter's Moon

Also known as: Blood Moon, Drying Rice Moon, Falling leaf Moon, Freezing Moon, Harvest Moon, Migration Moon, Moon of the Changing Season, Sanguine Moon,, Shedding Moon, Ten Colds Moon, Winterfelleth & Windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirts: Frost Faeries & Plant Faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia,apple, cypress & yew

Herbs: Angelica, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & uva ursi

Flowers: Apple blossom, calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, cat's eye, chrysoberyl, citrine, obsidian, opal, sapphire, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, blue, dark blue, blue-green & purple

Issues, intentions & powers: Cooperation, darkness, divination, healing & hope

Energy: Artistic works, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

The Harvest Moon is the full Moon that occurs nearest to the autumnal equinox date (September 22, 2024). This means that either September or October’s full Moon may take on the name “Harvest Moon” instead of its traditional name. Similarly, the Hunter’s Moon is the first full Moon to follow the Harvest Moon, meaning it can occur in either October or November.

The Harvest Moon & the Hunter’s Moon are unique in that they are not directly related to this folklore or restricted to a single month. Instead, they are tied to an astronomical event: the autumnal equinox!

• October’s full Hunter Moon orbits closer to Earth than any of the other full Moons this year, making one of the four supermoons of 2024!  As the Moon drifts over the horizon around sunset, it may appear larger & more orange—how perfect for the fall season!

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer & other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes & wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

Samhain

Known as: Ancestor's night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmass, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios & Shadowfest

Season: Autumn

Element: Water

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom, black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/Incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, bear, boar, cat, cattle & dog

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, bras, carnelian, clear quartz, diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, onyx, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Food: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corn, nuts, fruit, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/Plants: Acorn, allspice, angelica, besom, catnip, corn, deadly nightshades, dittany of Crete, fumitory, garlic, mandrake, mugwort, mullein, oak leaves, patchouli, reed, rosemary, rue, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle & wormwood

Flowers:  Calendula, chrysanthemum & heather

Trees: Apple, beech, buckthorn, hazel, pine, locust, pomegranate, willow, witch hazel, yellow cedar & yew

Magical: Faeries

Goddesses: Al-Lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Mania, The Morrigan, Nemisis & Nicneven

Gods: Arawn, Baron Samede, Chronus,The Dagda, Dis, Hades, Nefertum, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honor, introspection, otherworldly/underworld, release, visions & wisdom

Activities:

•Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse yourself with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Host or attend a bonfire

• Leave offerings for the Sídhe

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins, turnips or apples

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is about halfway between the autumnal equinox & winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals along with Imbolc, Beltane, & Lughnasa. Historically it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland, & the Isle of Man. 

Samhain is believed to have Celtic pagan origins &  some Neolithic passage tombs in Great Britain & Ireland are aligned with the sunrise at the time of Samhain. It is mentioned in the earliest Irish literature, from the 9th century & is associated with many important events in Irish mythology.

The early literature says great gatherings & feasts marked Samhain when the ancient burial mounds were open, which were seen as portals to the Otherworld. Some of the literature also associates Samhain with bonfires & sacrifices.

• According to Irish mythology, Samhain (like Beltane) was a time when the 'doorways' to the Otherworld opened, allowing supernatural beings and the souls of the dead to come into our world; while Beltane was a summer festival for the living, Samhain "was essentially a festival for the dead".

•The festival was not recorded in detail until the early modern era. It was when cattle were brought down from the summer pastures & livestock were slaughtered. Special bonfires were lit, which were deemed to have protective & cleansing powers.

At Samhain, the aos sí were appeased with offerings of food & drink to ensure the people & livestock survived the winter. The souls of dead kin were also thought to revisit their homes seeking hospitality & a place was set at the table for them during a meal. Divination was also a big part of the festival & often involved nuts & apples.

Mumming & guising were part of the festival from at least the early modern era, whereby people went door-to-door in costume, reciting verses in exchange for food. The costumes may have been a way of imitating & disguising oneself from the aos sí. 

• In the late 19th century, John Rhys and James Frazer suggested it had been the "Celtic New Year", but that is disputed.

Some believe it is the time of The Goddess' mourning the death of The God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess' sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival or cold weather.

Related festivals:

• Halloween( October 31st)-

In popular culture, the day has become a celebration of horror, being associated with the macabre and supernatural.

•One theory holds that many Halloween traditions were influenced by Celtic harvest festivals, particularly the Gaelic festival Samhain, which are believed to have pagan roots. Some go further & suggest that Samhain may have been Christianized as All Hallow's Day, along with its eve, by the early Church. Other academics believe Halloween began solely as a Christian holiday, being the vigil of All Hallow's Day.

Popular Halloween activities include trick-or-treating (or the related guising & ghouling), attending Halloween costume parties, carving pumpkins or turnips into jack-o'-lanterns, lighting bonfires, apple bobbing, divination games, playing pranks, visiting haunted attractions, telling scary stories, & watching horror or Halloween-themed films

• Day of the Dead(November 1st-2nd)-

 el Día de Muertos or el Día de los Muertos

The multi-day holiday involves family & friends gathering to pay respects & to remember friends & family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember amusing events & anecdotes about the departed. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed, and is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage.

•The observance falls during the Christian period of Allhallowtide.

Traditions connected with the holiday include honoring the deceased using calaveras & marigold flowers known as cempazúchitl, building home altars called ofrendas with the favorite foods & beverages of the departed & visiting graves with these items as gifts for the deceased.

 The celebration is not solely focused on the dead, as it is also common to give gifts to friends such as candy sugar skulls, to share traditional pan de muerto with family & friends, & to write light-hearted & often irreverent verses in the form of mock epitaphs dedicated to living friends & acquaintances, a literary form known as calaveras literarias.

 Some argue that there are Indigenous Mexican or ancient Aztec influences that account for the custom & it has become a way to remember those forebears of Mexican culture.

• All Saint's Day(November 1st)- 

Also known as All Hallows' Day or the Feast of All Saints is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honour of all the saints of the Church, whether they are known or unknown.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[peachesofteal]

Mermaids

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/mermaid!reader 8.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Dark themes. Magical beings eating human hearts. Magic. Blood, Violence. Explicit sex. Blood kink. Breeding kink. Creampie. Dubious consent. Possessive Simon Riley. "And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, you crawled from the sea to break that sailor's heart" - F+TM

It begins early this year.

Earlier than usual, when your hunting ground in the mortal world was just starting to turn green, shaking its frosted and frozen branches free to make room for bright blooms and emerald leaves. Just as the steps of Brighton Pier changed from ice slick ledges to waterlogged, weeping wooden planks, and human clothing shifted from long coverings that protected their fragile membranes from the bitter wind to soft and flowing fabrics that allowed their bodies to breathe.

This time of the year the mortal world was alive. Full of rebirth and growth, strong and vibrant.

Vibrant, like the song that began early this year, the frequency echoing deep below the water’s surface to where you waited for its pull. The siren song of a true treasure, far beyond any other, the melody of your chosen, the ebb and flow of the rhythm that is not unlike the sea. The siren song of a mortal’s heart, the cacophony able to reach you and your sisters far below the swell and crash of the ocean, far beyond where the light ceases, the melody possessing the ability to pull you to the surface once a year.

Once a year, to hunt.

One a year, to dance and drink and fall in love, if only for a night.

Once a year, to sacrifice a human heart.

Your eldest sister holds you tight to her body in an embrace as the sun rises. Elegant fingers fuss with your hair, smoothing and tugging and pulling, a vain attempt at taming something wilder than her own heart. Her face is grim, a black void that reflects no joy or excitement, just dread. It is a mirror of yourself. It is a pain that you know too well.

“What bothers you?”

You are the last two left on the beach. The others have all gone, eager to stretch their legs and seek their own songs, the trill of the blood bubbling up in their veins, their bodies pulled like magnets to the source. One heart, one song, one human male for each sister, poor mortals who have no idea what awaits them today, their ignorance bliss on the last night of their lives. Your sisters, as well as you, all live for this night. The joy of the love, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of the ichor that sustains you. The anticipation of this night fills your dreams with swirls of violent songbird chords and sweet melodies of affection. It is all you talk about for cycles, leading up to the day when you leave the water at sunrise and your tail shifts and shatters to reveal two very human looking legs.

“I am weary.” She tells you plainly, an announcement that does not come as a surprise. You have watched how she fades. Watched her linger in the darkness of the caves, watched her float lifelessly on slow currents, gaze hollow, vigor lost. “My song is faint.” She pushes further, holding your hand tightly as she releases you from her embrace. “I think I may not take a heart this year.” But we must. Must we? It was a question unanswered, but one that plagued you both. How else could you live, if not for these sacrifices?

“You would choose to die.” You surmise and she gives you a curt nod, as if it is obvious. As if her admission does not rattle you down to your very bones. Perhaps you too, one day, would make this choice. Would choose not to hunt. Choose not to love and lose. The notion pains you, fills you with sorrow as it has for many, many years. This was not an unknown feeling, even though you still experienced the joy, the bliss of your hunting, of the harvesting, you still felt the pang of loss every time, stronger and stronger as the years ticked by.

“It aches now, knowing I will fall in love this night, just for it to end as the sun rises.” The sea crashes onto the beach behind the two of you, and her lips part with a smile before she leans in to graze a kiss along your cheek. “Happy hunting, my sister.”

The song encourages you onward, leading you through a maze of streets and buildings while the sun rises and lingers in the sky. You comb the city for your male, following the electric hum of the song through alleys and neighborhoods, stopping to enjoy the day, your one day on land, as often as you can. You relish in the things that are rare for you, the taste of coffee and human food, the smell of flowers in the park, the feel of grass on the bare pads of your feet. The dress you’ve chosen flutters in the breeze, allowing the cool air to caress your skin softly, and the sun beams down on your exposed limbs, warming you under its light as you indulge in mortal world. It is nice, you decide while you bask in its rays, to feel the sun as humans do. Such spoiled creatures, being so close to something that gives so much life.

That same sun begins to sink lower behind the skyline and you’re still mindlessly gazing at small insects and diving birds when your heart trills, the force of the song slamming between your ribs, a smattering of warning bells going off within you. He’s close, your blood croons, so, so close. The incessant rattle, the insistent pull is enough to bring you to your feet and anxiously smooth the wrinkles of your clothing, eyes darting wildly around while you hunt for the source, feet flying beneath you. So close, so close. 

You come to a stop in front of a pub where a black door is propped open, music and revelry echoing from inside. Here. He’s here. The supersonic vibrato that hums in your own blood draws you into the dimly lit bar, and you hear the song in his veins grow even stronger when you step through across the threshold. He is not hard to find, this close, and your magic strings out before you, weaving and seeking past the bodies that dance closely on the floor, each as desperate for one another as you have grown for your mortal and his song.

 He stands in the back, half covered by shadow, the dark pitch of the room matching his clothes and the mask he wears over most of his face. Everything about him is bigger than the males that have called to you in the past, his height, his arms, the width of his shoulders, even the feeling of him in this place. Everywhere you venture, every spot you position yourself in, you feel his eyes on you. He is unusual, and watches, from his vantage point, his companions, other humans, the bartender.

You perch atop a barstool on the opposite side of the room to study him. His eyes carry a ferocity, a heaviness of emotion that stirs the blood running through your own veins until it is pounding in your ears. The severity of him nearly intimidates you, the level of his awareness, the pools of his amber rich brown eyes occasionally flicking over to where your fingers wrap around a glass of beer, the heat of his gaze searing away at your skin underneath the dress. The mask confuses but does not caution you, and your own heart now beats in time with his due to your proximity. Handsome. You muse to yourself, caught up in tracing the outline of his cheekbones. Beautiful, in a dark way. 

There is something about him. Something ruinous, something different. Something you cannot name.

It is of no consequence. You are the huntress. You will have your prize, your immortality, the taste of his heart on your tongue. His death becomes your life. His love, his heart, becomes yours, for eternity.

But how nice, might it be, to keep this one? It is an impossible thought, a dreamless idea, but one that still crosses your mind. The fantasy of falling in love for eternity, of having more than one night, more than the blood and violence that follows, more than the loss that would sustain you. If it were to be one, you know you’d choose this one. Your thoughts stray to your sister for a moment, imagining her alone beneath the surface, mourning the centuries of life she has lived, the centuries of love she has lost. Did she know this feeling? This hopelessness, this despair. Your lips tug downward as you consider her words. It aches. It aches, knowing I will fall in love this night, only for it to end as the sun rises. Gloom washes through you, your own yearning itching inside your soul, your desperation for your human itching at your skin. It aches. It aches, it ach-

“Hello.” Someone says from behind you, a deep, distinct voice, and you snap upwards, straightening your posture to turn into the body that crowds you. You jerk backwards on the stool when you realize how close he is, the action unsettling you from your seat, and you slip forward, nearly falling free from your wooden perch. Balance on land is difficult, and yours is perpetually off, a skill you've never mastered. A massive hand wraps around your elbow to right you, gently steadying you, and your jaw goes slack when you finally look up.

It's him. 

“Hi.” You smile, trying to recover from your less than graceful impression. Your heart thunders in your chest, and the melody inside him screams for you.

“I’m Ghost.” He motions to your mostly empty beer and raises his completely barren one in return. “Buy you another?”

The indulgent smile that scrawls across your face is practically involuntary as you give your answer.

“Sure.”

His name isn’t Ghost, but he keeps his true name close and won’t give it to you. You give him a nickname, one you usually use on land, and he doesn’t bat an eye, even when you tell him it’s a pet name and not your real one with a wink. The name Ghost doesn’t strike you as odd, after learning what he does, why he keeps it tucked away, and you marvel at him while he tells gives you bits and piece of himself, occasionally peeling his mask up to drink. He’s a solider, a Lieutenant in a special task force, some of which he happens to be out with tonight. He likes bourbon, specifically from a certain region in America, and he smells like the forest. You lean closer, completely unable to stop yourself, inhaling as deeply as you can, breathing in the mossy, earthy, green scent that hovers in the air around him. It was heady, and endless, and wrapped you in a dizzying cocoon of memories that you couldn’t place, but clearly envisioned. Forests, teeming with life and glowing chartreuse from top to bottom, oceans with aquamarine waters, shallow pools for you to bathe in under the sun, the water crisp and cold, your skin eagerly soaking it up its potent brine. Sapphire skies, the beaches stretching on and on, their seas fathomless, their bounties endless. You push closer, nosing as near as you can to his skin and take a lungful of the air. Strange. You knew humans wore things to mask or change their scents, but had never encountered one so… affecting.

“Alright, love?” He brushes the lightest contact of his fingers against yours, and you straighten, eyes ducking down in embarrassment.

“Yes, sorry. I- I was… distracted.”

Unusual indeed. 

One drink turns to many, and you carefully note how Ghost’s posture becomes more relaxed, shoulders less tense as the two of you indulge. He continues to surveil the room, observing and cataloguing, and you find it dangerously appealing, how in tune he is to his surroundings. How vigilant. Your hand lays gently on his thigh when you can no longer hold off the desire for physical touch, and he inclines his head to speak above your ear, the warmth of his cheek behind the fabric pressed casually to your head.

“D’ya want to go somewhere else?” Yes. You nod, and he motions to his group before excusing himself, his large body cutting a path through the packed room like he’s parting the sea.

You note the couplings around the bar as Ghost approaches his companions, leaning down to speak to one who is seated, legs spread wide on a faux velvet chair. He has a mohawk, and cerulean blue eyes that trace you from head to toe after Ghost begins to walk back towards where you're seated. You break the eye contact hastily, observing the others, pity pulling on your heart strings over a distraught female who sits in a corner, watching another with longing. The state of her broken heart is written all over face, her body rife with grief. The object of her affection, another stunningly beautiful female, dances with a different mortal, her artfully woven hair spiraling from her shoulders in tune to the way she moves her body. They have it so hard, you think. The song does all the work for us. You never have to woo your mortals, just provide them with the opportunity to find you. The song pushes them to seek you out, drives them to near madness unless they are in your company. They don’t always love you back, as you love them, certainly. But you never have to vie for their attention, never have to posture for their affection.

A large hand takes yours, warm and beating with the pulse of his heart, the rhythm of the song.

“Ready?” You open your mouth to say yes but nothing comes out, and the feeling of dread, the ache swamps you for a passing second. I think I may not take a heart this year. All you can do is nod.

As he leads you through the crowd, you cannot help but reach forward with your free hand and clasp onto the dancing woman. She pauses, eyes lighting wantonly when she sees you, but you push a sprinkle of magic through her, sparking desire in the base of her consciousness for the mournful dove in the chair.

You don’t look back at either of them as you leave, and silently pray to no one that they find happiness in love, that they relish it and keep one another, if only for you.

You bring him to the beach, as is your custom. It was where you felt safest, closest to the ocean, it’s where your power felt most pure should you need it, should something go wrong. You shiver at the thought, shoving down the memories that threaten your balance, and you clutch Ghost’s hand.

“Come down here often?” He inquires and you shrug, a response you know mortals are fond of.

“I like it here.��� You offer, and he hums in acknowledgement. You tug him towards the overhang of the pier, where the shadows will shield you, where no one dares to venture. The only light comes from the moon, it’s silver glow glittering dimly through worn wooden pier slats, and you watch it catch his eye, his pupil expanding and contracting as you step closer and closer. “I want to kiss you.” you implore. “Will you remove your mask?” The song. You’re depending on the song to help you with this, depending on his desire, the power of the melody in his veins to urge him to comply with your request, and when he tilts his head like he’s considering you, you hold your breath.

It happens quickly. He removes the mask in a fluid motion, and then his lips are upon yours, hot and seeking, tongue exploring your mouth while yours opens for him, your body clenching with dizzying desire at the feel of his touch against your skin. 

“I knew it.” You gasp when you pull away and trace the fine point of a fingernail down his jaw. “I knew you were breathtaking under there.” He chuckles.

“Happy you think so.”

Your mouths melt together as he holds you around the waist, your bodies getting closer and closer until you can feel the hardness of his cock in his jeans, feel the scorching heat of him through his clothes. You are desperate for this mortal, your desire to feel him moving inside of you nearly as strong as the lust you feel to taste his heart. You sink to the sand together, a dance of limbs and movements that have you panting astride him when he settles, propped up on his elbows.

“Simon.” He says mid breath. “That’s my name. Want ya to have it.” Simon. 

“Simon.” You whisper it, and he nods before pulling you back to him, two large palms cradling your face like you’re a delicate creature. It makes you feel special, makes you feel cherished, like you’re something gentle to be treasured, and not a monster out for his life. You kiss him tenderly, one more time, as softly as you can manage, your heart trembling inside your chest, before your teeth bite into his lip, the ferocious intensity of the act returned by him, his mouth meeting yours full force. You bite again, and this time his flesh gives way, bright, mineral rich blood bubbling from the tiny cut and you eagerly lap at it, the ichor coating your tongue and exploding across your senses. He laughs, the echo of it rumbling deep in his chest, and you place your hand against his heart greedily, the vigor of its beating nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. The length of his cock throbs between your legs, where only the fabric of his jeans separates you, and you rut against him helplessly. Sparks ignite between you, your body shuddering when his hands hook into your hip, strong grip guiding your movements against him. Your magic swells inside of you, and your head spins.

Take him, take him. Take his heart, take his song. Have him, his love, his heart, for eternity, forever. 

You push him onto his back, dress rucked up around your hips, fabric pooling around the two of you.

“I want you.” you tell him, fingers fussing with his clothes, encouraging him to strip his shirt free and then unbutton his jeans. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and sloppy but you can’t find a care. You’re too filled with want, overflowing with desire for your mortal, your desperation mounting as he stills you, tracing a finger over your ribs and then down your pubic bone to where your slick, silken folds wait to be touched.

“Simon.” you whisper his name again, the word close to begging, and he shushes you, swirling a finger down where you’re leaking, circling the swollen bud of your clit with agonizing strokes that fill your senses with electricity.

“Shhh. I know what you need.” He soothes, and deftly pushes a finger inside of you, stroking along your walls. You shiver, face dropping into the crook his neck, and he turns his head so that the soft puff of his breath wafts over your skin as you whimper. “Does that feel good?” He asks, pressing another inside, his thumb flicking over your clit in lackadaisical patterns. You moan, body welcoming his touch, and you nip at the skin of his shoulder, eager to tear it apart, to taste his blood again. His other hand pushes at the back of your head, until your teeth are flush with his skin. “Go on.” He urges, and your eyes slip closed with bliss while you break the thin membrane, blood pooling to the surface as he lets out a small grunt. Your tongue swirls in it, painting his skin ruby, and you drag your lips downward, over where his heart pounds wildly in his chest. For you. It pounds for you. It sings for you. 

“I need you inside me.” He pulls at the straps of the dress, divesting you of the top, exposing your breasts to the cool air and silver light of the moon. His thumb rolls one of your nipples and you feel for him, already free from his under garment, the things humans wear under their outside clothes, and you swallow when you feel the size in your fingers.

You sink down onto him with a hiss, body stretching for the intrusion, cunt spasming around the width and length as it fights to make room. He pets your hip soothingly, and you sit straight up, letting out a cry when you feel the true length of his cock inside you, the absolute fullness of it nearly seated in your belly. When you look back down, your eyes trace the smear of blood from his lips and shoulder, and your tongue darts out against your own skin, seeking the flavor of ichor that waits on the corner of your mouth.

Something glitters in his eyes, something shifting as if he finally recognizes the danger he’s in. Even here, with you astride him, split open his cock, hips stuttering in slow circles, wariness flexes across his face as if he knows, finally, that he is the prey and you the predator.

“It’s okay, do not be afraid.” You reassure him, stroking a fingernail over his breastbone, to where his heart flutters beneath your touch. He blinks, eyes blissfully blank, the firm grip of his hand on your hip relaxing before he says:

“Will you not tell me your name?” A long sigh slips between your teeth. Mortals. So hung up on familiarity. But how could you refuse a dying man his last request? Your lips kiss the shell of his ear as you give it to him, the point of your fingernail pressing into his delicate flesh, desperate to seek the strong muscle beneath, the song in his blood echoing through your own bones with supersonic vibration. The sounds and colors of the mortal realm all increase, too bright, too loud, everything shaking like the earth is suddenly trembling and then-

Something snaps inside of you. Magic, raw and powerful, a force unlike anything you’ve ever felt spills into you, your body being washed over with the rush of floodwaters, your heart and blood now singing for him, yearning for him, desperate to be consumed by him. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

The claim burns beneath your skin, your magic twisting away into something completely new, something more powerful as your mind grapples with the changing reality.

In the next moment, you’re spinning, tumbling through the air until you’re on your back, splayed beneath him, hands trapped at your sides. Your legs are folded underneath the width of his torso, your body opened for him just so, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, stretching the slick walls of your cunt with each punishing thrust.

“I-“ the words are cut off sharply when he seals his mouth to yours, teeth gnashing and gnawing down from your lips to your jaw and then up to you ear.

“You,” He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust, and you gasp. “are mine, little huntress.” It is a vow, snarled through clenched teeth, and your own body betrays you by tightening around him, eager and willing to be claimed. The air is hot, humid and electric with magic, the burning effects of your error travelling through your every vein, every cell of skin. The utterance of your name, the act of your own foolishness strings heavily between you, while your body tenses underneath him.

“Simon.” You breathe and he only nods, holding your cheek in a gentle palm, stroking a loving touch across your face.

“Sweet little Nereid...” He names your kind with a growl, and your heart slams in your chest, his cock thrusting into your cunt wildly, desperately. “More beautiful than the sea herself.” The laugh is crooned, like the satisfying scratch of a needle against a record, and his fingers stroke your clit while he presses himself to you, your hips pinned beneath his weight, your body immobile. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” He smiles darkly, lips curling with sinister satisfaction, and you feel the cold hand of fate reaching into your own chest cavity, rooting around in your soul until magic is searing across your skin, a bending and scraping feeling digging underneath your ribs, your own magic twisting and clawing until it burns away into something new, something changed, something imbued with him.

No. It’s not possible. 

“You… you’re-“

“Yes.” 

Simon cares little for the mortal realm. It’s pace and its noise and its scents are all cloying to him, obnoxious and foreign, the general rush of its inhabitants and their lack of care for their world offensive to him and his kind. They do not care for their realm, and do not take care of it ether, instead choosing to let it rot and fester beneath their feet, their drive and determination to outdo one another single handedly responsible for the destruction of most of their world. They call it something here, 'capitalism', like naming it will excuse it, while Simon just calls it murder, and greed.

Mortals and their extreme indifference do allow him certain things, however. Their love of violence and obsession with wealth put even the most well-off of his kind to shame at times. His kind loved things that shone, certainly. But mortals? They loved things that bled. It was this lust for power, this ravenous streak of greed that gave him the opportunity to position himself as he has.

As a hunter. A killer. A ghost.

Simon had been hunting for the thing he loved for a very, very long time.

And tonight, he was finally going to bring you home.

The first time Simon saw you; over a century ago, it was beneath Brighton Pier. You had a human male panting after you as you walked beneath the wooden overhang, your hand cupping his cheek softly, eyes full of tenderness and love. Simon, and the man, were both entranced by your beauty, the way your body moved under the night sky, how your skin seemed to glitter against the sand. Simon watched as you led him to where the moon couldn’t reach, beneath the shield of the slats, the dark of the evening hiding you from all prying, curious eyes, except for his.

He watched you take the male inside your body, watched you lavish your tongue across his neck and chest, watched your lips form sweet words of reassurance and honey while you tasted his blood. He watched the nails of your fingers gleam in the low light, watched them sharpen and then dig, scratching and clawing beneath the threads of the male’s skin, until you held an ichor rich organ in your palm, a complex system of vessels and ventricles, it’s sinew glowing red beneath your touch. He stood in awe as you devoured it, your feeding turning into a frenzy as you consumed it piece by piece, the male bleeding out and dying slowly, all while still buried inside your cunt.

After your feast, you dragged the male’s lifeless body down the sand to the water with you, where you pulled it beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Surprised, and intrigued, he stood at the water’s edge, watching the tide that was tinged red lap calmly at the shore. He knew humans had a taste for blood, but this was another desire onto itself. What were you? 

The following year, Simon couldn’t help but return to the same area in hopes of spotting you again, the creature unknown to him, a mystery begging to be unraveled. You appeared at dawn on the same day, with a horde of others, who then dispersed into the city and surrounding areas, following the sound of a song he could not hear. He became a creature obsessed, tracking your every movement, watching your every hunt and sacrifice. He stood in the dark while you made love to the mortals whose lives you would take, watched you hunt with wild abandon, watched you enjoy the small, tiny things in your eternal life that others often overlook. He began to know you, began to learn what you liked and didn't, began to learn what made you smile. 

You became the brightest spot in his own too long existence, the yearly reminder of love, of vitality, of life. He loved you, desperately, recklessly so. His dreams were filled with soft, sweet visions of you, bloody moments of passion and adoring, lingering kisses that he swore he could still feel when he woke.

It took time, too long of a time, before he discovered who, or what, you were. He spent a century trying to learn how to lure you to the surface. Simon tore apart libraries, bargained favors across dimensions, granted wishes and wove powerful spells just to trade for information on you and your sisters, the Nereids, the lasting remnant of a forgotten power, reclusive magic lurking inside the deepest depths, a realm inside a realm, never to be discovered unless you wished it so. And even then, the additional answers he sought were scarce.

Every year, he returned to the human realm to see you, tucking himself away in cloaks of magic and darkness so that he could creep as close as possible to you. Every year, he watched you hunt, watched you capture your prey effortlessly and consume their heart. He watched you shed a tear for them. Watched your drag their corpses down the beach to the sea, where you carried them into the water with you before disappearing all together.

Eventually, time began to change you. He watched you regard your lovers, your mortals with callousness, and cruelty. He watched you treat them with tenderness, and adoration, caring for them, making their ends sweet and soothing their fears. He watched you stand on the beach for hours at dawn and try to fight the urge to hunt. He burned to take you away from this world, to sever you from your ocean, bring you home to him, but your kind did not live in his realm. He was unsure how to sustain your life, and the search for answers was slow. Years went by, and the soft dreams that he had always welcomed turned to nightmares, fueled by the fear he’d lose you before he even had the chance to try to bring you home. 

A decade ago, he watched you falter. Your body trembled as you took your sacrifice, your cries so hysterical he was certain you’d draw the entire block to where you hid in the shadow of someone’s gaff. His own body was rigid with tense, untethered magic that sought to lash out, and he was rife with worry that you’d give yourself away, you’d be caught by some mortal force and unable to return to the sea when the sun rose. The fear he felt was unreasonable, uncontainable. He'd level the city to protect you, to keep you safe, and he nearly did. He almost took you, that night. Was quite close, so close that he was crossing the street in front of vehicles and preparing to pull you into his realm when you composed yourself and completed your harvest, the glowing organ in your hands proof of your will to live, to love.

He rarely left the mortal realm after that. Only to seek his final answer and solidify his plan, his masquerade as the masked Ghost allowing him to exist in the realm indefinitely, giving him the availability to be close for when the time was right, for when you would be ready.  

A year ago, you were the last to return to the water, your steps slow and clumsy, your eyes tired and weepy. You appeared satisfied, but as you looked back on the city from the shoreline, he saw the hint of desolation in your eyes, the shadow of dejection haunting your face.

It was more than enough, to spring him into action. More than enough, to find your promised mortal for next year and steal his song, bringing it into himself by a small piece of blood magic, something so simple and obvious Simon cursed himself for not realizing sooner.  

This morning, as he observed you and your sister on the beach, he knew he had been right. He could see it in your face. The pain of sadness, of loss twisting your elegance into an ache, those feelings compounded by the admission of your eldest sibling. This could be your last hunt.

It was time to bring you home. Forever. 

“That her then?” Johnny nods, indicating he’s looking the same direction as Simon, watching you walk down the curb, paper coffee cup clutched in your hands, face smiling at the sun.

“Yes.” Simon answers, shifting uncomfortably. The bloody song has been heating his flesh for weeks, boiling in his veins and driving him practically mad. Nymph magic. Its incessant hum has been battling his own power, jockeying for position as it worked to pull you to the surface. Combined with his own, he wasn’t surprised it possessed the ability to bring you up earlier than normal, encouraging you and your sisters through the depths and to the shore. If his blood was singing, then so was every other poor sod’s in this city. 

You cross the street into the park, dress swaying around your hips, and he indulgently stares at the form of your body, the set of your shoulders, the texture of your hair. He closes his eyes to breathe, reaching into himself to get a handle on the battle of will going on in his blood, the warring magic factions pushing and pulling beneath his skin, begging to be let out, trying to lash out. Soon. He reassures himself. She will be with him soon. 

He can smell you from here. You’re ripe. Overflowing, your scent is like a flickering ocean breeze, briny and cold but full of life, of promise. You’re ready, ready to be taken from this awful realm, ready to be bent underneath his body, ready to be crying on his cock as you come while he floods your womb with himself and his power, tying you to him for all eternity.

That is, if he can get you to relinquish your name.

It is a key piece of his plan, and the one that worries him the most. 

He knows you do not give it freely; knows you keep it guarded. It’s like you’re already aware that he waits in the shadows for you, watching, keeping track of every step you take, every year, from sunup to the next, until you slink beneath the water where he cannot follow.

The pressure inside his body is nearly unbearable by the time you step into the pub. Dozens of heads turn towards you, mortals’ eyes roving all over your body like you’re a treat for them, like you’re something delicious they’ll have an opportunity to taste. Foolish, greedy mortals, too busy staring dreamily at you to recognize the predator that you are, or the predator he is, oblivious to the two hunters in the room with them right now. He wonders, if you'd bathe in their blood, given an opportunity. The image makes him smile. 

Johnny clears his throat expectantly, and Simon nods, casting a glance over to where Gaz sits with a pretty female on his lap, her attentions focused solely on him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust. Johnny gives him a nod.

“Good luck.” He offers and Simon waves him off. He’s no need for luck. His blood sings your song.

“Ready?” He nearly loses control when he watches your face fill with despair for a moment after his question, his aching need to soothe and comfort you almost forcing his hands out to touch you. I'm here, little huntress. You are not alone anymore. He cannot tell you this, not yet. So instead, he applies pressure to your hand gently and waits. When you nod, he breathes just a tiny bit easier. 

He cannot stay in this place any longer. The eyes, the mortals, their inane thirst for alcohol and violence starting to scratch underneath his skin. He needed you, needed your name, needed to take you home to his realm, and all this noise and smoke and foul-smelling liquor stood in his way. The feeling of your hand in his soothes him, calms the anxious explosion that’s building in his chest, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough, until he has what he wants.

On the way out, he does not miss your little spell. He is, and has been, the most powerful creature in this room. He has felt every ounce of magic used, by you, by Johnny, by Kyle, all night long. It makes his heart swell when he feels your effort to push the dancing female into the arms of her scorned lover, makes his heart soar when he realizes perhaps, you have not given up on love, on life. Perhaps, you just need something else, something other than the hunt, to live for.

He allows you to take your time beneath the Pier. He cannot rush you, cannot allow you the feeling of anything being amiss, being off. You are so close to the sea, so close to the edge of the water that if he spooks you, it will be too easy for you to slip away. Too easy for you to be lost beneath the surface, again, just as you have been for hundreds of years.

When your teeth tear into his flesh he nearly moans, almost loses control again, but tamps down the urge to spring forward and toss you into the sand beneath him. He needs your name, needs your name so bloody badly it has his head spinning, his entire being desperately urging him to act, to claim, to take you. Your cunt is searing hot around his cock, your body shivering in his arms as you rock your hips delicately, eyes watching him half addled, crazed with the lust for his blood, for his heart.

“Will you not tell me your name?” He thrusts slowly up into you, and pity flashes across your features as you bend forward to brush your mouth against your ear. He feels your lips part, hears the intake of your breath and then-

You’re his. The magic begins immediately, bonding you to him, searing you into his soul and vice versa, the song in his blood slipping away until all he feels is the combined force of your power and his, the melding of souls and magic that will guarantee your existence in his realm, by his side, guaranteeing your survival, your ability to thrive. He takes advantage of your confusion, of the chaos that rises in your heart and flips you on your back, spreading your thighs wide beneath him and plunging his cock as deep as he can. So close. So, so close, and then you will be truly his, for as long as you both shall live. 

“I-“

“You,” he thrusts harder, desperate to claim you. “are mine, little huntress.” He hisses it, pushing the words forward with the brunt of his power, and you gasp before whispering his name.

“Sweet little Nereid…more beautiful than the sea herself.” He kisses your throat, stroking your clit at a torturous pace while your confused gaze tracks his every movement. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” The magic pushes through your blood and bones, continuing to stitch and sear you to him, and he can’t help the feelings of possession that come over him.

His. His. His. 

His magic cuts and gnaws at your own, ripping and shredding it to bits until it’s infected with him, the strength of your name, your free admission to him, turning you inside out, changing the very chemistry of your body. He watches with dark satisfactions as your face shifts, your lips parting with understanding, eyes widening with your knowledge of the truth.

“You… You’re-“ Clever little huntress.

“Yes.” He purrs, and punches his cock back up inside of you, pressing close to your cervix, your body wet and needy, just for him. You shudder and blink hazily, confusion flickering across your features while his magic roots around inside of you and binds you to him, cell by cell. He can still smell you, smell the cool salt air of the sea that comes from your skin, smell the ripeness of your body, your willingness spilling forward in the air, the scent of sweet honeysuckle and sea holly. Your thighs tighten around his hips, your body rocking swiftly in time with him while your brow furrows, like you’re not sure what you should be doing. He licks at the stain of his blood on your lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a sharp whine, small hands flexing against his chest.

“No.” you admonish, face stricken. “No. No, you t-tricked me.”

“I did.” He agrees, reaching between the two of you to rub your clit in a swift circle, your breath hitching. Your face twists into something sour, but your cunt clenches around him, and his lips curl into a crescent moon smirk. “Are you going to come on my cock, sweet one?”

“Unnf.” You moan nonsense, turning your face away from him but he does not stop, hips snapping against yours, his body working to bring yours closer and closer to its climax.

“I think you are.” He hisses and grips your jaw to turn your eyes back to him. They’re wet with tears, but he doesn’t see fear in them, doesn’t see the despair. Only flares of rage, and the heat of desire, the electricity of the magic that is now shared between the two of you. He smiles triumphantly. “I think,” he relaxes his pace, dragging his cock out of you painstakingly slowly, gaze never leaving your lovely face. “you’re going to come for me, and then I’m going to breed you, little huntress.” You tense around him, squeezing his cock, the words pulling a delicious, physical reaction from you that shakes his focus for a moment. His palm lays flat over your lower belly, low enough that his thumb can feel the hardness of your clit, can stroke around it’s hood while you gasp and convulse in his arms. You shake your head stubbornly, chest heaving for breath, and he slams himself back into you, your spine curling forward into his chest.

“Gods.” You cry out, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto, finding his shoulders and sinking deep, deep enough that he knows you're drawing blood. It oozes from the tiny wounds, tracing down his skin and when you pull away, your fingers have been darkened with it.

He watches with small wonder as you slip them into your mouth, face going slack with bliss, cunt spasming around him while he strokes deep. His skin prickles, mouth finding yours again, and you moan into him, uninhibited, full of abandon.

“I have watched you for over a century, my sweet Nereid. Watched you hunt, watched you love, watched you lose.” He slows to look down at you, caressing your face with a gentle touch. “I have watched the light fade from your eyes, watched despair take over your existence.” Your gaze widens, mouth dropping open in surprise, and then closing abruptly, eyes softening around the corners.

“Simon.” You murmur, pressing your finger to the weeping wound from your teeth.

“My huntress. You will never be alone again.” He noses your jaw, licking and sucking against your skin, cold brine exploding against his tongue. Your scent crests, peaking with the honey flower and salt, your body yearning beneath him, cunt milking his cock. “Come for me.” He encourages when he knows it’s time, when he sees the glossy want all over your face. It doesn’t take much urging, another stroke of your clit and you’re coming, body locking up around him, muscles straining as you cry out, face full of bliss and legs tense around his hips. You clamp down around him, holding him deep inside your body like a vice but he works you through it, thrusting slowly inside your scorching cunt, your walls desperately trying to keep him inside. “There you go.” He soothes, fucking you through the aftershocks, your face still twisted up. “That’s just what I needed.” The orgasm makes your more pliable, more soft and less angry, and he sees in your eyes what he knows to be true. You want this. Perhaps this is not what you would have chosen at first, perhaps the magic was too strong in your veins in the beginning, but your body knows what your mind works to accept. You are choosing this, choosing him, over the hunt. Over the sacrifice. Over the immortal life of loss.

So, so close.

He folds your legs towards your chest, opening you deeper and you mewl, lips parted in dazed, post orgasm glow. He can’t help but kiss you again and again, his painfully slow thrusts forcing irritated breaths to puff from your nose.

“Something you want?” He teases, and you nod, pressing your face into his shoulder and groaning into his skin.

“Simon. Please.” You voice breaks, and he feels your cunt pool around him, liquid heat forcing him to grit his teeth in an effort to stave off his own orgasm.

Ask me for it, little huntress. 

“Please, what?” He mocks, thumb pressing down on your clit hard, causing you to keen. He doesn’t move, just stays steady inside of you, your cunt working pull him deeper.

“Please, please. I want-“ you gasp when he bites the skin of your neck, and he smiles wickedly. Your cunt practically strangles him now, body working to drag his orgasm from him, magic singing in both of your hearts.

His. His. His. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your scent overpowers him, the swell of the ocean behind him combined with the salt of your essence pulling him harder into your gravity.

“What do you want?”

“I want your come.” You beg and he snarls, finally losing control, fucking into your eager body with abandon, hard and punishing while you moan and cry beneath him. He takes your earlobe in his teeth before whispering a vow:

“Then you shall have it.” He plays with your clit, the intensity of his strokes matching the pace of his thrusts and you pant eagerly. “You shall have it every day until you are full of me, full with my child.”

“Yes.” You moan, and he feels you moving towards another climax, your muscles spasming and eyes slipping shut.

“I’m going to breed you, give you my baby, sweetling. Make you mine, forever.” Your back arches and you wail, your cunt clamping down on him again, and he thrusts as deep as he can, chasing his release, fueling his burning desire to empty himself inside of you. He lets go completely, untethers his magic, lets it fully fuse with yours as he spills inside of you, the pressure of his orgasm working against your aftershocks, and your own magic that wraps itself wildly around him, clawing at the seat of his power, desperate to attach itself.

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

His. His. His. 

You fall asleep on his chest, body relaxed and sated, mouth open in a small o. He needs to get you up, needs to get you ready to travel to his realm but in this moment, he’s content to sit here, against the old wooden pier, timing the rise and fall of your breathing and planning for the future, for eternity.

“Will you care for her?” A musical voice asks from a short distance, and his head snaps up to see your sister, the one you stood with on the beach this morning, inclining her head towards your peaceful, sated body that sits snugly in his arms.

“Always.” He promises, and she nods, eyes looking down the shoreline.

“I am happy for her.” She looks sad, forlorn, not unlike how you appeared hours ago.

“It is not too late, for you to hunt. There is still plenty of time before the sunrise.” He tries to encourage, and she nods.

“Perhaps.” Simon briefly wonders if Kyle or Johnny are still in town, a sinister idea forming in his mind, taking shape before his very eyes. He pushes, just the gentlest bit of magic, the piece that’s mixed with yours, towards her. A long moment passes, and then, “I think I’ll walk.” She motions up the pier and gives a goodbye nod, as he strokes a hand down your spine when you shiver in his arms.

You do not stir until she is a speck on the horizon, and when you do, you lift your head wearily, like you’ve slept for a thousand years.

“What’s going on?” you murmur, shifting your dress so it covers your thighs. He presses a light kiss to your forehead before giving an answer.

“We’re going home now, little huntress.”

[daryltwdixon]

Double Lines

a requested one shot

"Hi it's me lol my request is Daryl and fem reader are a couple and they finally decided to try for a baby. When Rick returns he is proud of Daryl for everything he's done with the group as well as being a father figure to Judith and can't believe he's finally a father to his own kid. Just fluff lol up to you if there's a pregnancy loss or not in their journey to try to conceive, baby gender is up to you. Names for baby are DJ (Daryl Jr) or Elizabeth after Beth since she was your close friend as well as Daryl's 🖤🖤" @twistedprincess-92

fluffy, pregnancy, gentle Daryl, fem reader.

Daryl has his arms wrapped around you as you stand in the bathroom together. The tile flooring is cold under your bare feet, but that’s not the only thing bringing goosebumps to your skin. He’s kissing your cheeks and lips, then to your nose and temple.

“Whatever it is, I love you,” he whispers against your ear. 

You smile and tuck your face into his neck. Praying, pleading, for once to see that double line. Before you made it to Alexandria, you were terrified of an accidental pregnancy. The thought of bringing a baby into this world terrified you, even though Judith had done so well. But her early years were hard. For her and the group. Daryl was just as scared as you were about pregnancy–maybe more from the fear of losing you. So when you both settled into Alexandria, the idea of a life outside of the apocalypse crept in more and more each day. You kept picturing a stumbling toddler running out to greet Daryl when he came home, what songs you would sing them to bed with, or how soft their cheeks might be. What a mini Daryl might look like, or a little girl who looked just like you might be like. Every day when you sat on your front porch, having coffee and quality time when Daryl was around, you’d picture him or her in his lap. Their eyes would be just like his, so icy blue like the first frost of winter. Their smile would be a mirror of yours, maybe with dimples or none. When you brought the idea to Daryl he was nervous at first, but he knew how much safer you both felt here. There was medicine, doctors, support to help during birth. One night, after a particularly long love making, you confessed to Daryl your thoughts. He had been worried at first, the natural panic of the past few years coming to him. But after assuring him of everything around you, how good Alexandria was for both of you, he finally agreed. That night, you spent many hours interlocked with him. It was one of the most beautiful nights with him, where you finally felt like something was happening for the better. Since then, he’s held you closer and closer when he hugs you. He pulls you into more kisses, his arms always finding your waist. He brings you flowers almost every day, never leaving the vase on your dining table empty.

Today you had told him, in a shaky voice, that your period was two weeks late. Every day since your period was supposed to be here, you just kept telling yourself it’s the stress–something hormonal. You knew there were reasons a period wouldn’t come. You’d had so many scares with Daryl because you were both starving and it was natural for a period to be missed due to the lack of nutrition. So you got used to making excuses for it. But Alexandria was…safe. It was home. So you finally decided to just tell Daryl, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. His eyes were like saucers when you came to him. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like that before. He immediately ran from you, and at first you were nervous you scared him away, that he needed to go out for a hunt to clear his mind. But instead, he came back quickly with a small, rectangular box. He pulled the pregnancy test from it, holding it out to you.

“Together,” he said. All you could do was fall into him for a sweet embrace. 

So you find yourselves together here in the bathroom now. Waiting for those double lines. 

“I love you,” you whisper into his neck.

He pulls you back, bringing your face up to his, kissing you deeply. He didn’t need words to tell you how much he loved you. His actions always spoke so much louder. When you come out of your kiss, your eyes naturally peek over to the test on the counter, and a gasp escapes from you.

There’s two bright pink lines across the tester.

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

It’s so funny, almost like deja-vu. You remember picturing this exactly nine months ago. Sitting on your porch, sipping coffee, watching Daryl with your child. Except instead of one, there were two. Yes, twins. When you found out both of you nearly fainted, the news was almost too much for your frayed pregnancy nerves. But now, seeing Daryl with his closed eyes on the porch swing, two babies laying sound asleep on him during a contact nap was the most magical thing you could ever want or need. You look over to the street from a bit of motion in the corner of your eye, and you see Rick walking over, Judith in hand. She’s walking over, blabbing about something in her toddler talk. He is smiling down at her, nodding and answering back. When he looks up and catches you watching, he lifts his free hand into a wave. You smile and wave him to come up to the porch steps. As he and Judith approach, you begin to stand. 

“Stay, stay,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, “you must be tired,” 

“How are you doing? Hi Judith,” you say softly, your eyes twinkling at the little one.

“We’re doin’ real good,” he says, “right Judy?”

“HI!” she says loudly, still not exactly used to using her ‘inside voice’, stirring Daryl out of his nap. The babies squirm on him, but he lays still, bringing his arms up around them tighter. 

“Wow,” Rick says, watching Daryl. He’s shaking his head lightly, his eyes full of love.

“Thought I couldn’t do it?” Daryl says hoarsely with a smirk. Judith comes over to him to stare at one of the babies laying closest to her. 

“No,” Rick says softly, shaking his head, “I knew you’d be amazing. You’ve always been good with the kids, Dare. I’m just…” he trails off, his throat bobbing, “I’m just real’ proud of you. How far we’ve all come,” he looks over to you now, his eyes misty. You give him a sad smile, reaching your hand out to hold his, squeezing tightly for a moment before dropping it again.

“You’ve done so much for us–for everyone. I’m real’ happy that you finally get to have this.” he finishes, leaning over, putting his hand on his chosen brother’s shoulder. Daryl stares at him intently, and nods genuinely. 

“What’re their names?” Judith asks loudly. The baby closest to her opens his eyes, “Uncle Daryl? What are the babies’ names?” she asks again, impatient. 

“This one here, J, is DJ. For Daryl Junior,” he smiles softly, touching DJ’s soft cheeks with the pads of his fingers.

“Wow, so he’s Daryl and you’re Daryl?” she says quizzically. Her face scrunched up in confusion. 

“Tha’s right,” he says, meeting your eyes with a twinkle in his, he looks down at the other baby, still snoozing softly on him, “and this here is Elizabeth,” he says quieter now. He looks back up at Rick, a sad smile on his face. Rick returns it, and crouches down next to Judith, “that’s a beautiful name, huh, J? Tell Uncle Daryl what a nice name that is,” 

She giggles, putting her fingers in her mouth and smiling, “I like it,”

“Surprised you didn’t say one of their names was Ass Kicker,” Rick smiles widely and you all laugh at the memory.

You and Daryl had decided the names early on, knowing you wanted to honor his lost friend Beth Greene. She was so gentle and good hearted. He missed her, and you knew it would mean the world to him to name his child after her. DJ was the harder one to get Daryl to sign off on–he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of his own name. He thought it was silly to name his son after himself. 

“We’ll call him DJ for short–that way you won’t think about it,” you joked one afternoon. 

He had taken a long pause, working on his motorcycle in the garage, tinkering with something in the engine. You had come by, hobbling over with your large belly to bring him lunch. He tended to forget to eat during the long hours he spent in the garage with his bike, and you liked visiting him during the day. When he saw you, he ran up to you to pull the stool he had in the shop under you. You sighed as you sat, and he kissed your temple as you took the weight off your swollen feet. He took the lunch from you with a small ‘thanks, baby’.

“So…?” you say breathlessly. You were getting so tired of being winded by walking 20 feet these days.

“DJ, huh?,” he finally said, “alright,” and that was that. Life had finally slowed down. You felt like everything that had happened between the two of you, the sacrifices that had to be made, the things that kept you up at night–had finally been worth it. You were safe, Daryl was safe. And now you had a beautiful family that was safe. It was all you could ever want and need.

[milkbobatyun]

a false sense of security

pairing: wanderer/scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: he would hunt you down to the ends of the earth, just to bring you back to your rightful place beside him

word count: 478

a/n: ofc i had to make him yandere, like have you NOT seen him when he was balladeer??? (so sexy oml). this piece can be read as a continuation of anyone but you

you had thought that if you could run to the other side of teyvat, he would stop chasing you.

oh how foolishly wrong you were.

scaramouche’s changes scared you. his thirst for power was insatiable, like a wild fire that had quickly grown out of control. the fire consumed him in every way, burning away the innocent, wide-eyed kunikuzushi, leaving behind only the heartless, cruel balladeer.

he yearned to be worshipped like a deity, with mortals bowing and grovelling at his feet. he wanted to feel powerful, to show to the god who had cast him away his true worth.

his pursuit of power made him greedy, blinding him from everything he had and held dear. distancing him, from you.

how he hated your empty promises and blatant lies.

you promised that you wouldn’t leave him, that you would always remain by his side.

so how was it, that now, he was hunting you down, sending his soldiers hot on your trail like a pack of hunting dogs?

like a rabbit with rabid dogs chasing at its heels, you scampered, ducking beneath branches and tearing carelessly through bushes, no heeding the clawing fingers of the branches, that sliced through your skin.

you could run, yes, but you could never, NEVER hide from him.

your breath fogged up in the chilly air, the cold seeping through the clothes you had thrown on in your panic. clutching your clothes tighter against your body, you carefully scaled the mountain. 

one wrong move, one slip of the foot, and the soldiers would track you down, binding you and presenting you to their lord like a prized prey.

you pressed on, the frost clinging to your eyelashes, your cheeks, your nose.

you were not going to turn back.

every day you lived in fear.

you were thousands of kilometers away from him, but still you chose to venture out of the house with your hair and face obscured by a hood, throwing glances behind you as though someone watched your every move.

every twitch of the shadows had you tensing, ready to run at any sight of danger. some nights, you feared sleep, afraid that his men would snatch you from your bed. yet, as you slowly settled into your new life, your defences began to crumble.

you were thousands of kilometers away from him, the oceans and desert separating you from the cold wasteland he inhibited.

surely, you were safe now.

what a dumb little bunny you were.

you had thought yourself free of his grasp. separated by oceans and rivers and deserts, there was no way his soldiers could reach you.

yet, in the twisting shadows of the alleyways, peeking through the boarded up windows, eyes always scrutinsed your every move, like a hunter, keeping watch with a careful eye, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

no, you were never safe.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[loudclan-clangen]

Fish in a birdcage for Rosehip amd Dodwood tho

YES

Bee is not one of the rogues himself, but two of his sons are! Also one of Butterfly's sons, and two of Coal's sons that he had after Fiercestripe left. They aren't really important to the story so they don't get names or anything, but I think that it makes everything a little bit more tragic that Fierce is fighting her nephews who she would have loved to watch grow up and might recognize her from when they were young.

2. Kingfur and Sockeyepelt would both be pretty devastated if Chumtail dies, she's similar to Dashpaw in that she's kinda the mediator between her two more polarized siblings. Really everyone who's up on the chopping block is the most stable of their family, meaning everyone is going to be very NORMAL after this, I'm sure. Also thank you!

3. Yes! There will be stickers of the mediator kids (especially now that you've asked). I'm drawing sketches based on what people have requested, and I'll make a post letting everyone know when they go up. Currently I have Weed, Siltsplash, the Mediator Kids, and some couple stickers in the works.

There were many factors in Fiercestripe's decision. 1. Thorn was 4 moons old by the time Fiercestripe left, so she was well past carrying size (especially with Fiercestripe being a small cat). Even if Wildfirecry could carry her, or she walked on her own, it would slow their pace significantly and require them to take more breaks, leading to the farm cats likely catching them. 2. If Fiercestripe had taken Thorn then the farm cats would have more justification to track them down and forcefully bring them back. It's one thing for a she-cat to leave, it's another for a she-cat to take her mate's kit with her. (part of why the farm cats have made it to loudclan now is because they're chasing a pregnant she-cat). 3. Wildfirecry hadn't agreed for Fiercestripe to come with him. He was a stranger who had stayed a couple nights with the farm cats and was just as likely to turn her away or harm her as he was to allow her to come with him. He would have been a lot less likely to agree to travel with her if she came with the responsibility of a kitten. 4. Wildfirecry and Fiercestripe did not have an easy journey. They didn't have a destination or a set path, they just wandered from place to place for years until they were convinced to join Loudclan. It's pretty likely that had Thorn been brought with them she would have frozen, starved, drowned or been eaten by a predator given that Wildfirecry was the only one with any hunting or fighting skill, and kittens aren't as tough as grown cats. All in all, bringing Thorn along wasn't really an option. Fiercestripe's only choices were leave Thorn or stay with the farm cats and hope that another outsider came along later when Thorn was grown. (Thorn's story is a bit different, Frost and Spider were outsiders who joined the farm cats later in life, so Frost knew how to hunt and fight, thus allowing them to wait for their kits to grow before they left.)

I designed them on my own! I find pretend genetics very fun and it gives me a chance to think more in depth about the rough backstories I have for these characters and how their childhood would have affected the way that we see them act in the story.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Yeti

Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader

Summary: Cregan takes you hunting with him and, you get caught up in a snowstorm. Needless to say, the cold is a formidable adversary to your Dornish self.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions/depictions of violence/gore/horror, smut (pwp tbh, semi-public sex, breeding kink, cunninglingus, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise kink), cregan 'don't fuckin scare my wife' stark, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: haha head. no thoughts. only wolf hubbie. and ok just roll with the folklore i added just just Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"WHAT?" I quip, breath condensing with the cold air.

The men around me let out deep, hearty chuckles upon hearing my concerned exclamation. Cregan chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. The fire in the middle of our group crackles.

"Aye, I saw it with my own two eyes," the oldest of the men in the hunting party says, "twas the biggest beast I'd ever seen." He scratches his white beard. A shiver runs down my spine. It wasn't just because of the wind.

"Lord Stark," a voice calls from behind, "we've finished setting up the tent."

Cregan turns to the approaching men and nods, "very good. Thank you."

"When mi cousin went missing," I turn to the man by my right as he speaks, "mi aunt saw a seer to ask if they could get 'is body back if 'e was dead," he says, "and, by the gods, instead, that night, there was a loud screech and claw marks on the trees. In the end, they erected a stone for mi cousin without 'is body."

I shudder and wrap myself tighter into my coat.

"D'ya know the story about the headless, lady?"

My expression twists, along with my insides. I shake my head.

"Well," the man continues, "long story short, an entire heard of sheep slowly started losing their heads and there were large footprints that trailed off the farm every time it happened."

I clench my jaw, "... how horrible."

"Aye. Yetis feed messily. They say that if you find sheep organs in the snow, you ought to run cause a Yeti left that there."

Cregan rolls his eyes but then catches the way my face continues to contort.

"Didn't all of the sheep on that farm have their guts gushing out of their necks?"

"I think it also happened to the cows-"

"That's enough," Cregan shakes his head, leaning on his knees, "I will not hear another word of the kills of snow figments while we're out in the snow."

"But it's not a figment."

"Milord, you know that even your father had an encounter with the Yeti-"

"The Yeti kill mi dog-"

"Enough, I said!" Cregan blurts louder than the rest. He stands from his spot, and in turn, his cloak, which he had wrapped around me, is pulled off my body. He stills, having forgotten he'd done that, and looks down at me, reaching hand, "in the tent with you."

I do not take his hand. I instead grip my furs tighter as I slowly stand. He does not fault me for it, though he does let out a grunt.

The men share another laugh. They watch as I struggle to move from my spot, as I was practically twice my size with all of the layers I had on. Cregan had even given me his outer coat, leaving him one layer less, yet still, he was unfazed where I was practically rigid with frost.

"Poor Dornish cub," one of the men mutter.

Cregan presses his lips together and adjusts the woolen hat on me. He wipes the snowflakes off my lashes before placing a hand on the brown bear fur on my back, "waddle quicker then."

I do not snark back at his remark.

One crunch in the snow after the other, my boots finally take me to the tiny, makeshift tent.

Cregan reaches out to me again, making me look back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. When I do nothing but stare, he mutters, "the coat, love."

I furrow my brows at him like he called bloody murder, "but I'm cold!"

Cregan blinks then shakes his head, "I'm only going to dust the snow off."

I shake my head and shudder, breath condensing in the air.

He purses his lips and grabs me not unlike a rag doll. I squeak and just let it happen. He brushes the snow off me, muttering something under his breath as he did, then guides me into the tent.

When he kneels down by the makeshift bed on the ground, he and takes off his cloak, "will you be sleeping with the whole wardrobe on you?"

I plop down next to him gracelessly and pant, "if you wish for me to survive through the night."

He draws out a deep breath. It looks as though smoke left his lungs. Cregan makes a pillow out of his cloak and motions to it.

I gratefully lie down, although with all the layers on me, the cloak-pillow was a bit too low. Still, I fluff it up and it suffices well enough.

"Will your men be alright outside?" I mutter as I gaze upon the blanket and fur tent they built.

He grunts as he stands, "there've been worse winters, sunshine." He then begins to walk off.

"Wait," I knit my brows, "where are you going?!"

Cregan turns back and places his hands on his hips, "I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your fur. There's barely enough room for the two of you."

"Cregan."

"Oh, Hush, hush," he waves his gloved hand and moves to close the tent's opening, "I'm keeping watch so my bear cub doesn't get eaten by a Yeti."

"That's not funny."

I hear the sound of his boots stomping away.

It was bad enough that I was shivering intermittently in my sleep, thus why I kept waking up, but then I had an awful nightmare about the gargantuan, white-furred snow monster. Now all I could do was pray to R'hllor that I remain strong enough to get through this storm.

I further solidify when I hear a deep cry from a distance.

... no... not a Yeti. That's simply my mind playing tricks on me.

And yet my heavy eyes are now wide open.

I roll on my back and sit down as I listen to the wisp of the storm, anticipating another shriek.

I sniffle and shudder as dread bubbles in my belly.

"I am not waiting for the Yeti to creep in my tent, gods no," I mutter to myself as I crawl out of my tent on all fours.

As I emerge out of the warm cocoon, I yelp when I look up and find myself faced with a snow covered man laid back on a tree truck. He looked as though he was dead. I let out louder yelp when I realize the man was Cregan.

I run to him, no longer caring that cold was seeping through my fur and quickly brush the snow off him. Because of this, Cregan groans and finds consciousness.

"W-"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I rub Cregan's face with my hands.

He scowls at me, "is it morning?"

"W-what?"

He groans as he sits up, "dammit, girl, I was sleeping."

"WELL HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT!" I quip, "you look like you were about to make friends with the Stranger."

Cregan grabs my arms as his face slowly contorts, "I'll have you know I am the vision of health, bride."

I let out a sound as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, bringing his face into my neck. The feel of his cold nose against my skin makes me gasp. He mumbles, "so warm."

"Cregan," I brush the building snow on him, "let's go into the tent."

And so we did. Or at least as much as the Stark lord could fit inside.

Once we were situated in the tent, I laid next to Cregan, who kept moving because of his legs that were sticking out. After a while, he began shifting me as well. He pulls me into his chest and claws my coat off, "away with these furs, dammit."

"Cregan, I'm cold."

My words and my attempts to keep myself warm are futile as my hulking husband rips the source of his ire off me, "I can warm you better."

"Cregan, please," I grab his hands when he tries to undo more of my clothes, "it's too cold for this."

I am wholly defenseless when he shifts on his knees and shoves me on my back. He situates himself between my legs and pulls his gloves off, "I'll leave you sweating."

I whimper when I feel cold begin to seep through as he pushes my skirts up, "Cregan-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he digs his finger into my hips, " 'm just going to warm my face. You felt how cold I was."

With a rip, my pants and smallclothes were down. The yelp that leaves me is repeated when I feel Cregan's frosty lips on me.

Cregan sinks down and throws my legs over his shoulders. At this point, his bottom half was sticking outside the tent. That, added to the sounds I was making through my glove-muffled mouth, made for the most obviously obscene act you would ever witness in the woods amidst a storm.

"Come now, pretty girl," he mutters between kisses, "no one will hear you through the wind."

I whimper when he swirls his tongue around my nub.

"And even if they do, they'll know to blame it on the Yeti."

True enough, I begin to grow warmer and warmer, and louder and louder.

"Mmm, fuck, Cregan," I reach down from him and dig my fingers into his hair, "I feel warmer now. So warm."

He hums against me, eliciting a moan from my lips. He sighs hotly on my core then nips at my thigh, "so sweet and soft, and all for me."

I whimper and arch against him as he continues to lap at my increasing wetness. I bite down on my lips as the sound of his feasting fills my ears.

"Cregan," I sigh as I pull on his roots, "need more."

He barely lifts his head and whispers against me, "not warm enough?" His one brow quirks.

"Need you inside me," I mutter, seeing my breath fog up in front of my face.

Cregan chuckles then sigh, "see, you woke me up," he retorts, rubbing his cheek against my thigh, "I'm going to need you to beg for forgiveness first."

I grunt when he sinks back down on me, "please, husband. Forgive me. I'm begging you. I need you."

Cregan chuckles louder, "how wanton, not even putting up a fight--"

"Please," I pull his hair again, "please."

He shakes his head, so very clearly meaning to rub me with his nose, "I'm enjoying this enough already."

"My love, please. I want you in me," I pant."

With that, he sinks down darts his tongue into my folds, making me squeal. He continues at it then makes me yelp when he grazes my flesh. He croons, "like that, pretty girl?"

I whine helplessly as he continues. I can practically feel his grin against me. I scrape his scalp with my fingers, "Cregan."

He chuckles and relents, lifting his head, "oh, what now?"

"I need your cock in my cunt."

He laughs then clicks his tongue, "my, my, Lady Stark. How uncouth. Is how they raise the ladies in Sunspear?"

I let out a whimper when the cold bites my exposed flesh after Cregan pulls away. He presses his fingers into my thighs, "what would you give me if I fucked you, wife?"

I answer exactly as I know he wants, "an heir."

He huffs heavily through his nose and gets on his knees, "just one?" He brings both my legs into one arm as his other works on undoing his trousers.

"As many as you want, my lord."

He hums and eventually frees himself. I sound leaves me when I feel how cold but hard he is, "good girl."

Our groans mix as he sinks into me and pushes my knees into my chest. I feel warm slick on him as he rubs into my chilled cheek. "Fuck. You're so cold," he mutters. He proceeds to pepper kisses all over my face, "let me take care of you."

I reach for his face and begin to grunt when he bucks into me. If it weren't for all of the clothes still on my back, I'd surely have my skin gashed by the end of this.

"Fucking gods," he growls against my temple, "so tight and hot."

He pushes his hands behind my knees and picks up the pace.

I throw my head back and helplessly whine as he slaps into me. He pushes down on me and pins me in place. He pants against my ear, "this warm enough for you?"

"Mmm, gods, yes-"

"Gonna fill you up. Burn my come into you. Make you carry my pups," he licks my skin then nips at me, "make you heavy with my seed. Put so many pretty babes into my pretty bride."

My fingers dig into his hair as his mouth trails down my neck. He asks, "you want that don't you?"

"Yes, wolf."

He gruffs and snaps his hips rough, "good. Good."

I grow warmer as he moves quicker. Soon enough both our bodies are warm to the touch. I peck his cheek and bask in the feel of him. At a point, his movements become erratic and aggressive.

"My pretty cunt. Mine, mine mine."

"Cregan-"

"Yes, darling. I'm here," he sighs, "fucking my pups into your soft belly and warming you up. Feels better than all those fucking pelts right? Warmer. Warmer. Warmer. So fucking warm."

I squeal as I feel myself get pushed on the edge.

"Come on, love, give it up to me."

I whine erratically.

"Come on, pretty girl. Milk my cock and take my cum. Fuck, just like that. Come on. Don't be difficult. Come on, my little-- oh, that's it."

Cregan's movements do not relent as I come undone and spasm beneath him. The knot inside me breaks into a thousand pieces and I'm sure if there was a Yeti out there, they'd be running the other way after hearing me.

A few moments later, he, himself, twitches and fucks all of the smug comments he meant to say out of his system.

His movements grow increasingly languid until he comes to a stop.

He breathes against my neck and finally releases his clutch on my legs. He adjusts his hold on my thighs and makes a cushion out of me, not that I mind. In fact as I catch my breath and wrap my legs around him, I warn in between breaths, "don't you dare pull away, Stark."

He presses his lips on the top of my head, "never, Stark."

[pedrospatch]

joel miller masterlist

♡ fic notifs l ao3 ♡

🔥= indicates smut

oneshots & drabbles

not a thing l part ii summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

weakness l part ii 🔥 summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s takes an unexpected turn for you and Joel when some feelings start coming to the surface.

we need you summary: Afraid of failing the two of the people he cares about more than anything, Joel decides you and Ellie are better off without him.

jealous summary: You aren’t together, but Joel doesn't want to see you with anyone else.

stay summary: You’re in Jackson with Joel and Ellie after Salt Lake City and the loss of somebody you failed to protect haunts you and leaves you wondering if the wound will ever heal—and how you’ll ever go on if it never does.

what he didn’t do summary: You’re very recently divorced, but that doesn’t stop a certain brown-eyed neighbor from taking you out on a date.

strawberry 🔥 summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what. AU, NO OUTBREAK (TW) DDLG

punishment 🔥 summary: You drag your boyfriend to your best friend’s annual Halloween party and get brave after a couple of drinks—it’s not like Joel’s really going to punish you while all of your friends are under the same roof, right? AU, NO OUTBREAK (TW) DDLG. POSSIBLE DUBCON.

captive 🔥 summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group. TW DARK!JOE. DUBCON.

frosting 🔥 summary: Joel agrees to help you decorate Christmas cookies and things get a little messy. AU, NO OUTBREAK (TW) DDLG

someone to be thankful for 🔥 summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller. AU, NO OUTBREAK, DBF! Joel Miller

series

a safe haven l ongoing l 🔥 summary: When Joel Miller and Ellie Williams return to Jackson, Wyoming to begin their new lives, the last thing Joel expects is to catch the eye of the thriving community’s equine veterinarian. Young, beautiful, and married, Joel knows that he should stay away from a woman like you, but he can’t help but to be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. As you start growing closer to both Joel and Ellie, you find out all about the secrets they both carry—and they find out you’ve been hiding a secret or two of your own.

fall into temptation l completed l 🔥 summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamn preacher’s daughters.

miscellaneous

snapshots l ongoing summary: Moments of Joel Miller’s life in Jackson, Wyoming with his girls.

divider credit @/saradika 🤍

[satansdarlin]

Marigold Margins: Chapter one

Wayne Enterprises CEO!Tim Drake x Fem!reader

Notes: a thank you to my lovely gf for beta reading this for me, this has been set up to at least to have ten chapters but I might combine some into one. Tim and the reader are both in their early twenties between 21-25ish. (Also indi and scarlet might be the yns of their own up coming stories :^ if yall would be interested). Drop a comment or a reblog! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, slightly toxic work environment, dick being shameless and trying to set you and Tim up, timmy being cute

Word count: 8.4K

Rating: T

Shit, your feet hurt like a bitch. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, each step sending sharp reminders of the blisters forming on your skin. The golden stilettos had seemed like the perfect accent to your outfit this morning - now they felt like an exercise in masochism. Fashion over comfort: the eternal struggle.

"Morning, Gary," you called out to the janitor, who was already familiar with your early arrivals.

He paused his work, offering a knowing smile. "Good morning, miss. Mr. Drake hasn't made it in yet."

"Thanks for the heads up." You appreciated Gary's small kindnesses - they were rare enough in this department, where your rapid promotion to executive secretary had earned you more enemies than friends.

The executive elevator hummed to life as you pressed the button for the top floor. While waiting, you shifted your weight, trying to ease the pressure on your aching feet. Tension. The word perfectly described your entire situation at Wayne Enterprises. Was the forty-dollar hourly rate worth it? Absolutely. What secretary made that kind of money, complete with generous paid leave? But loving the job? That was... complicated.

The work itself came naturally to you. The real challenge was Timothy Jackson Drake himself. Everyone knew about him - Gotham's wonder boy, the youngest CEO in the country, part of the infamous Wayne family. But after a year as his secretary, you'd learned there was more to him than the nepotism narrative suggested. He'd earned his position through genuine brilliance and dedication. That same drive, however, meant he had... expectations. While never openly cruel, he could be relentlessly demanding.

The elevator announced your arrival with a soft chime. Your morning routine unfolded with practiced efficiency: lights on, computers booting up, files arranged on your desk. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the office with its rich aroma. You prepared Mr. Drake's desk with military precision - work files stacked just so, his favorite mug ready, a banana and granola bar positioned nearby (which he'd likely ignore until you forced lunch upon him).

Settling at your desk, you dove into the morning's emails and calls. The sound of dragging footsteps announced Tim's arrival, and you glanced up to find him looking like he'd just crawled out of bed - or perhaps never made it there at all. He mumbled something vaguely resembling gratitude before shuffling into his office, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass partition that separated your workspace from his. You watched as he slumped into his chair, took a long drink of coffee, and gradually transformed from zombie to CEO. It was a fascinating metamorphosis you'd witnessed countless times. The way his shoulders would straighten, how his eyes would sharpen from bleary to laser-focused. Even his typing changed - from hunt-and-peck to a rapid-fire staccato that filled the office.

"Meeting minutes from yesterday?" His voice carried through the intercom, significantly more human than his earlier greeting.

"Already uploaded to the shared drive and hard copies are in the blue folder on your desk," you replied, allowing yourself a small smile. After a year, you'd learned to anticipate his needs with almost supernatural accuracy.

"The Robertson contract?"

"Legal returned it this morning. I've highlighted the changes they suggested in yellow. Green tabs mark where you need to sign."

There was a pause, then: "What would I do without you?"

"Drown in paperwork and caffeine withdrawal," you answered before you could stop yourself. These little moments of casual banter were dangerous - they made it too easy to forget he was Timothy Drake-Wayne, your boss, and not just Tim, the overworked genius who occasionally made you laugh.

The intercom crackled with what might have been a chuckle. "Fair enough."

The morning proceeded with its usual rhythm until your phone buzzed with a text from Bruce Wayne's secretary. Your stomach dropped as you read the message: the Wayne patriarch was making one of his surprise visits. These always put Tim on edge, though he'd never admit it.

You pressed the intercom. "Mr. Wayne will be here in fifteen minutes."

The typing sounds from Tim's office stopped abruptly. Through the frosted glass, you could see him run a hand through his hair - a nervous tell you'd picked up on months ago.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "Can you-"

"I'll get fresh coffee, clear your schedule for the next hour, and make sure the quarterly reports are ready," you interrupted, already standing. "And yes, I'll grab you a proper breakfast from the café downstairs. You'll need more than a forgotten granola bar for this."

Another pause. "Have I mentioned you're terrifying sometimes?"

"Only when necessary, sir." You slipped on your torturous heels again, ignoring the protest from your feet. Bruce Wayne's visits always meant a performance - from everyone.

As you rushed to prepare for the impromptu meeting, you couldn't help but wonder what drama today would bring. Bruce Wayne's "casual visits" were never actually casual, and being caught in the crossfire between two of Gotham's most powerful men was not how you'd planned to spend your morning.

But then again, when did anything at Wayne Enterprises go according to plan?

You stood up when the elevator binged, quickly tapping the intercom to alert Tim with a short chirp. Your hands clasped professionally in front of you as your eyes landed on Mr. Wayne, himself. The man commanded attention without even trying, filling the space with his presence in a way that made your spacious reception area feel suddenly cramped.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Drake is in his office." Your greeting was the perfect blend of professional courtesy and careful distance. Your gaze slid over to Samantha, Mr. Wayne's assistant, and you felt your smile tighten imperceptibly. She returned it with one of her trademark saccharine smiles, so sweet it could rot teeth. The fakeness radiated off her like cheap perfume.

Last thing you needed was another gentle lecture from Tim about "trying" to be nice to her. You still remembered his exact words from last time: "I know she's... difficult, but we need to maintain good relations with Bruce's office." Easy for him to say – he didn't have to deal with her passive-aggressive emails and tendency to "accidentally" schedule conflicts with Bruce's calendar.

Bruce Wayne nodded in acknowledgment, his steel-blue eyes taking in every detail of the office with that unnerving intensity he was famous for. "Thank you. The quarterly reports?"

You smoothly retrieved the leather portfolio from your desk. "All prepared, sir. I've included the updated projections you requested, along with the comparative analysis from last quarter." You handed it to him with practiced grace, careful to maintain eye contact for exactly the right amount of time – long enough to show confidence, short enough to show deference.

"Excellent." He accepted the portfolio, and you caught the slight raise of his eyebrows – approval? surprise? With Bruce Wayne, it was impossible to tell.

Samantha's voice cut through the moment like a dulled knife. "I hope those numbers match what we have downstairs. It would be... awkward if there were any discrepancies." Her tone suggested she'd enjoy nothing more.

You felt your smile freeze in place. "Everything has been triple-checked against the master database, of course." And quadruple-checked, because you'd learned early on that giving Samantha any ammunition was like handing matches to a pyromaniac.

The sound of Tim's office door opening saved you from further interaction. He emerged looking every inch the CEO – tie straight, jacket buttoned, not a hair out of place. The transformation from his earlier zombie state was complete.

"Bruce," he greeted, managing to make the single syllable sound both warm and professional. "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Best meetings are the unexpected ones," Bruce replied with that particular smile that always made you wonder if he actually believed that or just enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes.

You caught Tim's slight shoulder tension as he gestured toward his office. "Shall we?"

As they moved past your desk, Tim gave you the briefest of glances – a look you'd learned to interpret over months of working together. This one clearly said: "Hold all calls unless the building's on fire, and maybe even then."

Samantha lingered, adjusting her designer handbag with deliberate slowness. "I'll need copies of all correspondence between our offices from the last month," she announced, as if she hadn't already received them twice.

"I'll have those ready by the time the meeting concludes," you replied smoothly, silently adding 'you insufferable paper-pusher' in your head.

As she finally followed the men into Tim's office, you sank back into your chair, already pulling up the correspondence files. At least you'd had the foresight to grab that extra shot of espresso in your morning coffee. Something told you this was going to be a long day.

Eventually, as you'd expected, Samantha was ushered out of the room to give the two men privacy. The glass frosted further, obscuring Bruce and Tim from view – a clear signal that whatever discussion followed would be more about family than business. You mentally added "pick up comfort donuts" to your afternoon agenda, already knowing Tim's favorites: chocolate-glazed for regular bad days, Boston cream for family drama.

The rhythmic clicking of your keyboard filled the silence, punctuated only by Samantha's restless shuffling. She cleared her throat with obvious intent, and you looked up, raising an eyebrow in what you hoped was a passably polite expression.

"You know we've never actually talked," she began, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Which is so weird considering aren't we the same age?"

You bit back the urge to point out that she was actually five years your senior and somehow acted a decade younger. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"How did you exactly get this job?" she pressed on, tilting her head in practiced curiosity. "I always heard Mr. Drake was... picky."

Your eye twitched at the obvious implication, but you maintained your composure. Years of advanced placement courses had taught you patience, if nothing else. "Mr. Drake hand picked me for this job," you responded, keeping your tone professional and detached.

She gasped with theatrical surprise, as if this wasn't common knowledge in the Wayne Enterprises gossip circuit. "Really? Do you mind if I ask why?"

'Yes,' you thought, but instead rolled your head side to side, releasing some tension with a satisfying pop. "No, I don't mind. Mr. Drake chose me because he met me through the Martha Wayne scholarship. I was looking for a job during that time and my professors recommended me for the position."

You deliberately omitted how Tim had tracked your academic career with interest long before that – how you'd graduated high school two years early, earned a full ride to Gotham University, and excelled in advanced courses he'd specifically recommended. Let her draw her own conclusions; you had nothing to prove to Samantha or anyone else.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. You could practically see her trying to piece together a narrative that fit her preconceptions, one that wouldn't force her to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you'd earned your position through merit rather than whatever implications she was so eager to make.

Before she could formulate another sugar-coated barb, your phone buzzed with an incoming email. The subject line made you suppress a smile: it was from Tim, sent from his phone.

"If you'll excuse me," you said, turning back to your computer with practiced dismissal, "I have some urgent matters to attend to."

You could feel her hovering, reluctant to give up her fishing expedition. But years of dealing with Gotham's elite had taught you the art of creating an impenetrable wall of professional busy-ness. After a few more moments, she finally retreated to one of the waiting area chairs, her designer heels clicking in defeat.

Opening Tim's email, you found a single line: "Order lunch in. This might take a while."

You glanced at the frosted glass of his office, wondering what family drama was unfolding behind it. In your year working here, you'd learned to read the signs: the level of frosting on the glass, the tension in Tim's shoulders, the particular way Bruce Wayne's visits seemed timed to maximize inconvenience. Something was definitely up, and judging by the atmosphere, it was bigger than the usual Wayne family dynamics.

"The Martha Wayne scholarship?" Samantha's voice dripped with faux interest, her voice cutting through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. "That must have been... nice. Getting a free ride like that."

Your fingers paused briefly over your keyboard before resuming their steady rhythm. Two could play at this game. "It was an honor," you replied evenly. "The foundation only selects the top 1% of applicants. I'm sure you're familiar with the process, working so closely with Mr. Wayne."

Her smile flickered for just a moment. "Oh, I handle more of the... executive side of things."

"Of course." You kept your eyes on your screen, responding to an urgent email from R&D while she processed your subtle jab.

"Still," she persisted, examining her manicured nails, "it must be challenging, working for someone so... young. Especially given your... background."

You felt your jaw clench but maintained your professional demeanor. "Mr. Drake's age has nothing to do with his capabilities. He's one of the most brilliant minds in Gotham's business sector." Your tone carried just enough edge to make it clear you wouldn't tolerate any disparagement of Tim.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it," Samantha backpedaled, though her smirk suggested otherwise. "It's just that some of us had to work our way up the traditional path. But I suppose there are... other ways to advance."

You actually had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that her "traditional path" had involved an uncle on the board of directors. Instead, you smiled pleasantly and reached for your coffee. "Everyone's path is different. For instance, I started in the scholarship program at fifteen, finished my degree at twenty, and earned this position through academic excellence and practical capability. But you're right – there are many ways to advance."

The subtle emphasis on your achievements made her shift uncomfortably in her chair. Before she could respond, your intercom buzzed.

"Miss (L/N), could you send in the Miller files?" Tim's voice was perfectly professional, but you caught the underlying tension.

"Right away, Mr. Drake." You stood, gathering the requested documents, grateful for the interruption. As you moved toward his office, you called back to Samantha, "Please excuse me. Duty calls."

You could feel her glare burning into your back as you approached Tim's door, but you kept your posture straight and your stride confident. You'd worked too hard to let someone like Samantha make you doubt your place here, even for a second.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about – like what kind of family drama was causing that muscle in Tim's jaw to twitch visible even through the frosted glass, and whether you should upgrade those comfort donuts to a full stress-eating care package. You handed him the files before going back to your desk.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification that made your stomach turn.

Text notification: 1

Asshole: hey bbg can we talk? I know you're probably still mad at me…

You swiped away Josh's message with perhaps more force than necessary. Josh. Your sweet, charming, lying ex-boyfriend who apparently thought "probably still mad" was an adequate response to finding him in bed with your supposed best friend. You'd been playing an exhausting game of dodge-the-ex across Gotham for weeks now, removing yourself from your usual haunts just to avoid his attempts at "explaining." The mere thought of him made your skin crawl.

"Whose that? Your little boyfriend?" Samantha's sugary voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. How someone could have such a grating voice was beyond you.

"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," you corrected automatically, then mentally kicked yourself for engaging. You shook your head, redirecting to safer, professional territory. "I'd rather not talk about it. Do you think you could send over the info for the upcoming Christmas gala when you get back to your office?"

Samantha's face fell into an exaggerated pout at your deflection, clearly disappointed at being denied fresh gossip fodder. You could practically see her filing away this nugget of personal information for future use. Nothing stayed private for long in Wayne Enterprises, but you'd be damned if you gave her the satisfaction of spreading this particular story.

Your phone buzzed again, and you flipped it face-down with a bit more force than necessary. The movement caught Samantha's attention, her eyes lighting up with predatory interest.

"Bad breakup?" she pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Those are always so... difficult. Especially when you have to maintain a professional image at work."

The implied threat in her words – that she could make this gossip very public, very quickly – wasn't lost on you. But you'd handled worse than Samantha's attempts at social manipulation.

"The Christmas gala details?" you repeated, your tone making it clear the previous topic was closed for discussion. "Mr. Drake needs to review the schedule, and I'd like to avoid any potential conflicts with Mr. Wayne's calendar."

Her lips pursed at your professional pivot, but before she could attempt another probe into your personal life, the sound of approaching footsteps from Tim's office made you both straighten instinctively. The frosting on the glass cleared as Bruce emerged first, his expression unreadable as always. Tim followed, and your trained eye caught the tension in his shoulders, the slight clench of his jaw that spelled out family drama in neon letters.

"I'll expect those reports by Friday," Bruce stated, though something in his tone suggested this wasn't really about reports at all.

"Of course," Tim replied, professional mask firmly in place. Only someone who knew him well would catch the slight strain in his voice.

Samantha jumped to attention, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "I'll send over the gala information this afternoon," she chirped, finally, blessedly ready to leave.

You watched as Bruce and Samantha departed, waiting until the elevator doors closed before turning to Tim. He was still standing there, staring at the closed elevator doors as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I ordered Thai from that place you like," you said softly. "And I can have someone grab those donuts from downtown if-"

"You're a lifesaver," he interrupted, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, completely destroying its professional arrangement. "But can we... can we not eat in the office?"

You blinked in surprise. In all your time working here, Tim had never suggested leaving the office for lunch. "Of course. Where would you prefer?"

"The roof?" He looked almost sheepish suggesting it. "I just... I need air that doesn't smell like Wayne Enterprises for a few minutes."

Your phone buzzed again – probably Josh – but you ignored it. "I'll grab the food when it arrives. You should go up now, get some fresh air."

He nodded, already loosening his tie as he headed for the stairwell. Twenty minutes later, you found him sitting on the maintenance ledge, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, looking more like a college student than a CEO.

"One Pad Thai with extra peanuts," you announced, settling down beside him with the takeout bags. "And yes, I grabbed extra spring rolls."

"You know me too well," he managed a small smile, accepting the container you handed him. "I'm sorry about..." he gestured vaguely with his chopsticks, "all that."

"Family's complicated," you offered, carefully keeping your tone neutral as you opened your own lunch.

"Bruce wants me to relocate to the Metropolis office," he said suddenly, staring out at the Gotham skyline. "Says it would be 'good for my professional development.'"

You nearly choked on your spring roll. "Metropolis?"

"Yeah." He stabbed at his noodles with more force than necessary. "Because apparently running the Gotham office isn't enough of a challenge."

"That's ridiculous," you said before you could stop yourself. "You've increased productivity by 40% since taking over, our client retention is at an all-time high, and the employee satisfaction surveys-"

"Have you been memorizing my achievements?" He turned to look at you, a hint of amusement breaking through his stress.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "It's my job to know these things."

"Right. Your job." Something flickered across his face too quickly to read. "Speaking of jobs... you'd have to come too, you know. To Metropolis. If I agreed."

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest. "Are you... considering it?"

"No," he said quickly, then paused. "Maybe. I don't know." He set down his food and turned to face you fully. "Would you? Come to Metropolis, I mean? If I asked?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications neither of you were ready to address. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, but for once, you didn't even notice.

You hummed softly, letting your gaze drift over Gotham's sprawling landscape. From this height, you could actually see past the city's ever-present smog, though any true Gothamite knew the city's real beauty emerged after dark. The endless sea of lights, the way the neon cut through the darkness – it was home, or at least it had been.

Your phone buzzed again, another message from Josh joining the pile. You glanced down at the string of notifications, each one a reminder of how quickly your social circle had imploded. Some friends they'd turned out to be – taking his side, sending nasty messages about how a "prude" like you had it coming. The betrayal still stung, but maybe not as sharply as it should. Maybe that said something about how ready you were to leave it all behind.

Your parents had always encouraged you to spread your wings beyond Gotham's borders anyway. "The world's bigger than Crime Alley," your mom used to say. You slipped the phone back into your pocket, silencing the ghosts of relationships past.

"Yeah, I'd come with you," you said finally, turning back to Tim with a slight smile. "It's my job to be at your side during all the professional hours anyway."

Something shifted in his expression at your words. "'Professional hours,'" he repeated, as if testing the phrase. "Right. Because that's what this is about. Professional... obligations."

The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. There was a weight to his words that seemed to encompass more than just office dynamics and working relationships. The autumn breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city below, and you found yourself hyperaware of how close you were sitting, how his rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly toned forearms, how his hair was still slightly mussed from running his hands through it.

"Tim," you started, then caught yourself. "Mr. Drake-"

"Don't," he interrupted softly. "Don't do that. Not up here." He gestured to the expanse around you. "We're literally above all that right now."

Your phone buzzed again, and this time Tim noticed your slight wince. "Everything okay?"

"Just..." you waved a hand dismissively, "ex-boyfriend drama. Nothing important."

His expression darkened slightly. "Josh?" At your surprised look, he added quickly, "I... might have overheard some break room gossip. About what happened."

"Great," you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks. "Good to know my humiliation made it all the way to the executive floor."

"Hey," his voice was gentle but firm, "you're not the one who should be humiliated. He's the idiot who-" he cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Sorry. Not my place."

"No, it's..." you found yourself smiling despite everything, "it's kind of nice. Hearing someone take my side for once."

The look he gave you then made your breath catch. "I'm always on your side," he said quietly, and somehow you knew he meant more than just the Josh situation.

You forced yourself to take a steady breath, trying to calm your racing heart. No. Absolutely not. You were not going to develop feelings for your boss. It didn't matter that Tim was barely a year older than you, or that his disheveled appearance right now made him look unfairly attractive, or that the way he was looking at you made your stomach do flips. This was a completely professional relationship and it would stay that way. You cleared your throat and offered him a carefully measured smile.

"Well, if we do end up moving to the Metropolis office, I'd have to start looking at apartments over there," you murmured, already running calculations in your head. Even with your generous salary, Metropolis real estate prices were notorious. Maybe you could find something affordable downtown, though the commute would be rough. Your inner penny-pincher was already cringing at the potential security deposits and elevated cost of living.

"About that," Tim straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something you couldn't quite read. "Wayne Enterprises has corporate housing in Metropolis. High-rise apartments, actually. Usually reserved for executives and their... key personnel."

The way he said 'key personnel' made your pulse jump again. Traitor heart.

"Key personnel?" you echoed, trying to keep your tone light.

"Well," he shifted slightly closer, and you caught a whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with coffee, "can't have my irreplaceable assistant living in some sketchy downtown apartment, can I?"

"I'm hardly irreplaceable," you protested weakly, even as your brain helpfully reminded you that no other assistant had lasted more than three months before you.

Tim's expression turned serious. "You are, though. You're the only one who's ever..." he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "understood. The job. The pressure. Me."

The last word hung in the air between you, loaded with unspoken implications. You became acutely aware of how close you were sitting, how easy it would be to just lean a little closer, how his eyes seemed to darken as they met yours.

Your phone buzzed again, shattering the moment. Tim's gaze flickered to your pocket, then back to your face, something almost like frustration crossing his features.

You sighed, glancing down at your persistently buzzing pocket. "I should probably..." you mumbled, finally pulling out your phone. You knew Josh well enough to know he wouldn't stop until you dealt with him directly. Your face twisted in disgust as you scrolled through the barrage of messages – a nauseating mix of sweet manipulation ("baby, please, we can work this out"), degrading insults, and crude comments about your intimate life together. The last ones made your skin crawl, especially his boasts about being the 'only one who could make you feel that good.' Gross.

You could feel Tim's eyes on you as you stared at the screen, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't just feed into Josh's need for attention. The weight of Tim's gaze was different from the usual scrutiny you felt in the office – more protective than professional.

"Maybe you should just block him?" Tim suggested, his voice carrying an edge you rarely heard. The CEO tone, as you privately called it – the one that made board members squirm.

You shook your head, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "No way. I need him to see I can live without him." The admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you'd intended. Your fingers hovered over your phone's keypad as you entered your passcode, very aware of how childish that might sound to someone like Tim.

But when you glanced up, there was no judgment in his expression – just something fierce and protective that made your breath catch. He shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool rooftop air.

"He already sees it," Tim said quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. "Every day you walk into this building, every meeting you handle perfectly, every time you prove you're exactly where you belong – that's you living without him. And doing it better than he could ever imagine."

The intensity in his voice made you look up, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze, your phone temporarily forgotten in your hands. This wasn't your boss speaking anymore – this was something else entirely, something that made your heart race and your professional boundaries start to blur.

Your breath caught as you suddenly became hyperaware of every point of contact between you – his fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your bicep, his head tilted toward yours, close enough that you could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. "Mr. Drake, I-"

He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful warmth in the gesture that made your stomach flip. "Tim. Just Tim for right now."

Your lips parted to respond, but the creak of the rooftop door shattered the moment. Dick Grayson, the eldest Wayne sibling, emerged into the afternoon light, and Tim immediately pulled back, professional distance snapping into place like a shield. The sudden absence of his warmth left you feeling oddly bereft.

"Hey Timbo, sorry to interrupt your lunch but I need a favor." Dick's trademark charming smile did nothing to soften Tim's exasperated expression.

"Sure, just let me finish my food-" Tim paused, catching something in Dick's expression. "This is kind of favor you need now?" When Dick nodded apologetically, Tim grumbled but began closing his takeout container.

Before standing, he turned back to you, placing his hand over your phone. His eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your knees weak despite sitting down. "Block him." It wasn't a request – it was pure CEO Tim Drake, the voice that brokered no argument. "We won't have room for people like him if we move to Metropolis, am I understood?"

The 'we' in that sentence felt weighted with possibility, but you pushed that thought aside. "Yes, Mr. Drake."

You watched as he gathered his things, noting how his professional mask slipped perfectly back into place, though something in his eyes remained softer when he looked at you. As he followed Dick toward the door, you could have sworn you saw him shoot his brother an irritated look.

Your phone buzzed again in your hands, but this time, instead of anxiety, you felt a surge of determination. Tim was right – you didn't need Josh's validation. With steady fingers, you pulled up his contact information and hit 'block.'

The city stretched out below you, Metropolis somewhere beyond the horizon, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe properly.

.

.

.

Red and blue lights pulsed across your face as the bass thundered through your chest, making your ribs vibrate with each beat. The news of the Metropolis transfer was official now – you and Tim would be heading the new office. You couldn't quite suppress the smug satisfaction you'd felt watching Samantha's face fall when the announcement was made, her practiced smile cracking just slightly at the edges.

Now, though, you were somewhat regretting sharing the news with your family. Your elder sisters had immediately sprung into celebration mode: Indi, the successful Gotham model, had easily swept you all past the velvet ropes of one of the city's hottest clubs, while Scarlet had managed a few congratulatory drinks before motherhood called her home to your nephew.

That left you nursing a dirty triple Shirley temple (which had been a mouthful to order over the deafening music) and hugging the wall like it was your job. From your vantage point, you could see Indi on the dance floor, practically melded to some guy she'd been flirting with all night. The sequins on her dress caught the strobing lights, making her look like some sort of disco ball goddess – exactly the kind of attention-grabbing presence she was known for.

You took another sip of your drink, the cherry sweetness a sharp contrast to the adult addition of vodka. The music shifted, something with a heavier beat that made the crowd surge with renewed energy. You checked your phone out of habit – no more texts from Josh, thank god, but there was a work email notification that made your heart skip:

From: Timothy Drake-Wayne

Subject: Tomorrow's Schedule Change

Time Sent: 10:47 PM

Your finger hovered over the notification, debating whether to open it. Tim had been... different since that day on the roof. Not obviously so – you both maintained perfect professionalism in the office – but there were moments: lingering glances, fingers brushing when passing documents, the way he'd started saying your name just a touch softer than necessary.

As you hesitated to open it someone bumped into you, luckily you saved your drink from spilling all over the black halter dress you were wearing showing off your back.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't-” the masculine voice was cut off as you looked up and you both stilled. Seeing Tim out of a suit was jarring, seeing tim out of a suit and in a club? That was wild.

“Mr. Drake!”

“We are out of work. Just tim” he sighed at you but it was almost in a pleased exasperation.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Drake but you'll have to try harder than that,” The teasing words slipped out before you could stop them. Tim blinked and then a wry smirk pulled on his face.

Tim's eyes darkened at your challenge, that CEO intensity suddenly focused entirely on you. "Try harder?" He stepped closer, just shy of improper, voice dropping low enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. "What exactly would that take?"

The bass pulsed through your bodies, and you were acutely aware of how different this felt from your usual office dynamics. Here, in the strobing lights and thundering music, with your back exposed by the halter dress and his suit traded for dark jeans and a fitted black henley, the careful professional distance you maintained seemed to blur and shift.

"Tim!" A familiar voice cut through the moment. Dick Grayson emerged from the crowd, another brother – Jason – trailing behind him. "Thought I saw you come this way." His eyes landed on you, and his grin widened. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very conscious of how close you and Tim were standing. "Mr. Grayson," you managed, trying to sound professional despite the club setting.

"Oh god, not you too," Dick groaned. "It's just Dick, please. We're not at work."

"Leave her alone," Jason cut in, giving you a knowing look. "Some of us appreciate proper manners." He turned to Tim with a smirk. "Though I gotta say, baby bird, running into your secretary at a club? That's some rom-com level timing."

"Assistant," you and Tim corrected simultaneously, then shared a quick glance that made Dick's grin grow impossibly wider.

"Right, assistant," Jason drawled, making the word sound far more suggestive than it had any right to be. "The one Bruce mentioned is moving to Metropolis with you?"

The music shifted again, something slower but still thrumming with energy. Tim's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Bruce, and you found yourself unconsciously shifting closer, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"Speaking of Metropolis," Dick's eyes gleamed with mischief, "I hear the nightlife there is pretty tame compared to Gotham. You two might have to make your own entertainment."

"Dick," Tim's voice carried a warning edge that made you think of board meetings and difficult clients.

"What? I'm just saying, all those late nights in the office..." Dick trailed off suggestively.

You took a long sip of your drink, using the moment to steady yourself. "I should probably find my sister," you said, looking for an escape from this increasingly dangerous conversation. "She tends to get... ambitious when left unsupervised too long."

"The model?" Jason asked, eyebrows rising. "Tall, sequined dress, currently wrapped around that guy by the DJ booth?"

You turned to look where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was Indi, having apparently upgraded from her previous dance partner. "That's her."

"Runs in the family, huh?" Dick muttered, too quiet for anyone but Jason to hear, though the sharp look Tim shot him suggested he'd caught it too.

"I'll walk you over," Tim said suddenly, placing a hand on the small of your back. The touch sent electricity down your spine, his fingers warm against your exposed skin.

As you moved through the crowd, Tim's hand stayed steady on your back, guiding you through the press of bodies. The contact felt simultaneously too much and not enough, and you found yourself hyperaware of every brush of his fingers, every slight pressure as he steered you around dancing couples.

"I didn't know you came to places like this," you said, having to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music. His cologne filled your senses, different from his usual office scent – something darker, spicier.

He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear as he replied, "I don't, usually. Dick dragged me out to 'celebrate' the Metropolis news." His tone on 'celebrate' suggested this wasn't entirely voluntary. "Though it's looking up now."

The implications in that last statement made your heart race, and you were grateful for the dim lighting hiding your blush. You were nearing the DJ booth now, Indi's sequined dress acting like a beacon in the strobing lights.

Tim's hand slipped from your back as you reached the edge of the dance floor, and the loss of contact felt almost physical. You turned to face him, finding his eyes already on you, intense despite the chaotic lighting.

"About that email," he said, stepping closer to be heard over the music. "I was wondering if you'd like to-"

"Baby sis!" Indi's voice cut through whatever Tim was about to say. She detached herself from her dance partner, practically bouncing over to you. "There you are! And with company?" Her eyes raked over Tim appreciatively. "Very nice company."

"Mr. Drake-Wayne," you introduced formally, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as Indi's eyebrows shot up in recognition.

"Your boss?" she stage-whispered, not nearly as quietly as she probably thought. "The one you're moving to Metropolis with?" Her grin turned predatory. "Oh, this is interesting."

You felt your face flame. "Indi-"

"Dance with us!" she declared, already reaching for both you and Tim. "Consider it a pre-Metropolis celebration!"

The music swelled, and you found yourself being pulled onto the dance floor, Tim's amused expression the last thing you saw before the crowd swallowed you up. His hand found yours in the chaos, steady and warm, and suddenly the bass didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

As Indi disappeared back into the crowd, presumably to find her previous dance partner, you felt Tim pull you closer, his other hand finding its way back to your exposed back.

"So," he said, mouth close to your ear, "about that email..."

Your heart thundered in time with the music as you waited for him to continue, but a commotion near the bar caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you recognized a familiar figure being escorted out by security.

"Is that...?" Tim followed your gaze.

"Josh," you confirmed, watching as your ex-boyfriend was firmly guided toward the exit, his protests lost in the music. "I didn't even know he came here."

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your back. "Want me to have security make sure he stays out?"

The protective edge in his voice made something warm bloom in your chest. "No," you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. "He's not worth the effort anymore."

Tim's eyes softened as he looked at you, and suddenly the club, the music, even Josh's dramatic exit – it all faded into background noise. "Good," he said quietly, though you heard him perfectly despite the chaos around you. "Because I was thinking..."

The music shifted again, something slower, more intimate, and Tim pulled you imperceptibly closer.

"Yes?" you prompted, your heart racing as his hand traced small circles on your back.

"Maybe we should discuss those Metropolis arrangements... over dinner?"

The implications in his tone made it clear this wasn't about corporate housing or office logistics. You looked up at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and felt a smile tug at your lips.

"That would be highly unprofessional, Mr. Drake," you said, but there was no real protest in your voice.

His answering smile was worth every HR regulation you were about to break. "I thought you told me to try harder, hm?"

And there, in the middle of a Gotham nightclub, with your ex being thrown out and your sister probably watching with glee, you finally let yourself lean into the warmth of Timothy Drake-Wayne's embrace.

"Dinner sounds perfect," you whispered, "Tim."

His smile could have lit up all of Gotham.

That's how you and Tim had gotten swept over into a booth and were actually just talking for once. Well. You both might have been a bit tipsy.

“Honestly Josh wasn't even my worst ex. There was this one girl, Maxine. Max and I dated for like all of college but she'd never bring me home or anything cause she was still closeted and stuff which I mean I get it. I didn't come out til I was like sixteenish luckily my family had enough things to worry about with my sister scarlet becoming a mom that one of us being bi-sexual was kinda glossed over. But anyway Max ended up breaking up with me and getting engaged to just some guy within like a month.” Your hands moved as you spoke, nearly sloshing your drink but Tim steadied it for you and gave a sympathetic nod.

“I get that,” he murmured. Your eyes trailed over the crowd again silently checking up on your sister. You nearly spat your drink out causing Tim to also look over. “I think your brother is trying to serenade my sister.”

You watched in horror and slight pride as indi and dick were clearly flirting with each other on the other side of the club.

“Probably planning how to embarrass us next too,” Tim hummed his hand resting on your thigh.

You let out a soft laugh, not moving away from his touch. "Oh god, can you imagine the family dinners? Indi would absolutely weaponize her model status to terrorize Bruce Wayne."

Tim's thumb traced absent patterns on your thigh, sending little sparks of electricity through your body. "Honestly? I'd pay to see that. Bruce needs someone to ruffle his feathers occasionally." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, you've been doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Me?" You blinked in surprise, taking another sip of your drink.

"Mmhmm." Tim shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours in the intimate space of the booth. "The way you handle Samantha? Your complete overhaul of the filing system? That presentation you gave last week?" His voice dropped lower. "Bruce hasn't been this impressed by anyone since Barbara Gordon herself."

The comparison to the legendary Barbara Gordon – now CFO of Wayne Tech – made you flush with pride and embarrassment. "I just do my job."

"No," Tim's voice was serious now, though his hand remained warm on your thigh. "You do so much more than that. You..." he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You make everything better. Easier. Not just the work stuff, but..." he gestured vaguely with his free hand, "everything."

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart clench. You'd never seen him quite like this – guard down, words flowing freely, eyes soft in the dim club lighting. It was a far cry from the composed CEO who commanded boardrooms and managed million-dollar deals.

"Speaking of making things better," you said, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy moment, "remember that time you caught me stress-eating donuts in the supply closet after the Johnson meeting?"

Tim's laugh rumbled through his chest. "And instead of being professional about it, I just sat down and asked for one?" His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Best decision I ever made. Though I still maintain Boston cream is superior to your chocolate glazed preference."

"Excuse you, chocolate glazed is a classic for a reason." You nudged his shoulder playfully, then froze as you caught sight of Dick and Indi again. "Oh my god, they're exchanging numbers."

Tim followed your gaze and groaned. "Dick's never going to let this go. He's probably already planning double dates."

The casual way he said 'double dates' made your stomach flip. "Is that what this is?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "A date?"

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your thigh as he turned to face you fully. The booth suddenly felt much smaller, more intimate. "Do you want it to be?"

Your breath caught as you met his gaze. There was no trace of the CEO now – this was just Tim, looking at you like you were something precious and dangerous all at once.

"I..." you started, then jumped as someone slid into the booth opposite you.

"Baby bird!" Jason's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "And the assistant who's definitely just an assistant." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim's hand didn't move from your thigh, though you saw his jaw clench slightly. "What do you want, Jason?"

"Can't a guy check on his baby brother?" Jason's grin was positively feral. "Especially when said brother is getting cozy with his very attractive employee in a very public place?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could formulate a response, Indi appeared at the table, Dick in tow.

"Sister swap!" she announced cheerfully. "Dick's taking me to this amazing late-night food truck, and you" she pointed at you with a perfectly manicured finger, "are coming with us because I refuse to eat street food alone with a strange man, even if he is unreasonably attractive."

"Hey!" Dick protested, though he was grinning.

You felt Tim's hand squeeze your thigh once before reluctantly withdrawing. "Rain check on that answer?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest as you nodded. As you slid out of the booth, letting Indi pull you toward the exit, you couldn't help but look back. Tim was watching you go, something intense and promising in his expression that made your skin tingle.

"So," Indi linked her arm through yours as you emerged into the cool Gotham night, Dick and Jason trailing behind you. "Want to tell me why you never mentioned how hot your boss is? Or why his hand was very obviously on your thigh for the past hour?"

"Or why you're both looking at each other like you're starring in your own personal rom-com?" Dick added helpfully.

You groaned, but couldn't quite suppress your smile. "Can we just focus on finding this amazing food truck you mentioned?"

"Oh honey," Indi's grin was wicked, "you really think we're letting this go? You're about to move to Metropolis with that man. This is prime sisterly interrogation material."

As your sister dragged you through the neon-lit streets of Gotham, Dick and Jason providing running commentary on the best late-night eateries, you found your thoughts drifting back to the booth, to Tim's touch, to that unanswered question hanging between you.

Your phone buzzed in your purse:

From: Tim

Message: Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere without nosy siblings?

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you typed back a response:

To: Tim

Message: Only if you promise to let me order chocolate glazed dessert.

His reply was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: Deal. Though I still say Boston cream is superior.

"Oh my god, you're texting him already, aren't you?" Indi peered over your shoulder. "This is adorable. Dick, look how adorable they are!"

"I hate all of you," you declared, but your grin betrayed you.

"No you don't," Dick said cheerfully. "Just wait until family game night. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm."

As your sister and the Wayne brothers debated the merits of various food trucks, your phone buzzed one last time:

From: Tim

Message: For the record? I definitely want it to be a date.

The Gotham night suddenly felt a lot warmer.

"You know, we do have another sister-"

"Indi! Stop it!"

You lunged for your eldest sister, but she was already showing Dick and Jason photos of Scarlet on her phone. Running a hand down your face, you fought the urge to text your other sister a warning about Indi's matchmaking schemes.

"Scarlet might actually kill you, you know," you deadpanned. Indi just shrugged, elegant and unrepentant in her sequined glory.

"That girl needs more to life than her shop and Harkin," she stated with a dramatic eye roll, scrolling to another photo.

"Harkin brings up my point. She's a mom, Indi. She can't just—"

"Lalalala can't hear you!" Indi sang out, covering her ears like a child rather than the successful model she was.

"I swear you are not the oldest out of all of us," you muttered, watching as Dick and Jason peered at the phone with increasing interest. "She runs a successful business, has an adorable kid, and is actually happy. Why are you like this?"

Dick looked up from the phone, his expression thoughtful. "The flower shop on Kane Street? With the blue awning?"

"You know it?" you asked, surprised.

"Bruce gets arrangements from there sometimes," Jason supplied, then smirked. "Though I'm betting he'll be ordering a lot more now that his son's dating the owner's sister."

"We're not—" you started automatically, then stopped, thinking of Tim's text burning a hole in your phone. Were you? The memory of his hand on your thigh, his quiet question in the booth, made your cheeks warm.

"Oooh, she's blushing!" Indi crowed triumphantly. "And here I thought Scarlet would be the one to snag a Wayne. She always was the pretty one—"

"Shut up," you groaned, snatching her phone. "Scarlet will murder us both if she finds out you're showing her photos to random men in clubs."

"Random men?" Dick pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know we are now practically family. In fact..." He plucked Indi's phone from your grasp with surprising agility and continued scrolling. "As your future brother-in-law, I think I have a right to know all about my new sisters."

"Oh my god," you muttered, watching helplessly as Indi and Dick huddled over the phone, Jason offering commentary that was absolutely not helping.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Everything okay? Jason just sent me a very cryptic text about flower shops.

You looked up to find Jason watching you with a knowing smirk. "Did you seriously just text him?"

"Someone's gotta keep baby bird in the loop," he shrugged. "Besides, your sister's shop really does do nice arrangements. Bruce wasn't lying about that."

"The pink roses last month were from there," Dick added absently, still scrolling with Indi. "The ones for that charity gala?"

You remembered those roses. Scarlet had spent hours getting the gradient just right, each bloom a slightly different shade of pink fading to white. She'd been so proud of that order, even if she hadn't known it was for Wayne Enterprises.

"Speaking of flowers," Indi's eyes gleamed dangerously, "didn't Scarlet just hire that new delivery guy? The one with the motorcycle?"

"Indi, I swear to god—"

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Should I be worried that Dick just asked Alfred for the flower shop's number?

You typed back quickly:

To: Tim

Message: Your brothers are conspiring with my sister. Send help.

His response was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: On my way. Though I should warn you, once Dick gets an idea in his head...

You looked up to find Indi and Dick exchanging contact information, presumably to better coordinate their matchmaking schemes, while Jason watched the whole thing with undisguised amusement.

To: Tim

Message: Too late. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of family dinners in our future.

From: Tim

Message: Good thing I like your family then. Even if Indi is currently plotting with Dick to revolutionize Wayne Enterprises' floral arrangements.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Your ridiculous family and his ridiculous brothers, all tangled up in each other's lives now. It should have been terrifying, but somehow...

"See?" Indi nudged you, having apparently finished her plotting with Dick. "This is what happens when you finally let yourself have some fun. Now come on, that food truck isn't going to wait forever."

As you let yourself be pulled along the Gotham streets, your phone warm with Tim's messages in your hand, you thought maybe – just maybe – your sister had a point.

Even if you'd never, ever admit it to her face.

.

.

.

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@mercys-manic-episode

@lilithskywalker

@princesstrunkz

@a-taken-url

[ozarkthedog]

summary: despite your reluctance, joel wants to fill you up.

kinktober ii: cnc + breeding

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Joel Miller x afab!reader. consensual non consent. threat of breeding. rough sex. asphyxiation. slight mention of aftercare. no beta.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: per this post and @thornsnvultures sliding into my DMs with this thot. probably not my best but i'm posting it anyways. 🤷‍♀️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

He missed the power. The control. The brutality. 

The topic had been discussed only once but the point was clear. Joel did not want to raise a child in this new, horrific world.

Settling down in Jackson with you had been good for him. The boring monotony of day-to-day life. It wasn’t just surviving. It was making something out of nothing, growing together. Helping your fellow man; not just stealing from him (or worse).

Still, that unsettling need would return from time to time. It’d take root in the base of his skull like one of the countless bullets he’d left in his victims. The savagery beckoned him like a gnat scratching at the surface. The urge to claim sinking its fangs in once again.

Normally he’d go on a long hunt. Seek out unseemly folk and leave a path of destruction in his wake. This morning, however, a storm brewed outside. The windows glitter with a layer of frost as the wind howls through Jackson.

You flinch awake. Trepidation settling in your belly. You know this feeling. You’ve been here many times before. You’ll stay by Joel’s side until your last breath. So you do what you’ve both discussed; wait.

A brute hand forces you onto your front. A gasp falls from your lips as a heavy weight settles on your back. Your lungs seize under the pressure making blood pulse behind your eyes. 

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Joel sneers. He drags the hook of his nose up the side of your face, smiling as you struggle to suck a breath in. “Got you right where I want cha’, pretty girl.”

You jab an elbow back hoping to clip his jaw but he easily cages in it a steely grip. He yanks your left arm out from under your body with a dark chuckle and roughly secures your wrist in one of his large palms. 

“I like ‘em feisty.” he grits, dipping his head down and brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Gets my blood pumping” he drawls, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “and something else too.” 

He shifts his weight, lessening the pressure on your upper body, and grids his hard cock against your ass. You instinctively twist in his grip, bucking your hips and tugging on his hold. Joel hollers above you, “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how tough you are, sweet girl.” 

You whine, knowing there is no way out. He was much too strong. Still, it was part of the game.

“You know, it’ll be better for you if you just give in.” the warm, soothing words flutter into your brain calming your heart for just a brief moment. 

You know what he’s capable of. You’ve seen the brutality, the rage but you also know about the quiet side. The way he holds your hand when you walk into town. The soft eyes he gives you when you cuddle into his side. The way he’s so tender with you when he cradles your face in his hands.

“Wanna fill you up.” Joel murmurs. Pulling your right knee up to your chest before sliding a large hand along the apex of your sex. “That’s my pretty pussy.” he groans as he drags a lazy finger up the slice of you. “Can never get enough of it.” he coos into your hair before kissing the top of your spine. “Of you.”

“Joel- no, please.” you whimper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”

He “tsks” behind you. A brute hand catches the back of your neck and digs his digits into the tender column. Warm breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in close. “You think you’re in a position to call the shots? Stupid girl.”

A gasp catches in your throat when he taps the heavy tip of his cock on your barely wet opening. He notches the bulbous crown just past your folds before sliding in ever so slowly. He takes his time filling you up. He wants this to last. Doesn’t want to know where he begins and you end. 

Your core envelopes the weight and size of him. Molding around his thick length until you’re busting at the seams. “Thatta’ girl.” Joel grits through clenched teeth as your velvet walls make room for him. His cock brushes your cervix with a brazen kiss as he bottoms out making you wince.

His fingers dance cruelly on the crux of your mound, tugging on the hair that grows earning him a sharp cry before moving south. He circles your clit with expertise, knowing your body better than you did. A dense knot of unsavory pleasure forms in your belly, slowly growing tighter with every flick of his wrist. 

He finally rocks his hips and the air punches from your lungs. He sets a constant motion, sawing his length in and out. In and out. From his bulbous tip to the soaked base of his shaft, he takes. He defiles.  

Joel tugs your body close, wrapping his left arm around your font and splaying between your breasts effectively caging you against his broad form. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl.”

He grinds his cock deep after a weighty thrust, pushing his hips against the cushion of your ass. “Gonna fill you up.” he grunts, snapping his hips and pressing into the deepest part of you. “Make ya all round. Leave ya a drippin’ mess.” 

Joel’s hips snap hard. It forces the air from your lungs and shakes your bones. If it weren’t for his hold you would’ve rolled to the other side of the bed. 

A pathetic mewl tumbles from your lips, anxiety boiling over. “Joel, no!” you cry, praying he pulls out before it’s too late. 

Without thinking, you toss your head back and catch the top of his brow, bruising his eye socket with a curt blow.

The room goes eerily still. The man behind you is deathly silent as your heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest.

A heavy hand circles your neck and tugs you backward. Your neck is instantly constricted, barely allowing any air to pass by under his palm. He pins your head against his shoulder forming his large, powerful frame against your shivering one. “Wrong fuckin’ move.”

Ice runs up your spine, chilling your insides to the bone as his fingers press on your veins, seeking out the one that makes you comply every time you try to revolt.

"Just for that, I'm gonna keep fuckin' ya after I fill you up." he sneers. "Make sure it sticks."

Blood pounds under your skin as the room spins. Your sight glazes over while he shoves his cock past your walls as they involuntarily clench around his girth from the rough treatment. 

His cock swells, bigger and bigger with every drive. “Shit.” he hisses, clutching your throat just a bit tighter as his hips stutter. A black mist slowly begins to crowd your sight, your eyes roll backward, mind and body go numb.

In a flash, he loosens his grip on your neck and pulls from your warmth, circling his shiny, soaked cock with a tight grip. He pumps his length, chasing his high before coming with a raspy moan and spilling hot ropes along the curve of your ass.

A heavy blanket of silence falls over the room while Joel catches his breath. He feels the rage melting away as his heart slowly beats to its usual rhythm. That all-consuming need has been stamped out. For now. 

In a moment, he’ll scoop you into his arms and leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. He’ll hum words of love while you relax against his chest and eventually fall back to sleep. 

You close your eyes and wait like you always do.

running away now. 😅 feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

[greenwitchcrafts]

October 2023 witch guide

Full moon: October 28th

New moon: October 14th

Sabbats: Samhain

October Hunter's Moon

Known as: Blood moon, drying rice moon, falling leaf moon, freezing moon, migrating moon, moon of the changing seasons, shedding moon, ten colds moon, winterfelleth & windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirits: Frost faeries & Plant faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Kore, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia, apple, cypress & yew

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, apple blossom, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & Uva ursi

Flowers: Calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, obsidian, opal, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, dark blue, Dark greens & purples

Energy: Artistic works, balance, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer and other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes and wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

The earliest use of the term “Hunter’s Moon,” cited in the Oxford English Dictionary, is from 1710. Some sources suggest that other names for the Hunter’s Moon are the Sanguine or Blood Moon, either associated with the blood from hunting or the color of the changing autumn leaves. 

Samhain

Also known as: All Hallow's Eve,  Ancestor Night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmas, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios, Shadowfest & Third Harvest

Season: Fall

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom(brooms), black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, boar, cat cattle & dogs

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, brass, carnelian, clear quartz diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Foods: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corm, fruits, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/plants: Acorn, Allspice, catnip, corn, dittany of Crete, hazel, mandrake, mugwort, mullien, oak leaves, pine, rosemary, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle, wormwood & yellow cedar

Flowers: Calendula, chrysanthemum, deadly nightshade, rue & fumitory

Goddesses: Al-lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Banba, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Ishtar, Kali, Macha Mania, Morrigan, Nemesis, Nephthys, Nicneven & Rhiannon

Gods: Arawan, Baron Samede, Belenus, Coyote, Cronus, Dagda, Dis, Hades, Loki, Nefertum, Odin, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Issues Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honoring ancestors, introspection, the otherworld/underworld, release, visions & wisdom (of the crone)

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Related festivals:

• Day of the Dead- (Spanish: Día de Muertos or Día de los Muertos) is a holiday traditionally celebrated on November 1st and 2nd, though other days, such as October 31 or November 6, may be included depending on the locality. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed & is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage. Although related to the simultaneous Christian remembrances for Hallowtide, it has a much less solemn tone and is portrayed as a holiday of joyful celebration rather than mourning. The multi-day holiday involves family and friends gathering to pay respects and to remember friends and family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed.

• All Saints Day- is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honor of all the saints & martyrs of the Church, whether they are known or unknown

Activities:

• Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse your with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Leave offerings to the Fae

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is a Gaelic festival on 1 November marking the end of the harvest season and beginning of winter or "darker half" of the year. Celebrations begin on the evening of 31 October, since the Celtic day began and ended at sunset.

This fire festival is celebrated on October 31st & is considered the Pagan New Year. It is the first Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year, a cross-quarter festival & the third (final) harvest festival of the mundane year. This is the time when the veil between the worlds of the living & those who have passed is the thinnest, which allows greater communication between the two

Some believe this is the time of the Goddess's mourning of the death of the God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess's sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival of cold weather

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs