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nothingbutsweetwords · 4 months ago

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ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner.

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had.

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress.

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded."

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love.

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most?

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health.

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides. Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion.

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized.

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep.

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters.

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs.

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence.

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused.

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did.

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe."

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness.

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie.

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet.

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements.

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth.

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served.

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging.

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged.

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss.

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light.

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease.

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind.

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

#aemond targaryen fluff #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic

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avayarising · 3 months ago

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When Mina refers to the sealed diary as ‘an outward and visible sign’, she is referencing St Augustine: ‘an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace’.

This is the definition of a sacrament. Mina’s trust in Jonathan, and his in her, is holy, and a means of grace for them, one to the other.

#dracula #dracula daily #mina and jonathan #marriage of course is itself a sacrament #but mina and jonathan create this additional one #which is more between each other than between them and god #and as we hear later jonathan would rather be damned with mina than live without her

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ltash · 2 months ago

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Tease

When you first arrived at the SAS, you didn’t exactly fit in. Sure, you were good at your job, more than good, actually. You were sharp, skilled, and capable of holding your own in any training scenario. But there was one thing that set you apart from everyone else: you were funny. Mischievous, witty, and always up to something.

Most of the recruits on base were a bit too serious for your taste, but it didn’t take long for you to find your crowd. Gaz and Soap, always down for a good laugh, quickly became your partners in crime. They loved watching you stir the pot, especially when it came to Ghost. Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had quickly become your favorite target.

Ghost was the complete opposite of you, stoic, silent, and intimidating. He didn’t joke, he didn’t laugh, and most of all, he didn’t like being the center of attention. Which, of course, made him the perfect person to mess with.

It started innocently enough, with small pranks here and there. You’d hide his gloves, switch his ammo with blanks, or throw in the occasional sarcastic comment. At first, Ghost ignored you, figuring you’d tire yourself out eventually. But you didn’t. You kept going, pushing his buttons little by little.

It was a lazy afternoon on base, and you were bored. Ghost sat at a table in the common area, going over some paperwork. You noticed he had a bag of chips by his side, casually snacking between signing documents. That’s when the idea struck you.

You’d ordered a special chip online, a chip so spicy, it came with a warning label. This wasn’t your average hot chip. This was the hot chip, the kind designed to make grown men cry. You slipped it out of your pocket and swapped it with one of the regular chips in Ghost’s bag while his back was turned.

Soap, who had been lounging nearby, noticed your devious grin and immediately perked up. “What are you up to now?”

You gave him a wink. “Just wait. You’re going to want to see this.”

Soap didn’t need any more convincing. He and Gaz both settled in nearby, watching the scene unfold like a couple of kids waiting for fireworks.

Ghost returned to his seat, oblivious to what you’d done. He resumed his paperwork, absentmindedly reaching for the chips. You held your breath, watching with barely contained excitement as his hand dug into the bag.

And then it happened.

Ghost picked up the chip, the one that was designed to feel like molten lava in your mouth, and casually tossed it into his mouth. For a second, everything seemed normal. He chewed, swallowed, and kept writing.

But then, you saw it.

The slow burn started to creep up his neck, his face barely visible under the mask. His hand froze mid-signature, and you could almost see the moment when the heat hit him. His eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign that something was wrong. But you knew. Oh, you knew.

Soap and Gaz were already covering their mouths, trying not to burst into laughter as Ghost’s hand slowly reached for his water bottle. He took a swig, but it didn’t help. You could see the redness creeping up his neck, his posture stiffening as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?” you called out, barely able to suppress your grin.

Ghost’s eyes snapped to you, and for a second, you thought you might have pushed it too far. His gaze was murderous, dark and furious beneath that mask. But he didn’t say a word. He just stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he stormed off toward the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight, Soap and Gaz exploded with laughter. Soap slapped the table, practically wheezing. “That was brilliant! I’ve never seen him move that fast!”

“I told you it’d be good,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s never going to let this one go.”

“You do realize he’s going to get you back for this, right?” Gaz said, still chuckling.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not scared of Ghost. What’s he going to do? Glare at me harder?”

Soap shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

But even as you laughed, a small part of you wondered if you’d really gone too far. Ghost didn’t seem like the type to let things slide. And you were right.

But you weren't done with him yet.

Ghost had been quiet since the hot chip prank, too quiet. He hadn’t said anything to you about it, hadn’t even acknowledged it happened. That should’ve been your first warning. But instead of being cautious, you doubled down.

You were walking across the base one day when you spotted a cockroach scurrying along the ground. An idea sparked instantly.

Without hesitation, you scooped up the wriggling bug and made a beeline for Ghost, who was at the training field. Soap and Gaz were hanging out nearby, and when they saw the look on your face, they knew something was about to go down.

“Oi, Trouble,” Soap called out, smirking. “What’ve you got there?”

You held up the cockroach proudly. “My new friend. I’m gonna introduce him to Ghost.”

Gaz shook his head, laughing. “You’re mad."

You scooped up the wriggling insect and made your way over to the field where Ghost was practising.

He didn’t notice you at first, he was too focused on reloading his weapon and prepping for his next drill. But that made it even better.

The element of surprise was on your side.

“Ghost!” you called, running toward him with the cockroach clutched in your hand.He glanced up, and for a split second, you swore his eyes narrowed behind that mask. It was like he could sense that you were up to no good.

“What?” he grunted, lowering his weapon.

You didn’t answer. you just kept running toward him, waving the cockroach in your hand like a trophy.

When you were close enough, you shoved your hand forward.

“Look what I found!”

Ghost took one look at the cockroach and stepped back, his broad form tensing.

“You better put that thing down.”

You blinked, surprised by his reaction. Was Ghost… afraid of bugs? No way.A wicked grin spread across your face.

“Aw, is the big, bad Ghost scared of a little cockroach?”

“Last warning,” he said, his voice dark and low, though you detected a hint of urgency. But instead of backing off, you doubled down.

“C’mon, it’s harmless!” you said, stepping closer and waving the bug in his direction.

Ghost took another step back, visibly uncomfortable now, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside you.

You’d never seen him like this. This was a man who could take down an enemy with his bare hands, yet here he was, backing away from a tiny insect.That’s when he turned and started walking away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you laughed, breaking into a full sprint after him.What followed was a spectacle that had the entire base watching.

You chased Ghost all the way across the training field, waving the cockroach like a madwoman while he picked up the pace.

You could hear snickers and laughter from nearby soldiers as they watched the ridiculous chase unfold.

Ghost was practically power-walking now, trying to maintain his composure, but you kept pushing.

“Don’t be scared, it’s just a bug!”

“I swear to God,” Ghost growled, picking up speed, “if you don’t stop..”

But you didn’t stop. In fact, you doubled down, practically sprinting after him as you waved the cockroach over your head.

“Come on, Ghost, it’s not gonna hurt you!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ghost managed to slip away into the locker room, leaving you behind, still laughing and clutching your sides.

But as you stood there, catching your breath, you didn’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darkened behind the mask. You didn’t notice how Soap, who had watched the whole thing, gave him a nudge and a wicked grin.

For the next few days, you continued your usual antics. You were on top of the world, convinced that you had finally broken Ghost’s stone-cold exterior.

You expected retaliation at some point, but it never came. Ghost was quiet—too quiet. And if you had been paying attention, you might’ve realized that he wasn’t just ignoring you.

He was planning.

It was Soap who sealed your fate.“You really think Ghost’s gonna let that cockroach thing slide?”

Soap had asked one afternoon, leaning against a crate in the common area.

You grinned, shaking your head. “I think he’s too scared to come after me.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s what you think, huh?”

You didn’t know it at the time, but Soap had already joined forces with Ghost. They were just waiting for the right moment.

It wasn’t until a week later that you realized just how wrong you were.

The day it happened was like any other. You had finished a long day of training and were looking forward to kicking back in your room for a while.

Your backpack was sitting neatly on your bed, right where you’d left it.But the moment you unzipped the bag, something moved.

You froze.

Slowly, cautiously, you opened the bag a little wider, and that’s when you saw it.

Bugs. So many bugs. Spiders, cockroaches, beetles, all squirming and crawling over each other inside your bag.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and before you knew what was happening, a scream ripped from your lungs.

“Holy sh—” You stumbled backward, dropping the bag as you frantically tried to shake off the sensation that the bugs were crawling all over you.

Outside your room, you heard footsteps and then, laughter. Deep, booming laughter.

Ghost’s laughter. You whipped around just in time to see Ghost and Soap standing in your doorway, both of them grinning behind their masks.

Soap was practically doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, while Ghost simply stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Soap gasped between fits of laughter.

You glared at them both, still shaken by the sight of the bugs.

“You put bugs in my bag?!”

Ghost gave a slow, satisfied nod.“Consider it payback.”

“For what?!” you exclaimed, though you knew exactly what.

“For the cockroach,” Ghost said simply. “And the chip. And every other stupid thing you’ve done.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair as you tried to collect yourself. “That was disgusting.”

Ghost’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a step closer, leaning down just enough to be at eye level with you. “Next time, Trouble, think twice before messing with me.”

You stared up at him, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline, but you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

“This isn’t over, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice low and threatening in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

Soap gave you a final wink before the two of them turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your bug-infested backpack and the knowledge that, for once, Ghost had won this round.

But you weren’t about to let that stand for long.

Not by a long shot.

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koegama · 9 months ago

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Hanasei

Avg. height: 1.70-2.20m | Avg. weight: 80-150 kg | Hyper-carnivores | Semi-aquatic lifestyle | Lifespan: ~120 years

Hanasei are a semi-aquatic species that originate from lakes, but expanded their settlements into rivers and other large bodies of water. They're a medium-sized biped with a hard keratin helmet where horns sprout from and a tail with large fins. Their skin is slightly damp, and can range from smooth to bumpy, that affects their transpiration and how often they must hydrate. They have both two nostrils located at their helmet and from 2 to 4 gills on both sides of their neck, of which are used for speech in land and breathing underwater, while the nostril's only function is on land respiration. Their necks are strong and well develop, and can expand or contract.

Both hands and feet have webbed fingers to facilitate swimming, but the webbing on the hands can retract for better dexterity when handling utensils. Their amphibious lifestyle left them being only decent at both types of locomotion, but their versatility makes up for it as they can comfortably transition to both environments. They're hyper-carnivores and will eat anything made of animal matter, including bones.

They are the only sexless sophont in Koegama, using Aether as a reproduction tool instead of a biological system.

More physiology dump undercut! Warning, long

Head

The common head structure of a Hanasei is somewhat flat, with a stout snout and large jaws. Proportions and shape vary per individual, and slight deviations from standard models are common. Sometimes, small barbels, whisker-like structures, will grow from their jaw and upper lip area. They give a small boon to the olfactory systems, but otherwise have no major benefits.

Horns

While the protrusions on Hanasei's heads are not anatomically horns but a different keratin appendage, horns are the most common colloquial term. Their main purpose were for fighting and a display of health and fitness to potential partners. Nowadays, most Hanasei have no real use for their horns other than decorative, but individuals may favor different horn styles compared to others.

They don't shed, growing through their infancy and plateauing around 23 to 27 years old. If a horn is broken mid-development, it will continue to grow, resulting in mismatched horns and branched protrusions depending on the type of damage. Once the horns stop growing, the blood and nerve system will shrink and be absorbed, leaving the area with no sensation and regrowth impossible. Cracks and missing pieces being a common sign of age.

Variance

Horns are very vulnerable to Aether tampering, leading to a numerous amount of styles and types to exist. Larger, more elaborate horns can make swimming more difficult, but overall the range is stable and harmless.

The presence of horns and the pair number is not affected, with 2 horns always present.

Eyes & Ears

Hanasei have good night vision, but poor eyesight in general. They can recognize the shapes around them and a few colors, but their daylight and night vision are almost the same otherwise. Their eyes can have different shapes and colors, but the effect is purely visual as their eye sensors work the same regardless of their appearance.

Hanasei don't have visible ears, but a tympanic membrane around their cheek area, which is able to pick up vibrations both in and out of water. They have great hearing, and are more aware of vibrations such as tremors and footsteps. They can voluntarily close their inner ear and stop themselves from picking up sounds, a common method for falling asleep.

Mouth

Hanasei lack teeth, using their upper jaw protrusions to hold and rip food instead. They have a powerful bite, being able to hold down things with immense pressure. Their tongues function like a catapult, with the tip facing the inside of the mouth on a resting position and launched outwards when needed, their saliva being sticky and helping trap prey inside their mouths. With cooking and more efficient methods of getting food, this isn't a common practice anymore, unless one spotted a quick snack. Unlike the other sophonts, Hanasei are still able to eat raw meat and may supplement their normal diet with bugs, fish and other easy to snag creatures in between activities.

They have very powerful and sensitive taste buds, coupled with a taste disc that lets them distinct between minute differences in food. Their mouth, just like most of their organs, tend to take the most prominent color of their Aether.

Respiratory system & Speech

Hanasei has two different systems for breathing. Outside of water, their nostrils are open and air moves through their cavity into their respiratory organs, and their gills are used for channeling sound. Air can be directed to their larynx, which is specialized for manipulating air into sound similar to vocal cords, which is only connected to the gills and not nostrils. This separate system means Hanasei can talk while breathing, and their vocalizations are very impressive, being able to mimic almost any sound they hear with practice. They can alter these sounds with the opening and closing of the larynx openings and changing how open or closed their gills are. To keep their gills from drying, the parts used for respiration often retract or close, but Hanasei in drier climates must moisturize their gills at intervals to prevent internal damage.

Underwater, their nostrils close and their gills stay open. Most of their larynx close, and filter capillaries expand to better capture oxygen diffused in the water. This makes vocalization underwater impossible, and sign language is the most common replacement. Hanasei can have 2, 3 or 4 gills on each side of their neck, and the shape of the gill can be varied, creating "accents" for each Hanasei in their relaxed voice.

They have a good olfactory system, being one of their most reliable senses. They're able to smell the humidity in the air and incoming rains and droughts. Because this uses their nostrils, they're unable to smell anything underwater.

Body

Hanasei size and builds are diverse, with individuals building muscle mass, fat and other outside factors influencing how they look. Their proportions stay consistent, with necks around the same size of their torso, short arms and elongated legs bigger than the torso itself, but deviations aren't uncommon.

Limbs

Hanasei arms start with their shoulders placed at the lower area of their torso, and stop with hands on their hips. Despite the shorter length, they have impressive arm strength and weaker Hanasei are known to rival other species' average. This makes them great at carrying things, and grabbing and holding down prey and foes. Their hands are dexterous when the webbing is retracted, but they lose a lot of maneuverability when extended.

Their legs are long and muscular, granting them an upright walk. They're not very fast, averaging 7 km/h running speed, but they have great endurance and the ability to jump high vertical distances and can pounce forward if crouched. Their muscle system can lock into a crouching stance, a comfortable stance comparable to sitting. Their feet are digitigrade but their fingers are big and wide, with a large base, keeping their body in balance and stable at the cost of mobility and grace.

Tail

Hanasei tails are long, with a vertical caudal fin that often extends beyond the base and helps them swim. This fin can regenerate when damaged, and broken or rotten tissue can lead into an entire chunk or the fin removed to speed recovery and promote an even replacement.

Fins are classified into two types, regular and segmented. Regular fins are connected into one piece, while segmented fins are broken down into various fins of different sizes and shapes, similar to fish fins. No matter the type, their shapes are kept hydrodynamic and tailored for swimming. Sometimes, the size of the base tail will also be shorter or longer than average.

Hanasei swim in two ways: a horizontal wave movement and by kicking their legs. The former is done with the help of their tail fins and is the slower of the two, but costs less energy. Hanasei will often alter the surrounding current with Aether to make this movement faster, with an average of 11 km/h. Leg kicks are less common as long term swimming and rather used for short bursts of speed and distance, and the longer one uses it the more they'll tire and may be unable to swim without resting. The peak swimming speed of Hanasei is around 20 km/h, taking leg kicks into account. As they were ambush and endurance predators, the lack of speed was not an issue for them. Depending on their fin shape, individuals may have different ways of swimming.

Aether

Their natural Aether is Nam Aether. They make use of it to help their swimming and underwater hunting, and to keep themselves damp. They tend to cast Aether from their mouths, as their Aether glands are present on their throat.

In their breeding months, their Aether start producing cells for reproduction and lose their usual abilities. This months-long limitation leads Hanasei to not be involved with using their Aether proactively or learn new skills, preferring to rely on technology to harness and utilize Aether instead.

Reproduction

Egg

To create an egg, two or more Hanasei spit out and mix their Aether together in a body of water. The resulting foam will stick together and in 3 days will develop into an egg, and one healthy Hanasei can produce enough reproductive Aether to make 200 eggs. This can only happen in the breeding period of Hanasei, usually on the 2nd and 8th month of the year. Modern Hanasei societies will instead send their reproductive Aether to the labs of the area, which will store it to create eggs with more efficient mixing machines and incubators.

The Aether inside the egg will segregate itself into larva stem cells and the nutritious yolk. After 12~14 days, the egg will be completely dry and the larva will eclode. The volatility of Aether means many larva never form or form incorrectly, and these eggs are discarded and repurposed or eaten. Only 1 in 50 eggs actually eclode, and this high rate of failure leads Hanasei to not view eggs as their young or a new generation, but more of a vessel that can fail or succeed. They have no qualms with re-purposing eggs in food, experiments or any other procedure.

Larva

Larva, often called notes, are very different from their adult counterparts. They're not considered sapient when they first hatch, but their growth is rapid and by 3 months in, they'll have the intelligence of a one year old toddler and have legs and arm stubs growing, alongside the keratin helmet and an underdeveloped nostril. This growth is fueled by a great appetite, and Hanasei larvae are omnivores and will eat almost anything they can fit in their mouths.

At the 9th month, they'll have most of their limbs developed to their young proportions, but their respiratory system will need an additional 3 months to allow for respiration outside water. Larvae at this stage will take short dips into land to push their muscles and lungs, until they no longer need to return to water to breathe.

Young

Once a larva can leave the water, they're called a young. "Young" encompasses the children and teenager years, lumped together as they no longer share any major physical differences from each other or to adults. The rest of their growth will be in size and intellect, slowing down from the quick pace of their larval years into a more normal 20 or so years to reach maturity. The main exception are horns, which only start growing around their 5th year and can take over a decade to finish growing. Smaller horns may plateau faster.

#hanasei #koegama #worldbuilding #speculative biology #specbio #spec bio #new info post for hanasei bc i dont like the old one #teehee #art #species info

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teal-fiend · 25 days ago

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The Feast

Content: multiple prey, similar size, fatal vore, unwilling prey

Summary: A villainous predator hosts an exclusive gathering wherein they eat prey in front of their subjects.

Stark candlelight flickered through the dining hall, casting shadows on many sullen faces. A deep, rhythmic gurgling came from the head of the table. There, slouched yet commanding, sat the predator. Their belly—rounded, swollen, naked flesh exposed—dominated the room with its fitful movements, half-digested prey stirring inside. Under the dim lighting, the predator’s eyes, dark and hungry, swept across the room with a feral intensity that quieted every soul present.

A low, wet groan came from their stomach—the slow grind of digestion. The sound caused the predator to smile. It spread slowly across their face, sharp and unfriendly, teeth bared and glinting in the low light.

"More," they said, voice steady but laced with menace. The underlings at the table flinched. They’d seen enough to know the consequences of hesitation.

"Yes—right away," one of them stammered, almost knocking over a glass of wine as they scrambled to follow orders.

It was a scene the predator relished. Seated before their subjects, holding court. Their gaze lingered on a server who dared to meet their eye for a second too long. A dangerous glint flashed in their eyes, one that promised an easy addition to the meal sloshing within their gut.

The server averted their gaze, visibly paling, but the damage had been done. The predator beckoned them over; their unlucky victim had no choice but to obey. There would be no escape from this unlucky fate. After a few loud gulps, the server disappeared. A fresh round of wriggling ensued as the most recent prey struggled to find purchase in their new environment.

The predator, with an almost theatrical sigh, patted their belly. Squelch. The sound of meat churning was audible enough to make everyone stiffen in their seats.

"You know..." the predator's voice dropped to a near purr, "I do enjoy live meat... There's something so satisfying about feeling them struggle inside my stomach." They savored the moment, looking around at the increasingly tense faces of their underlings, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.

They belched—loud, unrestrained—a noise that was heard by the gathering like a eulogy. Some of the weaker-willed diners winced, but they all stayed frozen in place. The predator leaned forward, resting one heavy arm on the table. Their distended stomach pressed against the wood, and the gurgling grew louder, followed by a smug, content smile.

As the evening wore on, the servants brought the predator more prey, each one adding to the overstuffed, groaning gut. With each new body swallowed whole, the predator's belly grew more immense, distorting their form and protruding outwards with obscene fullness. The taut, rounded shape jiggled as they moved, heavy and burdened with people in varying states of digestion. Nevertheless, their eyes remained fixed on the room, watching for any sign of uncertainty or defiance.

"More," they growled, a voice now rough with hunger. "I can take more."

By the end of the night, their belly was colossal, heaving, and hard to the touch. It groaned and churned relentlessly, overworked but undeterred, skin stretched so tight it shone in the dim light. Their breathing had become labored, shallow from the sheer pressure within, but their smile remained.

"I suppose that’s enough for tonight," the predator mused, rubbing their bloated stomach with slow, indulgent circles. The fullness was intoxicating. Like a natural, primal drug that was only available to predators. The pain, the strain—it was all delicious. They shifted with effort, the chair creaking beneath their massive quivering weight.

They surveyed the mass in their lap, eyes half-lidded and far too greedy to want comfort.

With that, they leaned back, letting their bloated, upset belly take up the space it craved. The room was silent, save for the unrelenting churn of their stomach, the organ pushed to its absolute limit, embarking wearily on the massive task it had to complete.

They felt drunk on prey. And suddenly the predator wished to be alone to digest.

Dinner was finally over. Amidst the guests, a subdued wash of relief filtered through. As they each filed out of the room, they tried not to seem so eager to leave as to not trigger their host’s appetite.

–

The predator sprawled across the lounge chair, a low groan escaping their mouth as they wriggled under their prey, trying to get comfortable, trying to accommodate the sheer size of their belly. It was impossible to ignore—rock-hard, swollen to its absolute limit, and packed impossibly tight. The firm, undigested prey inside stretched them thin. Their skin was tight and paled, veins faintly visible beneath the surface, and the bellybutton became a shallow dip on the vast, stretched surface.

Their shirt had long since ridden up, with no hope of covering the bulging, overstuffed mass that rested on top of their thighs. It rose and fell with each shallow breath, but the weight and the pressure of it made even breathing a difficult task.

They let out a low, guttural burp, the sound filling the quiet room like an announcement; the predator had enjoyed a full meal.

Though it did nothing to ease the tightness in their gut. Their stomach was stone-hard and immovable, groaning and gurgling with strained intensity as it worked through the mass of people inside. The weight of it pressed heavily on their hips, making it impossible to sit fully upright. So they lounged, legs spread, utterly spent. Yet still savoring the afterglow of the feast.

Their hand lazily drifted to the apex of their belly, fingertips tracing the taut surface with slow, gratified circles. The skin felt stretched almost beyond its limit, firm with the unmistakable fullness of a meal far too large for comfort. But there was a grim satisfaction in that discomfort, a pride in the sheer size of the swollen gut they had to contend with now.

The predator gave a lazy, prideful smile. Their eyes near-closed, they pressed down on their stomach, the meal beneath shifting imperceptibly, as there was no room left for even an inch of give. The pressure deep inside sent another wave of discomfort, but they relished it. Each painful cramp or spasm reminded them of the sheer amount they'd consumed—the writhing bodies now packed inside, stacked on top of each other, being relentlessly ground down.

Another burp, this one wetter, more forceful, escaped their lips, and they leaned back with a satisfied, if not pained, groan. Their belly trembled slightly with the effort, the firm dome shuddering as the over-stressed gut fought to keep up with the amount of prey that had been stuffed inside it.

"Ah..." they breathed out, eyes half-lidded in blissful exhaustion. Their hand still rested on their bloated belly, feeling every squirm and every movement within. It was a sensation they savored, even as their body protested the sheer volume inside. It had been too much, even for them, but there was a certain pleasure in pushing limits—testing just how far they could stretch that demanding, stomach.

"Not... bad," they muttered to themselves, their voice low and thick with satisfaction. A rumble echoed through the room, coming from deep within their overworked stomach, followed by another, sharper gurgle as it tried to make sense of the immense load.

They sighed, fingers trailing along the firm curve one last time, before letting their hand fall limp by their side. "Ah, I ate too much," they whispered with a strained laugh, half-awake.

The predator would never admit that to anyone, though. With their stomach crammed to the brim, stuffed impossibly full, their eyes slowly closed.

#v.ore #tw vore #soft vore #v/ore #fatal vore #digestion #vore fic

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thekiltongrammarwriter · 1 month ago

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Does the wolf Apologize? | Will you be the big bad wolf? 18+ MDI

Enid Sinclair x fem reader

Summary: On Halloween night, Enid Sinclair and her girlfriend decide to explore the town’s infamous corn maze, a place known for its spooky ambiance and eerie legends. As they wander through the maze, the full moon rises, casting an unsettling glow over the corn stalks. Enid starts to act strangely, her behavior becoming more erratic and her senses unusually sharp. You notices the changes but dismisses them as Halloween jitters. You never thought you’d play a game of little red riding hood in a deserted corn maze and inadvertently become prey to your werewolf girlfriend. 18+ AGED UP ENID SINCLAIR

Warnings: AGED UP ENID SINCLAIR, bubbly soft Enid Sinclair, corn maze shenanigans, wolves, aggressive Enid Sinclair, primal Enid Sinclair, fang play, cunnilingus, fingering, badly written smut, eerie Enid Sinclair, listened to this whilst I listened to the whole instrumentals of the 90’s goosebumps soundtrack and I hope it shows. My first take on Enid Sinclair, I hope I did her justice enough while also writing her as I perceive her. Fluff at the end. Just enough creepy vibes for Halloween.

Words: 4.724k. Edited a tiny bit. Errors will occur.

ALL Halloween ficts are completed with the dates of release on my master-list should you want to find them. They are equally spread out throughout the month.

You feel the fangs before you see them, the way Enid is no longer the sweet tempered girl you arrived with. It was all her fault naturally, she had been the one to take you by the hand with her alluring jolly blue eyes, holding onto your sleeve with her colourfull claws, voice nearing a whine. “Come on! It won’t kill you to have a bit of fun! It’s a small corn maze compared to the one in Jericho” she had justified and stupidly you had agreed.

The sign was rusted and rather odd looking, ‘Hillside Farms All Hallows Eve Corn Maze Enter Here If You Dare’ met your eyes, the sign waving in the wind, kicking up the dust and grime. An eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach took hold, you subtly latched onto your girlfriend’s arm, “Enid….dont you think it’s odd that no one is here…I mean…look round…I think I saw two old folks enter in the last twelve minutes” your brows furrowed, images of an elderly couple entering in while Enid bought the tickets.

“Actually…do you suppose they’re alright? Elderly people shouldn’t be out in the dark in a corn maze-“

Your rant was cut short, as a shrieking child had managed to rush out of the corn stalks and past you two as he ran off his sugar high only making your heart beat faster against your rib cage.

It was then you had heard it, the way Enid had subtly grabbed your arm, the length of her claws positioned outward over your arm, her posture rigid, even as the child had run off. The reverberated cadence of the familiar growl that escaped her lips had made your eyebrows furrow. Enid never growled, almost never. The way her lips had curled into a snarl, a soft albeit calm one compared to the werewolves at Nevermore.

“That little menace making my girl all jumpy” she let out, sighing to herself as she shook her head, “parents don’t teach their kids these days”.

Enid-“ you managed to get past your lips, “Enid-“ her fingers had begun to dig into your skin, creating minuscule crescent moons on your goosebumpy skin.

As soon as Enid had snapped out of whatever odd haze she had been in she sucked in a breathe, holding her hand to cup her face, cheeks a mess of reddish skin. “Oh, my love I’m so sorry!”. She apologized profusely, stating she didn’t know what had gotten into her. Stating in that rather loud and chatty Enid Sinclair way that she hadn’t recognized that her claws had unsheathed.

You took in the way Enid’s face was flushed, not just from the act, but the way her eyes were no longer visible. The blues of her eyes hiding beneath a sheath of black.

You watched as she eyed you back, a ghost of a smile on her lips, a haunting yet beautiful sight. The soft rays of the moon lit up her milky skin, making her seem like a halo of light. Her lips glinted up, a fresh sheen of pink strawberry balm on her lips.

“Enid are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed and-“ your words were halted by the bubbly werewolf, who instinctively pulled you closer, wrapping her arm around your torso, her nose coming to glide over your pale neck. You could feel her hot breathe on your skin, an almost whine falling of the werewolves lips.

“Oh god, you smell so good” Enid whined, the edges of her pink lips pulling into a lip bite.

It was normal for Enid to be this affectionate and rather touch starved so you payed it no mind. You simply didn’t take notice of how her hands which were laced around your red crimson robe were gripping just a little to firmly. How the indentation of her claws had begun to softly scratch against the material of your corset. Enid had practically begged you with puppy eyes upon finding the ancient albeit well taken care of antique corset at the Jericho store. You were surprised Wednesday herself hadn’t bought it at first glance.

“Enid” you giggled when she began to press soft rather wet mouthed kisses on your pale neck, the edges of her teeth gliding against your skin. It was a feeling you still couldn’t quite get use too. The way Enid’s breathe felt, the soft hitch of her breathe and puppy whines as she combed your neck.

And then you felt it, the feel of Enid’s lips taking your neck between her teeth and—CHOMP

You drew in a breathe, fingers clutching onto Enid’s shoulders, your body instinctively moving closer as the rush of pain and sting of desire filled your veins, the hot sheen of heat sliding over your stomach and landing right between your legs.

You sucked in a breathe, a cross between a squeal and a pained cry finding its way out of your hallowed throat, Enid was never usually so aggressive. Your sounds of pain and perhaps desire seemed to spur the wolf on, Enid gladly began to bite down on the flesh, giggling in that bubbly werewolf way. Only these giggles made your body stiff. They were hound like and deep and dark.

“Oh fuck you sound so goddamn hot” Enid mumbled out, her breathing a cross between a rapid beast.

You winced even more, feeling for certain blood had begun to sweep out from beneath her teeth, luckily she hadn’t even used her fangs.

“Ow-Enid-that-it hurts it hurts-“ you whined out, and it was only after the seventh rendition that Enid’s hollowed eyes widened and immediately she stepped back, a hand flying to her mouth again in pure horror.

“Oh shit-I did it again didn’t I? I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I feel so jittery and my legs feel so weak and my gums hurt-oh god I made you bleed-“. Enid lifted your neck up by your chin, her dark blue eyes holding a look of guilt.

You softly moved to feel your neck, touching the wounded area with your fingers, to Enid’s soft “don’t touch it sweet girl you’ll get it infected” she gritted out through her bubblegum teeth.

Taking away your hand you saw tiny droplets of blood come away on your finger. It felt worse than it was. And Enid had begun to look wary, stepping away from you with soft guilty blue hues. You could practically see the imaginary tail between her legs. It sent a rush of adoration at her obvious shame.

Slowly you shook your head, moving to dap it with a soft tissue you kept in your bag, “it’s really not that bad, see? It already stopped bleeding” you assured. Moving to take Enid’s hand in your own and pull her close, “it’s nothing E…I promise. It’s alright to get a little riled up. After all it is Halloween night. And I would hate to make us go all the way back to the dorms and miss out on this wonderful creepy corn maze that we’ll probably get stabbed at with a knife in” you deadpanned, trying to sound as peppy and excited as Enid had been upon arriving.

Enid eyed you with a unsure face, nose flaring and blue eyes set in a line, blonde eyebrows furrowed, like she was struggling to accept your rather haistly put together words.

“Come on….it won’t kill you to try” you let out mocking her bubbly cadence wiggling your eyebrows which made the girl laugh, her lips rising into a wide grin. “Alright. I suppose we should finish the corn maze. After all it was my idea and Enid Sinclair is no scardy cat” she let out, puffing her chest out.

“That’s the spirit baby cakes.” You spoke, moving to take hold of her soft fingers, “enter if we dare”.

“Oh we definitely dare” Enid let out in that deep voice that made your heart melt, and without further explanation Enid lead you into the corn maze.

The moon casted a bright shadow over the various high clouds of cornstalks, the smell of dirt and dust filling your nose as you both descended farther and farther into the belly of the corn maze. Enid kept you at a safe distance, hands clasped around your own as you both moved through the cornstalks, the wind swaying them like hands waving to greet you both.

Sweat began to find its way underneath your corset, the wind doing little to keep you cool. You didn’t think it would be this hot in the corn maze, a sheen of heat and dirt and muck beneath your feet.

A few other people passed you both as you went deeper inside, but after the ten minute mark it was like everyone else vanished. No torch lights, no excited squeals of children, no old people, no couples dressed in Halloween attire.

And then you heard it, the deep almost animalistic cadence of a wolf, the howl loud and making you cling to Enid with a vice grip. Your fingers purple.

“Enid…are wolves suppose to be out here? Oh my gosh we’re getting eaten aren’t we?”. But you failed to notice the rigid stance of your girlfriend, the way her eyes winded in both fear and a desire. What you didn’t know was that every cell in Enid’s body had begun to hum. The wolf’s howl had awakened something in her chest, this primal need to break free.

Enid’s breathe had begun to drastically change, her eyes closing tightly as beads of sweats trickled down her hairline, it hurt to fight it. The change. But she couldn’t, not now, not when she already hurt you. It was a beyond stupid idea to come out to the corn maze at night.

“We need to leave” she let out, opening her eyes and immediately tugging you along the winding path. Her footsteps fast, “we-we need to leave right now” she let out, her breathe heaving and sucks of breathe making you halt.

She sounded in pain, like something was beginning to take over her senses.

“Enid-Enid you’re going too fast-“ you began, tripping over the cornstalks, the edges of the corn feeling like paper wood against your skin, causing you to cry out in pain.

At your sudden cries of pain Enid halted, “I need to get you back to the dorms. I’m sorry my love but it can’t wait-“ her words were halted by another howl of a wolf and this time she her eyes widened and she dropped your hand, clenching her teeth.

Enid sunk to her knees, holding her head in her hands as she began to rock, looking uncomfortable and in pain. Her limbs shook, her breathing heavy.

You immediately flew to her aid, “Enid I need you to tell me what’s happening-“ you began, thinking it another one of Enid’s panic attacks.

But the minute you had sunk down to your knees and touched the skin of her hand Enid began to growl-

This low reverberating growl that caused your stomach to explode, the words danger coming to your mind. Her posture was curved, so unlike Enid it made you take a minuscule step back, your converse meeting the soil of the earth.

“Enid?”

The growling ceased, replaced by a whimper, “y/n you need to go. Now…you can’t be here-“ Enid let out, still cradling her head. “It’s not safe. It was stupid of me to drag you out here-“ she sucked in another breathe, her fingers clawing at the dusty floor of the cornstalks, the edges of her claws uncomfortably meeting rocks with a hiss.

You slowly rose to your feet, “I don’t want to leave you here Enid-“ you began in what you hoped was a confident unwavering tone-

Enid growled, finally moving to lift her head up, and your breathe hitched. The moonlight casted a soft glow on her, and you felt your heart beating in your rib cage.

She looked radiant. Terrifying, deadly-

She was still human, no fur in sight, but her eyes were hollowed out, a soft yellowed out hue filling her eyes, glowing like a beast in the night. Her fangs peeked out from behind her pink strawberry lips. Her cheeks a mess of pink hue. It was obvious she was struggling, an inner battle of the sweet gentle girl you called your girlfriend and the beast within.

“I’m not asking you I’m telling you goddamit-“ she snarled out, the edges of her fangs lengthening in warning.

You had never seen Enid like this before. So commanding so-primal.

“I’m not risking hurting you again I already managed to fuck things up earlier with my stupid-“

You stepped closer, enough that Enid’s eyes shot up, alert, her inner wolf growling at you. Her breathe heavy, her eyes wide, because even though she looked terrifying, you could see traces of your Enid…peeking through those glassy animalistic eyes.

“Y/n I’m not going to ask you again-“

And before you knew it Enid was pulling you against her, her growls wild as she pinned you to the ground, the rocks and disregarded cornstalks meeting your skin, like rocks meeting a open wound.

“Enid-Enid-“

But she only moved to pin your hands, her grip as strong as vice, wolf strength at its finest.

Her body was humming, practically asking her to take you. To give in to her natural animalistic desires.

“You stupid little girl-“ she let out, moving her nose over your cheek, inhaling, and you could practically see the very moment Enid inhaled your scent, the way her eyes closed and she let out a soft growl.

Her fingers were harsh and aggressive as they lifted you up slightly, her claws digging into your ass, squeezing hard and rough, tuffs of hot air in your skin as Enid felt your ass, “you stupid-gullible-little lamb- I told you to leave…I told you to go….but no… you stayed….” She began, squeezing even harder and you began to clutch the ground, finger nails caking with dirt.

You didn’t know what to do. Enid had never gone full alpha on you before. She had always been timid and shy, but this-

And then you felt it. The harsh feeling of her lips sucking and pulling at your neck, gliding over the still wounded puncture from earlier, and Enid moaned into your skin, whining and moaning like a dog in heat.

“You should have listened babygirl”.

And then she bit down, and you thought the pain could only get worse, but soon her lips met yours, wild abandon as she practically devoured your lips, fangs pulling and nipping your mouth. Her lips sucking your tongue with a satisfying pop, saliva running down your chin.

In your horny lust filled terrified brain yourlegs had begun to buck, trying desperately to get her off you, Enid would never hurt you, but you didn’t know her wolf. Didn’t know how forgiving or how wild it was.

The movement caught Enid’s sight and she quickly pulled away, allowing you time to suck in a breathe.

She growled, that deep inner wolf preening at the sight of your legs parted, the cape draped over them like a fine meal.

And without thinking she pulled you roughly by your legs, prying them open, her claws slashing your skirt.

You began to speak, trying to calm your girlfriends, “Enid-enid-it’s alright-calm down- you don’t want to hurt me”.

But it was no use, Enid wasn’t in there. Enid’s eyes met yours, not a hint of blue left in her irises, her fangs glinted with your blood, but a hint of Enid came through, her fingers moving up past your thigh, hooking the edges of her fingers over the soiled wet underwear and yanking down fast.

You closed your eyes, scared to open them. Your body was preening, wanting to be taken, to be breed..used like the little slut you sometimes felt after hours of playing with yourself alone in the dorm.

Enid make a soft satisfying growl before she pried your legs open and took you whole, her tongue not bothering to lap at your clit, just sliding past and into your pulsing pussy.

You let out a muffled scream, fingers moving to her matted hair as you whined, her tongue unrelenting as she pushed in, sucking biting down on your clit.

The feeling was other worldly, and you found yourself moaning and screaming, like an animal in heat, thrashing.

You sounded like you belonged in some porno with the way you were acting, so uncharacteristic of you it made you feel like a shadow of your own self.

But it felt so good, and Enid’s claws had begun to rip your corset, still ramming her tongue into you as her fingers moved to yank your bra open, your breasts spilling out into the cold windy air, your nipples hard and beyond warm. Soft, pliable, heaving in front of her.

“Take it….take it fucking take it my love! take it….” She was growling, “fucking you like a fuckin rabbit in heat-out here in the middle of the god forsaken maze like a horny little slut you are-“

You were dazed, too aware of the pleasure, of the way Enid’s fingers were pinching and playing with your breast. Rough and beyond gentle, squeezing so hard your pussy clenched.

You came with a hard scream…. Whining. Not even able to verbalize your impending rush of desire.

“‘Mmmppppp OH GOD! OH FUCK…AAAH-“ you cried out, your body pulsating and bucking.

“Goood girl….such a good girl for me” Enid let out, moving to leave soft kisses on your pussy, causing you to whine. Without warning enjd retracted two claws, and without even so much as a warning she pushed them deep inside you, replacing her tongue. The way your pussy clenched and pulled at her fingers was utter divine.

“Let’s see how you do with three fingers little love of mine”-

It was only when you tried to get up that she stopped you, her hands meeting your chest, eying your round abused breast, “mommy’s not done with you yet pet. You should have thought of that before you decided to stay. But if you’re a good girl and let me use you I promise you’ll get all the cuddles and kisses from me later…” she spoke, her voice that soft comforting cadence that only Enid Sinclair was worthy off, before her eyes darkened, fangs lengthen, “but for now get on alll fours with your ass in the air-I’m going to show you why they call us Timber wolves”.

You never thought you’d be so feraly used like this, you’re not sure how long Enid used you for, all you knew was you were addicted, because even though she was aggressive and didn’t mind causing bouts of pain there was always a moment between those harsh touches where Enid would whine and scent your neck as her fingers pumped your pussy, fangs soft as she kissed your forehead, no words were said but you knew Enid well enough to know she must have been fighting her wolf.

By the end of the night you were a sweat soiled, whimpering, mess of a girl, corset ripped just enough to never be used enough, which was ashame in its own right, your pussy was beyond sore, aching. Pulsing. Used. puffed and equally as wet, your heart a battering rib cage in your chest. Hair unkempt with shards of dirt as your eyes eventually closed from over exhaustion.

You felt weightless, limbs feeling like they no longer worked. But you were conscious enough to feel the soft pads of Enid’s fingers as they ghosted over your cheekbones, her claws no longer lengthened and then it was the feeling of her lips, soft and beyond careful as she kissed you, “I’m so sorry….i didn’t mean it-I’m so sorry-forgive me—“ her voice almost penitent. Contrite in the way the words slipped off her tongue.

It pained you to think Enid felt even the slightest bit guilty for letting her wolf out on Halloween night, it was entirely your fault, you had been the one hesitant to leave, and perhaps somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you craved this type of lovemaking. The harsh, feral primal urge that came with being with a wolf, because Enid was always soft with you. Loving, always muttering her undying love and desire for you as she made you cum over and over again your dorm. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

You felt strong hands lift you up, and you despite the exhaustion curled into her chest. Feeling her chest quake as she struggled to contain her sobs. fresh tears pelting down her cheeks. You wanted to open your eyes, to tell her it all been consensual, but your body was drained. And soon sleep took you.

You awoke to a rather pale deadpan Wednesday Addams standing in front of your bed, with the stillness of a dead man, dark hooded eyes staring deep into your soul. You flinched momentarily, eyes wide and fingers gripping your blankets in terror.

The girl huffed, not apologizing for scaring the living daylights out of you especially given your light constitution. She only sighed, sending whiffs of her bangs in every direction.

“Enid has made me aware of her exploits last night, she has not stopped crying those uncontrollable tears, but I on the other hand think it is most desirable to spend a night with a fearsome creature. Enid has stepped out at the moment to retrieve some breakfast for you and has asked me to stand guard”. All these clever words were said though Wednesday’s gritted teeth, her one singular finger tapping against her knee.

Once you were conscious enough to not feel the fuzzy just walking up lull in your pulsing head did you nod, getting up enough in bed, “thank you Wednesday. But you don’t have to stand guard. I’m alright-“.

“Enid is in a panic. If I don’t I’m liable to have my head ripped off as softly as she can make my demise. As much as I loathe following her rules I must”.

A soft chuckle fell of your lips as Wednesday spoke, the thought of Enid on a rampage, gut stricken over her treatment of you during the full moon was rather adorable.

It’s then the hinges of the creaky door was heard and Enid’s blonde curls were seen, her back to you as she held a large tray, her voice the soft breathy nervous ramble as she spoke to a monotonous Wednesday, “I got her all the favorites and even asked cook if she could make a special dessert for her, she likes strawberry, do you think she’ll eat it? These flowers are pretty enough right? I know she likes roses but miss thorn hill was out of roses-“

Her awful nervous ramble made your heart melt, the way her fingers shook at the edges of the tray was evidence enough that she was absolutely terrified and regretful of her perilous actions.

“It’s fine Enid….y/n would love you if you groveled at her feet like a pathetic spineless puppy asking for forgiveness” Wednesday let out, “oh look it’s here already. I’ll take my leave of you” and as soon as Enid turned to place the tray down and her eyes caught sight of you she looked like a lost puppy. Tail between her legs, blue eyes impossibly tearful.

You watched as Wednesday moved to give Enid what you thought was a shoulder Pat, a signal of solidarity in this trying time. But it made the edges of your lips lift, because of two reasons. Enid looked like she might actually keel to her knees and beg for your forgiveness, and secondly the way Wednesday’s eyes flickered slighty as her gloved hand patted Enid’s shoulder was comical. Like it was taking all her strength. And the small, “there there Enid” made it hard not to laugh.

You didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear the soft squelch of Wednesday’s black glove retract from Enid’s shoulder. Without another glance your way Wednesday was heading to the door.

As soon as the door closed over Wednesday’s heels Enid spoke.

“I NEVER should have treated you the way I did-it was incorrigible, it was-it was probably terrifying-“ she began, hands shaking. “I understand if you don’t forgive me but I’m so sorry-I didn’t know my wolf would be so cruel-its my fault for dragging you into the corn maze-“.

You let Enid ramble out the words, each brush of tears falling down her cheeks a testament of how much you truly loved this girl.

“It’s definitely something we need to work on. But I love you too much to never forgive you Enid Sinclair”. You let out.

The way Enid perked up, a sigh of relief before launching herself in your bed, eagerly taking your cheeks in her hands, fingers immeasurable soft and deft as she kissed every inch of your face. The ridge of your nose, your cheeks, your eyes, your collarbone.

“Oh thank goodness I thought you hated me. How do you feel? How does your cut feel? Do you need water? Are you sore? How are your hips—“

#happy halloweeeeeeen #enid sinclair #Enid Sinclair x fem reader #enid sinclair x reader #wednesday netflix #Emma myers #emma myers x reader #spooky season #A kilton grammar original work #Halloween #gf material

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bloodreinasbathwater · 5 months ago

Text

My Sunshine

Jack Hughes X F!Reader (pregnancy au)

a.n: Jacks initial chapters are coming to a close. after part 6 I will be putting out the mini chapters for the baby shower, nursery, birth, etc. this took forever but part 5 is finally done!!!

Warnings: pregnancy, sad jack, anxiety, mention of blood (briefly) , eventual smut. not proofread either so good luck.

Word Count - 3,728

Pregnancy series link / Jacks masterlist

Y/N's chest tightened as Jack's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his foot pressing down a bit too firmly on the gas pedal as they merged onto the bustling highway. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the road ahead, while a flock of birds soared gracefully overhead, their wings catching the golden light.

Y/N's gaze flickered between the cars rushing past them, each one a blur of colors and shapes, in the rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of Jack's jaw clenching subtly, a telltale sign of his nerves despite his outward calm demeanor.

The tension in the air was palpable, mirroring the whirlwind of emotions that churned within Y/N as she grappled with the aftermath of the fight with Jason and the numerous events from the past week.

At her latest doctor's appointment, the doctor explained that due to her hormonal makeup, she likely wouldn't experience the same swelling and baby bump as most expectant mothers.

Rather than protruding outwards, her uterus would grow inwards towards her spine, minimizing her visible signs of pregnancy. It was an atypical condition, but the baby was developing perfectly based on the dating of the ultrasound.

She had finally worked up the courage to tell her best friend Heather everything, including the fight with Jason and her fears about keeping Jack around without telling him the truth. She stole a glance at him in the driver's seat.

Jack's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, fingers flexing anxiously. Despite his outward nerves, she found comfort in his familiar mannerisms after his team's big win last night.

"You don't have to do this if you aren't ready," Jack said, voice strained. He blinked rapidly, adam’s apple bobbing. "My parents will understand if we reschedule."

Y/N shook her head, subconsciously resting a hand on her still-flat stomach. In between putting the finishing touches on her latest book release, this had been her one constant thought. "No, I want to meet them. Just a little nervous I guess."

They neared Jack's childhood neighborhood, y/n’s stomach twisted into anxious knots, and she wiped her damp palms against her jeans. Jack's hardy pickup truck rumbled beneath them, the weather-worn bench seat creaking as she fidgeted restlessly.

He must have noticed her nerves ramping up because suddenly his calloused hand reached across the console, muscular forearm brushing her thigh as he twisted the volume dial. The opening chords of a classic country song blared through the truck's speakers, the unmistakable twang of the singer's voice filling the cab.

Then, Jack started singing - his rich voice rumbling from deep within his barrel chest. He wore a faded green jersey stretched taut across his broad shoulders, the slightest hint of chest hair peeking into the open button. Hanging one hand lazily from the steering wheel, he used the other to dramatically lip-sync and serenade Y/N with exaggerated motions.

She clapped one hand over her mouth, desperately trying to muffle the unstoppable peals of laughter at his ridiculous performance. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as Jack waggled his eyebrows and threw her sultry looks, his whole face alight with uninhibited joy.

By the time the truck rumbled up the driveway of the cozy two-story home, they were both doubled over in unbridled laughter. Jack killed the engine but left the music playing softly, the tinny sound of the singer's voice drifting through the cab.

Wiping a mirthful tear from her cheek, Y/N watched as Jack's expression softened into one of pure tenderness. He reached out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering to trace her jaw before cupping her face and drawing her in for a sweet, lingering kiss on the cheek. She melted at his unhurried affection, her heart swelling on the receiving end of such gentle adoration.

From outside the truck, one could hear the quiet murmuring of their voices and Jack's baritone humming snatches of the song's melody. His broad shoulders hunched as he ducked out of the cab before rounding the front of the truck.

The driver's side door groaned open, and Jack's scuffed air forces crunched on the paved driveway as he hurried to open Y/N's door, gentlemanly offering his hand to help guide her down from the elevated cab.

Jack gave Y/N's hand a reassuring squeeze as they started up the driveway toward the house. The warm breeze ruffled her floral sundress, the lightweight fabric swaying around her calves as they climbed the gentle slope.

Jack's parents' yard was immaculately kept - the grass a lush, emerald carpet, meticulously trimmed hedges lining the path. Vibrant flower beds brimmed with a kaleidoscope of colorful blooms nodding in the breeze. It was picture-perfect, like something out of a magazine spread.

As they drew closer, Y/N could make out two figures standing at the top of the porch steps. An older couple, the woman's hands planted firmly on her hips in a scolding posture as she appeared to be lecturing a tall, younger man who could only be Jack's brother or cousin based on his uncanny resemblance.

They seemed oblivious to the approaching pair, attention fully focused on the sheepish-looking boy shuffling his feet in front of them.

Y/N tugged on Jack's hand, leaning in close. "Jack..." she murmured, grasping tighter to his reassuring strength.

He glanced over, following her line of sight up to the porch before giving her fingers another comforting squeeze. "It's okay, I'll be right here with you," Jack said lowly. That unwavering confidence bolstered her, and Y/N nodded uncertainly before continuing their approach.

As they reached the bottom of the porch steps, the older couple finally seemed to notice their arrival. Ellen and Jim's expressions immediately transformed - the scolding looks melting into warm, welcoming smiles as they rushed forward with open arms.

"Jackie! There you are, son," Jim bellowed in a jovial tone, pulling his son in for an embrace before turning to Y/N with a wink. "And you must be the young lady who's captured my boy's heart."

"Dad, come on!" Jack groaned, a pink hue blossoming high on his chiseled cheekbones as his father clapped him firmly on the back.

Ellen wasted no time in swooping in to greet Y/N, taking the younger woman's hands in her own calloused grip as she looked her over appraisingly. There was a kindness that crinkled the corners of her eyes as she met Y/N's nervous gaze.

"It's so wonderful to finally meet you, dear," Ellen said warmly. "Jackie hasn't been able to stop talking about you since he came home from the trip." She shot a conspiratorial wink towards her son, who ducked his head sheepishly.

Before Y/N could respond, a boisterous voice rang out from the porch. "Well, well, if it isn't the golden boy himself!" The tall, broad-shouldered man lumbered down the steps, arms spread wide. "Did you really think you could come home without getting the official Lucas McManus welcome?"

Jack had barely turned before he was enveloped in a bone-crushing bear hug, his brother's meaty arms constricting around his ribs. "Ugh, Luke, get off me, you big lug!"

Luke released him with a barking laugh. "Good to see you too.” His mischievous gaze landed on Y/N hovering by Jack's side. Before she could even draw a breath to introduce herself, he stepped forward and swept her into a surprisingly gentle hug, taking care not to crush her slight frame against his hulking form.

“I’m Luke, jacks younger and cooler brother,” he stage-whispered conspiratorially with an exaggerated wink.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle at his antics, feeling some of the nervous tension bleed out of her shoulders.

…

The family dinner was a lively, boisterous affair. The rustic oak table seemed to groan under the weight of the hearty spread - a thick slab of prime rib taking center stage, surrounded by heaping bowls of roasted potatoes, buttered vegetables, and fragrant yeasty rolls.

once they settled in, knees knocking together in the tight quarters, Luke wasted no time launching into a series of merciless chirps and good-natured ribbings directed at his younger brother. Jack took it all in stride, giving as good as he got with his own sly digs and underhanded compliments cloaked in insults in that unique way only siblings could manage.

Ellen tutted disapprovingly at their antics, even as the corners of her lips quirked up in an amused smile. "Boys, not in front of our guest!" she lightly scolded, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N's arm. The warm maternal weight of it was instantly comforting.

Across the table, Jim met Y/N's eyes with a roguish wink and a conspiratorial grin, his chest puffing out proudly as he watched his sons' spirited back-and-forth like it was the culmination of some legacy lineage of brotherly torment.

As dinner progressed in that rambunctious fashion, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at how the Hughes clan seemed to speak in an entirely separate language comprised of inside jokes, dramatics, and endless affectionate insults and barbs flung without malice.

She struggled to get a word in edgewise, but found herself thoroughly charmed by the liveliness, the evident closeness, the constant undercurrent of deep love and acceptance.

At one point, Ellen set down her fork with a measured look towards the two brothers. "So...any prospect of grandchildren to spoil rotten any time soon?" She asked with a perfectly arched brow and a sly smile.

Luke barked out a raucous guffaw, slapping his palm on the table. "Are you kidding, Mom? Quinn's still halfway in the closet. My money's on him!"

He missed Jack shaking his head decisively, arm tightening possessively around the back of Y/N's chair as he pulled her subtly closer to his side. "No, no. It's gonna be me for sure," he stated with conviction, bold gaze flickering to catch Y/N's eye. "Quinn's too old and only cares about hockey these days."

Y/N's heart slammed into her throat as the implication settled over her like a weighted blanket. She couldn't tell if the flush burning her cheeks was from mortification or if Jack genuinely meant what she thought he did. Before her mind could spiral any further down that path, she jumped at the opportunity to escape when Ellen began collecting plates.

"Let me help you with those dishes, Ellen," Y/N blurted, likely a touch too loud and enthusiastic as she shot out of her seat.

"Of course, honey," Ellen smiled warmly, stacking plates into Y/N's anxious hands.

Y/N rounded the table hastily, Jack's furrowed brow and worried eyes following her retreat from the dining room. She clutched the dishes tightly, using the porcelain edges to ground herself as she followed Ellen through the swinging door and into the sunny kitchen.

A tense silence fell over the remaining family members before Jim cleared his throat loudly, catching the attention of his two sons. He swirled the ice cubes in his glass contemplatively.

"So..." he began, leaning back in his chair to fix Jack with an inscrutable look. "How long have you two been together?"

Jack's cheeks flushed pink, one hand reflexively rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided his father's steady gaze. "Uh, five months or so," he admitted shyly after a pause. "I'm actually going to ask her to be my girlfriend tonight...officially."

Luke let out a low whistle, clapping Jack firmly on the shoulder with one meaty paw. "About damn time, big bro! We were all starting to wonder if you'd ever settle down with one girl."

From the kitchen, Y/N could hear the muffled sound of Jack's embarrassed groan and the raucous laughter that followed. She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as her heart rate kicked up another notch.

Girlfriend. The term sent her head spinning anew. She had assumed their relationship was casual, a fleeting rebound in the wake of Jason's toxicity. But now Jack wanted to make things official...permanent. How could she say yes and move forward when she was keeping something this big from him?

"Everything okay, dear?" Ellen's soft voice cut through the spiral of Y/N's thoughts. The older woman regarded her with a concerned furrow of her brow as she diligently started on the pile of plates.

Y/N managed a jerky nod, willing her features into a placid mask as she reached for the dishtowel to help dry. "Yes, of course! I just...needed a breather from all the family energy out there," she tried to joke.

Ellen hummed knowingly in response. "They can certainly be a handful, that bunch. But they mean well." Her gaze sharpened as she studied Y/N's tense profile. "Jack cares about you an awful lot, you know. We can all see how smitten he is."

The warm weight of Ellen's eyes was too much. Y/N twisted away under the guise of grabbing another dish from the rack, blinking rapidly against the telltale sting of tears threatening to well over.

… After skillfully avoiding any further emotional conversations in the kitchen, Y/N felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine as she and Jack made their way towards the front door to leave. Her stomach twisted with nerves and unspoken truths.

"You'll have to come back again soon," Ellen insisted, enveloping Y/N in one of her warm, motherly hugs. There was an underlying knowing look in her eyes as she squeezed Y/N tight before releasing her.

Jim stepped forward next, pulling Y/N into an embrace and patting her back fondly. "It was wonderful to finally meet the woman who has our Jackie so dugzamped," he said with a wink towards his son.

"Dad!" Jack groaned in feigned exasperation, though his cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment.

Luke saved the most boisterous goodbye for last, sweeping Y/N up in a rib-crushing bear hug that left her feet dangling inches from the floor. "You take care of him, you hear?" He mock-scolded with a roguish grin, mercifully setting her back down before ruffling Jack's hair affectionately.

Jack batted his brother's hands away, straightening his mussed clothing with as much dignity as possible. He looped one arm around Y/N's waist, pulling her into his side reassuringly as they finally made their goodbyes.

The walk back towards Jack's truck seemed to stretch out interminably. Y/N's body felt like it was operating on autopilot as she let Jack guide her with a firm hand at the small of her back. Her mind raced with doubts and fears, rendering her temporarily mute.

It wasn't until they reached the driver's side door and Jack turned to face her, cupping her cheek tenderly, that she finally surfaced from her spiral with a full-body startle.

"Hey," he murmured, brows furrowed with concern. "You ok? You checked out there for a bit."

Y/N stared up at him mutely, her mouth working without any sound coming out. Get it together, she firmly told herself. Taking a steadying breath, she nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay. Just...a lot to process I guess."

Jack's features softened with understanding, replacing his tense expression to a gentle look of empathy. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles on her cheekbone, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to her soft cheeks.

"Come on," he murmured softly, his voice steady and reassuring, "let's get you home."

…

"I think my mom might like you more than I do," he said with a chuckle, a hint of playful jealousy lacing his words. "She’s made me kinda jealous stealing all your attention. Family dinner will not be happening anytime soon I’ll tell you that much."

"I hope that’s true Jack," she replied softly, eyes reflecting the admiration she felt so deeply for him. "She’s amazing, I wish my mother was like her. She’s genuine and kind, I’m jealous of you." her eyes drifted down to her hands, she winced at the broken skin and bloody cuticles from her abuse. "I feel like everyone our age now has such shitty parents ya know," she muttered.

"Come on don’t say that sun," he urged gently, reaching over to grasp her hands in an attempt to stop her picking at them.

Jack's grip tightened on her hands and he shook his head firmly.

Jack's eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed, the corners of his mouth turning downwards in a serious expression. He looked at her with concern, a hint of sadness in his gaze. "I hate hearing you talk like that."

"I’m serious Jack, really," she insisted, her free hand nervously toying with a loose thread on her dress. "I'm happy you have a good family. They did so well raising you, I can tell."

"You’re making me nervous," Jack admitted with a sheepish grin. "Do you always talk about your boyfriend’s parents like this? We’ll be like that one day,” he mused dreamily, "a few babies, home full of love... I can imagine it now; they look just like you."

"A family?" she repeated back. Y/N's heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. The mere suggestion sent a chill down her spine, her breath catching in her throat. Images of vulnerability and responsibility flooded her mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

"Uh yeah... I’m sorry it just slipped out," he stammered apologetically, the smile falling from his face. "I didn’t mean to be so weird about it... I’m sorry. Just forget I said that whole thing." he pleaded, his eyes darted around nervously, avoiding direct contact with Y/N's as he spoke, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Actually, no I didn’t,” he interjected suddenly, his eyes searching hers earnestly. “Yeah, your boyfriend... I want to be your boyfriend officially. I really like you and catch myself thinking about you all day; what you’re doing, new places I can take you... I want to be with you as more than friends." He paused before adding softly, "I knew the second I saw you in that coffee shop... I want to be your boyfriend if you’ll have me of course."

“Jack we can’t," she whispered sadly, avoiding his gaze.

"What?" His voice cracked with disbelief.

"Jack… You can’t date me." Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears as she continued hesitantly, "I really like you too Jack; god you have no idea...” She swallowed hard before confessing, “I wanna be in your skin half the time but it’s just that now's not a good time for me to be involved in that way...” Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.

“I see what you have, and I don't want to ruin that,” she confessed tearfully. “You have a good healthy family people all around you...” A single tear rolled down her cheek as she added in a barely audible whisper, “I have no one but Heather...There’s no one there for me. If I dated you, I would just feel like I’m dragging you away from all the people who love you so I won’t be alone."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked away from jack. He searched her face desperately, hurt and confusion writ large across his features.

"And all of that makes you not want to be with me?" he asked hoarsely. "You don't wanna be with me?" Jack swallowed hard, gaze boring into hers intensely. "Was it tonight? That made you realize that? Did I make you uncomfortable?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. "I won't ever talk about kids again if that made you upset," Jack rambled, words tumbling out in a rush. "I just...we've been so happy. I was lost in thought and couldn't stop talking."

Y/N shook her head vehemently. "No, you didn't do any of that, Jack," she insisted, reaching out to clutch his arm. "I'm happy you feel that way, so fucking happy you even see a future with me."

Jack visibly deflated with relief at her reassurance, only for the tension to reset his shoulders as conflict flickered across his expression. "Then what is it?" he demanded, the hurt leaking into his tone now.

"How come you don't want to be with me? I assumed we were getting serious. You just met my family. I've been with you for five months and I've never felt like this for anyone in my life." His voice cracked with raw emotion. "No one has ever made me feel so loved or appreciated the way you do."

Tears spilled over Y/N's cheeks in shining rivulets. "I wish I could be honest with you," she choked out in a whisper. "Tell you the reason why I can't. But you'll just hate me for it."

Jack's features contorted in an anguished wince, and he surged forward to frame her face in his calloused palms. "Don't think so little of me," he pleaded gruffly. "I feel like I'm saying all the wrong things. Was it too soon to tell you how I feel about us?" Jack's eyes shimmered as he searched hers beseechingly. "Please. Just...what do I do now?"

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut against the swell of regret and pain lancing through her chest. With tremendous effort, she extricated herself from Jack's grip, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Jack," she rasped, backing away from him. "I really am, but I think I should go."

A stricken noise punched out of Jack at that, his hand reaching out as if to physically stop her retreat. "Please don't leave me like this," he begged, voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know how to be without you. I don't wanna learn how to do that right now. I want you with me. Please."

The anguish etched into every line of his expression was like a vise around Y/N's heart. She longed to close the distance, to soothe away the hurt she caused with her touch, her words. But she couldn't. Not when she was such a mess of half-truths and lies.

"You deserve so much better than what I can give you, Jack," she forced out, barely choking back a sob as she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "You're such a great guy, I don't deserve you. You're too good. The next girl you find will be so much better than I could ever be, and I hope you see that eventually."

Y/N swallowed hard, mustering the last of her tattered composure. "Good night, Jack."

...

Tag List <3

@fearfam69691 , @alwaysclassyeagle , @rebelatbay , @dancerbailey3 , @skepvids , @flowers-for-em , @hischierswhore , @ivy-34 , @bunbunbl0gs , @snailss , @ru-kru , @shawnshoney

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 13 days ago

Text

Before the Dawn Has Come, I'd Block the Sun

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as blood and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You discover more than you could have ever expected when researching your thesis.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: This is my fave so far.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me❤️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The dry heat sops the moisture from your body, drawing it to the surface as sweat beads and shines on your skin. It’s so hot, the air ripples visibly, the old stone streets appearing more crooked than their ancient foundations. Your sandals hit the ground in a ragged rhythm as your bag weighs you down, your thumb leaving a smear across the screen of your phone.

You slow as you read the hanging wooden sign and compare to the text on your phone. This is the one. If you weren’t looking for it, you might miss the marquee; hand-painted by your judgment.

You black your phone and slide it into the loose pocket of your linen pants. Shorts might have been a better choice but you are on an academic mission, not vacation. You uncap your insulated bottle but in the heat of Grecian sun, it does little to keep the water cold. You don’t mind the lukewarm gulp as you tip it into your mouth.

You slip the bottle into the side pocket of your knapsack and approach the tapered door. It looks as if it might have been placed in the medieval years. The white paint is split by the splintering wood and a curious red outline is streaked around the door frame. That might be something to look into; perhaps another superstition.

You knock and wait. You wipe another sheen of sweat from your brow and fan yourself with your fingers. You stare at the door anxiously. You check your smart watch. You’re not late.

Below the time, your heart beat pulses. Even at an easy pace, the heat has you in excess. You blow out a breath and look at the door once more.

You raise your hand but before you can knock again, you hear a creak from above. You back up as the doors of the second-storey window push outward and hit the siding. The opening is shadowed by a wooden canopy built into the frame and a head of silver head peers out.

“You may let yourself in. I will be down in a moment.”

You’re surprised that the man speaks English. Most of the locals don’t know a word of it and your Duolingo crash course has carried you this far, though not without some miscommunication. You set your head straight and reach for the old hoop handle of the door. You push inward, cautiously, letting yourself in with a sense of reverence.

Within, the entryway is narrow and a set of stairs winds down into it. There’s a mat beneath your soles, woven of wicker, and table to your write. A set of Grecian urns stand on it, symbols painted around their bellies and necks, some polished, others chipped; all in varying states of decay and resplendence.

You stay by the door and fold your hand, your eyes exploring where your feet won’t. The stairs groan beneath a weight as you peer into the next room, shelves of spines looking back at you. You snap back as a large body descends to the bottom step before you.

You’re surprised to find a face that does not match the head of silver hair. The man is not young but he isn’t old either. His square jaw is chiseled like one of the country’s famous statues and his form is even more verile and burly than any god of Olympus. But his eyes, they are a shade of amber so pale they almost look golden.

You’re stunned by his appearance. You shake of that coy thought in your mind. Surely, you’re too deep in your research. After all, what you read about isn’t real, they are wives’ tales.

“Geralt?” You greet as you extend a hand.

“You are correct,” he shakes your hand firmly.

It is just as warm in the house as without. The air curls around you with heat and weaves into your hair, speckling on your scalp. Despite this, he appears unhampered. He wears a linen shirt with an undone collar, exposing the top of his hairy chest, and the short sleeves show his rounded biceps. It is untucked from his grey pants that despite their wide cut, fail to billow around his tree trunk legs.

“Thank you very much for having me,” you say as he lets you go. “Sorry, did you like English or Greek? I know around here...”

“English is fine,” he assures. His accent would suggest it’s his first language but you’ve learned from the locals to be mindful. “As it were, I’ve set aside some translations for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you look down at your sandals.

“Leave them on,” he affirms and waves you towards the door you’d only just been peeking through. “No time to waste.”

“No, not at all,” you agree. “I was hoping to take a few pictures to bring back as well. For reference. I have a translation app that I use--”

“Mm, none of my records are digitized, for authenticity.”

“I wouldn’t share them,” you assure. He grumbles. You sense reticence. “Of course, I can just take notes.”

“We shall see,” he utters as he takes you through to the next room.

The walls are lined in crowded shelves. Books fill every inch, with some stacked along the edges of the long desk cleared at the centre. You can tell he’s made a recent effort of making room. For you, likely. A strike of guilt flickers.

“You may work here,” he goes to the desk. “Here is what I’ve put aside,” he taps a thick folder with two fingers, “and these books will do fine for your inquiry. If you have questions or require more of my collections, you might let me know. No pictures.”

“Um, sure, thank you,” you approach the desk and slip free from your knapsack.

You glance over at him as he looms, watching you with his eerie yellowish eyes. His pupils pinpoint as his gaze flicks down to your neck as you wipe away the trickle of sweat that tickles you. He quickly reverts his attention to the books.

“Interesting subject,” he intones. “You mentioned you’ve come from Romania?”

“I’ve made a trek, for sure,” you open your bag and pull out your laptop and notebook.

“Mm, I hope your battery is charged. I haven’t any outlets.”

You look around and only then realise that the sconces on the walls are lit with real flame and that oil lamps illuminate the rest of the space. Hm. It seems a hazard with all this paper, then again, even the hotel you’re staying at is more a rented room in an outdated house. The curly-haired keeper and his wife told you not to plug in more than one thing at time.

“Oh, right,” you leave it shut and open your notebook instead.

“Well, I suppose you don’t need me lurking. If you require assistance, call for me. I won’t be far,” he says.

In his accent, he sounds as if he’s reciting some Victorian script, and his cadence is like the strum of a cello. It sends a chill through despite the stolid air seeping in from beneath the drawn curtains. You nod and step in front of the chair, bracing the armrests but not sitting.

“Thank you,” you say.

He stares a moment longer then turns away. His movement is both smooth and stiff. It’s as if you can see a smear of colour with each motion. You shrug it off as another effect of the Grecian heat.

He goes and you lower yourself onto the seat. The thin embroidered cushion stretched over wood offers little support. You’ve sat on worse in your pursuit of your thesis. You ward off the unease and focus on the wall before you to scale; the books arranged like a fortress to conquer. This will surely take more than a day to get through.

📜

A day, turns into a week, turns into two.

Despite his standoffish demeanour, Geralt allows you to return to the slanted building on the corner. Each day you pass through the red door frame and sit at the desk. And just as often he adds more to the pile as if you keep you chained there. Yet, you can only blame yourself. You built this prison of academia.

He doesn’t say much more than that first day. He doesn’t ask questions. He lets you through the door and you part ways. You only see him when he comes to tell you the time. He sends you off before the sun sets on the long Grecian days. You suppose for your own good. It isn’t any good to be walking alone in the dark.

That day is different. As the moon cycle from a sliver to nothing at all, the night casts upon the Greek roof like ebony silk and the candlelight seems dimmer as you work in its haze. Diligent and distracted from the sifting of seconds through the sieve. Your eyes bore into the parchment as your fingers hover at the corners.

Vrykolakas devour the flesh, with a taste for liver, though blood does nourish their unearthly being. With fangs like wolves and hunger to match, they are born of sacrilege. They are excommunicated of heaven and hells and all the wiles of humanity. They sleep in unconsecrated earth and feast on sheep when they cannot feast upon that of what they once were.

In solace, the Vrykolakas find strength. As their hunger deepens, their power heightens, and with the fading of the moon, they float as wraiths upon their hunt to sup upon the flesh of the innocent.

A shadow, darker than dusk, darker than ink, passes over you. You lift your head, groggy with the stain of scrawled writing in your eyes. You raise your head and blink at the pale figure that emerges into the flickering light.

“It is after dark,” Geralt declares evenly.

You flinch and sit up. You glance at the curtains. They look heavier before the deep silt of night. You turn back to him and give a sheepish expression.

“Sorry, I must’ve lost track of the time.” You go to mark the page with the ribbon and he crosses his arms.

“Much too late to be venturing out alone.” He girds.

You pause, your hand in the crease of the pages. “My hotel isn’t very far.”

“It would be... irresponsible to let you go. A village as small as this would suffer greatly if its only tourist were to perish,” he drones.

You watch him, put off by his flat tone. His yellow eyes are red around the edges, as if he has not slept. You worry that it might be of your own accord.

“I have a light,” you assure him.

“You should stay,” he insists. “You haven’t eaten.”

You hesitate. You often eat your packed lunch outside between hunching over the desk. He does not permit food around the books. No good archivist would.

As generous as your other Greek hosts have been, he’s never offered you a meal. You didn’t expect it. After all, you’re there to look at old books. It isn’t a restaurant.

“I’m fine,” you stand. “Really, I hate to impose any longer.”

“It isn’t... an imposition,” his voice almost crackles. “I’ve made dinner.”

“Dinner?” You echo. “Oh, well, if you’ve gone to the trouble.”

“No trouble,” he assures.

His teeth glint between his lips, shining and long. You only get a glimpes before he hides them again. You’ve been reading this lore for far too long.

“Please, finish your reading and I will let you know when it is served,” he drawls.

“Oh, uh, right,” you sit again. “Thanks. That's... kind.”

He hums and says nothing else. He retreats just as he appeared, receding like a shadow into the hallway. You peer into the dark block of the doorway for a moment before you put your attention back to the ink.

…derived of the ‘dlaka’, meaning strand of the wolf’s hair, the Vykolakas were once many. As the mortals upon which they feast, the crowned kings to lead them into their battle of malicion. One such, proclaimed the White Wolf, or White One, in whispered tongues as The Butcher, was the corrupt lord of Haute-Bellegarde.

The white liege met defeat by the hordes of the villagers in grief of their slain children, consumed by those which he claimed as his own offspring, better deemed heathens slathering at his cloak tails. In the sunlight he melted into the earth and upon his grave boils a pit of rotted soil. Though it is claimed by some that the Wolf remains, lurking and sniffing for blood, there is little evidence to feed such suspicion.

“Dinner...” Geralt’s voice pierces like iron.

Dizziness sweeps your vision as you draw back. That was quick. You think. Again, it seems in this dimly lit room that time is still yet never ending.

“Come, I’ve set the table,” he slithers.

You rise as if summoned by his invitation rather than your own will. You swallow dryly and cross the room. He waits and beckons down the hall with his arm. You notice his attire. A black silk jerkin without sleeves, trimmed with silver twine and buttons. His trousers are just as dark and his boots meet his knees. He is odd and out-of-time.

You pass him and it’s like walking through a cloud of fog, dampy and chilly. You continue as he directs you with a point of his thick finger and a low tone, “to the left.”

You follow another pulsing light. You’ve never been further than the reading room. Behind the spiraled stairs is nestled a dining room with a square table. The dark wood is framed with slender curlicues of red paint and at the center, the illustration of human heart beneath the foot of a candelabra set with nine long tapers.

The flames only light the breadth of the table, leaving the walls to hang like ebon curtains. You hug yourself as the air kisses goosebumps to your skin. He escorts you to the table and pulls out the tall-backed chair. Your scalp tingles as the roots of your hair prickle.

The urge to flee thumps in your chest and yet, you cannot make your feet turn back. You sit as if weighed down by invisible chains. Your heart races with inexplicable panic. The compulsion within overrides any thread of dread or doubt.

You look down at the plate before you. He rounds the table and takes the seat across from yours. You look up as he rests his large hand around the base of a bronze goblet, the cup cradled by metal in the shape of talons. How strange. This room does not belong in the coastal Greek abode.

“Please, eat.”

There is no plate before him. Only the cup. The dish before you is neatly filled with rice pilaf and a strip of indeterminate meat glistening in sauce. It isn’t very appetizing, the smell both repulses and satisfies.

“What about you?” You ask as you peer between the arms of the candelabra.

“My hunger has not stirred as yet,” he says. “Please. It is only hospitable.”

His words are unnatural, strung together with a purpose you can’t unravel. You pick up the fork and knife. You taste the rice first. It’s bland. You take a few more bites and he clears his throat. You know better than to insult him by leaving your plate full.

You put the blade to the slab of meat. It sinks in easily, so easily it sickens you. As you slice into it, it seems to bleed as more sauce drips from within. It is dense but not tough. You pick up a morsel with the tines of the fork.

You stare down the meat and push it through your lips as your stomach churns and your mouth fills with saliva. You taste it, the oily sauce coating your tongue as you nearly gag. What is it?

You pull the fork free and it shines with your spit in the candelight. Your look at Geralt. His pupils are so large that his whole eyes seem to gleam black. You chew but can’t swallow. You reach to the goblet closest to you, that one plain and carved of what could be ivory.

You drink but not deeply as the iron-laced contents add to your nausea. You wretch and choke on your mouthful. The meat seems to wiggle in your mouth and slides down your throat. Your body constricts as you force it to accept what’s been offered.

“Is it tasty?” He asks.

You can’t answer him. Your stomach is agonizingly full. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, and your hands are shaking. You squint at him as your head thrums. You can hear the air around you, as still as it is. You can hear it hissing around the lit tapers, you can hear the slivers of wood pressed together in the table, and you can hear that there is no breath coming from him.

His chest does not rise or fall. He is perfectly still. Rapt by the maelstrom you find yourself sinking into.

You look down as your smart watch flashes. The small heart flashes as it turns from orange to red. The number rises higher and higher. You whimper.

Your breath sears down your throat and into your nostrils. He is calm as he witnesses your deconstruction. You are terrified.

“Sheep’s liver,” he says.

You contort in the chair, gripping the armrests as tendrils of pain weave through your muscles and coil around your heart. It’s throbbing inside of you. You look down and swear you can see it through your chest. Swelling bigger and bigger.

Your eyes flick up at the recollection of the passage.

‘...so the beast is borne of a man who eats the decrepit morsel of the sheep; that who dines upon the flesh corrupted by the teeth of the wolf...’

“No...” you waft, your voice like smoke, acrid and hot.

He smiles, baring teeth like fangs, long and pointed like a wolf’s. Your neck bends to the side until you think it might snap and your legs twist out inhumanly. You twist and tie yourself, trying to fight the beast that consumes you from within.

“It won’t hurt much longer and soon enough, nothing will hurt, precious,” he snarls as he sips from his goblet, pulling it back to reveal a trickle of crimson down his chin.

“Wh-why...” you whine as you stare down at your forearms, tense as you cling to the chair. You can see your veins bulging through your skin.

“You did not read that one. I did not translate it,” he says. “’With his curse, a prophecy, that his fate should be unleashed upon the day when he should mate. When the Butcher of Haute-Bellegade claims his bride, so shall he claim the day, and put upon the world and endless night. Dusk will consume as he does, and at his side, she will devour in turn.’”

You moan and gurgle, your head hangs as you bawl and gag on your own tongue. Your bones grind together and your heart begins to miss its tempo.

“’Upon a moonless night, their vow will be sealed, and all the fates of the world too.’” He recites it as if it is poetry.

Your ears ring like a siren and your eyes blot with dark stains. Your blood boils over and your muscles knot and tangle. You fold in half and heave and expel a great deluge of guts into your lap. You turn inside out as the world mirrors your transformation. A flash of white then a bottomless black.

All is still and silent. All is gone and born again. From nothing, there is a sliver. Red, dripping, leaking, pouring gushing. All is red. All is drenched and sodden. All is flooded in the taste of iron.

A flicker between slitted eyelids. The scent of smoke yet you cannot inhale. You are weak but strong. Broken but unbreakable.

Your lashes snap wide and you stare up at the peaked ceiling. It is dark yet you can see through it. The smoke wafts to you but does not creep into your nostrils. You turn your head and he is there. Waiting, watching.

You lay upon the wooden table, naked to him and the night. You look down your arm to the only vestige of your former self. The watch on your wrist. You tilt your hand so it lights up and the little heart is grey, next to it a dash. There is no heartbeat. You are dead. Undead. Reborn into death.

“’And in consummation, they will birth the doom,’” he declares as he comes closer.

He is naked too. Strong and resilient as his pale hair and eyes shine in the darkness. He climbs over you, holding himself above you as you remain unmoving. He lowers himself slowly until his nose touches yours.

“’And upon their first kiss, the world wept,’” he grits out, lips brushing yours then all at once, covering them. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, eternally.

As his mission is done, so is yours. You’ve uncovered the secrets of the undead. You know for sure that it is more than folklore; t he is more than just a myth. And you will have all the time in the world to regret that you ever dare to ask if he was real.

The White Wolf. Gwynbleidd. White One. Butcher of Blaviken. Ravix of Fourhorn. The cursed Duke du Haute-Bellegarde. The bringer of the end.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #the witcher #au #horror au #halloween 2024 #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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