#sorry if you live somewhere where it's not autumn

[soothifying-sounds-asmr]

on Thursday I'm grabbing all-you-can-eat sushi after work with a guy and then we're carving pumpkins and watching over the garden wall. happy autumn besties!

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Three

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, slight torture and wound descriptions, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 8.2k (whoops i got carried away sorry)

←Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four🡢

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

After Lucien left Autumn, you saw him once in a while, found time to meet with him in Spring when things weren’t treacherous at home. It wasn’t often, but it was a breath of fresh air when you usually needed it most. You always assumed that feeling came with the openness of Spring— the feeling of being able to laugh with your brother.

But it only got harder over time and things slowly got bitter. Lucien tried his best to persuade you, had convinced you of a future for yourself you never would’ve imagined. Tamlin was ready to welcome you, to give you a space in his court, in his home. But you declined. Over and over, you declined. And eventually, Lucien stopped asking— and stopped pretending he wasn’t deeply hurt by your refusals. 

Before meeting with Azriel, it had been quite some time since you’d stepped foot in the Spring Court.  You hadn’t seen firsthand the damage that was done by Hybern. 

The house you stood in was nestled amidst the Spring Court's grassy expanse, dainty and modest but still beautiful, something so reminiscent of a peaceful, lively history.  You could almost feel an echo in these walls, something dull and quiet, a haunting remnant of a life that was lived here. The silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of your footsteps against the dusty floorboards. 

Sunlight filtered through the large, dusty windows, casting golden hues upon the scattered papers that littered the floor like fallen leaves in autumn— you stared at it for a moment, at the rays of light pouring through as normal, as if there was still a family inside to bask in their warmth.

"This is not where we meet.”

You bit back a grin as you nonchalantly shrugged, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there he stood, spine straight and eyes burning into your back. Azriel had an affinity for quiet entrances, you’d noticed. But no matter how stealthy he tried to be, you could always sense him. Somehow, somewhere deep inside you.

 "I do things differently than my brother.”

You ran your fingers along a worn tabletop as you walked past it,  turning to face him fully as you leaned against the wood. There was a casual ease about your movements that you knew made Azriel uncomfortable, something you did that made his shadows swarm around him like angry bees to a heavily disturbed beehive. 

Your gaze met his.  "Besides, it's not like Tamlin will mind. Or these people," you said, gesturing around the abandoned, empty room with a sweep of your hand. "Seems like this home has been devoid of life since your High Lady let Hybern decimate this court."

Azriel's rough growl rumbled low in his chest, his shadows quickly slithering up his body to curl around his wings. From behind him they flared slightly, shadows hovering on their apexes like dark sentinels. You watched the display for a moment. And then your gaze fell back to Azriel’s face. 

You raised a single eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

"And they call Tamlin a beast."

Your voice was laced with equal parts mockery and challenge, a talent you’d learned to refine over the years. It always filled you with such satisfaction to see the flicker of annoyance on the males you used it with, the anger that grew in the muscles of their body.

Azriel said nothing, gave no response aside from the clench of his jaw and a flare of his nostrils. He was never one for self-composure, never needed to hone the skill. If he wasn’t staying in the shadows, quietly absorbing any information that was willingly shared in the dark, he was using his methods to get answers— and those methods, that duty, didn’t require him to have self control. If anything, his simmering anger helped him. But he was being careful now— around you, specifically. 

Another moment passed and Azriel’s shadows returned to their original place around his torso. He tucked his wings tightly between his shoulder blades. You frowned at the motion, watching as he scanned you, took in your entire presence before him, and turned to leave. 

It was your turn to clench your jaw, for your nostrils to flare in anger. A feeling of deja-vu ran through you like a wave, a memory of how he’d walked away from you in that forest, of how he had dismissed you so quickly then, too. You glared at his retreating form, pushing yourself off the table to stand.

"And where are you going?"

There was a sharp edge to your voice, a dripping venom that Azriel quickly recognized. His footsteps faltered for a moment. 

"Away," he replied tersely.

You weren’t one to beg. If circumstances were different, you’d gladly let him leave, make some comment to push him out the door yourself. After all, the last time you’d seen him your sole goal was to ensure he was out of your hair— out of your business. But things had changed. Eris needed you, and you needed Azriel. You needed an edge– a starting point. Anything. And deep down you knew Azriel had something to offer, that his shadows, his time submerged in them, must have gotten some information, some whisper, that could help you. 

If anything, he’d be able to help you with your current situation. You tossed a glance toward the small hallway behind you, towards the closed door at the end of it. You let out a small growl. 

 "We haven't talked," you snapped, “You’ve been here for less than five minutes. Are you giving up so quickly?”

Slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze a smoldering ember, tense with a restrained fury. "We've talked enough." 

There was a small hunger burning deep inside his stomach now and Azriel knew what he needed to do. He needed to go home and tell Rhysand that he, in fact, wasn’t up for this job. He needed to tell him that he had better things to do with his time, that due to the recent silence, perhaps these meetings weren’t needed in the first place. He made a move to leave once more. 

If you were angry before, you were even more pissed now. You were willing to cooperate despite every fiber of your being itching to set him alight, to leave him and remind him of his place. And he was toying with you. 

With a sharp intake of breath, you snapped your hand out, inadvertently dislodging a piece of wood from the top of the doorframe. Azriel's shadows shot out, snatching the fiery fragment from the air before it could fall. With a swift motion, tendrils of black shadow extinguished the flames, engulfing the fire and leaving only the scent of smoke lingering in the air. 

You blinked, watching as Azriel looked down at the burnt piece of wood that now dropped at his feet. He kicked it off his boots in a gesture of casual regard. 

You took a deep breath as you repeated, "I said we haven't talked.”

Slowly, Azriel turned around, his gaze piercing, expression etched with a simmering anger that would send most fleeing. You matched it as best as you could. He began to advance towards you, each step deliberate and measured, agonizingly slow. You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from his approaching form. Despite the seething anger that coursed through your veins, you forced yourself to draw in deep breaths, fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. 

Every muscle in your body screamed for action, for release, but you remained still.

Bending down slightly, he brought himself to eye level with you. His eyes scanned you, dissecting you with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. And then, in a voice that dripped with authority and a burning fury, he spoke. "Tell Eris that if he isn't the one to meet with us, our agreement is over."

Your jaw clenched at his proximity, at the predatory gleam in his eyes that dared you to back down. But you refused to cower. You were growing tired of males in your life giving you commands. 

"Last I checked, you're a lap dog, not a High Lord. You don't give orders.”

His breathing mirrored your own, both turning shallow and erratic. As if in response to the heavy atmosphere, Azriel's shadows stirred, darkness swirling around him like a cloak of night. His wings extended. Then he straightened, the tension in the air easing slightly as he pulled away, breaking the almost suffocating closeness between you. 

“Why would I talk to you?” Azriel spoke. "Did you not threaten me the last time we spoke?"

You narrowed your eyes at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. "Oh my gods," you mocked, bringing a hand to your lips in exaggerated surprise. "Is this what this is all about?"

With a sarcastic lilt to your voice, you continued, "Did I hurt your feelings, Shadowsinger? Is that it?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened into something almost tangible, eyes narrowing into slits that bore into yours. Tension coiled in the muscles of his jaw. He gave no response. 

"Fine," you said, "If you're so sensitive, send someone else to keep this arrangement."

You waited for a moment, watched as Azriel stood quietly before you.

"Rhysand should have never agreed to working with your pathetic excuse of a brother."

A familiar heat rose within your stomach.  "My pathetic excuse of a brother," you echoed, "has saved your asses multiple times, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

A silence stretched between you. You clenched your jaw.

"Rhysand made this agreement," you hissed, "So be a good little Spymaster and spill your guts."

His demeanor remained stoic, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as his gaze scanned you once more, eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation. Something new gleamed in them, now, a hint of amusement deep within the hazel-brown. Even his shadows had stilled, coming to a slow circling around his arms. 

"I thought that agreement didn't apply to you?"

"Things have changed." 

"How very convenient for you.”

Frustration boiled in your chest.  "The sooner you give me any updates, the sooner you can crawl back into your shadows to wallow in self-pity," you spat.

Azriel's eyebrow raised in response. But still, there was no verbal answer, no indication of any real response. 

Straightening your posture, you adopted a facade of sweetness, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "At this point, I'm starting to think you're finding reasons to stay and argue with me," you said, "If you want to fuck again, just ask. You’re getting desperate. It’s not a good look."

His eyes darkened instantly— as if you’d offended him in some deeply egregious way. "No updates,” he snarled.

You were torn on whether to smirk at his response or to offer a snarl of your own. 

"That's what you said last time we spoke,” you responded, “Over a month ago.” 

"Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

Azriel made it a point to emphasize the last word, to add as much venom as he could to the syllables that it contained. It practically dripped of contempt. His shadows flickered and writhed around him.

His silence, his nonchalance, his arrogant demeanor—  it was all beginning to eat at you, beginning to gnaw at whatever patience you had collected to be here before him. In the back of your mind you kept reminding yourself, kept repeating it over and over again: Eris needed you. And you needed Azriel. 

“You came here,” you said through gritted teeth, “You found me. Why bother making the trip if you had nothing of use to offer?”

Ever so slightly, like a dog curiously sizing up another animal, Azriel’s head tilted. He offered a half shrug. “It was expected of me.”

You scoffed. "As a good lapdog, I suppose."

A growl cut through the air like a warning. "Watch it," he cautioned.

"I don't think I will," you replied coolly, "You're all useless, as usual, so I guess I'll find out what I need to know by myself."

He raised an eyebrow in response, a subtle tick in his jaw as he scanned your face once more. Then, he turned to leave for what felt like the fifteenth time within the hour. 

You bit at the inside of your cheek. "And to think I had a little gift for you."

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you with a scowl. "What are you talking about?" 

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference as you inspected your nails with exaggerated interest. "But, y’know, I always thought one of the perks of being a shadowsinger was being able to hear things other people didn't.”

You dropped your hand to look up at him. “Guess not.”

The muscles in Azriel's jaw tensed, his patience wearing thin as he took a menacing step closer to you. "You’re insufferable," he snarled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room. “What are you hiding?”

“Rude.” You pouted. “And it’s not a what, so much as a who.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes following the movement of your lips as they curved into a smile.  "Come on, pretty boy,” you taunted, voice laced with amusement, “If you’re not gonna use your shadows, at least use those arched ears of yours.” 

He scowled, letting his shadows fall from where he had been purposely containing them. Instantly they dispersed throughout the house. Az stood still— eerily, stone, still— as his eyes remained trained on you. A moment later, realization dawned on his face, his expression shifting from anger to something cooler. 

You chewed at your lip.  "Now, should I be flattered that my presence is so distracting?" 

A new grin began to widen as he shot you a glare, instantly moving towards the hallway of the small house, his shadows curling around his ankles while a few lone tendrils led the way.

The hallway was small, with only a few doors lining either side. He passed two in quick succession before finally reaching the room at the end of the hallway.

Pushing open the door, Azriel's shadows spilled into the room and he stilled, gaze falling to the unmoving form of a male sprawled on the floor. He was bloody and bruised, features twisted in pain as he lay in a pool of his own blood. 

He was alive. This Azriel knew from both his shadows and the shallow rise and fall of the male’s chest. He blinked, taking in the scene for another moment. From behind him, he heard your soft footsteps cease. 

When he turned to look at you, you were still grinning at him, a glint of something in your eye that made him nervous, of all things. 

"This is…" you began as you walked to where Azriel stood, positioning yourself next to him as you continued to speak. “One of my father's men.”

You gestured toward the man on the floor, shaking your head with a small chuckle of disbelief. "Somehow he’s one of my father's most trusted– has been out on a few errands for him.” You turned to look up at Azriel, only to find his gaze already on you. "Such a shame he’s on a drunken bender now... or at least, that's what everyone in Autumn is saying."

Azriel's gaze shifted from you to the man on the floor, his expression unreadable as he stared at the scene before him. "Did Eris bring him here?"

You scoffed at the suggestion. "I take offense to that, Shadowsinger. This was all me. Eris doesn't know.”

The answer drew Azriel’s gaze back to you, eyes narrowing with what you could only assume was a mix of skepticism and curiosity. 

"Why not?" 

You met his stare with a steely gaze of your own. "Don't worry yourself with the details.”

Your tone was cold enough to make him fall silent once more as he turned his attention back to the male on the floor. 

"You haven't heard even a whisper about Koschei?” You said, “Then he's probably your best bet, given Beron's incessant need for a power grab."

Beron. Azriel took note of how you used the term father interchangeably with his name. He stored the information away in his mind, reminding himself to think about it later– to assess if it was important enough to use against you in some shape or form. 

Azriel turned around to meet your gaze.  "What do you want?"

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met his intense stare. "Maybe you're smarter than I give you credit for.”

But Azriel wasn't having it. He growled in frustration, patience clearly wearing thin as his scowl grew deeper. "What do you want," he repeated.

You didn't flinch. "I need you to be useful for once in your pathetic life and make him talk," you stated bluntly. “Obviously I can't keep him here. But I don't have spare dungeons just lying around. We're a bit more civil in Autumn than you night dwellers.”

"Civil isn't the word I'd use," Azriel gritted his teeth.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the answering remark that was on the tip of your tongue. You knew you’d have plenty more opportunities to tell him off, to make him simmer in his own anger and evident self-hatred. But you needed to buy that extra time first.

“I need you to take him somewhere and do your job. And I need you not to tell your owner about it—not yet, anyway."

Azriel sent a withering glare your way, but he didn’t bother to respond. If he were to acknowledge your words, acknowledge the jabs you were making at him, he was bound to lose control. He could feel it bubbling inside him already. 

“And why the hell would I do that?” 

You let out a small contemplative hum. The sound held a gentle caress to it, one that stood in such contrast to you— and to the bloodied male that lay before you both. It made Azriel shiver, made him itch to make a move. He wasn’t sure what move it would be, didn’t trust himself enough to think about it for too long. 

“You’re desperate,” you said, cocking your head at him. “I can sense it. This silence, the lack of any movement or threat, it has you unsettled.” 

Azriel’s glare remained fixed on you, a burning intensity that could have set you ablaze if he had been ‘blessed’ with powers just like you. It made you excited, the realization that you still evoked such strong emotions in an otherwise emotionless male. 

“I don’t think you know how to exist when you aren’t needed,” you murmured, “And your only skillset seems to fall in between fighting and fucking.”

His shadows swarmed around him as he rolled his shoulders back, wings extending out and high to tower over you— a reminder of who he was, in case you had forgotten. He was sending you a warning. 

“And what if I were to say no?” Azriel said, his darkened eyes drinking you in like a new challenge. “If I were to take him now, hide him somewhere and get the answers I needed?”

“You wouldn’t get far,” you said matter-of-factly, “You make the mistake of underestimating me.”

He thought back to his encounters with you, to the venomous bite of your tongue and the fire in your veins. He asked honestly, voice deep and rough like gravel, “Is that so?”

“All I care about is figuring out what my father is doing. Everything else? That’s on you.”

It was all true. You didn’t care about Koschei— not truly, not about him specifically. If it came down to it and there was a way to protect your family, to protect Eris and Lucien, to protect your mother and your hounds, even your other brothers, you would let him burn the world down. It didn’t matter to you. All that mattered was ensuring that power, that leverage, didn’t end up with your father. The savior complex of the Night Court could deal with the rest. 

“So if you try to cross me, I’ll kill him,” you pointed to the male on the floor. And then, you brought a finger to Azriel, “And then, I’ll go after someone you care about. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t dreamed of what it would feel like to make your sorry excuse of a family burn.”

Something snapped within Azriel, some thin sense of resolve that he had been delicately protecting by remaining quiet, passive even. In an instant, faster than his own shadows could process, he had you by the throat, pinning you against the wall with a force that stole your breath away. His eyes blazed with fury as he held you in place, grip tightening as he leaned in to share a breath with you. 

"You have a death wish, princess," he growled, voice low and dangerous, sharp like a sword. "I don’t care about Rhysand’s deal with your brother, with you. If you threaten my family, I’ll kill you."

Slowly, a smirk grew on your lips, tantalizing and wicked in a way that made Azriel’s own shadows still. Your smirk only widened as Azriel's grip tightened around your throat.

You could feel his anger radiating from him, could see it in the flare of his wings, in his breathing—heavy and ragged like a wound-up beast on the brink of attack.

"Is it killing me you think about when I run through that mind of yours?" you gasped out, your voice laced with a dangerous, intoxicating edge. "Or is it something else?"

The words seemed to strike a nerve, igniting a deeper, darker blaze of fury behind Azriel's eyes. He knew you were right, knew that thoughts of you had haunted his mind more than he cared to admit. Images of you, of your defiance and your vile mouth, had conjured themselves in his darkest fantasies, igniting a desire within him that he struggled to contain— how much he had enjoyed you, how starved he was to repeat it again, to make you submit in some form. 

"Shut up," he growled, his voice rough, strained.

"You want me dead, Shadowsinger?” you managed to taunt, your words punctuated by ragged breaths as his hand remained wrapped around your throat.  “Allow me to help you get a head start."

With a deliberate slowness, you raised your hand, revealing the glint of Truth-Teller, watching as Azriel's eyes flickered to the dagger, his expression betraying a hint of alarm.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through you as you observed his reaction, as you watched a sense of realization pass through his face— perhaps he had begun to realize that you were not just a challenge, you were an equal. A proper threat.

His shadows surged forward, pinning your wrist to the wall with a force that made a strained gasp leave your tightening throat. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a metallic echo.

Despite the pressure against your windpipe, you managed to maintain your composure, your voice steady, albeit broken, as you spoke, "I told you that you were underestimating me."

Azriel looked over his shoulder at the male behind him, running the scenarios through his mind. You were right. He was unsettled— not only by the silence, but by some unquenchable thirst he’d been feeling. He veered away from admitting the truth, from admitting that his duties as a Spymaster helped him relieve some deep tension that had forged itself into his very bones, anger that was born out of every event of his life. It made him feel powerful, made him feel useful, made him feel in control. 

He’d been lacking in that area recently. He wanted to be in control again. This scenario, the male before him, a secret deal with you— being with you, it made for some sinister compromise in his deeply troubled mind. Something that made him hungry, made his thoughts hazy. 

“I’m not a patient female,” you hissed, “Make up your mind or get the hell out of here.”

Azriel knew better— somewhere deep in his gut, even deep in his mind, he knew better. But his rationality wasn’t the part he tended to listen to. So against his better judgment, and in favor of the burning he felt in his chest, of the sickening sense of excitement that had begun to grow, and the allure of your grin, he let out a breath and released his grip on you.

 “Fine.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It had been a few days now, a week almost, since Azriel relocated Renard– as he’d so kindly offered his name— to an area where he could interrogate him farther.

The day had been quiet, nothing beyond familial affairs and brotherly gossip within your home. So you decided to pay Azriel a visit— see just how much this deal was benefiting you.

You stood silently for a while, observing Azriel as he circled Renard with an eerie calmness. You held on to any words that he spoke, absorbing any information you could— just in case Azriel began to pick and choose what he wanted to share. You knew that he knew you were there, that he’d sensed you the minute you’d winnowed in. But he hadn’t made any move to acknowledge you. You doubted he would anytime soon. 

This was how it had been for the past week. Azriel, as you had come to learn, went into a certain headspace when he immersed himself in his duties. He was frightening enough on his own, in his normal stature shrouded in his own shadows, wings on display. But in this state, as an active spymaster, even you found yourself being careful. Not as much as you should have been, but far more cautious than you usually were. 

A few more minutes passed, minutes filled with cryptic talk and groans of pain. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to the opening.

"For a Spymaster, you're awfully bad at your job.”

Renard’s head snapped up to where you stood and he sneered as he caught sight of you, eyes filling with contempt. "If it isn’t the backstabbing whore herself," he spat, "When your father finds out what you've been up to, he'll—"

You clenched your jaw as your gaze flickered to him, taking in his form– bound to a metal chair, covered in his own dried blood. The irritation in your gut calmed as you gave him a scowl. 

"For a male bound to a chair like a bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

Renard opened his mouth once more, but before any sound could leave it, a flurry of Azriel’s shadows snaked around his neck, curling up to his mouth to gag him. He thrashed against the movement, attempting to bite at the strange, foreign feeling that bound his mouth. You grinned. 

You shot a pointed look at Azriel. "See, I had him talking already.”

There was no response. Azriel didn’t even look back, didn’t mutter a sound. He seemed more stoic than usual, more quiet than you were used to. It was unsettling. 

“You’re holding back,” you said. A statement— an observed fact.

Azriel threw a bitter glare your way, but his gaze didn't linger, falling back down to his stained hands as he methodically wiped his blade clean with a rag. "You talk too much," he muttered, tone clipped with irritation.

You ignored his deflection. "Is it Elain?"

He stiffened, hands stilling around the blade. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of fabric against steel as Azriel continued to clean the blade with meticulous precision, opting to ignore you to the best of his ability. But you could see it, the tick in his jaw, the tension in his wings— his restraint was slowly chipping away. 

"I can't blame you," you continued, "I've heard she's a real sweetheart. I bet you can't wait to get those blood-stained hands on her, ruin her in some way she can never return from."

The color drained from Azriel's face as his jaw clenched further, the siphons on his hands flickering with blue heat. 

"But she wouldn't stay with someone so dark, would she?" you mused aloud, a mocking lilt to your voice. "Someone so starved for affection."

The room fell into another tense silence as Azriel's grip tightened on his blade, the bound male before you shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But still, Azriel remained silent, expression hard as he continued to stare at the weapon in his hands. 

You felt a surge of frustration building within you, prickling and hot. You wanted a reaction, to break whatever resolve he was clinging to so that you could get the information you needed. 

"I miss Lucien quite a bit," you remarked casually. “He’s always had a great sense of humor. Tell me, can you hear Elain’s giggles through those picture-perfect walls of your Velaris homes? As she chooses a Vanserra over you?”

Azriel finally let out a low, guttural growl, a cloud seemingly descending upon his mind— obscuring his thoughts with a haze of anger and frustration. In one fluid movement, he lunged forward, driving the dagger into Renard’s chest, the blade sinking deep into his flesh as if his skin were a sheath. You, his mind seemed to growl at him, you insufferable, pretentious- 

His shadows slithered up his arms like dark serpents, and before Renard could utter another word of defiance with his newfound freedom, Azriel's fist connected with his face in a brutal blow, sending his head down in a motionless heap.

Azriel turned to face you, eyes burning with a loathing intensity that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. His jaw was clenched, features taut with a dark anger, yet there was something else there too—a glimmer of excitement, perhaps, maybe even a hint of begrudging respect.

You were torn between fear and defiance, heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a part of you that continued to relish in the power you held over him, the way you could push him to the edge with just a few carefully chosen words. But there was also a part of you that held strong to the reminder that you were playing a dangerous game with not nearly enough leverage. 

His gaze bore into you with an energy that made your heart quicken. Wings extended, he rolled his shoulders and took deliberate steps forward. Despite your efforts to stand your ground, you found yourself instinctively stepping back. Fuck.

Azriel noticed the movement instantly, his gaze flickering down to where your foot had shifted. When he looked back up at you, there was a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this your way of begging for my attention?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Has your court finally grown bored of you?”

A certain heavy anger boiled under your skin. "Fuck you," you spat. Your hands curled at your sides. 

A chilling smirk curled upon Azriel's lips. "You already have.”

He took another step forward and you stumbled backwards until your back hit the cold, unforgiving stone wall behind you.

"It's interesting," Azriel mused, "You say so many things about me, yet you let me fuck you— begged me for it. Do you hate yourself, is that it?"

For a male of little words, Azriel sure knew the right ones to say— and the ways to say them. He was mocking you, playing with you in the same manner you’d toyed with him. You had to admit that being on the receiving end wasn’t as fun. And your patience was wearing thin. 

You met Azriel's gaze with a mask of annoyance.

"Contrary to what your life experience might lead you to believe, some people actually like themselves.”

A small cock of his head.

"I don’t see what there is to like.”

You blinked. Then, a spark in your stomach lit and you were biting back a smirk. 

“Saw enough to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. Seconds later, something flickered across his face, rolling through the scowl he wore. His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze boring into yours with a new kind of intensity— something hungrier. 

“You were right,” he said, his voice low.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard, leaving you feeling unsettled and apprehensive. He was too calm now, too collected compared to moments prior. It was dangerous— dangerous enough to make your heart quicken. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" 

Another step towards you, close enough to where you both stood practically chest to chest, sharing a breath. 

"It isn’t just killing you that runs through my mind,” Azriel murmured.

His hand slithered up your collarbone, a roll of anticipation coursing through you at the touch. 

Then, with a swift motion, his hand twisted, fingers wrapping around the base of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You let out a small, breathless gasp as he pulled roughly at the nape of your neck, coaxing you to tilt your head back, neck exposed fully to him.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against your neck— tracing a path to your pointed ear. 

"You have no idea," he breathed, "The things I've imagined doing to you..."

He pulled back to meet your gaze, eyes heavy and blown-out in a haze of lust. He brought a rough hand to grip your chin, the pad of his thumb moving to trail over your bottom lip. "Putting this mouth to better use.”

You let out a small breath, heart pounding in your stomach as a familiar hunger began to grow deep in your stomach. Your body hummed with desire as you locked eyes with him. Azriel stilled, his thumb settling motionless on your lip. His eyes flickered to yours. 

“Does this turn you on, Y/n? Being pressed against a wall, so eager to be put in your place?”

For a moment, you stared intently into those hazel irises, into the dark, sickening sense of desire that flickered in them. Far in the back of your mind, a realization gnawed at you, nipped at you like a small animal begging for attention. This was a bad, bad idea.

Which made it all the more fun.

You surged forward, closing the distance between you and pulling him into a rough kiss fueled equal parts by anger and desire. 

Azriel let out a growl as he pressed you further against the wall, hands roaming eagerly over your body. One hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him with an iron possessive grip while the other quickly moved to grip your ass, bunching the fabric of your dress in his hands. 

You indulged him, mirroring the aggression and pressing hard into the hands that grabbed you, into his chest as you pulled him closer by a rough hand around the base of his neck. You moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his lips as he ravished you, nipping at your lips in an attempt to coax the sound out of you once more. 

The kiss was forceful, violating. Your teeth knocked together as Azriel moved his tongue deeper into your mouth, moving it in tandem with your own as you met his mouth in conflicted familiarity — movements both desperate, hot and heavy, separated by only your own gasps.

Azriel’s shadows began to coil around him as a distant groan echoed through the room. With a heavy breath, he pulled away from you.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, voice breathless as your eyes shuttered open.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes falling to Renard’s stirring form, watching as he slowly came to from whatever hellscape Azriel's punch had thrown him into.

There was the clear choice: push you off, swear to himself that he wouldn’t indulge in such fantasies again and focus on getting answers for his family— information to protect those he loved from an imminent threat. 

And then there was the other choice, just as tempting as it was inherently wrong.

He looked back to you, to your swollen lips and dark gaze. 

Without a second thought, Azriel pulled you back into him, covering you both with his shadows as he winnowed away. 

The world spun in a dizzying whirlwind of movement. Disoriented, you pulled away, faintly recognizing the small home you’d grown familiar with, the same rays of sun peeking through wide windows. Azriel closed the distance between you once more— a kiss of tongue and teeth, rough hands pawing at you like an animal in heat, movements led by a hunger that matched your own. With a rough urgency, he guided you towards the small living area— the image of you pressed over a couch, bent over for him, grew in his mind. 

Azriel pulled apart, tugging at the material of your dress. A rough hand snaked up your waist, his large palm grabbing one of your breasts. 

"Take this off.”  He brought you in for another searing kiss. 

"Stop telling me what to do.”

With a swift movement, Azriel spun you around, hand gripping your neck as he pulled you into him. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you through his leathers and you fought the urge to writhe in need. 

"There's that attitude," he growled into your ear. A wave of anticipation sparked in your stomach, his voice sending a wave of arousal that began to pool at your core. "I can't wait to fuck it out of you again.”

A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned your head to peer back at him. “And you say I’m the one who talks too much.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, jaw twitching as he removed his hand from your throat, wasting no time as he roughly threw you forward onto the armrest of the couch. You let out a small gasp at the sudden movement, arousal surging through you as his hands worked to push your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist.

The fact that you were still clothed only added to the burning in your chest— something about it, in this abandoned home, made it feel even dirtier, even more sinful. The first time could have been written off as a bad decision in a lustful, angry haze, but this— this was deliberate. This was purposeful. And you wanted it— badly. 

A groan echoed in the air as Azriel finally stripped you bare of your lace underwear, fingers grazing over the soaked fabric with a primal need. With shallow, heavy breaths, he took in the sight before him, eyes dark with desire as he drank in the curve of your back, the way you instinctively arched in the open air. 

His hands found purchase on your ass, kneading the soft skin of your cheeks with a possessive grip. There was a haze clouding both of your minds now. Azriel felt like a starved animal, like a man already praying for release. 

For you, there was a deep, desperate need to be touched by him further, to feel him inside you again. 

Another moment passed as he gripped your ass in his rough hands. It was sickening how much he was enjoying it, enjoying the way his scarred hands ran over your skin, how his siphon glared and glistened with every pulse of desire that ran through him. His cock stirred.

You gritted your teeth together in response to the urgency in your body, at the fire his touch started beneath your skin. A sound of frustration left your mouth.  

“Are you just going to stare or are yo-”

Your sentence halted abruptly, interrupted by the sudden slap of Azriel's hand against your ass. 

The sting of the impact sent a jolt of electricity rippling down your legs, the feeling instantly intensified by the burning sensation of his finger tracing along your folds.

"Look at that," he crooned, "So eager for my touch."

Two fingers drove into you. Your back arched in response as a delicate moan left your lips. 

Azriel's voice, low and husky, wrapped around you like a caress as he observed your response to his touch. “So responsive.”

He drew fingers out, slowly working up to circle your clit with your own wetness. He curled his fingers into you again, pulling a faint whine from your lips. You bit at your lip, gnawed at it in an attempt to quiet yourself: With each thrust of his fingers, you felt yourself building to the edge of ecstasy.

You attempted to grind your hips back into him. 

But before you could fully indulge in the sensation, a faint tug wrapped around your legs. His shadows coiled around your ankles with a sudden force, yanking your legs apart and holding them firmly in place.

A gasp escaped your lips as you registered the movement, legs bowing under the pressure as his shadows— as Azriel and his fingers— exerted their control over you. His left hand grabbed hold of your ass, locking you in place as his fingers continue to plunge into you.

Azriel hummed in approval at the sight before him, his tongue running along his lip at your vulnerable position.

"You look even better restrained like a good little whore.”

The voice that spoke was almost unrecognizable, even to Azriel himself,  dripping in lust, deeper and rougher than you’d ever heard. A growl escaped your lips.

"A lot of talk and not enough action, Shadowsinger.”

His jaw clenched at the taunt, the muscles on his arms and throughout his back tensing in response. Instead of responding, Azriel’s fingers worked to undo his leathers, quickly freeing himself from the confines of his pants, his length springing free and throbbing with need.

He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving yours as you lay beneath him, breathless with anticipation.

“Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”

Your heart gave a throb and something in your stomach clenched. At the sound of his voice, your muscles tightened, and by the way Azriel’s breath hitched, the way his body tensed further, you knew he could feel it beneath his fingertips. “Yes,” you answered without hesitation, because how could you not.

He guided a fisted length along your slit until the thick head was pressed against your glistening core— teasingly, agonizingly slow, Azriel repeated the motion. Once, twice, a third time, watching as the tip of his cock slowly collected the wetness of your cunt— the slick that he had caused.  

He hovered above you, cock poised at your entrance as you ached for the release that only he could provide— a scary, insidious reality you’d come to acknowledge. 

Azriel let out a guttural groan as he pushed himself inside of you, your slick walls welcoming him eagerly.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, face contorting in pleasure as he watched himself disappear into your cunt.

The stretch of him was delicious, a sudden feeling of fullness pulling a whimper from your lips as you surrendered to him. Azriel moved his hips slowly, savoring the sensation of being buried deep within you.

He spread your cheeks with his fingers, wanting to admire the sight of his cock disappearing into you— his grip grew tighter the longer he watched, the harder he attempted to store the image away in his mind, somewhere he could reach for it at a later time. His movements were deliberate, each roll of his hips pushing his cock farther, deeper, into you. Agonizingly, teasingly slow.

But you wanted more. You needed more.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you crooned from over your shoulder, pausing to bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “You can do better than that.”

He let out a growl— a sound more animal than it was fae. And then he was pulling himself out, quickly pushing himself back in to sheath himself to the hilt once more. The force of it alone sent your body forward, and Azriel was quick to grip your waist in his hands and pull you back into him, into his relentless pace. 

“Gods,” Azriel groaned, more to himself than you, “I’ve missed this tight cunt.”

Your back arched more each time he plowed into you, the bow of your spine more pronounced as Azriel’s hands gripped at the small of your back, pushing you further onto the arm of the couch. You gripped the couch cushions beneath you with tightly curled fits, leveraging your hips higher to meet every thrust.

A prickling heat spread through your body, collecting at the palms of your hand as you gripped onto the couch below you. 

“Prove it,” you managed to whine out— a challenge, an offer.

Azriel took it immediately. 

He pulled you back even more, moving your body so that your weight was leaning forward, stomach pressed against the arm rest, toes barely touching the ground as as he rammed into you at the new angle.

Azriel couldn’t explain the hunger he was feeling now, the deep-seated pleasure he was experiencing as he fucked you, watching as you writhed underneath him, watching how your ass bounced with every thrust. It wasn’t like this with any other female he’d bedded. This, you beneath him, was addicting. Every indecipherable sound you let out was intoxicating, the sound of your whimpers, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. It made him want to test every limit he’d ever set for himself, push every boundary he knew he shouldn’t. But as you moaned for him, as you met him at every jerk of his hips, Azriel couldn’t think of a better way to continue his life. 

“Thats it, princess,” Azriel murmured, “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

It was obscene, truly, the creak of the floorboards under the weight of the couch, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans, his harsh breathing. You threw yourself back into every thrust, legs now aching as they remained spread apart, tied by his cool shadows at the base of your ankles. Pleasure laced and bloomed inside of you, radiating down from your fingers to your toes— an electric pressure building to a peak.

Azriel’s mouth salivated as he drank it all in: the sound of his balls against your ass, your breathy moans, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him. The room echoed back the sounds of your pleasure in an erotic melody that left you both embarrassed and breathless. He gave your ass a rough smack, a shiver running through his body as he observed the reddening print of his palm on your skin.

“Dirty, dirty, girl.”

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, could feel his hot palms gripping your skin— there would be bruising, you were sure of it, marks of his hands in such unholy, dangerous placements.

You let out a breath, attempting to brace yourself on your forearms as you turned your cheek to your shoulder, just enough to see him moving behind you, just enough for you to murmur, “I think you love it.”

The words seemed to sir Azriel even further and he  increased his pace, thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppier—  more urgent. Your body responded to his movements, cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan instinctively in response.

His breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. With one final snap, you felt the tension within you reach a peak, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm rolled through you, white-hot and dizzying. 

A shiver of pleasure shot from Azriel’s stomach to his cock — with a rough jerk, he emptied against inside you, an animalistic groan filling the room as he came, face contorted with pleasure. You felt the warmth of his seed fill you, felt it leaking as Azriel slowly pulled out.

You slumped over the armrest of the couch, body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. 

Azriel’s eyes were fixed on you, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. He watched his seed drip from your glistening folds. He fought a primal urge to stroke a finger along your folds, to curl them in your cunt again and push his seed even further--- to claim you in a way that would ensure you could never forget the pleasure he had given you yet again.

Slowly, his haze of euphoria slowly faded, his body now relaxed, the tension melting away as his shadows loosened their hold around you. He looked up, watching as you pushed yourself up from the couch, watching as your dress fell back into place as you turned to face him.

A wicked grin spread across your lips, sinful and enticing.

“Now isn’t that a lot more fun than just killing me?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Two Part Four🡢

A/N:

and so we begin the fun lil enemies with benefits and forced proximity tropes… we love when 2 heavily traumatized people bond over torture <3

also confession time guys…writing the words whore or slut make me 😟 but in this case lil az using it as a means of trying to be in control… just imagine how he’s gonna feel later when he’s realizing how shitty it was and how he actually respects you omffff

TAGLISTS

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon @glam-targaryen

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

@breadsticks2004 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kamastar39 @previousloversandmuses @judig92 @romanoffslegacy @sweetcarolina-24 @harryskissies @glitterypirateduck @justyouraveragekleemain @midnightnotice @teenagellamaangel @thesillyyogourt @reiincarnatiion @stinkinstuffie @formulahockey @pruvii @marina468 @nickishadow139

@cherry-cin @quinzzelx @sadiechar @glam-targaryen @moosemahboi @inloveallthetime

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

if your username is crossed out it means i was having issues with tagging you so hopefully it works 🫶🏻

[dxddykenn]

I apologize in advance if this isn’t well written. I’m fairly new to writing and wanted to get this idea out of my head after watching The Strangers lol. This most likely will be done in two parts. Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions - Naiya🤍

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Michael B. Jordan as Erik “Stranger 1”

Aaron Pierre as Terry “Stranger 2”

Method Man as Damon “Stranger 3”

Home. A place that is your sanctuary. Somewhere you can escape from all the problems of the outside world. A place that provides you with a feeling of warmth and a sense of safety. What happens when it isn’t?

It was a late Friday night, the crisp Autumn air blew the fallen leaves along the ground. Freshly showered and skin moisturized you were on the couch catching up on your latest reality show obsession. As you were getting up to refill your wine glass, a loud thud sounded throughout the house. Your movements stilled, waiting to hear the noise again.

*Thump Thump Thump* the noise sounded again coming from the front door.

You glanced up at the clock hung in the living room ‘11:45pm’… strange, you aren’t aware of anyone planning to stop by. Walking to the door you peek through the curtain of the sidelite. You were met with complete darkness aside from the light shining faintly from the driveway.

Opening the door you’re startled by a man standing just below where the porch light normally would shine down. He was dressed in a jacket, dark pants and boots, but you were unable to see his face.

“Can I help you?” you ask him.

“Is…Y/n home”. A chill runs through your body. “I’m sorry?” you question.

“Is…Y/n home” he repeats.

You look at him curiously “Who are you?” you ask.

In return he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he walks off towards the end of your driveway. Puzzled you reach up for your porch light, noticing that the bulb was slightly unscrewed. Tightening the bulb, you close the door behind you, wondering who the man was and where he came from.

Currently, you were in Georgia where you owned a vacation home that sat on a few acres of land. You were 24 years old studying to become an Optometrist. Between the never ending hours of studying, classes and life in general, you decided that you needed a mental break. Planning to stay for a few weeks you packed up and headed to Georgia. Only a very few people knew that you were leaving, which you preferred, allowing you to disconnect from reality for a little while.

Walking back towards the kitchen, you stop to set your alarm system “Better safe than sorry” you whisper to yourself.

Hours go by and you feel yourself slowly nodding off. Another episode of Reasonable Doubt playing in the background as your eyes grow heavier and heavier. Eventually you fall asleep, unbeknownst to the masked man standing behind the couch.

Three knocks jolt you awake. The man silently walking away, disappearing in the house.

Looking up at the clock again, it’s now 2 am. Getting up you cautiously walk to the front door. Peeking through the curtain of the sidelite you’re met with darkness again.

“What the fuck?” you say to yourself.

Quickly you disarm the alarm and snatch open the front door. Instantly your heart dropped, it was like the events from earlier were replaying all over. There the man was again. Still unable to see his face. Standing in the same spot as before. And the porch light out.

“Sir can I help?” you ask.

This time you notice the roughness of his voice as he repeats the same question “Is…Y/n home?”.

“Why do you keep asking that?!“ you snap.

Once again he just turns away and walks off. Slamming the door you rush back to the couch in search of your phone. Once in hand, you’re suddenly surrounded in absolute darkness.

“You can’t be serious”

Fumbling with your phone you turn on the flashlight, as your heart started to race. Slowly you walk towards the power box. It was located in a closet down the hallway just off of the kitchen. The light from your phone casting shadows along the wall as you moved. Your hand was out in front of you to ensure you didn’t knock into anything. Normally getting to the closet would have taken a few seconds but turned into minutes in your state of panic. Your hand grazes the doorknob rattling lowly. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you grip the knob.

“Finally” you say as you open the door.

As you direct the light into the closet it hits something. Frowning, you steady your hold on the phone so you could see clearly. The light lands on a pair of boots. Moving up it falls on a pair of dark pants, next a jacket. As the light goes up further it lands on a straw face you jump in fear, when you finally realize it was a scarecrow.

“Y/n get a hold of yourself” you chuckle as you run a hand down your face. Clicking the switches, the lights in the house turn back on. Turning off the flashlight, you close the door turning to walk back down the hall when you smack into something. Stumbling back you grab onto the wall steadying yourself.

“What the-” you mutter.

Inch by inch you look up. The boots. The pants. The jacket. Looking all the way up, you lock eyes with the man from earlier. A burlap sack with two eye holes and a simple smile drawn onto it now covered his head.

A sharp, piercing scream leaves your mouth as you trip over your feet, knocking over a table in the hall. Frantically you run as fast as you could, trying to get to the front door. Snatching it open you’re met with another man. This one wearing a dusty black suit, a doll face mask covered his face and a knife in hand. You staggered back as tears well in your eyes.

“No…No!” you scream as you run towards the garage.

You only make it a few steps when you encounter another man. Towering over you he looked at you wearing a skull mask. A long sleeved flannel shirt and overalls covered his body, carrying an axe.

It felt as if the world just stopped. There were now three men in your house. There was no where to run, no where to hide. You didn’t know where to go or how to get away.

Backing up you go to run when you were grabbed from behind. Instantly you start to kick and scream when you feel a prick in your neck, your vision slowly fading to black.

Groaning, your head feels heavy and your body sore as you wake up. Blinking your eyes you're in a room illuminated by a red light. As you try to move you, you notice that you were suspended off the ground, bound by your arms and legs. That's when you notice three sets of shoes in front of you. Glancing up all three men were standing in front of you, masks still on their faces.

Your body starts to tremble in fear.

The air felt thick and that time was stuck as they just watched you. Breathing. Not saying a word. Just standing there.

All you could do was cry, not understanding why this was happening to you. “Why are you doing this!” you scream out, your voice shaking. The man standing in the middle of the other two slowly leaned towards you. Your eyes locking onto his, he mutters “Because you were home”.

As if on queue all three remove their masks, your breath catching in your throat. All three were breath taking. It didn’t make sense, what did they want?

“I’m Terry” the man wearing the burlap sack introduced himself. “This is Damon” he points to the man who was wearing the dusty suit. “And he’s Erik” he points to the man to the right wearing the flannel shirt.

Confusion was written all over your face as you just stared at them. Damon and Erik chuckle.

“Don’t worry we don’t want to hurt you Y/n” he strokes your cheek. You jerk your face away causing him to chuckle, gripping your throat bringing you back to face him.

“If I were you I would listen” Erik chimes in.

Terry rubs his finger along your bottom lip before speaking “We have a long night ahead of us. You’re going to listen and do what we say if you want to make it to the morning” he smirks before roughly letting you go.

What were you going to do?

[painted-flag]

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - aemond targaryen, (Part 1/3)

Story 3 in Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.3k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: is this releasing a month after the cregan story? yes, sorry for the delay.

The sound of running water acted as a backdrop to the environment of a small and quaint village. A stream ran through the village, with little bridges allowing people to cross. Each cottage looked like the other, with shingled roofs and white walls outlined with wood beams. At the centre of the town lay its well, surrounded by small vendor stalls. Travellers passed by the town often as it was situated on a main road, but they seldom stayed longer than two days. The populace was little, as low as a hundred. Everyone knew one another, giving you very little privacy. 

If you had a say, you would be living somewhere else. However, this was the place your father had chosen to settle when he met your mother. His dream was to be a well-known inventor, but so far his biggest success was modifying some farming equipment for some of the villagers. You believed in him, truly, but had hoped he would try and land a more stable job to help support the house. The only spare money you had been able to make was on account of your sewing skills by mending dresses. Customers were few, as not many people lived in your area. However, the occasional wandering traveller was far more generous in compensation for your work.

Despite the suffocation, you had no idea of where else to live. You were caught in a sort of purgatory; incredibly willing to leave your current circumstances but incapable of imagining another life. It was not a life you thought you would lead as a child. Dreams of adventure - of finding more in the world - clouded your memories. More often than not you would be caught daydreaming. Your mind would be lost in the fantasies you would conjure to distract from anything else but your reality. 

Fantasies, eventually, can drown someone. 

You continued in your routine, with your hands brushing the familiar spines of books in the quaint library. There were only a few shelves full and you had read each volume no less than three times, some more than others. It was the only supply of reading for what you expected was a few hundred miles. Nobody in your town shared an interest in reading except for the kind old lady who lends out her collection. 

One of the spines, a blue clothbound tome, caught your attention. You had obviously read it before, but it had been a while since your last go-through. You plucked it from the shelf and added it to your wicker basket full of food from the market. You waved goodbye to the lady and exited her home. The warm breeze brushed through your linen clothes and carried further in the air. It was part of the last vestige of summer, with autumn approaching steadily. Leaves had just a wisp of darkening on their edges, growing gradually daily. 

You made your way down the paths, passing each cottage and waving to the residents. You had just stepped onto the street towards your home when a presence came up behind you. The figure snatched the book from your basket and let out a sigh of disappointment. It startled you for a moment. You turned and were not surprised to see Jason Lannister holding the tome in his hands. 

“Reading again? What a waste of time…” His voice, a tone which sparked a tense annoyance in your body, drolled on. You crossed your arms and gave him an unimpressed look. 

Jason was a man who did not fit the status of a ‘man’. Foul is the one word you are sure perfectly encapsulates his personality. He was a hunter, though you doubted any of his kills were done with honour. He carried around a gaudy-looking spear with an oversized tassel on the end and claimed to be a fierce warrior, yet would never go against any of the strong travellers that passed through. He would pick fights with the men, but devise a surprising excuse as to why he could not fight. 

‘I have honour.’

‘It would be unkind to kill a man.’

‘My skills far surpass yours, a fight is not necessary.’

‘It is not appropriate for the women in this village to see such bloodshed.’

To you, it was all a load of horseshit.

“Give it back, Jason.” You were in no mood to converse with him. For years now, he had tried tirelessly to get your attention. Time after time you had said no, yet it has all fallen on deaf ears. 

“Come to the tavern with me,” he did not ask, but demanded, “My recent hunt has been added to the other trophies. I can tell you all about it.” 

There was no better way to ruin your day than to be trapped in a stuffy tavern with countless mounted heads of hunted animals. You reached out and snatched your book back from his grip. The market stall next to you displayed various shiny pots and pans. An idea of escape came to mind. 

“Could I finish looking at these pans, Jason?” You reached out and grabbed one, flipping it over to the flat side. You saw your reflection in the polished silver metal and you moved it to face him. 

“Does this look good?” You questioned. Jason took the pot in his hands but did not seem to register your words. He held it in one hand and used to other to tousle his hair. 

If there was one trait of Jason’s that could be depended upon, it is his vanity. He got caught up in adjusting his appearance and you used that distraction to quickly move away. You jogged across a small stone bridge and down a dirt path to your home. 

It was only in the safety of your home, with the door shut and locked, that you felt the tension leave your shoulders. You could not keep betting on momentary distractions to continue working. Jason was relentless in his pursuit of your hand. You had lost count of the number of times you had to come up with a plan to get away from his presence, and it was beginning to weigh down on you. 

The sound of falling items, clanking and clashing, startled you from your thinking. You placed your basket on the kitchen table and rushed down the stairs to the basement to see your father picking up miscellaneous fallen items. He was on his knees on the ground, mumbling with frustration. 

“Father?” You questioned.

He was startled and moved with a frantic nature to turn to you, “Ah! Do not worry, everything is alright. I just knocked over some things…” He rubbed his forehead and observed the mess around him. 

“Well,” You began while you reached out to help him stand up, “You seem to be in far better happiness than I today.” 

“What happened, dear?” He gave you his full attention. When he read your face, he could tell it was the same expression you had made many times in the past, “It’s that Jason lad again? Oh, if only I could kick that man in the-”

“Father,” You scolded, but secretly would not mind for him to continue, “We are above that.”

“I only wish for you to be safe in my absence.” He spoke while he fiddled with one of his newer inventions. A weird wooden and metal box that served some function you were not entirely sure of.

You leaned against one of the wooden tables and raised a single eyebrow, “Absence?” 

He sighed and set down a tool he was using. You could see that he closed his eyes and waited patiently for an answer. He turned around and cleaned some grease off of his hands with a discarded rag. 

“There is a fair a few towns over. I will be going over to see what I can sell.” He informed you. You nodded and looked at the ground. While you were proud of his work and encouraged him as much as you could, there was still a big burden on your shoulders. The majority of the financials fell on you, as your meagre funds raised through sewing still surpassed his. Money had never mattered to you, but its burden has. 

“How long will you be gone?” You asked him. 

“A few days at most,” He approached and patted you on the shoulder. You returned a tired smile and dismissed yourself from the room to begin making dinner. 

That night was quieter than usual. Your father and you ate in relative silence, only occasionally muttering short topics between one another. It was awkward and undercut by tension. Your father was largely oblivious to it, his mind too focused on the upcoming fair. You pushed the meat around on your plate with your fork while your other hand was propped up and holding your chin. 

After the two of you ate, you cleaned up while he packed his things onto his wagon and prepped his horse. You exited your home and walked down the steps to your father. In your hands was a basket of food of some baked goods that would keep him fed during his short travel. You placed it up on the bench at the front of the wagon, making sure the cover was on tight. 

Your father had hugged you goodbye and cheerfully gotten on his horse. He waved to you before pulling on the reins to get the horse to move. You stood outside for a while, watching as his figure slowly disappeared in the distance. When he was out of sight and the sun had begun to set, you made your way back inside and got ready for bed. 

Despite the frustration of your father's abrupt leaving, you had managed to go to bed with little strife.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

 Sunlight streamed in from the windows and hit you as you sat perched in a plush chair in your living space. The morning had been uneventful as you worked on some recent sewing projects and returned fixed clothes to some customers. It earned you a meagre amount of coins, but you supposed it was better than nothing. 

You had taken a break and curled up on the chair with some tea and biscuits. Truthfully, these moments were your only moments of reprieve before you would go back to scouring for more sewing projects from those in the village. You had just reached a pivotal moment in the book, one which you knew well because you had read every book there at least once. It was your favourite moment, yet you had to resist slamming it closed after the echoes of someone pounding on your doors shook through the space. 

The book had been placed on the small table next to you and you shrugged off the blanket you had been under. You got up from the seat and walked across the creaking floorboards. The iron hand on your front door was cool as you gripped it. When you opened the door, the grating presence of Jason greeted you. 

Immediately, you wondered if it was too late to close the door and ignore him, however now he knew you were home and would not stop knocking until he got your attention. You kept the door only slightly open, enough so that you could see him. 

“What is it, Jason?” You did not attempt to disguise your displeasure. A few years ago, when he began making his advances, you had tried to be civil. Yet his relentless pursuit had soured you over the years. Even when being foul, it was as if he did not notice or had some weird case of selective hearing. 

He wore a sleazy smile, “You know, I was up all night thinking.”

“You were thinking?” You did not know he could do that. Jason did not indicate picking up on your casual insult. 

“Of my future. I picture a house, with children running around and my wife taking care of them. I would come home from hunting to dinner and watch the children as they played in front of the hearth. My wife would be there to aid me after a long day.” Jason went on his tangent. You did not look at him and chose to peek past him. It was a wonder how he never noticed how little you cared. Perhaps he did but chose to ignore it. Either way, there was no possible scenario where he was a good hunter with observational skills like that. 

“Sounds like quite the picture.” You spoke with a tone of disbelief. 

“Yes, that is why I am here.” Jason stepped forward and you moved to close the door more but his hand reached up and stopped you. You grunted slightly as your strength was not enough to rival his. 

He left no time to respond, “You are to be my wife.” 

Those words, those dreaded words cut through your ears like a sharp knife. You winced and took a step back. Jason took that as an invitation to come in, so he opened the door more and stepped just past the threshold. You were stuck in a moment of frozen horror. That fear soon melted into anger, largely posed by his sheer audacity. 

“Jason, in what bloody realm does that make sense?” You scolded him. He then finally caught on to your attitude and put a hand up to his chest as if he were the one offended in this situation. 

“Well, obviously, you will be my wife.” He reiterated. 

“Well, obviously you have misread this situation. I mean, for years I have insulted you endlessly, yet I am ceaselessly tormented by your presence.” You were exasperated but also had an inkling of fear. Your father was not here to defend you. This house was positioned further from the other in the village and you worried that nobody would hear and come to your aid. 

“What do you mean?” Jason was still clueless. You did not know if it was intentional, but regardless it managed to anger you further. 

“What do I mean?” You begin to push on his chest, moving his body across the threshold and back outside. “I mean that you are a foul, uncharismatic, and downright vile being with enough patience and perception to fill a thimble!” You grabbed the door and went to slam it, but stopped it to leave a sliver of space. 

“And by the way, there is no force in this realm to ever get me to consider your offer. I’d sooner jump into a boiling cauldron. Now leave me alone before I get the town guard!” You slammed the door in his face and locked it quickly; both the bolt of the handle and a wooden plank to block it. 

Yet Jason did not seem done and yelled through the door, “You worked today and I assume your womanly mind is overwhelmed. I’ll let this slide.” He then stomped away. His words angered you further. If it was not an egregious crime, you would surely open the door, grab the nearest solid metal object, and give his head a good thwack. 

For a long time after he left, you ruminated on your words. You were so caught up in the moment, that you had no control over your speach. You wished you had been harsher, perhaps thrown in a few curses to drive home your points. Nevertheless, you had managed to get him off of your trail for the day. 

This home felt too stifling and you needed to leave. A hill just outside of the village boundaries, with a tree on top, was calling to you. It had been a particularly favourite spot of yours, as most people did not wander there. So you grabbed the book you had been reading, donned a cloak to protect from the approaching cool of the late day, and marched out of your house. 

Through the village, past the baker's house, over a hill and across the stones of a shallow stream was the place you always gravitated towards. It was calm. The light breeze shook the willow branches. The leaves brushed against one another, providing a relaxing soundscape for you to read with. 

You had begun to settle down when the crushing of hooves over grass disrupted your moment of peace. There was underlying worry that it was perhaps Jason, but the horse in the distance had no rider. When it got closer, you realized it was your fathers. A sinking feeling made its way into your stomach. 

The horse was grunting with distress. His head swung back and forth and you had to grab the cheekpiece of the bridle and start humming gently to calm him down. You looked around the expanse of the field for any sight of your father but saw none. There was nothing but worry that coursed through you. 

“What is, bud?” You questioned the horse. You decided to climb onto the saddle and get comfortable. You leaned down to his ears and whispered, “Take me to him.” 

Your father's horse did not wait a second longer before immediately running off in the direction he came from. By the time you made it to the treeline, the sun had begun to set. You hugged the cloak tighter around your form. The horse did not show any signs of fatigue as he trotted carefully and skillfully through the woods. 

Time passed very slowly as worry for your father grew. You were scared that something grave had happened to him. Surely this was a misunderstanding. Perhaps he had set up camp for the night and his horse got free and decided to go home. You had begun to become weary and tired. The horse had eventually slowed down and now you were riding through the woods slowly. 

It was late, incredibly late, and you regret not having stopped at home to pick up food. Your stomach rumbled every few minutes and the exhaustion in your body had picked up. The trees stopped and you entered an open space at the bottom of sharp jagged mountains. You had ridden to a large wrought iron gate that had vines, mostly dead, crawling up the spokes. The ground had turned to a stone brick path that was overgrown with grass and weeds. 

Just a while down the path was a large mansion that looked like a castle. It was built from the same stone as the path and appeared derelict. There was no way people lived here, as it looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. You hopped off the horse and grabbed the reins to guide him. You walked to the gate and saw that there was no lock on it. You pushed it open and with a horrifying creak, the gate doors moved. 

You walked down the path and towards the castle doors. They were large double wooden doors reinforced by the same style of iron as the gate. A knocker was located on both of the doors where a handle would be. It was iron cast and shaped like the head of a dragon. In its closed jaw sat a ring that you would use to bang against the wood. You grabbed it gingerly and banged it against the wood. The thumping sound reverberated through the door. You wanted to make sure that no person was living here in case you happened to be intruding. 

“Hello? Does anybody live here?” You waited a moment, but no response came. You looked back at your horse that was tied off to a tree before braving it and pushing on the door. Surprisingly, like the iron gate, it opened. 

Like prey falling into a trap, you walked into the dark corridors of the castle.

There was no source of light save the moon as it fluttered in through the stained glass windows. The faint colours of the glass cast a gossamer veil of light over the thick antique rugs that ran the length of the entryway. It was a vast entry space that had two staircases that wrapped around the outer edge of the circle room. The stairs led up to a platform and joined into one and led to the upper levels of the castle. Ahead of you, between the two stairs, was another set of double wooden doors. To the left and right were large archways leading to more areas of the castle.

“Hello?” You asked again but achieved no response. There was, by the door you had entered, a standing storage desk. You walked to it and saw the thick coat of dust that covered the top. To your luck, there was a bronze chamberstick candle holder with a candle. You looked around for anything to light it with and found two pieces of flint and steel. There was no hearth around to transfer the flame, so you struggled for a moment to light the candle with the flint and steel. 

With a few nicks, you were able to light the candle. You put the tools down and picked up the handle. You felt just a little better knowing you had a source of light with you. There was no reason behind where you chose to walk other than a gut feeling. You ascended the stairwell and to the next floor, wandering through corridor after corridor. The entire castle was still decorated with elaborate furniture and interesting paintings and tapestries. 

Your trip had gone across an expanse of the castle and you wondered just how large it was. You reached a tower area and decided to go up the stone steps. The dark was occasionally broken up by a stained glass window; reds, blues, greens, and yellows of all shades would be cast against the stone of the centre winding wall. 

At the top of the stairs was a door. You grabbed the iron handle and pushed it open. Inside was a caged area, but it was too dark to see past it. You inched in and held the candle out in front of you. At the far wall was a figure hunched down and shaking in the cold. They moved their cloak away from their face and you instantly recognized it. 

“Father?”

He looked at you for a moment before moving to the bars of the cell, “Darling, what are you doing here? You must go!” You approached where he was and knelt. The candle was placed beside you. Your hands grasped his that were on the bars. His face was pale and hair sweaty; sickness had taken hold of him.

“What do you mean? Father, why are you here?” You questioned. Your father opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden sound of the door slamming shut disrupted you two. The force from the slam blew the candle out and the room was shrouded in darkness. A small window cast a single ray of white light that hit the centre of the room. You turned around and looked into the shadows, but were unable to find anything except the sound of shuffled movements. 

A voice, deep and imposing, boomed from the shadows, “Who are you? How dare you trespass on these grounds?” It sent a shiver up your spine and swirled at the base of your neck where some sweat had begun to form. You sucked in a breath for a moment and steeled yourself to answer. 

You spoke your name, then hardened your voice, “Why is my father locked up?” In the darkness, you could barely see a wisp of movement, but the figure appeared tall. Their voice came out rough and did not entirely sound human. 

“He trespassed on these grounds.” The figure moved about the darkness and you could hear the sounds they made on the stones. 

“Surely that warrants something other than being locked up? Don't you see that he is sick?” You tried to reason. Your heart rate had shot up and you could feel the fear and adrenaline course through your veins. 

“Then he should not have stepped foot on land that is not his.” The deep tones of the voice could be felt in your bones. 

“But he’ll die. Please, I’ll do anything.” You turned your body away from your father to face the direction of the voice. 

“There is nothing you can do to change his status as my prisoner.” It was a cold response, laced with malice. You know you should not say it, but an idea had come to your head; one that just may grant your father freedom to leave and get help for whatever sickness he contracted. 

“Take me.” You were almost hesitant, but there was an underlying strength in the way you carried yourself. 

The figure did not respond for a moment, letting a lull insert itself into your conversation, “...You would take his place?” They sounded almost surprised at your declaration; caught off guard by the unfettered love and loyalty displayed towards your father. 

“Will you let him go?” You punctuated every word to get the point across. If there was a guarantee for your father’s freedom, you would make the deal in a heartbeat. 

“You must stay here.” The figure affirmed. 

“Come into the light.” You would not swear until you saw who you were speaking to; who would ultimately be your captor. The dark figure moved swiftly, lumbering into the stream of white moonlight. 

The whole time, with the monstrous voice and lurking shadow, you believed it would be a gnarly creature, but became surprised. He was tall and had a lithe but built form shrouded in black and dark greys. His features were as sharp as the cut frames of the stained glass you saw while wandering the castle. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that came down to a point. His lips were pursed into a sort of snarl. 

What frightened you most of all was the jagged scar that cut through the left side of his face. His eye was covered with an eyepatch that sat on the crown of his head and brushed over the long silver hair that glowed in the moonlight. The animosity that reflected in his one eye, strangely violet, made your breath hitch. 

He was not a monster, just a man. 

Though, you supposed there may not have been much of a difference in those two things. 

Now that you have seen your captor, you relinquished your freedom, “I’ll stay here.” At your words, your father began to protest, but you paid no mind. All you were trying to do was memorize what little of your father's face you could see and stop the tears that came running down your face, leaving the skin red and raw. 

The man moved forward and pulled out a metal circle filled with countless different-sized keys. He unlocked the cage with a harsh shudder. Your father surged forward and wrapped you in a hug, both of your bodies sitting on the cold stone floor. 

“Why did you do that? Darling, why?” He held your face between his hands. The man reached forth and seized the collar of your father's shirt and pulled him along. You were subsequently pushed into the cell and forced to hear the door lock. 

“Wait, can’t I say goodbye?” You yelled from behind the bars. Your fingers wrapped around the cool metal and you could do nothing but watch on helplessly as you heard your father be dragged down the steps. At this point, your gentle cries had been reduced to sobs. 

You did not know how much time had passed until the man came back again. You sat in the centre of the cell, barely able to move. That was the last time you would ever see your father, the last time you would be a free woman. The silver haired man came forward with a large candle, though his hand made the holder look small. 

When he approached the cell, you instantly backed away. In your eyes was both apprehension and fear. You did not know what he would do next. Would he hurt you? Mock you in your permanent isolation? Or simply come to the conclusion that it was not worth keeping you and throw you from the top of the tower?

He unlocked the door and gave you an expectant look, “Are you coming or not?” 

“So you could hurt me?” Your voiced was laced with venom. He rolled his eye at your attitude and moved forward to grab your upper arm. His grip was tight as he pulled you out of the cell. His back was to you and you hit it multiple times to try and get him to let you go, but his strength far surpassed yours. You gave up quickly after recognizing there would be no way out. 

He led you back down a familiar path to the front entrance to the castle, but went across the landing of the stairs and to another wing. You looked around and spotted the same decor as the other wing. This time, the wing was lit with candles and looked lived in. The light provided some warmth as well since the rest of the castle retained all the cold air from outside. 

“You will have your own room. You may go wherever you please, but the west wing is strictly off limits.” He informed you. This whole time you had yet to learn his name. Would you ever? He seems too elusive to offer answers to anything and in the short time you had known him, he only ever answered questions with as little words as possible. He forced them out like socializing was a heavy burden or deeply hurt. 

“Why is the west wing off limits?” You asked. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. His hold squeezed for a moment and he looked to be holding back rage. You shrinked in your spot. The two of you had stopped in front of some doors and he used his free arm to open it. He all but shoved you in. 

The room was large. A four poster bed, carved from dark wood, had a canopy of sheer black silk curtains. The floor was covered in layered antique rugs, all mostly red and black; a colour theme that you had noticed littered the entire castle. A fire was roaring in the hearth, intricate stone carvings decorated the arch of it. The whole room was luxurious, but it was your prison. 

“Dinner will be ready shortly.” He informed you as you stood there. Your gaze then went back to him. He stood by the door and had his forearm resting on the wood of the door and leaned against it. He was regarding you with an inquisitive gaze; analyzing your every move. He seemed content in the information he shared and went to leave. 

“Wait,” You called out and he returned to watching you, “I’ve told you my name.”

“That you have,” He spoke. You nearly huffed, but it was difficult to speak or moved the muscles in your face as the crying you had done no longer hurt, but left a numb tingling feeling behind that was awkward to deal with. 

“What’s yours?” You questioned. Your hands joined behind your back and you did not know why a sudden feeling of bashfullness washed over you. He judged you for a moment, as if contemplating his words. 

With a tone of reluctance, he answered, “Aemond.”

He swiftly left the room and closed the door behind him. Here was where you were left and forced to stomach the reality of your situation. You looked around the room, a place you will likely be in until the moment you died. The place all looked warm and inviting, but you were full of constant fear. 

This room had become the hallowed shell of your new life, but you would not sit and cry anymore; many things can grow strong in darkness. A newfound determination built within you. You would not let Aemond crush your spirit.

⋅───⊱༺ 📚༻⊰───⋅

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[mncxbe]

Hiii !! Can you write an akutagawa x PM!fem reader smut where reader is his and gin's friend from the slums that survived and never left their side?

Omg I love this idea♡ ok so basically they all live together in a nice little apartment that's it. enjoy♡♡

°☆●

Angelina? Is that you?

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ subby Aku manspreading

It's been years since you've moved in with the Akutagawa siblings in that pretty apartment complex in the heart of Yokohama. The condo you shared wasn't big, but there was enough space for everyone to do their thing. Or so you thought-

Akutagawa would beg to differ. One would say that living with two girls is bound to be bothersome, but truth was that only you were the problem. Every time he passed by your room the faint smell of cheap cigarettes and perfume trickled deep into his lungs, making his head spin.

What was worse was your habit of always scattering your belongings all over the place; a lipbalm and a hairtie on the kitchen counter, half-read books annotated with purple note tabs under pillows on the couch, unpaired socks and lacey gloves on the ground somewhere near the entrance hall and empty cups of saccharine coffee- smeared with your signature dark red rouge at the brim.

Still, no matter how many times he asked you not to smoke inside, to stop leaving your clothes strewn all over the place or to wash the dishes you just wouldn't listen to him.

For a while, Akutagawa resolved to be the better man. He pretended not to notice your untidiness, turned a blind eye for a while; but when he found one of your bras hanged prettily on the bathroom knob he just couldn't help but snap.

Stomping off to your bedroom he flung the door open and stepped inside, holding your lacey lingerie in his hand.

"Care the explain this?" he spat, brows furrowing in annoyance.

From your place on the windowsill you turned your head to face him, lips curling into a sly smile when you noticed his expression.

"Oops. Sorry, I forgot about that" you shrugged, rolling the filter of your cigarette between two slender fingers.

The light autumn breeze that entered the room through the open window sent a chill down Akutagawa's spine. How could you sit in that cold wearing only a tank top and some shorts?

"Don't apologize again, idiot" he huffed, discarding the bra on your ruffled bedsheets. "You always do that"

"Look, I had a shitty day so give me a break." you replied nonchalantly as you held his cold gaze. Your attitude made Akutagawa's blood boil and it took all the willpower he had not to shove you out of the window right then and there.

Instead, he gritted his teeth, clenching his fists until his nails left crescent marks on the calloused palms of his hands; the familiar tingle of pain soothing his nerves.

"And do I look like I care about that? If you wanna complain about your day go talk to Gin"

"She's not home though" you noted, beckoning him to come closer. "Would it hurt if you spent some time with me?"

"I uh... Have some plans" he replied plainly, gaining a soft giggle from you.

"Yea, yea sure. I bet you do. Now come here"

Although he didn't appreciate your mocking tone, Akutagawa closed the distance between you and took a seat on the wide windowsill. For a few moments you stood in silence, unfocused gaze following the flow of glowing vehicles outside. It was only 8 p.m but the sun was long gone, seemingly swallowed by the dark night sky.

"So..." you eventually spoke "How was your day? It's been a while since we spent some time like this, just us"

Akutagawa rolled his eyes and coughed dryly when a coil of smoke from your cigarette reached his nostrils.

"Fucking hell... I wonder why" he cursed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

You flicked the fag out of the window with a sigh before leaning your head against the frame; seemingly unaware of Akutagawa's gaze on you. His sharp eyes traced the line of your neck down to your collarbones, pale skin standing out against the black fabric of your tank top and... a chuckled rolled past your lips.

"You're staring"

"No, I'm not." he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes you are" you pressed, smile widening.

"You're so annoying I swear. I wonder how you haven't gotten yourself killed in the Mafia with that attitude of yours"

You simply shrugged in response, shifting closer to him to run a finger down his bare forearm.

"I may be annoying but you still like me and you can't deny that. I mean, you wouldn't let me live with you if you really hated me that much"

Akutagawa flinched under your touch, a soft blush tinting his face when he became aware of the closeness between the two of you. The room seemed smaller, heavy air pressing down on his chest- causing him to inhale sharply.

"I let you live with us because you pay your bills"

"Sure, sure. Keep telling that to yourself."

Somewhere in the distance a siren echoed through the night; a short pause that allowed the man to collect his thoughts. He stepped away from the window and flopped onto the bed, eyes fluttering shut.

"Look, I've had a shitty day too and I'm in no mood for your jokes. So do us both a favour and shut up"

You ignored the last part of his comment and walked in front of him, a smile plastered on your face. He looked so precious like that, limbs spread on your bed like a starfish; but still you could sense the exhaustion and frustration oozing out of him.

Akutagawa only opened his eyes when he felt your hands resting atop his thighs, nails softly grazing the fabric of his pants.

"The hell are you-" he whined, propping himself up on an arm but was quickly cut off by your shushing.

"You said you're stressed, I can make it better" you smiled from between his legs and Akutagawa swore he could feel his erection throbbing.

"I told you not to play around" he hissed again but you only chuckled in response. You tilted your head to the side, slightly rubbing your cheek on his inner thigh; doe eyes searching for some sort of confirmation in his.

Akutagawa's mouth felt dry, words stuck in the back of his throat. And what could he say? How could he even say anything when you were this close, when he could breathe in that sweet, sickening perfume of yours and see his reflection in your eyes? No, there was nothing he could say, so he simply turned his head to the side, focusing his eyes on one of the books on your nightstand.

"Just do your thing"

You hummed a low thank you before slowly sliding your hands up his legs to his belt. He let out a content sigh and lifted his hips off the mattress to allow you to take off his pants; fingers squeezing the sheets into a crumpled mess when you palmed his erection.

"Oh wow you really are in need of a helping hand" you teased, earning a half smile from him.

Akutagawa's hand came to rest on the back of your head, fingers combing through your hair with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of. He was doing his best to hold it together, not to show how flustered your touch made him when you pulled down his slacks and rubbed your thumb over his sensitive tip.

And truth was that each touch or little sound you made as you took him in your mouth made his composure crumble. If it were anyone other than you he'd push them away- but you? you were too familiar and inviting, a luxury he secretely craved yet never afforded.

Gazing down at your pretty lips wrapped around his length as you bobbed your head up and down, hands neatly squeezing the pale skin of his thighs; he could feel a familiar warmth pooling in his core.

The hand that rested on your head pressed down lightly, forcing his dick down your throat and you choked, earning a chuckle from him.

"Sorry pretty you just feel too good" he groaned, lust clouding his eyes as he kept working your head up and down his length.

Akutagawa felt his high slowly building up, lashes fluttering shut from the pleasure; mindless praise and groans rolling past his lips as you coaxed the orgasm out of him. And when he came he came hard, hips bucking upwards, spilling his cum down your throat. He opened his eyes just in time to see you swallow, tears starting to dry on your flushed cheeks and he felt his heart sink. You looked so pretty like this.

Before he got the chance to say anything you swiftly climbed on top of him on the mattress, caging him between your arms.

"So, feeling better sweetie?" you smiled with sparkles of mischief in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile.

One of his hands traced the outline of your body up to your jaw, thumb gently tapping your bottom lip.

"You know, I do like it better you when you shut up" he added and you parted your lips, allowing him to slip his finger into your mouth. Akutagawa felt himself getting hard again just at the sensation of your tongue rolling around his thumb.

Hooking a finger under the waistband of your shorts he pulled them down, sliding them off your legs before dipping two fingers into your sopping cunt.

"Jesus Christ you're so wet f'me aren't ya? What would Gin say if she knew how desperate you are to fuck me?" he chuckled, mimicking your playful tone but you only hummed in reponse.

His thumb finally left your mouth and moved between your bodies to draw lazy circles on your puffy clit, making you shudder lightly.

As he alligned himself to your entrance you leaned in and pulled him into a passionate kiss, sliding your fingers through his hair; and you sinked low until he bottomed out.

Akutagawa gasped from the tight squeeze of your velvety walls, nails sinking into the plush of your thighs to help ground himself. By the time you actually started rolling your hips against his he was already on cloud nine, all thoughts blurring into a honeyed mess that spilled from his lips in moans and sultry groans. You felt like a sweet heaven, clenching on him more and more with each of his sloppy thrusts.

And that, that was a feeling he could get used to. And if it meant he had to put up with your messy self for it, he would gladly do so.

[shadowisles-writes]

High Society 🎩 Elucien Week Day 4

A/N: I struggled hard with finding ideas for today’s prompt and eventually settled for focusing on Lucien’s heritage as a future High Lord. I've been reading angst lately so you’ll have to forgive me for incorporating that in my writing today! I swear it gets happy… eventually. (Apologies for typos I wrote this one in a rush <3) And thank you @damedechance for your help on this one!!

Word count: 2955

@elucienweekofficial

The scandal was contained The bullet had just grazed At all costs, keep your good name You don’t get to tell me you feel bad. - Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me, Taylor Swift

Heir to the Day Court. That was who he was, not Beron’s failure of a seventh son, nor the Spring Court courtier who had abandoned his post and turned over to the court that should have been his enemy. Lucien huffed a laugh that was almost a sob and lifted the bottle of liquor to his lips.

The ceiling of his childhood bedroom hadn’t changed, it was still the same sage green he had picked so many years ago. A soothing color, his mother had smiled at his choice at the time, but it only seemed to mock him now. There was nothing soothing about the Autumn Court and the smell of damp leaves, or the forest green curtains he used to hide behind when Beron was in one of his moods.

Beron was dead, but the entire place still had Lucien on edge since he had stepped foot in it. Only the steady stream of alcohol infusing into his blood with every gulp relaxed him enough to lay back on the old carpet and stare at the ceiling as he tried and failed to process everything that had happened.

A knock came on the door, followed by the still familiar squeak of the hinges. “Lucien,” his mother said his name with a softness he hadn’t heard in years.

“Get out,” he gritted out, pushing up on his elbow just enough to be able to take two heavy gulps of the liquor. The bottle was getting too close to empty, but he’d fix that when he found the energy to care about something other than making himself numb.

“I’m sorry,” she walked in anyway, the black of her skirts visible from the corner of his eye when she took a seat at the foot of his bed.

Mourning clothes. Lucien almost barked a laugh. Was anyone in this court truly mourning that monster? Or were they all still putting on a show for no one’s benefit? He kept himself silent, though, knowing better than to snap at his mother after she took the brunt of Beron’s wrath for his sons more times than any of them would ever know. Except Lucien wasn’t Beron’s son, he was a bastard who had never belonged to this court in the first place.

His mother shifted and cleared her throat, “Lucien, you have to understand—”

“Get out!” He interrupted before she could explain anything.

Lucien didn’t care for explanations, not when he had lived his whole life as a lie, not when the entire room was spinning around him. His mother said nothing more, but he heard her sharp breath in response to his anger before she got up and left him alone to wallow. Being alone was what he was used to, anyway. Everyone around him had some sort of family, some sort of unbreakable friendship, but Lucien was alone.

His own mate didn’t want him. His human friends were happier when they were left alone to fuck all over their little house. Tamlin would never forgive him. Feyre might never forgive him either, after all that had happened to her, and the rest of her court only tolerated him because she handed out the invitations.

A wave of self-disgust washed over him and made his stomach churn. It took one spasm of his body for Lucien to surge up and into the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and emptied his guts into the toilet bowl.

“A little pathetic for a future High Lord, don’t you think?” Eris said from somewhere behind him.

He must have been more inebriated than he thought if he hadn’t heard him come in, but Eris had always been skilled at sneaking up on people. It was something all the Vanserras were good at, after being raised in a house where they were constantly walking on eggshells. Except Lucien wasn’t a Vanserra, of course.

“Fuck you,” Lucien managed before the rest of the alcohol had to make its way out of his stomach.

Eris made a disgusted noise and Lucien would have cursed at him again if he could. When he was done, his chest shuddered with a couple of breaths before he deemed it safe to sit with his back against the edge of the tub.

“What do you want?” He asked Eris as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?” His half brother leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest like he had any power to scold him.

Eris might have just become High Lord, but he was the asshole Lucien grew up around before anything else.

“I wish I’d thrown up on your shoes,” he said. His head was still spinning, and he could barely keep his eyes focused on anything. Closing them made the spinning worse, which forced Lucien to sort of squint as he waited for the feeling to pass.

“Classy,” Eris rolled his eyes. “And a great way to speak to the High Lord you’ll have to ally with someday,”

“Helion’s nowhere near death,” Lucien reached for the edge of the toilet bowl in anticipation of another wave of nausea, “Or are you planning on killing every father figure in my life?”

“Like anyone in this damn house wanted to see Beron alive for another minute.” Eris cursed and gagged quietly as Lucien threw up again, mostly dry heaving over the toilet bowl because as sick as he felt, there was nothing left in his stomach. “Get your shit together,”

“Get my—” Lucien’s words got cut off by another fit of nausea. “Fuck you,” was all he managed to croak as he settled against the bathtub again.

“All I’m saying is—”

“Fuck you,” Lucien interrupted again and watched the tips of Eris’ ears turn red with anger. Nothing like a little brother—half-brother—to get on his nerves. “It’s only been hours why can’t you just let me—” fall apart, would probably have been the rest of his sentence if something hadn’t clicked in his brain at that moment.

The room briefly stopped spinning, and Lucien pushed himself to sit up straight. “You weren’t even surprised.” Anger bubbled inside of him, heightened by the alcohol still coursing through him.

“Lucien,” Eris said his name like a warning, and it was all he needed to confirm what he had already guessed.

“You knew,” he accused. “How long?”

“It’s not that simple,”

Lucien was yelling now, “How fucking long?”

His broken voice rang in his ears, making his head hurt as his question was only met by silence. Since he was born, then. Lucien wished he could be sick again so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at Eris.

“So you, and mother.” Lucien croaked. “Who else?”

“No one else,” Eris answered quickly, this time. “Beron pretended not to know, it would have been a public embarrassment.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

Eris had the decency to look uncomfortable for a passing moment before he crouched in front of Lucien and handed him a damp towel. “Do you think he would have let her live, if anyone else knew?”

“Helion could have made himself useful,”

“You’re an idealistic fool if you believe there was anything he could have done for her. There are laws—”

“What about me?” Lucien seethed. “What about telling me that there was somewhere I could have gone that wouldn’t have to be fucking exile,”

“Tamlin was your friend,”

“Tamlin has the same anger issues Beron does, you’re the fool if you believe depending on him was a good thing.” Eris quieted at that, and something almost like pity shone in his eyes. It was enough to enrage Lucien once again. “And fuck you,” he grasped the first thing near him to throw at Eris.

His aim was shit when he was drunk, but he was close to his target and the bar of soap made a dull thud against Eris’ head.

“You little—”

“Get out!” Lucien yelled with enough anger that Eris simply stood up straight, kicked the soap out of his path and strode out of the room without another word.

Finally alone. Lucien’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened once again to squint when the spinning in his head became too much. It was uncomfortable enough to make him groan, but anything was better than being sober and having to deal with all of his feelings. Hopefully with enough silence, he’d find just enough strength to winnow out of this nightmare of a court before the sun rose again.

Choosing where to go was more of a dilemma when Lucien could stand again. He had washed the scent of alcohol from his skin, but he still felt like he’d gotten run over by several horses when he stepped out of the wards of the house and winnowed away from Autumn.

For the first time since he had started working for the Night Court, he abused his privilege and ability to get through the shields of Feyre’s home without warning. He barged into the living room in the middle of their afternoon, finding her and her mate sitting on the floor with their child. The last time he had been here, Nyx was crawling all over the floor, now, he was taking small steps in between his parents.

“Lucien!” Feyre exclaimed as she scooped her son up in her arms and stood. “We didn’t expect you today, what brings you here? You look—”

“Like shit,” Rhysand finished for his wife before she could find a nicer way to phrase it.

“Rhys!” She hissed as she covered the child’s ears, but it was already too late.

“Shit!” Nyx exclaimed with a laugh. When Rhys couldn’t contain his own chuckle, he did it again. “Shit!”

“Oh gods,” Feyre glared at her husband and adjusted the wriggling child on her hip.

“I need to know how long you’ve known,” Lucien interrupted their little family scene with more venom than necessary.

Rhys picked up on his anger and seamlessly threw a shield around his child and wife. “Known about what?” He asked Lucien calmly and took a small step to set himself in front of his family.

“About Helion being my father.”

The thud of a brutish Illyrian landing just outside the window had become familiar enough to Lucien that he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Really?” He rolled his eyes at Feyre. “I come here for a conversation and this is what you do?”

“Sorry,” she cringed.

“No we’re not,” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey there little Vanserra,” Cassian grinned as he walked into the scene, knowingly using the name Lucien hated without realizing how big of a slip it was that day.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop using that one,” Lucien didn’t bother greeting him back. “Apparently, it’s Spell-Cleaver now.”

“What?” Cassian looked over at Rhys, and a few beats passed as they conversed silently.

Lucien threw his hands up and began to pace the length of the room. “At least one person was as surprised as me by this whole mess.”

“I guessed it,” Feyre admitted. “It was during the war and we had so much going on, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That stopped him in his tracks with a sarcastic laugh. “It’s wonderful how many excuses everyone has been able to make up about this in the past few days.”

“What do you want us to say?” Rhys asked, still calm as ever.

“Feyre, what in the world is—” Elain stopped in her tracks halfway down the stairs. “Lucien,” she greeted with a nod as her cheeks turned bright red.

She seemed to hesitate between running back up or walking the rest of the way down for several seconds before she settled on joining everyone in the living room.

“My lady,” Lucien murmured and pulled himself together enough to bow.

“Well it’s a party now,” Cassian coughed out, though a glare from Feyre was enough to shut him up. If anything, he should be the one to empathize with a male struggling to get attention from his mate.

“Well,” Feyre said. “Why don’t we all sit down for some tea?”

Lucien—who had shown up for answers but with absolutely no plan of what to do next—couldn’t refuse even if there was nothing he wanted less. He stood there, as Cassian sprawled himself in one of the chairs while Feyre left the room and Rhys busied himself with his son.

“Are you alright?” A small hand rested on his arm, and Lucien froze. “You look…”

“I’m sorry,” he tried to tuck strands of hair that fell in his face back to look pulled together, but he was still a mess. “I am alright, thank you for asking.”

“Come,” she gave his sleeve a slight tug and disappeared into the corridor without anyone else noticing.

Either Rhys was now ignoring him, or he was done considering him a threat, because he didn’t even glance up as Lucien slipped away after his mate until they were in the sunlight between the rose bushes of her garden. Feeling the warmth of it on his skin soothed him enough for him to take a deep breath, but something was tight in his chest as he remained aware of his mate watching his every move.

“Better than having to sit in there for tea, isn’t it?” Elain brushed her fingers over one of the roses.

“Yes, thank you,” Lucien had always loved nature, he felt at his best when he was outside, and he should have known that winnowing from house to house couldn’t do him any good.

“You don’t look alright,” she eventually looked up from her flowers to let her gaze run over him.

Lucien did the same, starting at his feet to take in the wrinkles in his usually immaculate clothes. He didn’t need a mirror to know his face was hardly any better with the hangover headache still pounding at his temples.

“I just found out that the High Lord of the Day Court and my mother had an affair, and that my existence is the result of it,” he dropped the news without ceremony and watched Elain’s eyes widen as she stilled. “You didn’t know,” he could tell her surprise was genuine and she shook her head.

“Of course not, how would I have known that?”

 Lucien tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Apparently, your sister and her mate found out long before I did.”

“And they said nothing?” Elain’s question was soon answered by his silence. “I’m sorry, that must be… do you know what you’re going to do now?”

“Not a single idea,” he shrugged and meant for it to be casual, but it only made her look more worried.

“Does Helion know?”

“I don’t know that either,”

Elain nodded and smoothed her hands down her dress. “That could be a good place to start, if you’re ready to find out.”

Lucien picked a leaf off a bush and sighed, “I can’t just waltz into his court and—”

“Your court,” Elain corrected.

“What?”

“It’s your court.” She repeated. “I’ve watched you bounce from one place to another for months… what if this is where you’re supposed to go?”

And there it was, the one fear that had brought Lucien to the Night Court instead of Day.  “But what if it’s not?”

“I may not know you very well,” Elain started hesitantly, “But I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. The Day Court could be worth a try, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Start a diplomatic incident between the court I’m emissary for and the one I should supposedly belong to?” Lucien guessed.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and that sound alone might have been enough to put his heart back together. “Feyre and Rhysand are good friends with Helion, I doubt he’d cause any trouble regarding that.”

“You sound like you know him too,”

“I’ve been to his court,” Elain admitted. “He’s very nice, and it’s a beautiful place.”

“You’re right, I should go,” Lucien sighed. “But what if he did know?”

She walked a few steps ahead of him, deeper into the garden and around the house, where a wooden bench waited for her to sit on. “I doubt it, I know a feeling is not much to work from but… I don’t know, I really don’t think he does.”

“Elain,” Lucien looked amused as he took the spot next to her. “You’re a Seer, I’d trust your feelings.”

“I, ah, I’m still not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” Elain shrugged and adjusted the fabric of her dress on her lap. “I tried to find out more, in the library, but it hasn’t been that helpful.”

“Have you tried the Day Court? It is known for its scholars and collection of knowledge, I’m sure someone could help you there,”

At that, she actually laughed. “I thought I was trying to convince you to go.”

“Maybe we should both go,” Lucien said before he could stop himself, and Elain quickly looked away from him to stare in the distance instead.

“Lucien…”

Her gaze had fallen to her lap, and he immediately regretted his lack of filter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should go, find out what you need to, and maybe… if you stay, maybe I could come visit, in a little while,” Elain met his eyes again, something like hope shining on her face.

It was subtle, but it was there, and for the first time in weeks Lucien genuinely smiled. “I would like that, wherever I am.”

[ellieswifie]

hi!! i wondering if you could do a matt fic based off of the song “all too well (10 minute version)” by taylor swift? maybe it can take place a few moths after the reader and matt’s breakup? i love your writing btw!

︿︿ ੈ [ ☕️ ] ༉‧₊˚✧

all too well tmv | matt sturniolo

♪ all too well tmv - taylor swift

summary: you and matt were happy, but push comes to shove and years later you guys see each other’s future and your not in it. (ft. all too well 10 minute version short film.)

warnings: matt!exboyfriend x fem!reader, no happy ending (i’m sorry guys!), shouting, cursing, little gore, toxic relationship , use of y/n (once), the other woman

authors note: so this has been the drafts since august bc i don't think it's one of my best works. i tried my best to incorporate the film to this fic as best as i could but i believe i failed. i’m glad you enjoy my content, and i hope you enjoy this too!! ps!! i skipped some lyrics so don’t get too confused haha.

˗ˋ.*✧·˚ ೃ࿔₊•

an upstate escape, past

your walking hand in hand with your boyfriend, matt as you walk through the door of his parents house. it was freezing outside mid october. leaves were falling, air was cold, everything felt perfect.

"i walked through the door with you, air is cold. something about it felt like home."

matt’s head turned to you while he untwined your hands and rushed to turn the heater on. the house was quiet as you followed matt towards the living room where he lit a fresh fire in the fireplace.

you couldn’t help but smile at his face noticing how quickly he was to turn the fireplace on. his face grew flushed as you reached for the scarf hanging around your neck to place it on the near by couch.

“and i, left my scarf there at your sister's house and you've still got it in your drawer even now"

before kneeling down besides your boyfriend and wrapping your cold hands around him.

"warm enough?" he whispered, rubbing his hands towards the fire.

you nodded, kissing his cheek. a cheeky smile spreading against my face.

there isn’t much to do in small town boston. going into city causes loud noises and angry drivers, two options why you and matt decided taking a stroll through the woods is a better idea. matt grew up going to this creek that wasn’t too far away from where he lived. he enjoyed growing there with his brothers and old time friends.

you’ve met chris and nick several times before you and matt called things official. you admired how funny chris was, and how quick nick is at speaking his mind.

and matt. you lived just about anything matt said. the smallest things he’d say or do made you smile and stare at him like he was everything to you. and he was. he was everything you needed and cared about always.

"oh, your sweet disposition. and my wide-eyed gaze"

"so when’s nick and chris coming up?" you asked as you sat in the passenger seat while matt drove. his eyes were focused on the road ahead, attempting to find a parking spot or somewhere to park before the two of you started your trail.

"umm chris said sometime later tonight. but it’s chris he’ll probably not be leaving til tonight." matt replied, switching through the radio stations. you nodded your head, watching him. he turns and smiles at you before reaching for your hand once he’s found a good song on the radio.

"we're singing in the car, getting lost upstate."

your eyes tore from matt’s as you tightened your hold on his hand. nothing with matt felt real. it was incredible how the air felt so crisp and clean, the way the wind in your hair caused goosebumps along your skin. the leaves falling down like december snow.

it was like heaven with matt.

"autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place. and i can picture it after all these days."

the first crack in the glass

when matt asked you if you wanted to meet his friends, you were immediately excited at first. you already knew some of the kids he grew up with in the past, but meeting his new youtube friends seemed exciting, but also incredibly nerve racking.

you all sat at a large dinner table seated for eight while matt, nick, and chris and all their friends sat around it. you were seated beside matt as you listened in on what the group was talking about. majority of the group was doing big things.

it was youtube, music, podcast, etc.

but you. you were just you. continuing your major in college, just shaking your head when someone mentioned if we’re getting into social media.

matt and you knew social media wasn’t in the pictures for you, but you lived what matt was doing with his life and supported him and his brothers channel.

you listened as nick and chris called matt out for all of his silly childhood behaviors. you couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriends flushed face when his brothers started pulling out pictures of him from when he was younger.

"photo album on the counter. your cheeks were turning red. Your cheeks were turning red. You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed."

his friends all around laugh for a long moment, before bringing out more social media career opportunities. it made you feel out of place, unwanted. your eyes looked towards matt while he continued listening to one of his friends talk about touring. you wanted to feel matthew’s comfort in any shape or form, but his eyes were glued to anything but you.

you groaned, picking at the food in front of you, thinking about some of past conversations you’ve had with matt. every little conversation ending in sweet "i love you’s" or meaningful kisses. you just loved that about him. you loved his love language was always physical touch and affection.

"and your mother’s telling stories ’bout you on the tee-ball team. you told me ’bout your past thinking your future was me."

so you did what any girl who wanted comfort would do. you reached to hold your boyfriends hand, but his body jerked slightly, placing your palm back on the table where it was before. he patted softly, pissing you off, but crowding your thoughts with sadness. you couldn’t believe what just happened.

you felt embarrassed.

you just wanted to walk out right then and there, and leave. but you just sat there, staring at it hand for a long moment before meeting eyes with your boyfriend. he sent you a smile which made you more angry.

so you turned your body away from him, making yourself feel invisible.

"you taught me 'bout your past, thinkin' your future was me.”

"hey your quiet.." you heard matt whisper behind you as you tossed the remaining dishes from your guest into the sink. "what’s up?"

you wanted to ignore him so bad. you felt childish for getting mad over something so small and meaningless, but you just felt so out of place and angry. it just felt like he didn’t care. like you were a ghost.

"he's gonna say it's love, you never called it what it was."

"nothing." you hissed back, scrubbing the dish a little too hard. "i’m just tired."

your boyfriend nodded, moving around the kitchen to place a soft kiss against your forehead. "i’m tired too, dinner was good."

"yeah, sure whatever."

matt head darted toward your annoyed tone. he was finally catching on. “what’s wrong with you?"

the breath that escaped your lips was heavy. you wanted to shove your arms at his chest and shout and scream at how angry he made you feel, but you couldn’t snap the cord, not yet.

"nothing. i’m fine."

"you sound pissed and far from fine." he repsoned, leaning against a counter, across from where you stood, back turned.

"i’m not pissed, i’m just-" the plate in your hands shattered, making a loud clattering noise. you gasped, a large piece of glass scraping against your palm, causing blood to drip. "shit." you hissed, immediately grabbing the cloth.

"'til we were dead and gone and buried. check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same."

"fuck-" matt curses under his breath. walking toward you, but you placed your steady hand towards his chest, stopping him.

"and then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you. but all I felt was shame…"

"i’m fine." you argued. matt stepped back watching your eye brows draw together in anger. "just- why do you have this fucking problem with me when we are around people? it makes my skin crawl."

matt grew confused watching you. "problem? what are you talking about, babe?"

you nearly laughed at his comment. he knew exactly what you were talking about. it’s like he has this on and off switch. when your together, alone he’s obsessed with you. buying you gifts, loving you, he only has eyes on you. when you guys are in public, with friends it’s like he’s distracted, never noticing your there.

like at dinner…

"oh i don’t know, maybe the fact you dropped my fucking hand in front of everyone. then send me a smile like it didn’t happen."

matt stood still, watching you grow angry. he didn’t know what to say. that he’s sorry? no that’s just pathetic and a dick move.

"i’ve never felt so out of place, matt. it was like i was invisible, sitting in a room crowded of people." you confessed, letting the blood bleed through your towel.

"i look like a fool." you frown, noticing that the cloth isn’t helping and your just ranting.

matt switch turned back on, rushing to grab a larger cloth from the stove, placing it onto your hand. his eyes met yours as he shook his head. "your not a fool."

"i’m a fool." he whispered, looking at the wound. "the one girl i care most in the world felt uncomfortable and hurt and i was an asshole for not even noticing. i didn’t mean to drop your hand. i was distracted and just was being a dick. i’m sorry."

you just stared, watching him closely. his eyes were apologetic and his words seemed like they had some meaning, but you just weren’t sure.

"okay…" you whispered.

"i mean it. i’m sorry. your the only person i care about. you know that right?” you shrug, just nodding. "okay. good."

you both starred at the space between you guys, before matt mutters "come here", wrapping his large arms around you. "i really am sorry." he whispers against your hair and you just nod.

"and you held my lifeless frame."

"i know." you respond licking you lips. "it’s okay."

are you real?

"'cause there we are again in the middle of the night"

a smirk placed on your face as you held a single uno card up to your face. you had a plan, one the was currently working. you played your weakest card, so your now holding your strongest one, just about to win.

matt wasn’t too far from you, he had four in his hands, taking forever to take his turn.

"we’ve been playing since six matthew. it’s three." you giggle, wanting him to just play a card so you can win.

“wait your turn pretty girl, i’m thinking."

you blushed at his comment, narrowing your eyes at his lips pressed together, before you lock eyes with the cards.

"pretty girl?" you teased, twirling your hair with your free hand.

"yeah," matt whispered, placing the cards face down on the table. "you are very pretty."

you moved the hair tangling in your hair to poke his nose playfully. "thank you… but it’s still your turn boy. go."

matt held his hands up in defense, before placing down a plus four. but you weren’t fazed. you stared at the card, before stacking your draw four ontop of his. you giggled at his stunned reaction before jumping up from the table and dancing in his face.

"i win!! loserrr…" you teased, before matt snaps, and grabs you by your hips, spinning you around. you laugh at the sweet touch before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"you definitely cheated." he replies, swaying your hips as you guys began slow dancing in the middle of the kitchen.

"we’re dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light."

it’s dark, but you can see the light in matt’s eyes when his hands fully sneak around your waist, pulling you closer.

he looks beautiful in the light it’s impossible to look away from him. he’s smiling and his cheeks are a small tint of red.

"i’m no cheater," you whisper. his brows raise for moment, before he lifts your arms, spinning you like a princess.

"down the stairs, i was there. i remember it all too well."

"and there we are again when nobody had to know."

you bit the inside of your cheek as you stood behind matt, hand holding his behind his back. his head glanced down at you smiling, before he turned back towards his brothers nodding and listening.

you hated how this was how things was. you felt secretive, hidden, unaware of. you just stood in matt’s shadow always.

"you kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath.”

"what about you?" you heard nick say to you, lifting your head to face him. "tacos or burgers?" he asked, smiling.

matt rubbed his finger along the back of your hand, waiting for your answer.

you lips licked before smiling at them. "tacos?"

matt kissed your head, smiling at your answer, before slipping away from your hand. "tacos it is!"

"sacred prayer and we'd swear. to remember it all too well, yeah

the breaking point

when you wanted to ask matt to come over, your intentions was to hangout with your boyfriend and cuddle up along the couch. but when you opened the door and watched him linger there, you knew something was off.

his poster was low, his eyes seemed dark, he didn’t look himself.

you held the door waiting for him to walk in, kiss you numerous times, but he stood, quiet.

"well, maybe we got lost in translation, maybe i asked for too much."

"hey is everything okay?" you asked, forcing a smile. you stepped forward and matt backed away slightly, reaching his hand to his ear to scratch. you notice these small ticks. he only ever did it when he felt uncomfortable or nervous. you never made him feel either of those things through your entire relationship so seeing him now made your heart sink.

"but maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up."

"i’m fine- can we talk?" he asked, voice shaky, hands moving to shove in his pockets. you head turned to look over his shoulder. your neighborhood was walking into her apartment with her significant other, giggle and matt followed his glaze, tilting his head down. "please?"

"runnin' scared, I was there. i remember it all too well."

your head shook for a moment, bringing yourself back in time. "sure." you muttered, stepping from the door, hands feeling shaky. you moved towards the long couch, taking a seat as matt made his way in front of you, standing. your head looked up at him while he looked around your apartment.

it was cleaner, more decorative. you spent all of yesterday making the place look nice for matt, but seeing the expression on his face, you hated yourself for changing the place.

"the place look really nice." matt said, glancing at the pillows and blankets laid against the couch.

you ignored him, looking at your hands. "what do you want to talk about?"

"and you call me up again just to break me like a promise. so casually cruel in the name of bein' honest."

matt looked back towards you, kneeing down on his knees to sit in front of you. you looked at his face, seeing his eyes wonder anywhere but yours. he’s always distracted. "i wanted to talk about us…"

your breathing picked up as he placed his hands on your thighs, reaching for your shaky fingers. "i love you so much." he says, meeting your eyes. "your important to me and i want you to be happy always."

you waited for the but. there’s always a but.

he intertwined your fingers, looking at how small your hand looked in his. "but things between us have been off." he whispers, and you look away from his face, staring straight ahead. your eyes felt watery, but you weren’t going to cry. not in front of him. "and i know you’ve noticed, because filming and the podcast and everything really."

his voice gradually got quiet as you felt him just listing out excuses.

"i’m a crumpled-up piece of paper lyin’ here. 'cause I remember it all, all, all."

"matt stop-" you chocked out, stopping him immediately. your fingers slipped out of his and you kept staring away from him. "just stop."

"they say all's well that ends well, but i’m in a new hell everytime. you double-cross my mind."

he pushed back slightly, watching your watery eyes drop to his face. "this isn’t love." you whisper. "love is magic. it’s happy and healthy and you fight for love. you don’t push someone away because it’s getting too hard."

"i’m not pushing you out i’m-"

"matt you saying things have been off. we can work though off. if you care for me you’d fight for me."

"i’m doing what i think is best for you." "you said, "i think we should stop seeing each other."

"and that made me want to die."

"seeing each other? matthew what the fuck." you stood, causing matt’s eyes to lift you and follow you. he rose from his knees, standing up in front of you. "we’ve been dating for years matt and you think we’re just seeing each other?"

"no-" he quickly said, tilting his head down. "that’s not what i meant- you know what u mean."

"the idea you had of me, who was she?" a never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you."

"no matthew i don’t. you’ve been off. not us, you. it’s like your some switch where you don’t act like yourself when we’re with other people. it feels like i’m clinging to a fucking shadow. and i’m sick of it."

"not weepin' in a party bathroom, some actress askin' me what happened, you. that’s what happened, you"

"you don’t mean that." he breathed. "you’ve just been distant to us and it’s confusing me."

your nose scrunched as you stared at him. you were done you hated what was happening and it made your stomach twist, but you knew what had to be down. "matt get out."

his eyes widened and you were quite surprised yourself. "what?"

"i said get out." you said once more, but quieter and more hesitant.

"i wanted to talk, not us completely cut off communication."

"you’ve said and done enough." you whisper, looking at his eyes. "you want to stop seeing each other, then leave."

and so he did. just walking out, not hesitating.

the reeling

"time won't fly, it's like i’m paralyzed by it. i’d like to be my old self again, but i’m still tryin' to find it."

picking up the phone, you stared at the black screen for several long seconds. you weren’t happy. you were absolutely miserable, laying in your bed til twelve, falling asleep til three, you were unlike yourself and growing unhealthy.

it’s only been a month or two since your harsh break up and you couldn’t help longing for a message or a call from him, but you knew it wasn’t happening. you knew he was happier, healthier. and it made you want to die.

"after plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own. now you mail back my things and i walk home alone."

you finally turned on the phone, opening instagram and searching up his instagram. his posts hasn’t changed since you checked, his inactive on his insta. which didn’t bother you, it made you feel a sense of comfort.

you then open his shared account with his brothers. scrolling through the latest posts with him either smiling with his brothers or posing for the camera in the next. you smiled at how happy nick and chris looked, a small tear falling from your glossy eyes. you let your eyes linger on matt for a moment looking at the red sweater he was wearing.

"but you keep my old scarf from that very first week. 'cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me. you can't get rid of it"

it reminded you off the old scarf from you and matt’s past trip from the beginning of your relationship. it made you tear up even more, curling up in your bed, to continue scrolling.

"'cause i remember it all too well."

thirteen years gone, present

you rubbed your shivering hands together as you walked inside the small coffee shop. the autumn air was cold, it’s suppose to be a busy day in the office, so a small coffeee in the morning wouldn’t hurt

you found a small empty booth in the back of the coffee shop before pulling out your phone. the line is long and standing while waiting didn’t seem like your crowd. you quickly place a mobile order, waiting for your coffee.

you pull out your laptop, hiding in your tote bag, before scrolling through your recent works for work. your an interior designer for some company you applied for last spring. you love your job so much and the environment is healthy and makes you feel safe. your coworkers are crazy nice, and you have never felt happier.

as you scroll through your up coming projects, a waitress delivers you your small coffee to you. you mutter her a thank you before you hear the front door ding, causing you to raise your eyes.you have a bad habit of watching people in big scenes. not in a stalker way, but more in a curious way.

but when your eyes land on the man walking in, you nearly drop the hot coffee in your hands.

you handed seen him since he walked out your apartment years ago. it took you months to finally grow from how horrible and torn that relationship make you feel, and now seeing him dressed older, wiser, happier... it makes your heart sink.

"and i was never good at tellin' jokes, but the punch line goes, "I'll get older, but your lovers stay my age. from when your brooklyn broke my skin and bones. i'm a soldier who's returning half her weight."

his blue eyes still look and make your heart race the same. you can't help but let your eyes linger at him. his hair looks more put together, he has grown a few inches maybe, and his style as certainly improved. you have to tear your eyes away from him when you start getting flash backs from your past relationship.

"and did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?"

you stare at the computer seated in front of you before you hear your name from the side of you. your scared to turn and look, because you know who it is. it shouldn't surprise you he wanted to talk, it's matt.

your eyes turn and meet his bright blue. he's got a small smile, while he carries a refresher in his left hand. your not sure what it is, but it looks refreshing...

you let your eyes travel before they stare at the small ring wrapped around his ring finger. it looks beautiful, elegant.

you want to say something, smile, do something, but your heart is racing and your brain is fuzzy.

"i can't believe your here." matt says softly, letting his smile fall. "you look incredible."

"just between us, did the love affair maim you too?"

you loved when matt complimented you. it always made your insides curl and explode with butterflies, but does he compliment his wife like he use to compliment you? where is his wife? what does she look like? thousands of thoughts and questions about his relationship with this other woman fills your brain.

'cause in this city's barren cold. i still remember the first fall of snow and how it glistened as it fell."

a cold breeze goes straight to your cheeks when you hear the door ding again. you turn and see a smiley woman walk in. she looks around for a moment before she sees matt and smile. she walks towards where you and matt are, giving matthew a quick kiss.

matt whispers something to the woman and she then sends you a smile before finding a small booth. your eyes go back to matts, while he avoids yours.

"how have you been? it's been... forever." matt asks, looking back at you, and now your avoiding his glaze.

"i remember it all too well."

"i've been fine." you whisper, trying your hardest to hold in tears. "you seem to be doing fine yourself." you add, clearing your throat.

matt turns to the table the woman is seated at. "yeah... that's gigi. do you remember her from high school?"

your head shook, earning an oh from matt. a long pause escapes between you before you both speak up.

"y/n-"

"matt-"

"no please you first." matt says, stopping himself.

you have so many things to tell him. you want to shout at him for not fighting for you guys, you want to scream at him for breaking your heart, you just want him. again.

“just between us, did the love affair maim you all too well?"

you head falls, looking at the computer time. it's nearly nine and you don't want to be late for work. you start backing up your belongings, while matt stares at you confused.

his hands rest on yours as you feel your whole body react to the physical touch, but you tear yours away quick enough so gigi cant see.

your eyes lock with his and it feels like your nineteen again.

"i-i have work. i'm sorry." you swing your bag over your shoulder and matt watches you try to escape.

"do you need a ride? i know how much you hate driving in the cold-"

"matt." you stop and you both just stare at each other. it was so painful just standing there remembering how little he cared back then. your head just shook, grabbing your coffee and ignoring his pleading glaze. "goodbye."

and it was just a goodbye.

"just between us, do you remember it all too well?"

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

12 - The Cost of Our Sins

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 10.2k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, traumatic and disturbing imagery, gore, physical abuse, confinement and restraints, reference/allusions to rape, trauma response, torture, suicidal ideation, past character death

Notes: I am so sorry for..well...pretty much everything, cus the horror show does not end at the last chapter strap in because part 3 starts now. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Numb is all you felt, a radiating sensation of death that sat through your body still on it’s side. Your eyes could not open, as you felt the pooling of blood in your stomach. The warmth soaked feeling where a son once lay inside you. You had looked into Robb’s eyes as yours faded with him. You had gone together, and now you lay there with the seconds of an awoken mind. Eyes fluttering open was not that of the scene you died, but something worse.

It was fire. Blood and fire all around as you barley could open your eyes long enough to see what your sins had cost you. Was it the Seven, the Old Gods, or the fire god your father had found in that sought to punish you? You lay looking through bars that caged you at the hell before you, it was your punishment for all crimes you had found in. 

The world before this ended you and Robb Stark together and somewhere in this hell your gods decided that you could not reunite until you were given fair just sentence for your sins. Push through this, you thought, let the gods do with you as they wish and they will allow you to return in the veil to him, to him and your son. 

Chanting that in your ears sounded like they were moving underwater, you felt too heavy to lift your head to look. Your body burned and bled still and your muscles could not move but that of your eyes to the blur around you. The chanting grew louder and louder as a group rounded a corner of wherever you were brought too, and it was your husband that they called too. A chanting of King in the North, over and over as you watched his own punishment. The gods were far more cruel then you ever imagined as you watched what they forced you to atone in.

It was Robb, but propped up against something, the black outfit was the very one you recalled your living self, lovingly dressing him in. And the shine in his bright blue eyes as they looked over you with as much love as you had in your heart. But it was soaked in blood as you lay, and not the face of your husband. 

Instead, the sight of The Young Wolf was that as you were The Silent Stag. His head bloodied, but like it had formed into that of a giant direwolf, like he turned into his very companion in Grey Wind as it looked propped on his body. The gods, forcing him to live what he was called and you as your own as you lay in a choking cry unable to find the strength to speak or cry to him through the blood in your mouth. 

His sight was mocked by the demonic creatures you could barley see around him, before the water in your eyes blurred him, before the fading came once more. You accepted the horror that he did not deserve. This was for your sins. 

Let the gods do this, and once more you would wake. In the realms beyond the living, Robb at your side with an arm around you, as you held your son, little Ned. You promised to always be together. 

The gods would punish you, and allow you to be together once more. You and Robb just had to endure this horror, and you would finally be together again. 

That was all you had to do to get back to him. 

Skies were dim as you ventured further into the lands, leaving a drab feeling blanketing over the land that fit the state of mind you lived in. According to the rumblings in the men, you had been in and out of conciseness for almost a fortnight, leaving you to assume that the last of the summer sun had died out and only the dim of autumn remained. Not that you missed the sun, the last time it shined in any way that you could appreciate was so far off you bared not thinking about it. 

Watching the men around you act like normal had made you angry in those first few days you woke up, but now it was all meaningless to try and keep that energy up, you had none left in you really. The small cage off in the distance was your home for a bit, mostly a place you were tossed to wait and see if you would ever wake up, but then once you had? They kept you shoved in there just to keep you from lashing out. 

The first day one of the men had approached you to give you water, only to slide his hand into the bars as your hands were tightly bound. He still wore an ugly dressing over the mark where you bit him, your mouth still stained somewhat with blood from how hard you dug your teeth in. After that, multiple men had to drag you out and hold you down so they could gag you which had stayed on you for the most part, including now. 

But you were too exhausted to fight, your face and skin were constantly flush and hot with sweat as your head grew more fuzzy and dizzy each day. Once it was determined you were indeed alive and not going to bleed out, apparently some kind of infection set in just to make you more pathetic. Currently as camp was made for the night you were granted some freedom. 

The men assigned to watch you noting that you were mostly docile, leaning your head against the iron bars with a distant and dispondant look, to weak to even roll your eyes at their comments. You had been allowed to be let out, and brought to a tree where you now sat tied up against. What a sight you must have been, flush and sweaty, covered in grime to the point it matted in your hair, and still wearing the very dress you had been that night, still soaked in dried blood. 

It was a living nightmare, your dreams flashing in a repeating horror with the strings of music that would forever haunt you, only to awake to the men all finding it in their cold hearts, to sing it outloud. You wondered if they even knew other songs, or if it was just all a sick game to torment you as they dragged you with them. If one more of them sung that Lannister song, you were going to find a way to free your hands just to cut off your own ears. 

Perhaps it was the fever in your head, but you had no sense of what to feel anymore. It was so twisted all wrong, and you had not the heart to find it’s truth in front of all these people. Not them, not after what they’ve done. 

Your eyes flickered up in a painful glare as footsteps approached, and the figure kneeling in front of you raised an eyebrow at your state. “Now, my lady, if I take this off are you going to behave, or will you need a refresher?” His hand pointing to your eye. Right, that must be just adding to your state, likely bruised by this point when he had hit you hard across the face after you kicked away the food he brought you. 

You wanted nothing from Roose Bolton, but he insisted on finding ways to keep you alive. A true mockery that felt now. Your stomach burned where the slices refused to heal or fade. You looked off to the side dejectedly, and he took that was an answer. 

Pulling the fabric down from between your teeth you bit your tongue and continued to not look in his direction. “It’s been almost a fortnight since you’ve eaten, and days since you’ve had any water. If I’m going to keep you alive, we’re going to have to fix that problem.” 

“Then don’t keep me alive. Wouldn’t be the first time.” You barley recognized your voice, it was hoarse and so rough that your throat screamed at you to douse it in water and smooth it down with honey to ease the pain. Tearing your eyes back up to him as your head lulled to rest back against the bark you raised your eyebrows at him in challenge. 

His ability to keep calm in any situation no longer was a point of impressive resolve, but an angering fester in your stomach at his lack of humanity. “It was not a matter of personal affairs, just politics, my lady.” 

Your breath cracked out a single laugh that almost made you cough. “Where is the utility in keeping me alive, when you sure tried your best to do the opposite?” You couldn’t ignore the burning inside of you, it was as if you’d pull your dress up and see a blackness toxifying around what was left. 

“This is neither the time nor place to discuss such matters. Not in your fragile state.” Huffing another cracked laughter you asked him what he even wanted. “Right now I want to ensure I can get myself, my men, and even you into the Dreadfort in one piece. When we arrive I will have our maester treat you, then we can speak more.” 

You felt dizzy even just sitting up against a tree like this, the air was obviously getting colder judging by the state of dress going around but you neither were covered in anyway to help, nor did you really feel it. It was as if you were in the dark swampiness of the Crannogmen lands but instead of a misty air it was humid and sweltering like a Dornish sun. All you could muster was a huff. 

Leaning forward with a skin of something, he opened the cap and took a sip before holding it up with an expectant look. “It will be far easier to get us past the Ironborn if I have you on a horse instead of dragging you around in a cage. But I need to know you will cooperate if I do. I’ll even keep let you stay ungagged.”  

Leaning forward with the skin once more before he was uncomfortably close to your face, “I wouldn’t test me further, my lady. The only thing keeping these men from raping you every night is my order, and I’m quite sure in this state you wouldn’t survive as many as have talked about it. So either it’s me, or I leave you now to the mercy of my men.”

There was no place in arguing, you had nothing to fight back with. Jaw clenched as you fought back the angry pounding in your heart, you nodded. Roose seemingly satisfied enough that he gently placed the skin to your mouth. The water down your throat felt so soothing that it made your insides wish to cry, but you had no energy for it. So you let him give you the water, and come morning maybe you would feel less like a floating bundle of delusions. 

He left you alone after that, but just as he said none came over to you. You think there were groups that had their eyes on you, but it was difficult to see. In the dark, the blurriness of your vision only let you see what was in front of your face and everything else was blurs of shapes and fire. 

Late into the night, you fell asleep once more. The only thing which came to you, was the sight of Roose plunging the knife he struck you with into the chest of Robb and the strings of music that had played only seconds before it all. That’s all you saw anymore, and you couldn’t remember if you ever dreamed in any way before that night, all you saw and heard was those two things again and again. 

One man, dark eyes with a creeping look that would once have made you on edge was the one who fetched you come morning. He spoke some, expected nothing in return. Pointing a knife at your unresponsive face as he threw out, “You run or hit me, and I’ll knock that pretty face around enough to leave a mark that’ll stay ugly. Got it?” Merely untying you did nothing, since your hands were still bound tight enough to keep you from struggling them from behind. 

Yanking you up to your feet he walked you though the camp to where the horses were stood ready to go. Another man next to what seemed to be his, smirked as he nodded to you like a silent object. “Know it’s been a rough few years when even this one looks good ‘nuff to make a man jealous.” 

Knocking him in the arm, he moved with him to hoist you up onto the horse, your vision spinning drastically at the movement with no way to steady yourself. The first dark eyed man, Locke, climbed up behind you, taking your bound hands into his grip and yanking you back to hiss in your ear. “Be smart now, lass. There’s nothing round us but Ironborn and best bet no one’s gonna protect your honour once you’re alone with them. You gonna be a smart girl?” Nodding with a clenched jaw, he hummed satisfied. 

Shoving you off of him before the rest of the men all begun to take off. They’d have to take the day to sneak past the bordered scouts and by then, if they pushed hard they could make it to the Dreadfort by next daybreak. You couldn’t possibly wonder what awaited you there, but at the minimum, threat of death was far from any worry in your mind. 

Waking up for good had felt like a new kind of death, a confusion that tore you up and threatened to swallow you whole. Making no sense at first, you had died you knew it. Or, you thought you did. Not a thing had felt like the way you were fading and yet you were here now. You dared not think of the memory of fire and chanting you were so sure as a deathly torment of the gods. If you thought of that, you might bringing up the only thing in your stomach, of water and bile and you refused to look at yourself in anyway. The red staining your dress was there until the mercy of new clothes might be granted if ever. 

You had no right to be here, you had promised him. You and Robb promised the other that it would be until your last day, together. Not one without the other, you found your fate dying beside him but yet you were alive and the memories of him would paint before your mind like cries in the night. 

Something was quite wrong inside you, but you felt like there wasn’t enough awareness in you to see what it was or what was missing. All you knew is that you were trapped in this memory of that night, and you couldn’t see a single thing in the world around you except that and here. 

If there was a world and people that existed besides this nightmare, you could not find them. 

“So you admit you murdered Qhorin Halfhand?” 

Standing in the main hall before three men, having found nothing right when Jon awoke. Lord Commander Mormont as Sam said, dead. Murdered in a mutiny, and leaving him to hope that he learned enough from the Old Bear to get through to the rest. 

Jon saw nothing but conflict in his actions, and as he stood there now it was clear that it didn’t matter what they thought of him, it mattered that he make them understand what no one else seemed to truly get. Neither side got it, it seemed. “I didn’t murder him.” 

Ser Alliser Thorne looked him down with the same contempt he always had, and if he had his way without question he would’ve ended Jon then and there the second he rode through the gates. “No? You put your sword through a brother of the Night’s Watch. What do you call that?” 

“He wanted me to kill him.” 

Lord Janos Slynt sat to the left, leaning partially across the table with the same puffy and slime filled smugness he always held. Full of respect for none but his own reputation, and yet he was here down in the icy ends of the world like the rest of them. “The bastard son of a traitor. What would you expect?” 

The man was lucky Jon wasn’t as young and brash as he was in his first months here. He tried putting a knife through Ser Alliser in a rage for a similar comment once upon a time. Instead, he kept his composure and attention on the later man and Maester Aemon listening intently to his right. “The Halfhand believed our only chance to stop Mance was to get a man inside his army.” 

Ser Alliser interrupting with a gritted roughness that Jon could sympathize with. “Don’t talk about the Halfhand as if you knew him. He was my brother.”

They were all brothers now, even you, Jon thought. Ser Alliser certainly wasn’t a fan of Jon, nor he in return but he knew losing a brother wasn’t easy and it certainly didn’t make Jon feel like he was doing the right thing when he killed him. He agreed with the man himself to do it, and he agreed with why, but he still put his sword through the Halfhand. His first true kill and that would forever be a bloodstain on his hands. “Then you’d know he’d do anything to defend the Wall. The free folk would have boiled him alive, but letting me kill him-”

Slynt had the gall to laugh, like there was anything in Jon’s entire existence anymore that even could give the slightest bit of amusement. “The free folk? Listen to him, he even talks like a wildling now.” 

The rage for a minute spilled out of his mouth as Jon raised his voice to him, “Aye, I talk like a wildling. I ate with the wildlings, I climbed the wall with the wildlings, I-” There was that wave again. One that made him feel uncomfortable and bordering on a guilty kind of dirty that he couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard. It was there and they would all only see one thing, but it didn’t feel anything the way they were going to. 

Then Jon thought of you, and it just made it all the worse. But he had to be honest in some regards, he wasn’t going to get through to these men by lying. He had to just say it the only way any would care or believe him with. “I laid with a wildling girl.” 

“You admit to breaking your vows, then?” 

If that’s what they were going to focus on, what would it even take to convince them to take him seriously on anything else. He did break his vows, but not willingly, and not with the only person who deserved to have them broken for. 

Janos Slynt continued his petty tirade that Jon was growing increasingly annoyed with. “The law is law, the boy must die.” And what law did you break to get here, my lord? What had you done to find yourself from City Watch Commander to the Night’s Watch, what mercy were you shown to not die for your crimes, Jon thought. 

Maester Aemon however, seemed to care not for where they saw fit to debate Jon on. “If we beheaded every ranger who lay with a girl, the Wall would be manned by headless men.” 

Ser Alliser trying to argue, “There’s a difference between sneaking off to the Mole’s Town brothel and sleeping with the enemy.” Somehow Jon knew that telling him the only alternative was death, wouldn’t exactly give him any more leniency, but he like Aemon, had no time for this. 

“Aye, there is a difference. Sneaking out to a brothel doesn’t give you detailed information about their enemy plans and numbers. And while we sit here debating which rules I broke, Mance Rayder marches on the wall with an army of a hundred thousand.” 

They tried to protest that was impossible, but he’d seen it. He had walked through that camp and felt nothing but a building dread for what was to come of any of this. “He’s united the Thenns, the Hornfoots, the Ice-River Clans. He has giants fighting for him.” 

The degree to which Jon was getting fed up with Janos Slynt was immeasurable. The man laughed while looking at the other two who didn’t find anything funny about it. “Giants?” 

Jaw tight, he looked to the waste of air with a barley held back lack of respect on his face. “Have you ever been beyond the Wall, ser?” 

There was that huff of pride in his face once more. “I commanded the City Watch of King’s Landing, boy.” 

“And now you’re here. You must not have been very good at your job.” Jon would have no way of knowing it, but another voice with serious eyes and a dismissive snark echoed in Janos Slynt’s ears. 

The voice of a woman who he had no reasonable way of knowing meant a single thing to dark curly haired man in front of them. The girl had spent many of her days on the council questioning his capabilities, and insulting him all the same as this one. But Jon ignored his outrage as she always would.

“There’s a band of wildlings south of the Wall already led by Tormund Giantsbane. I killed their warg and three others, they shot me full of arrows. Their orders are to attack Castle Black from the south while Mance hits it from the north. Their signal for the attack will be a bonfire, Mance said it would be the greatest fire the North has ever seen. That’s the truth. All the truth.” 

They didn’t execute him, or at least not that day Jon thought to himself. As he slept that night though, he still saw you dying on the floor in your own blood. Sam had tried asking him about the girl, about Ygritte. Especially since he now had Gilly in his life but Jon knew there was no comparing. From what he could tell, Gilly had more of a strange sheltered life then any of them, and she was nothing like the aggressive and hypocritical anger of the wildling girl Jon had travelled with. 

But he didn’t want to talk about Ygritte, he didn’t want to talk about having to send his only protection in Ghost away just to save his cover from that of death. Didn’t want to talk about what he was forced to do and how he tricked himself into thinking it was all fine just to cope with it. 

Only a few times did Sam try to gently bring up the other, but Jon shot it down every single time. He already felt pain and anger about it, about Robb. Jon certainly didn’t want to talk about you. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

Jon had a job to do, and he was haunted enough in his dreams of your death to have Sam try and comfort him about it. Besides, he didn’t even have Ghost now. He hadn’t seen him since sending him off and all he could remember in his waking hours, was the two of you sitting in front of the Weirwood. Ghost still tiny curled up in your lap as you sat in his arms. 

He was losing everything it seemed, but he’d be damned if he lost this place, the only thing that served from the gods to provide Jon with any kind of purpose. In this coming war, or the one foreboding against them in the distant colds of the far North. 

The Dreadfort was a befitting name you supposed. It stood tall in what looked like the middle of nowhere, cleared land all around the high walls, that build up on the inside to the highest fort in the dead centre with edges at the top looking like sharp, imposing teeth. As your eyes drifted along it, a woozy feeling came over you from the last push to get into the lands past the remaining Ironborn. Gates opening, the court was as drab and deary as the rest of it and yet the people all scattered around were normal. 

Roose Bolton climbed from his horse first to greet a figure awaiting in the distance, and introducing his new wife. Walda was a bit younger then you, and certainly held more life in her eyes and face then you did. A brightness as she was brought into the castle where you were pulled off the front of the horse by two men. 

Turning from the other man, Roose looked to them with orders, “Put her in a cell, and have Maester Wolkan look her over.” You hardly had a chance to see or hear anything else as you were dragged into a deeper part of the structure. The cells in your vision were along a single wall and quite small as the only light was a small set of torches lit along wall corners. 

None said a word to you, but you went willingly as they opened the doors. Cutting your hands free behind your back before tossing you in and closing behind you. The echos of their feet fading off until it was the flickering of the flames left alone with you. 

Wincing as you dragged yourself up with palms braced on the ragged ground before finding a resting spot against the wall and side of the cell. Resting your head along the bars you couldn’t figure out what it was you were feeling. Your body held an ache all over where some places burned like a festering would alight. 

Eyes barley focusing on the wall beyond your cell, they wanted to let tears fall freely but you simply had nothing left in you. The shock of waking up had passed by this point, and now all that was left was the murky depths left behind and only one thing at a time could come to the surface for air. You could still hear the strings playing, the hall filling with music that had you, nor anyone, suspect a thing until it was already over. 

You hardly thought any other music existed, it looped in your mind as did the damning stop of it as the instruments blurred to weapons. Perhaps it was your doom to sit reliving such a moment and yet you found nothing in you to say Roose Bolton took you just to let you rot. 

He had tried to kill you, and you had even lay there beside Robb thinking he had succeeded until..the wall torch fire before you flashed to another fire, and that turned to yells and chanting and in a split second you flew a hand to to grasp tightly at one of the bars as your lungs gave out. You told yourself not to think about it, you said you would never look back to that sight-

A door opening had you slam your eyes shut, breathing so harshly out that you felt the dizziness spin around you. Your hand still gripped the bar so tightly though that it strained your hand into a cramp as you willed your panic to swallow. “My lady,” 

Slowly you opened them, trying to stay still as you glanced up and to the side where a man you didn’t recognize stood. Two guards behind him, but you did note the chains across his robes before sighing and turning away. 

The guards entered behind him to stand at attention as he came towards you. “My lady, I am Maester Wolkan, I am here to see how your health is faring.” He knelt down in front of you as you huffed out a painful spit of air as it trying to fake a laugh. “I understand you have been through a lot, if you would allow me?” 

Rolling your head to the side so he could see your still discoloured eye, he tilted your head back and forth to see the other cuts along you. “How long have you had this fever?” You didn’t answer, you didn’t even know. It had been days since you woken up, and it’s felt both like years of pain have passed through you and only seconds since losing everything of your life. 

Wolkan lightly soaked a cloth in a small basin of water before dabbing it across your forehead, the coolness of it making you hiss towards the feeling against your burning skin. Taking it upon himself, he washed away some of the blood and grime on your face as the water left a cool sheen on it.

“Can you stand on your own?” Your eyes narrowed in confusion before remembering he was there to look at your wounds, when truthfully you didn’t see the point. Nodding, you hissed in lifting yourself up, letting him look over your arm, pulling apart the torn fabric near your shoulder to look at the deep unhealed scar inside of it. “Any pain or difficulties moving this arm at all?” 

You shook your head no, passing your notice, that it made him pause, looking at you almost puzzled for just a moment. He must have been told some of the wounds, as gently asked you, “I will have to undo the laces against your back to check the one there.” You didn’t react, just looked to the nothing on the dark walls as he looked where you pushed away the memory of an arrow. Not the one which hit you, no, the ones that-

“This might seem a droll indecent, but I was informed you had received a significant injury on your stomach and I will need to take a look at it.” You were stuck at the arrows, not thinking of anything else after reliving the seconds as they hit him, and your eyes finding a watering that luckily was hard to see in this light. 

The man had to gently pull up the skirt of your dress, trying carefully not to peel it on the sensitive skin as he revealed what you had no bravery to look at. But by not looking at it, you also missed the shocked, almost dreadfully fearful astonishment in Wolkan’s face. “My lady how did-” 

“Ask your lord, he will know better.” 

The finality in your tone ended that line of thought in his head, but his eyes were so focused on the wounds that you begun to shake from the lack of energy. Dropping it back down he gently grabbed your upper arms, “Here, you can sit once more.” 

It took some time for him to come to an assessment, packing up some of his things. “I fear you have an infection, my lady. The lack of food and water likely making it overstay it’s place for much longer, I will have simple water and broth sent down to you for the next while. As well as a potion that will help speed the process.” Glancing down to your stomach and then your dulled eyes he paused, “It is the-”

“I don’t want to to hear it, just send me what I need to take and I’ll take it. Now if we are finished Maester, I’d like to be left alone to rot in the quiet.” Watching you for a few significant moments, he respected your wish and made his way to leave. 

Normally he would inform you the degree which it would make you ill before getting better, but he had the feeling you had very little care on such a side effect. Such a state you were in, how bloodied and unwell you were as Lord Bolton dragged you across much of the North, and then was the wounds on her stomach..as far as Wolkan in all his knowledge could tell anyone, there shouldn’t have been a soul who could have survived that. 

It hadn’t healed, but it was as if it was to stay open and deep without having any impact on the skin around it. It was a gruesome, violent, jagged series of scars all connected together, and yet it was as if they existed separate of your body.

In the main hall, the Greyjoy in Ramsay Snow’s care looked as unwell and ragged as the lady in the cells, but subservient to the point it made many uncomfortable. “If Bran and Rickon are alive, the country will rally to their side now that Robb Stark is gone.” 

Theon pausing in his actions shaving the younger man, a horror in his eyes that was desperate to be pushed back down before it swallowed him whole. Ramsay with no genuinity in his sorrowful tone. “Oh that’s right, Reek. Robb Stark is dead.” 

Roose Bolton notably said nothing to stop his sons torment of Theon. Turning to Locke instead he gave the man an offer, “Find those boys and I’ll give you a thousand acres and a holdfast.”  

Locke asking on any ideas where to start, and the beginnings of a true mistake unknowingly spilling from Roose’s mouth in instruction. “Jon Snow is at Castle Black. Their bastard brother, he could be sheltering them, he may know where they are. Even if he doesn’t he’s half Stark himself which means he could prove to be a threat. Especially if he learns of our most recent prisoner,” Pausing as he looked to Ramsey with something that Theon couldn’t yet grasp, how could he? He didn’t know any of who else they were keeping here besides himself.

Looking back to Locke, Roose was specific with your name on his lips that way too quickly made Theon swallow harshly, “Make sure no mention of her presence here gets out. Jon Snow was close with the girl, and she is his brothers widow. If he isn’t hiding the boys, he may still learn that she’s being kept here. And I don’t care to have him bringing a fight to our doorstep to get her back.” 

His instructions included killing you, that much was made clear from Tywin Lannister but apparently you were a frustrating little fighter. It was a surprise to find later in the night, you were still alive. He had come up as the blood was all still fresh, knocked you with his foot onto your back and you were as dead as every other corpse in the hall. You and Robb both pale, blood had spilled out and stopped, and not a pulse to be felt as both your eyes sat wide, colourless, and defeated. There was no question about it.

Until later when he had returned. Ensuring the giant direwolf had been taken care of, walking back in before the Freys and his men could do whatever with the bodies they wished. But as he approached the King and Queen, and with no one in the hall to have done so, suddenly, your eyes had been closed. And you had the faintest of pulses he’d ever felt, but it was there. He was sure he watched you die himself, but now you sat in his dungeon as a plan begun to formulate in his mind. 

Time was difficult for you to gauge, but far longer had begun to pass then you realized, weeks and months that felt like seconds or years. In that time, Roose building the steps to a proper claim, and promised his bastard son, that if he could prove himself and retake Moat Cailin, then he would reconsider his position. Afterall, if you were alive anyways, you were of no use to Roose in the hands of his bastard, but in the hands of a legitimate heir? Perhaps the gods left you alive for a reason. 

Roose just had to make sure that the half Stark at Castle Black heard no word of you being alive. Too many people underestimated Robb Stark for too long, and the same mistake would not be made twice, not for his brother. Ramsay has his own way of things, but Roose Bolton did not want to be the one to underestimate Jon Snow.  

Gods, how much time had even passed? You felt in a daze that never ended, even worse then before. A servant for the Maester brought down a vile smelling potion which tasted even worse. Since you had kept nothing down. The broth and water seems to be your only diet to make having it come right back up less disgusting. 

You were dripping in sweat, your head running so hot you wondered if the fire of the torch would even burn you. Sometime in the hours, or days that had passed you would see things your mind told you to not believe. Some of it you knew, most of it felt like a life that was beyond understanding. 

Laying in bed, there was rain pouring out the high windows that blended with the river in the distance, the light of the moon dripping you in shades of blue matching his bright eyes as you lay bare on your side into the equally as bare chest of another. His hand drifting across your stomach so gently in touch as you nuzzled into their neck. The feeling of his curls dancing around your cheek before the strings begun.  

The begun and as they played you opened your eyes in the same position as his hand raised now soaked in blood. Looking to you his blue eyes were in a terrified horror before you could see them go out all the same. Only as you lay there on your side, feeling the blood rushing from your stomach like it was to never end, did the room twist and turn to a red.

Red tones and fire all around as a voice in a foreign accent spoke in your ear. Their red hair hanging low as she spoke and if you had the strength to turn you could see the tight red ruby choked around her neck as she spoke. “Your Great Wolf to stand with you and your children together.”

You wanted to turn and lash out, scream that he was dead and so was the child in your womb but all that happened was blood rushing now from your mouth too. Too much blood that you begun to choke on it as you turned to her the red ruby trailing up until a pair of eyes met yours. Eyes of blue that sat on the head of a wolf it did not belong with, only as the faint chanting begun did your eyes snap open.

Turning to the corner behind you did you violently cough up nothing but water and bitter bile that scraped at your throat. One hand pressed against the wall and the other braced on the floor as you brought up what was hardly even there. Your throat burned as your stomach did, the servant who was bringing it down for you to drink would tell you it is to cleanse your system of the rot and it only felt like it spread violently. 

No sense of night or day, you hardly even had enough resolve to pay attention to the schedule of the guards. The servant of the Maester seemed kind, but he was a young boy who didn’t know any better you suspected. No one else spoke to you, or much looked at you. 

As you heaved to catch your breathe in between the pressure on your chest as you spit up more bile, you wondered if it mattered anymore. If none of them knew who you were, it would not matter what happened to you you maybe life would be easier if you just died on them. 

It would be easier for you as well. But there was nothing for such a thing in the cell. Just dirt, and your own fluids that mixed horribly. If any were to find you now, they’d easily mistaken you for a filthy craven, and you felt like one. 

You barley heard the footstep over the heaves of your breathe until they were speaking to you right outside the bars. “Oh my word,” Gasping you flung yourself back, almost pressing up against the wall with fright. You barley could recognize the fellow kneeling down looking at you, but you think perhaps he was in the courtyard when greeting Roose. 

Hair dark to an almost black and laid flat across his forehead with eeiry pale blue eyes that were wide as they looked at you. You said nothing, untrusting of any face that looked at you in such a place. Looking you over, he sighed to himself. “I heard we had a guest, but such a shame to find you in a state such as this, my lady.” 

Straightening your back, you dragged your knees up to your chest, as you narrowed your eyes. He simply shrugged to himself before holding a hand out through the bars, seeing you not move an inch as he grimaced and pulled back even slower. “Not a woman for formalities, I can understand that. Especially in a state such as this,” whistling out he looked you over in a way you could only describe as making you feel even dirtier then you were. “Why they didn’t even bother offering you new clothes, you’re stuck in the same bloody ones as you arrived. That will not do, a lady should at least have a pretty dress to go with such a pretty face.” 

“What do you want?”

He reacted none to the bluntness, your voice scratched badly like claw marks scraped down your throat. “Well I would be remiss if I didn’t pay the late Queen in the North a visit.” You bit your tongue to the point it threatened to bleed, it was a mockery. Is that what you were supposed to see yourself as anymore, here thrown away in the dungeons to waste in the home of the very man who murdered your king? “Oh, I’m so sorry. Sensitive subject, I know.”

His voice was so exaggerated in his inauthenticity, you bought not a word and you thought you likely weren’t supposed to. “If you’ve come down here to mock me, fair not. Bolton’s men have seen fit to do that the entire journey, I am not with a lack of torment.” 

It felt so unnerving, his eyes. The way they lingered on you in ways you couldn’t immediately detect the intention of and a glint behind them that terrified you beyond what anything you’d see. But you were lucky, you were too faded inside to show it as he spoke once more. “You wound me, my lady. We’re in the North you see, we supported our King in the North and his Queen. But, I suppose if he’s good and dead that doesn’t really make you one anymore does it?” 

You didn’t care if you were a queen, you cared that you were Robb’s wife and now you broke your promise to stay together. You swore a vow in love and now you sat with his blood in your mouth and son dead from your womb. “Then again, you are still a Baratheon, does that make you a princess now? No, that doesn’t seem quite right either does it. A girl like you doesn’t scream princess.” 

Finding the strength to turn away from him, you looked at the nothing of the dark wall. Your name quiet on your lips. “That’s all I am I suppose.” 

“I seem to have you at a disadvantage, I know your name my lady but you don’t know mine do you? You’ve likely heard of me, most call me Ramsay, others call me Roose Bolton’s bastard son.” Your back chilled as you shivered, despite the sweat and the heat in your mind. So his family is all in on it, that was just what you needed to hear. 

Turning your head to face him as it leaned against the wall, you raised an eyebrow dully. “Did you want something, or can I die in peace?” 

He tsked as he stood up. “Now my lady, you can’t die. We haven’t spent nearly enough time together for me to be sick of you. I came to tell you, once you’re better, I can find you a nice room, a hot bath and we’ll see about any nice, pretty dresses we can get for you.” 

Clearly, he did not care if you bought into him. It didn’t matter if you left this cell or not, you couldn’t see past the blood and the fog in your head marred by the strings of music. He only took a few steps away before spinning back to you in a dramatic fashion. 

“How silly of me, I did come here with a present actually. You see, I have a little task I have to leave for, and I just couldn’t bear the thought if something happened to him and you didn’t get a chance to meet each other. My own servant, a very special boy I’ve whipped him up to be.” You narrowed your eyes as you felt your limbs weigh too much, you’d have passed out from exhaustion were he still not insisting on talking. 

“If he does a good job while we’re away, I may just start lending him to you once we get you back on your feet. I’m sure he will be the perfect company. Reek, come say hello.” If you had anything left to bring back up to the surface of the world, you would have. 

Instead you lost all breathe, head spinning as you found the appearance of this so called present. Much like you, marred in grime and dirt and sickly appearance to their skin that matched with the matted hair grown out. As if their entire existence was in a detrimental fear, you felt a weight in your throat that kept you from any words. 

Dark eyes that refused to look at a thing slowly drifted upwards until they met the agony of yours and your heart pounded until it flattened to nothing and left you woozy. There was a recognition in his eyes that you were to delusional and feverish to understand. 

Something that in Ramsay’s delight of torment, did not see. A pain of who he was looking at and what state they both had ended up in, alone in the world trapped within the confines of the family of flayers and torturers. “Now Reek, it’s not polite to stare. I’m sure the lady isn’t quite ready so soon after her husbands tragic death, besides not like you have the ability to do anything about it.” 

He shook and you narrowed your eyes in confusion with a tilt of your head, you felt the need to vomit once more as the potion swam through your stomach like it had for days now. Leaving you once more, Ramsay had to pull him away when he took half a second too long to part from your eyes. The dungeons fell quiet and dark once more and your mind only had enough time to feel even more confused until your stomach forced more burning up. 

“And Theon? I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. Then I’ll take his head myself.” 

Collapsing to the ground with a cry of pain, you curled up with your knees back against your chest. The hurt and betrayal on his face that day, the way only you seemed to give him any peace as you both stood unified in what he commanded. But this was no longer such a day, such a time. 

The blue eyes you wanted to see were darker then those pale ones, and with an adoration you wanted to scream at. Robb didn’t want this for you, Theon. Neither of us did, you thought. You demanded justice at Robb’s side, but this was not justice. 

If what you were holding back cries of pain for was not justice, you couldn’t imagine what found it’s way into his terror to make Theon Greyjoy look as frail and petrified as you felt. 

He was fighting to call himself one or the other. Reek was screeching in his head that he would be punished for this, but Theon kept climbing the stairs anyways. It was quite late, and he was already under orders to bring you a meal but he was not given orders to speak to you. So why was he walking down and fighting to not do so?

Walk in, open the gate, sit the food down and return like Reek was ordered to do, but as he stood outside the cell door, it was like for a moment Theon screamed at him and sent Reek down past his consciousness. Voice stammering and weak did he mutter your name, he did it twice and maybe if he had to do it a third he would chicken out and leave. But you looked. 

Sat against the wall with your knees to your chest, arms wrapped around them and your head tucked in the middle, you rose up and it was clear as day the tears. Theon wasn’t sure he’s ever seen you cry. Very few would have and you were good at keeping it to yourself, but then again, Theon was good at many things Reek was not. 

Placing a small vial on the ground before moving to sit the tray beside you. He couldn’t even stammer out the words before you huffed out another tearful cry and kicked the tray from you. Sending him back in a jump. The way you looked up at him, who even were you on the inside? Did you not see yourself anymore as Theon saw Reek in his reflection? Had you even seen the state of yourself, eyes dulled to a weakness you’d never shown, eye still discoloured from where someone must have hit you and a flush to your skin that he knew came from having nothing in your system. 

What happened? How did it happen? How did Robb- 

He breathed out heavily as he snapped his head to attention. It poured out before he could stop himself from saying it. “I was wrong. I- I took Winterfell and I was wrong…” You said nothing. Your lips parted but closed once more with a heavy swallow. “I…” 

“Theon,” your voice was so quiet. Somewhere in his mind, he recalled the people called you the Silent Stag, always quiet you were but just as notable. But this quiet wasn’t that, this was a whisper that worried it was too loud even in the stone of a dungeon. “I..we didn’t- it’s my fault.” You inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut for the action before opening them with a calmer look that refused to look at him. 

“I didn’t know they’d do this..any of this..and we sent them. I’m sorry.” 

Both inside him struggled how to feel, Reek had nothing to accept an apology for and yet Theon knelt forward to the ground. Crouching he slowly opened the vial with a shaky breathe before holding it to you. He wanted to speak and you could see it but neither pushed until he whispered it out like a deathly vow being broken as you drunk the liquid. “I didn’t kill them. Bran and Rickon. I didn’t kill them, I lied.” 

Your lips fell open as neither of you looked anywhere but between your bodies on the floor. “Roose Bolton killed Robb. Shoved a knife in his heart, and a few times in me.” Likely you didn’t know why you showed him, or even told him, but Theon’s breathing quickened as you lifted the fabric. The skin underneath was utterly blood soaked in ways he’d only ever seen on those of the dead. But why were they on you if you were here? “If that isn’t vengeance..”

Theon wanted to stay and talk, but Reek heard the sounds of footsteps far in the distance and tore himself back. “I-” He didn’t look you in the eye, he couldn’t at this point. “I’ll come back.” 

Your voice was far away, your eyes had lulled shut back into a dream of stringed nightmares as you muttered, “Of course you will. He’ll order you too.” 

Your nails were bloody, but you think it was starting to carve properly. The nothing drawing in the wall that kept you occupied for most of the day now. It was silent for a while once you were better, guards came to bring you a meal and then it was back into the quiet. There was no outside world here, no wars once fought, no lives trying to find peace, nothing. Just the walls of your cell, and the carving you were scraping into the stone wall. 

No sense of time came to you, it could have been years and you would be none the wiser of anything. Another war could have come and passed, not an inkling would’ve found you. You only saw the guards and the dungeon. You only dreamt of the blood and the strings as you awoke everytime knowing you failed him. 

Every attempt to come out into your soul was hollow, something was missing and it was part of what made you human. You could only see the curls against blue eyes that looked to you desperate not to see you go. It broke your heart everytime you saw him. 

The horror in your heart was settled somewhat in those final seconds, you would go together as you promised. From this day until our last day. And yet his last day was not yours, and you lived on without him. Guilt and shame ate away at you for breaking your vow to always be together, wherever his soul sat with the gods now you wondered if Robb was ashamed of you. 

You lived on without him, and you lost his unborn son. There was nothing left of Robb Stark with you anymore and the only proof he ever was, was a scar running so jaggedly along your lower stomach that you could feel each time Roose stabbed it back inside you. Tracing it gently enough with your fingers. A terrible stroke of luck, or was it the gods forcing it onto you?

Because the longer you sat in that silence alone, the more you came up with ways to fix it. What reason were you to still be here, why were you still alive if your existence was less then a rats. It wouldn’t be easy in here, but you could do it if you were really desperate. You wanted to the more weeks passed into months as you were alone down here. Shut away from the world, a dead wife to the King in the North, sequestered down in a dingy cell in the Dreadfort. Captive of the family who did this to you, and nothing to do but think of how much Robb would hate what you’ve become. 

This shell was not the woman he fell in love with, and you weren’t entirely sure you could even get that woman back now. Maybe part of you really did die beside him, and what remains in your body now is just the base of grief and anger that will burn through you until you’ve had enough. 

The gods were cruel however. The day he came to see you, it was the understanding of why they bothered to keep you alive. A confident man, Roose Bolton walked up to your cell with the same collected look he has had since the day you met him. Glancing around the cell, he could see you made very little use of the space, as if always having to be positioned against the bars to see the opening of the main door.

“I assume by now you realize no one is coming for you.” Your eyes glared up at him in a silent contemptuous irritation. “The Seven Kingdoms all think you’re dead. Tragically killed at the side of your husband-”

“They know you’re the one who put a knife to him? Or have you let Walder Frey take all of the credit for that?” Roose raised an eyebrow at you, unexpected of the sharp and angry tone that came from an otherwise unwell prisoner. “Suppose it isn’t really you who the southerners care about anyways. You get to claim you killed an unarmed King, and his pregnant wife when you only did it because you had Tywin Lannister to hide behind the skirts of.” 

Stepping forward to you, he looked down with ease as you craned your neck up to find his own, the anger in your voice did not match your eyes. “It is encouraging see you have put your time down here to good use. I kill Robb Stark and yourself, and in return I am given the title Warden of the North until the son of Sansa and Tyrion Lannister comes of age to take over. Unfortunately, there has been a problem in his planning.” 

You twisted your face at the unpleasant imagery.

“Sansa has fled King’s Landing after the murder of King Joffery, and her imp husband is to go on trial.” A year ago you would have been thrilled at the news that your repulsive once cousin was dead, now though it was a non victory that felt hollow. The world indeed kept turning outside the walls and you were none the wiser of a single tinge of it. “Sansa’s son by Tyrion was intended to be the key to the North for the Lannisters as they have no other ties, now there is no child to inherit the North from me.” 

Biting your tongue, you exhaled harshly through your nose to will the angry beating of your heart down to something manageable. “Did you come here to gloat about your new title or did you just want to remind me of what you’ve done.” 

“My men are reclaiming what’s left of the Ironborn that stands in the road to Winterfell, and we will soon move there once my son has cleared the way. You will be coming with us. Willingly.” 

Your voice scratched as you huffed a laugh, “And do tell, my lord. Why would I ever go with you willingly?” You watched as he knelt in front of you, and the frustration in your voice did not match how you pressed yourself against the wall further. 

With every inch of your body you hated the quiet calm in his voice as he nodded to your attire. “Because if you do, I will make sure you are cleaned, properly fed, groom you up and dress you like a lady and not like that creature my son drags around. You won’t be able to leave the castle walls, or go anywhere outside without being under guard. But I won’t throw you back into a cell.” 

Not a thought came to you that imagined yourself like that anymore. Your life was drenched in blood and memories of pain that blurred out the rest in it’s grief. Would you feel more like a person to even just breathe fresh air? Was that worth playing along with the man who betrayed his people and murdered your king and child? 

Roose did not wait for any kind of response, moving towards the cell door when you asked, “Why? If I’m just a prisoner why bring me to Winterfell? No one even knows I’m alive, what would it matter if you keep me locked away in here?”

The blood inside you cooled to a freeze as you looked wide eyed with a hesitant fear that you know he caught onto. “If Ramsay is successful in retaking Moat Cailin, he will be granted a legitimate son and become a Bolton. The Lannisters won’t help me keep the North, but perhaps I don’t need them to. All the Stark men are dead, which means if Ramsay is a Bolton, he will be my firstborn son and heir. And he will be needing one of his own.” 

Roose didn’t elaborate but he didn’t need to. You almost begun to bite your tongue so hard on unknowing it could have bled. You felt sick as you had days ago, but this was an illness rooted in a fear and bloody memories of your last. “You truly think I would ever let him-” 

One eyebrow raised, his voice was patronizing as it was condescending. “Do you think you have any choice in the matter? Shall I reminder you how it is the world works?” 

You glared up with as much energy as you could summon, a sneer on your own face as you sharply bit back, “Do use small words, my lord. I’m not as bright as you.” 

You didn’t expect it to even effect him in the slightest. He rarely budged on anything, especially now when it is was he holds all the power. “You are a highborn lady, and if my son should succeed he will be a legitimate highborn to inherit my own lordship. You are also my prisoner, and I don’t think I need to remind you of my own stance on prisoner treatment. Ramsay doesn’t need your permission to use you to produce an heir.”

Do not show anything else you told yourself, do not let him see the fear in your heart. “I’m not a Northerner, Lord Bolton. I have no claim that could help you.” 

A lightness in his eyes was the most genuine you had seen in since that night and you felt even more ill thinking on it. “No, but you were the Queen that Robb Stark chose, you were the Queen every Northern chose, my lady. That is claim enough for what we require.” 

By the time you found any bravery left in your voice you called out to him before he could leave you alone in the darkness of the dungeon once more. “Did you ever believe in him? Or was it all just a lie the entire time? You served him for almost three years, was none of it ever true?” 

Roose sounded as if he was giving a simple order to a servant, no care for his monstrosity. “I believed in Robb Stark right up until I shoved my dagger covered in your blood into his chest. But loyalty does not buy me money or power, and Tywin Lannister simply had the better offer.” The dagger sat on his waist, blood for you to see and all. You’d felt many illnesses down here, but it was that which made you loose every sense left to you. 

The door closed and once more you were left in darkness. You weren’t sure when the tears had started, but this time you let them fall until your eyes dried out like sands in the Dornish summer. 

You should have died with Robb, and you truly were beginning to think it was necessary to find a way to go back to him, one way or another. He had told you once you in those days before your wedding that you belonged in Winterfell, but what was your belonging in such a place without the wolves to keep you company?

The gods granted you a chilling answer to that question when some time later, they sent Ramsay Bolton down to your cell in the middle of the night, a disturbing glint in his unsettling pale eyes trained only on you. 

[billdipisjustanothership]

Memories of Tomorrow

One shot

Summary: Dipper Pines wakes up every morning as if it were the same day after an accident. His sister visits him whenever she can. But a young blond man never fails to appear in the park, seen from the brunette's window, every morning.

_______

The long days of November was what he remembered when he woke up in the hospital every morning, with bandages around his head and his gaze lost somewhere. Those were days when, engrossed, he couldn't take his eyes off an abandoned park which could be seen from the window.

The light blinded him, but he hardly noticed it, because every morning a young man appeared in that park, and not a moment did he wait to return his gaze to the young man in the hospital.

"But that is not possible," he thought, because it was very far away, and hidden among branches. And yet, if I can see him, the blond can too, he reminded himself.

Every morning was a new encounter with that dark-eyed man. And in the afternoon, a bittersweet farewell with her sister. The next day, what he lived couldn't be remembered.

Today he was 25 years old. They were both 25 years old.

"Dipdop! Happy Birthday brother!" exclaimed the oldest twin, carrying a gift wrapped in navy blue paper. His favorite color, the brother noted. He smiled at her affectionately.

"Good morning, Mabel, and happy birthday to you too. I'm sorry I couldn't buy you anything.” He apologized, although somewhat confused, as he believed he was still in the middle of November. His sister just laughed, as happy as he remembered her.

"Afternoon, it is afternoon." She corrected him, as she always did "And don't worry about it." She paused for a long time, thinking deeply about something "Hey, Dipper..." Mabel shifted uncomfortably from side to side, not knowing how to start this conversation. The doctors warned her that it was better not to tell him this, because the next day he would ask for them and every day she would give him the same answer, with the same reaction. Neither of them would resist it.

"Whatever it is, Mabel, you know you can tell me." The brown-haired man assured her when he saw her like this "By the way, I haven't heard from Stan and Ford in a while. How are they doing?"

"Oh... This is... what I wanted to tell you, Dipper," she began uncertainly. She looked him in the eye, conveying a great and unusual seriousness "S-something happened."

Immediately, upon hearing those words, the youngest of the twins tensed, sensing where that conversation was going "Go on, please?" asked the latter, seeing that the other went silent.

"They... died. Yesterday. It was natural, in their beds. They died together, and in peace." She finally admitted.

"Oh." Dipper didn't know what else to say. And to avoid spending more time in that sad discomfort, he turned his attention outside, remembering vaguely seeing the young blond man that morning. Except that no one was there. And the park was free of the typical dry leaves of autumn.

"Mabel... what month are we in?" He caught the other's attention.

"W-well, in the summer, of course, silly." She giggled nervously.

"No. No, no, no." He denied, with his hands on his head, the youngest "That's not what I asked you. And why do you look... older? His brown eyes were on her, as if judging her

"I-I..." she couldn't do it. The doctors warned her. Maybe it was better not to answer him truthfully. And on her pale lips a trembling smile was drawn "I'm just tired Dipdip. And, you are right, it's not summer. I was kidding you.” She laughed.

"Oh?" Remembering the gift, he asked, half joking, and relieved "And this? Is it also part of this joke, Mabel?"

"You caught me, brobro! It's a sweater made by me! It's... just a gift to make you feel better today." So sweet of her, thought Dipper.

"Thank you!" He was happy to receive something from his sister. She really was the best. The older twin sighed wearily.

"I... I have to go now, bro bro. Today I'm going to... visit Uncle Stan and Uncle Ford." she lied with some difficulty.

"Ah..." he lowered his gaze, disappointed at this short visit "Tell them I love them for me, Mabel."

"Sure. I'll come see you tomorrow, Dipper." She said her goodbye, unable to continue in her brother's company any longer.

The very next day...

Dipper Pines opened his eyes as he noticed the light escaping from the window, the curtains aside. Positioning himself on that hospital bed, the brown-haired man noticed something yellow (oh, so different from this white room) out of the corner of his eye. It was a sheet of paper, folded in half. Curiously, Dipper opened it and read its contents:

~

«Pine tree, Dipper, Mason, whatever you prefer to call yourself,

I am writing to inform you of the death of your beloved uncles, Stanley and Stanford, something that Shooting Star will certainly not tell you about again. Surely you will wonder why I tell you this, or if it is some kind of joke. And no, it's not a joke. I'm not that kind of Demon HAHAHA!

Getting to the point, I will tell you something else that no one has ever said to you, well, except from the first day. Yesterday, you turned 25, and it's been 5 years since that drunk (dead and in hell, I assure you) hit you when you left the University.

I am that man that you always see out of the window, and if you do not believe me, look outside and there you will see me. But before, I warn you that you will not remember any of this in the morning. Why? Because you have amnesia. You can only remember from 20 years down. So I ask you (order, let's be honest) to hide this under your pillow. And ask your sister for a diary so that you can write down what happens every morning. That way you will always remember the next thing that happens in your life. And for you to always remember me, Pine tree.

See you this morning,

B. C. ».

~

"What...!?" Exclaimed the young man. "T-This can't be true. No... I..." He grabbed his head, noticing a slight pang of pain in his temple. "What's going on?" Then he remembered a part of the letter that spoke about a man.

And he looked out of the window.

"Impossible." He whispered, amazed. If Mabel is really going to visit him today, she either isn't going to tell him about this, or she's going to think he's crazy. And he isn't crazy. The letter must have been a joke from that man, surely. Or maybe from Mabel. Dipper gulped, meeting the blonde's dark gaze.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 26

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case.  You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

You smiled to yourself the whole walk to the door. As you stepped out onto the small front porch, your bare feet were welcomed by the cool slab of concrete. The smell of the air was a mixture of the incoming cold snap and autumn leaves. It was a smell you remembered from even back when you were a kid. It smelled like Halloween.

Out in the darkened streets you watched as a kids in costumes moved about with excitement from house to house. There were families with small children and packs of teens all enjoying themselves in their quest for tricks and treats. You smiled to yourself and wandered down toward the end corner of the porch where the wood was stacked. As you went, you retrieved your phone from your pocket and thumbed the screen of your iPhone for the Door Dash app.

What will Joel want to eat? You wondered. There were so many choices that popped up that you were pretty certain you would decide on something. Your eyes lifted when you reached the stack and you began to retrieve a few logs from top of the pile.

"Trick or treat," you heard a male voice say from somewhere nearby. It startled you, as you didn't expect anyone to come up to the house. You hadn't even turned the porch light on as you wandered outside because you didn't want to draw any attention to the house. The last thing you needed was one person to recognize you and then all of a sudden your cover was blown.

You squinted into the darkness but you didn't see anyone. Right away your senses instructed you to be on high alert.

"Trick or treat?" the same voice spoke. It was a calm and curious.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any more candy," you called back with your arms full of wood. You practically tiptoed back toward the door as you looked for the person who had spoken to you.

"Trick or treat," a voice from close behind you whispered. It reminded you more of a snake hissing than a person speaking and it made you tense up from head to toe. When you turned, you felt frozen.

"Who are you?" You asked, recognizing the man's face, even in the dark. It was the same man who picked up the blanket you had dropped in the parking lot at the hospital - and that's when you knew you were in danger. Immediate danger.

He smirked in such a way that made you turn to run, though when you did you ran right into another tree trunk of a body. The force of it knocked you back a few inches and the wood tumbled from your arms to the pavement. When you looked up you saw Vic's wicked grin as he pulled the pumpkin mask down over his face. At the same time, his accomplice pulled down the skeleton mask.

This can't be happening. You couldn't believe the lengths these people were going to.

"You can be the witch," the skeleton man said as you stared at Vic. From behind he pushed the witch mask down roughly over your face, making you scream. A hand clamped down over your mouth just as you let the first noise escape your mouth.

"Don't hurt him," you mumbled into the mask's rubbery, warm interior. You began to struggle as best you could before you were physically lifted from the ground and carried away.

..

Joel sat up abruptly and listened when he heard a clattering noise from the porch. Without hesitation he retrieved his clothes from the living room floor and threw them on as he walked toward the front door. He flung it open, calling out your name as he stepped outside. When nothing came of it, he struggled to fiddle with the light to illuminate the area. Finally, his hand found it on the inside wall and he looked around.

When his eyes landed on the the three logs of wood on the ground a few feet from the door he closed his eyes. Joel felt his entire body tense from fear, frustration and rage. HIs face grew hot and for a second panic set in and he began to look around in all directions on the verge of frantic.

"Fuck." He bent down and grabbed the familiar cell phone not far from the firewood. His own photograph looked back at him when the screen woke up by his touch. Joel shouted your name again.. and again.. and again. He paced back and forth. He ran into the front yard, and then the back yard and the driveway. There was nothing. Just before he went to run upstairs to see if the other occupants had seen anything, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The caller was labeled: Unknown ID.

"Where is she?" Joel answered the phone, knowing full well who it was on the other end of the line. "I swear if you fucking hurt her in any way-"

"Easy there Joel," the voice spoke over the receiver.

"Where is she?" He repeated.

"It's killing you, isn't it? Not knowing where she is. If she's dead or alive."

"If you touch her I'll kill you," Joel promised in a voice far calmer than what was brewing inside of him.

"Just when you become the hero you want to go back to being a vigilante?"

"Where is she!?" He screamed now. Joel stood in the yard, looking around in all directions still. There was no fear for himself. He would have taken on an army without a second thought.

When no answer came back on the other end of the line he bellowed, "Vic!" so shrill and so loud that it stopped people on the roads as they paraded around the neighborhood. Joel marched back into the house as Vic laughed and continued to taunt him on the other end. He grabbed the car keys and ran back outside, slamming the front door behind him.

"I needed bolt cutters to open up the place, but I'm sure you can figure out where I'm taking her," Vic said on the other end of the line. "And we have quite a fucking head start, so you better put the pedal to the metal." He laughed again and internally it sent Joel into a primal frenzy.

"The junk yard," Joel spoke aloud, more to himself than to Vic, though his adversary responded.

"Very good." He paused, "And if you go to the police you won't see her alive again."

Joel whipped the car into the road, gritting his teeth as he was forced to finesse through the wave of trick or treaters. When he finally surpassed the end of the neighborhood and cruised onto the main road, he flew down the main road away from the quieter streets, past the town green where scarecrows still lined the border. It was like deja vu of the year before, only worse.

He screamed and shouted at the steering wheel as he slammed his hands down on it. "Why didn't I go get the fucking firewood!" Joel yelled out loud again, "Fuck!"

When the car squealed around a bend in the road he almost lost control and felt his stomach twist and turn in preparation for slamming into a tree, though it didn't happen. Joel got the car under control and floored the pedal again against his better judgement. He reached for the phone with his picture on it, knowing the four digit passcode and punched it in. Somehow as he drove, he scrolled to the last text message that had been sent to Steve, thanking him for getting the video footage.

If you go to the police you won't see her alive again. Vic's words hung in his ear, but Joel knew if he didn't have back up, there was no way he could overpower two or three men - or more. And so he went with his gut and began typing to Steve.

Despite deep down knowing it was the right move, Joel prayed that what he was about to do was the right move. If it wasn't, he would live his entire life in a world of pain and regret.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee @shayna-d-clown @bbiophiliaa @theclassicvinyldragon @tiffanypooh @mandijo17 @poodlebae @purple-fig @vabeachazn

[tadpolesonalgae]

Ur descriptions of the lil coastal town and the sea with its little creatures and the lil trinkets is so amazing omg I cant help but get sucked right in. It just makes it so bittersweet that reader at least gets to experience this much but there’s still so much more out there for her to learn about and live through… she just can’t with her ‘timeframe’.

Fuck… the Bas scene rlly was a heavy hitter. I think that I (along with the reader) had just gotten so used to him being somewhat of a constant that this rlly did a number on me. Life rlly has been particularly awful to reader… to find him in such a state… especially when she expected him to outlive her by CENTURIES, to live and move on from her, experience what she couldn’t… when all things calm down, I hope the reader gets to see him off properly

You have done such an amazing job creating such a compelling character as Bas. I genuinely don’t think I’ve gotten so attached to a character as him. And as much as it hurts cause you have just made him so damn loveable, know that he lives in my brain on the constant.

Good job Azriel Shadowsinger (I’m using his full govt name cause I’m still mad at him) for being able to lull her to sleep after the ordeal(s)!!! It rlly was a rock and a hard place type situation😭 I’m happy that we got the lil look into some of reader’s happy childhood memories tho!

Also reader snarling and sassing him in the shop LMAO more of that please. He deserves to get some attitude.

It was a HEAVY chapter but you did amazingly (as always) I couldn’t put my phone down even if I tried to ❤️❤️❤️

'Ur descriptions of the lil coastal town and the sea with its little creatures and the lil trinkets is so amazing omg I cant help but get sucked right in.'

Thank you so much!!! <3

Since it was the first time I was taking you somewhere non-canon in the fic I really wanted to make it feel like an actual place, if that makes sense? I think actually writing those beginning sections where reader is observing the valleys, the shoreline, the town itself, and the beach were the parts that took the longest? With dialogue, or more character-driven scenes I mostly rely on conversation to keep progress up, while having small sentences of movement in between so the story is still moving even during conversation? So actually having to write more descriptive sections takes more effort, for me at least! Definitely trying to pull together a picture of what I want to describe, and pulling on past experiences?

I have this memory from when I was younger and visiting either Bristol or Brighton, and coming across a row of houses that were painted sea-shades of blue, and a couple of pink, and yellow ones, so that's where the coloured houses came from, then the summer before last I spent some time in Wales and visited a few different beaches, which helped with describing the shore section! <3

'Fuck… the Bas scene rlly was a heavy hitter. I think that I (along with the reader) had just gotten so used to him being somewhat of a constant that this rlly did a number on me.'

Yeah... I'll tell you, from the standpoint of being the one writing the story, it was so difficult getting asks about the Summer and Autumn Court sections (which looked like they were going to be the next chapters) and not being able to talk about much of that! :')

And I'm still going to miss getting to actively write his character - I think he honestly ended up becoming an integral part of reader's life, so losing him is going to cause some changes for her, and her perspective on life, and love.

On one hand I'm sorry that anyone who also liked Bas now won't get to see him again, but on the other hand it makes me so happy (?) that some of you connected enough with his character to feel sadness, or loss in that section? I know that's a weird way to phrase it, but in a sense it's heartwarming you're missing him, so thank you for your willingness to believe in him as a character <3

'especially when she expected him to outlive her by CENTURIES, to live and move on from her, experience what she couldn’t…'

Yes! For reader, she was born human, so in the beginning was probably still getting used to the idea of immortality, whereas for Bas it was practically a given. Like reader said, she wasn't expecting to experience more loss before she got to go, and especially not from someone who was supposed to outlast her by such a massive stretch :/

'You have done such an amazing job creating such a compelling character as Bas. I genuinely don’t think I’ve gotten so attached to a character as him. And as much as it hurts cause you have just made him so damn loveable, know that he lives in my brain on the constant.'

This makes me so unbelievably happy to hear - thank you so, so much! <3

Although again, I think that to form a strong attachment with or to a character, there has to be a willingness on your part to accept that character, and temporarily suspend some beliefs to make them come to life, so thank you to you for being open to him <3

'Good job Azriel Shadowsinger (I’m using his full govt name cause I’m still mad at him)'

As you should, as you should

I wouldn't have anything else to write if you forgave him immediately after that chapter, as relieving as I found it to finally write Az finding a way to kind of be there for reader, in his own, unique way

'for being able to lull her to sleep after the ordeal(s)!!! It rlly was a rock and a hard place type situation😭 I’m happy that we got the lil look into some of reader’s happy childhood memories tho!'

Despite that scene being a draining one to write, it was also kind of calming? I had this relaxing, instrumental, winter playlist on so it was a pretty cathartic scene for me, after the anguish of the section prior to that! And I'm glad you enjoyed that brief, wandering part as reader's drifting off to sleep, and Az trying to lull her into that fatigue by asking her questions that will conjure up ideas to dream about <3

'Also reader snarling and sassing him in the shop LMAO more of that please. He deserves to get some attitude.'

Yes! I loved getting to write the section with Malachite!! He really rubs her the wrong way, for some reason!

I think also, from a writing standpoint, it'll feel more natural for reader to be a little more open with her irritation, now that Azriel has already seen it passively?

'It was a HEAVY chapter but you did amazingly (as always) I couldn’t put my phone down even if I tried to ❤️❤️❤️'

Thank you! :') Though I don't know how you managed to keep concentrated for that long! I find my eyes sometimes go a little weird if I stare at a screen for too long without taking a break!

And I'm sorry for the heavy angst in that last part, I swear it's going to be Summer Court in the next chapter!!

And thank you so so SO much for writing in!!!!! Both after such a long break, and with such a heavy chapter, it's so relieving that you're still interested in cbmthy and happy to chatter away with me about it! It's always so fun, and such a lovely experience getting to hear different thoughts and reactions to the things I've written, so thank you! <3

[sunshines-child]

*spins dramatically in chair* god im so tired. sunny ur children have taken over my prefrontal cortex its not funny anymore.

partner in crime - madilyn mei: screams luc to me thinking of his little dove, but also from theos angsty teen perspective. the song fits them both almost like a back and forth conversation (i might make a post actually this is genius lmao). actually now that i think of it it fits u too lol (it has that vintage circus vibe if u will)

why good people become monsters: video essay of sorts exploring the lucifer effect (nuff said lol), but i recommend reading the comments for more insight and perspective. the art and presentation is slightly unsettling and i love it.

random quotes i from the top of my desktop notes: (long read sorry)

"he had all his mother's vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty. Frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to Walter." - rainbow valley, l.m montgomery

-> luc and mercy change my mind (u cant hehe)

He said: “Only God can Judge a monster like that… I just set up the appointment”

-> my boi armund snaps (and snaps someones neck oop-)

“hell is empty, all the devils are here” - the tempest, shakespeare

-> this is definately written somewhere on altis lol

… as John [Lennon] told Rolling Stone magazine in 1970, “When it gets down to it, when you’re drowning, you don’t say, ‘I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,’ you just scream.”

-> theo fighting his demons and losing :') eventually leading to some fall out with daddy dearest.

"It brings me so much joy to watch someone else get staggered by the full range of human degeneracy. We really do be wildin." - a yt comment lol

->i like to think that while both luc and altis kill in cold blood, for titi its another day job or whatever but for luc he thinks a lot about life and death and morality and corruption and thats what leads him to insanity later on.

classic case of living long enough to see urself as the villain but also a favourite trope of mine where people join the dark side for the cookies out of deep empathy for the wronged victims as opposed to say the violence and injustices they themselves may have experienced.

but also post armunds death luc lets all hell loose because how *dare* anyone lay a finger on his beloved boy?! the angst potential my dear is frankly off the charts and i love them all so much it hurts

anyhows this is for fun & i wanted to share some pebbles with ya

i couldnt resist >:D

I have not a single regret taking over your prefrontal cortex. ITS MINE NOW MWAHAHHAHAHAHA Partners in Crime by Madilyn Mei recognition YAYYYYYYY it’s so fit for their characters I’m in tears RAAAAAAAAAAAA Im not changing your mind you’re cooking. “he had all his mother's vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty. Frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to Walter." You’re hurting me it’s so fucking beautiful oh my poor heart and soul he is the very bring of his mother, those calloused hands still flying, desperate to cling onto Mercy’s hands, still desperate to cling upon the hands of his mother who rested his head upon her breast. Armund doesn’t exactly ever…snap. His rage is there, and everyone knows it’s there. He’s the only one getting rid of his rage instead of bottling it down. He’s constantly shrouded by rage. “hell is empty the devils are here” is my knew favorite quote. I’m one of the devils LMAO also yes it is very much inked on Altis (probably his hip) Luc and Altis kill like all hell. And you’re very right on what they feel. Altis feels nothing. It’s just another thing he has to do. No rush, no nothing. He’s just… doing it. Luc in the other hand feels everything. Even when it’s someone he is killing more as a task, he’ll feel a rush of everything, all the thoughts, everything. He knows, oh he knows the mortality of everything, including his own soul. (Also he’s constantly bringing the edge of “what if I just died”. It’s. It’s worrying.) Luc. Luc BREAKS when Armund dies. He loves his son, but in the end there’s no tru nurture still left in it. His son turns away from him, and he draws back his hand and cries. And his little angel, his Armind is there, to give him a true taste of joy despite the life all of them live. And what happens to man without joy?

[kahvilahuhut]

breakfasts in small cafe

Summary: Klara goes to get a breakfast from a cafe she often visits, and plans to do some works and university stuff at the same time. In there, she meets a guy who recently joined their student organization's even committee, and decided to talk with him for a moment.

Warnings: No specific warnings, just fluff. There's food mentions, though.

---

Klara took off her headphones and put them in her bag as she entered the corner cafe. The barista waved to her while writing something on a paper - they already knew her order and name.

A vanilla yoghurt, scrambled eggs + a cheese sandwich. A glass of apple juice and a cup of coffee, with one small piece of chocolate left in it to melt.

Klara loved this cafe. It was barely known by most of the students and seemed to always be very calm - that is, until the evening. That's when it turned into a bar and cheap restaurant combo that many who lived here seemed to love.

She walked to the counter, greeted the barista and ordered the usual, though this time with their handmade granola bar, as a snack for the afternoon seminar. The barista brought her drinks as she paid for the order and told her to pick a table and wait a little. Klara thanked her, picked up the juice and coffee, and turned around to look for a free table.

The couch seats were all taken, which Klara didn't really mind. She needed a spot where she could charge up her laptop, if she really wanted to finish the presentation before the seminar. Plus, there were all the work emails and reports she had to go through.

A window seat, which she usually went for, was a good choice. The problem with it was that it was hiding behind a small wall for another couch seat, which meant she had to go and see if it's free.

But surely she could be a bit persuasive, for all that rare autumn sunlight.

As she suspected, it was taken - by a surprisingly familiar face. The new guy whom Leon invited into the event organization team.

Tobias was sitting there, leading into the back of the chair and crocheting something, one earphone in the left ear and the other earphone hanging around the right ear. Klara was surprised to see someone else use the ones that have wires - though they were clearly more popular than the wireless ones outside of her social circle, considering how they have persisted for two centuries.

He seemed to have half forgotten the breakfast he' was eating. An egg bagel on one plate - half eaten already, without the bacon that is usually there - an oat porridge, and a large latte, with a glass of water. Klara has never seen anyone order the oat porridge, either.

"Uh, hey. Fancy running into you. Mind if I sit here?"

He took off his earphones and gently threw them into his tote bag. "Hey! I don't mind at all, go ahead," he reached to move his porridge plate and coffee cup to make more space for her. "And yeah, I know, right? This is my favorite cafe here, though I rarely get to visit it during breakfast. Mostly simply because I live quite far away from here, but also because I rarely wake up to make it here in time for breakfast." He yawned, clumsily covering his mouth with whatever he was crocheting. "Uh, sorry. Had to wake up earlier for an interview today and decided to, well, treat myself after it. A bit expensive for my budget but you gotta enjoy life sometimes, am I right?"

Klara nodded as she placed the apple juice and coffee on the table, and put her bag next to the chair. "Cool, hope the interview went well," she watched him shrug a bit, then continued while sitting down, "Uh, weird question. If I may ask, how do you know about this place? No one seems to know about it when I ask them."

"Ah, well. When I was moving in I got a bit overwhelmed by all the boxes I had to unpack and decided to go for a short walk... Which then turned into a several kilometers long walk to see the whole campus. Somewhere in the middle I found this cafe, ordered one latte and a croissant as a take-away, some kind of motivation to finally start unpacking stuff. Have you tried their croissants? They're soooo delicious."

"Huh, interesting. You moved here recently, too, right?"

"During the summer. You?"

"Closer to fall since I had some things to do during summer, moved over there," she pointed at the small, green apartment building a few buildings away. "Awfully expensive rent, but at least I have a living room and a bedroom." If only I could spend more time there, she added in her thoughts.

"Ooh, the pretty one. That's so cool! Too bad the rent is high. But hey, at least you have this little cafe nearby. Lucky!"

"Heh, maybe. Um, hope I didn't interrupt anything important?"

"Huh?"

"Your, um, earphones?"

"Oh, that! No, don't worry about it, it's some sociology lecture they're streaming. They'll post the recording later, so I'll watch it then."

"Soc- Aren't you studying IT or something?"

"Biochemistry, actually. I don't know, I just like them. Dad had lots of sociology books, I used to read them as a teen," he paused and looked down at his yarn, "Uh. Anyway. Don't worry about it."

Klara watched him go back a few stitches back and redo them. "What are you crocheting?"

"A sweater. Or, well, a turtleneck, actually."

"I thought you're supposed to knit them."

"You can crochet them too," he reached for the glass of water and took a sip. "Crocheted ones are a bit bulkier than knitted ones, which many don't like, but I personally love wearing one with a leather jacket."

"Really? Sorry, I varely know anything about either one." She looked up to thank the barista for bring her order to the table, and gave her a tip. Once the barista left, she turned back to Tobias and looked at his hand. "Listen, aren't you left-handed?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Well, ambidexterous, actually, though I'm definitely better at using my left hand," he shook the yarn off his left hand and waved slightly. "My left hand hurts a bit right now, so I'm doing something that lets it rest more. Didn't take the book I'm reading with me, and sitting idly is, well, hard. I'd probably fall asleep or something," he paused to look at the yarn, a slightly annoyed look appearing on his face for a moment, and then leaned back on the sofa and continued, "Crocheting mostly required only one hand to move, while the other just holds the yarn. Feels a bit weird to do all this with right hand. But hey, at least I get to train it a bit more."

"Huh." Klara sipped her juice and watched him crochet for a while. "That's an interesting color. Pink, but also orangeish?"

"Oh, yeah! It reminded me of whatever you get when you mix lots of strawberry slushie and some orange slushie together sometimes. I think I'll name it 'Slushie' when I'm done."

"You...name your sweaters?"

"For fun. There's the bee sweater, it's yellow with orange stripes. Or orange with yellow stripes, whatever. I embroidered a small little bee on it, too. Then I'm also working on something that would probably be called fish pond, I guess. I'm knitting that one, there was this funny blue yarn where the shade of blue changes after half a meter or so. Makes it look like water. I think I'll add some koi fish there, either only on the front or in the back, too. What do you think?"

"Huh. Depends on how many fish. It would be fun on both sides, though, I think..." Klara imagined him walking around the campus in the fish sweater. Not the weirdest outfit she has seen, and actually sounds quite cute, too. And probably warm. Would it be wrong to ask for one, since winter's coming and she still hasn't gone shopping for anything warm yet. Who am I kidding, why whould he even consider that, Klara thought. She looked up and noticed Tobias looking at her, as if waiting for an answer. "Uh, sorry, did you say something? I kinda got lost in my thoughts."

"Um, yeah, don't worry about it. I asked what you like to do. As a hobby, I mean."

"Uhh... wait a moment, let me think..." Klara looked up and tried to remember the last time she did something that was not studying or her internship. Would watching tv shows count? She thought about how she used to draw during her free time, and realized in the middle of the thought that the last time she did that was a year ago or so. "Um. I work out in the morning, if that counts? And watch tv shows. Uh. Sorry, I don't really have time for other hobbies." Even if I would love to have them.

Tobias smiled. "That's completely fine! I mean, I mostly do them because I either procrastinate my tasks or need to occupy my brain with something so I won't- um, feel bad. And knowing all the things you do, I'm glad to hear that you have at least some free time to watch tv shows and exercise. That's at least some kind of rest."

"That's a...very good point," she picked up her glass of juice and looked at the liquid for a moment before finishing it. "You, um, watch any shows?"

"Well, no. Not really my thing, same with movies," he replied, and quickly added, "I mean, I could watch them, with someone, but I personally don't really have an interest to, well, follow them, I guess? There are some that I kind off like, but also watch quite rarely."

"That's fine! I rarely ever meet people who don't watch them. You do look like someone who prefers books, though."

"I sure do. And video games," he smiled. "Though I haven't played any for a while, haven't had any time to go buy a console after moving."

"Hey, I play some games, too. How funny." She drank her apple juice, and suddenly remembered why she came here. "Uh, you're not using the outlet, are you?"

"Nope! Why?"

"I need to charge my laptop. And finish my presentation. And all kinds of other stuff, really, uh-", she took out her laptop and placed it carefully between the plates, then ducked under the table to put the cable in. "Oh, fuck, I think I forgot to reply to an important email yesterday, too."

"Oh, man that's awful. Though I personally believe that people should see it as a normal thing that others have a few days to answer emails-" he paused, a slightly worried look on my face, "Hey, um, I'm not distracting you from anything important, am I? I can go, if you want-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. I'll handle everything quickly. Actually," she looked at him, "do you have a molent to proof-read my presentation? I've been having problems with it and can't put my finger on where exactly is the problem."

"Yeah, sure, let me see it," he placed his crochet work on the table, barely missing one of the plates, and rose up, revealing the full cat illustration on the t-shirt he wore under his cardigan, cartoony cats in different poses and with different faces.

Klara glanced at each of them for a moment. "That's such a cute shirt," she said and pointed at the one in the right, a cat dozing off in sunlight, "Kinda wish that was me, heh."

"Thanks! Funny thing, I went to a cat show with my 'ex' a year ago and this was part of official event merch. One of my favorite t-shirts for sure."

"It's soooooo cool. And glad to hear that the fact you went there with your ex didn't ruin the whole experience."

"Ah, well, Frank wasn't exactly an ex and more like an associate with benefits, or whatever. Anyway, your presentation?"

"Oh, um, yeah!" She opened the document and turned the laptop towards him. "Like I said, I don't know what's the problem, but it feels...weird."

"Well, I don't see any problems either, to be honest, it's quite amazing. I also like your topic, sustainability at work and its connection to tax benefits of workers on different level is such an interesting point of view." He stopped at one slide, "Hey, I think I found your little problem. Your table lacks titles and a legend. Everything else is fine."

"Huh, that was it?" She looked at the slide. "Man, thanks! This means a lot."

"No problem, Klara, I'm always glad to help," Tobias said with a wide smile, "Honestly though, what a cool topic."

"Uh, thank you! Hopefully the professor will think so, too."

"It would be surprising if he won't. Hey, by the way, what time is it?"

Klara looked at her screen. "It's 10 am."

"Oh, hm, okay. Damn, just realized I need to be on the other side of the campus in half an hour."

"Hm, that's bad. Though, you'll get there on time if you hurry."

"Yeah, you're right, you're right," he nodded and walked to his own seat, carefully wrapped his bagel in a napkin and put it in his tote bag with his work-in-progress turtleneck. He finished his latte quickly and looked at Klara. "Well, um, hey, it was nice to talk to you. You're very, um, cool! And thanks for asking about the craft projects, I rarely ever get to talk about them. Hope I didn't sound too boring."

"You didn't, it's really hard to find people so passionate about things."

"Ah, great to hear, thanks! Well, see you later, somewhere!" He picked up his tote bag and started walking towards the exit, then stopped and turned back and glanced at her. "Hey, before I forget, do send me an update about how your presentation went. Would really love to hear more!"

"Sure, will do. See you, Tobias."

He smirked and waved to her, and exited the building.

Klara sat there for a moment, looking out of the window and watching him walk outside. What a fun guy. She couldn't remember the last time she had a weird, though funny and interesting conversation like this.

She turned back to the laptop and opened her email, now more somehow more relaxed than before.

[acaaai-t]

a warriors final pledge

fem! reader x knight! scaramouche

cw: light angst (sort of), hurt/no comfort, major character death, mentions of war, slight description of a wound, kissing, forbidden love

The storm rumbled.

Thunder clashed, lightning strikes— eliciting the world in a flash of white. The rain pelted down, banging against the window in loud patters.

You let out a small cry when the lightning flashed again. The grip you had on your the collar of your mothers gown tightened. She held you closer in her embrace, her touch slow and gentle, whispering sweet things to you in an attempt to soothe your fear.

“The storm will pass,” she mumbled quietly.

You gave no response, only burying your head deeper into the crook of her neck. Both hands cupped against your ears in an futile effort to drown out the storm.

“Your mother is right,” a deeper voice carrying wavering confidence spoke up. It was Scaramouche.

Though you could see from the corner of your eyes that he was scared— the slight tremble in his voice, he still managed to maintain a calm composure. As expected of the knight in duty.

The wind whistled and howled, bending the branches of trees to an impossible angle. Lightning flashed, and the thunder crashed. You whimpered.

The storm befalls.

Swords clashed against each other, sending up tiny sparks that quickly fizzled away. Arrows pelted down from the skies, raining down upon the targets. A explosive detonated somewhere in the middle of the battlefield, and for a moment, the world was lit in a flash of white.

Scaramouche brought up his sword, parrying a strike from the enemy. Blood mixed in with the mud, and he nearly slipped. He looked around frantically for an opening while fighting off another.

You were right behind him, your own weapon in hand, also fighting off the enemies. The heavy armor weighted you down, but atleast it was keeping you alive. Your sword work was clumsy, inefficient, and the opposing side caught on quickly that you couldn’t wield a sword as well as the knight protecting you.

Scaramouche felt an electric spark running up his spine. He shivered, a sudden ominous feeling shadowing him. With a swift thrust of his blade, the few remaining enemies surrounding the two of you fell.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing ahold of your arm. “This place to far too dangerous.”

You stumbled as you ran, ducking as arrows whizzed past you.

Using the smoke as a cover up, Scaramouche brought you over to an house that was just barely on the verge of collapsing. It was a miracle the building hasn’t already been obliterated into nothingness.

“Stay here,” he said, guiding you to a dark corner of the house.

“You’re staying with me, right?”

He nodded. “It is my duty to protect you as your knight, princess.”

“Scara… you can drop the formalities.”

“Force of habit, sorry,” he muttered.

You laughed, a sound akin to the silver bells that twinkled in the autumn breeze. The laugh quickly faded away, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes… I just wish we could’ve been normal people, you know?”

Scaramouche felt his heart squeeze at your words.

“Maybe then we could’ve been together and escape from the war, living somewhere where nobody can find us,” you shook your head, knowing full well the future you envision will never be reality.

A knight and a princess could never be together.

“Scara, come here,” you said, beckoning the boy over.

He did as told, getting on one knee as he faced you. With no warning, you cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer to you. It was a short-lived kiss, and when you pulled away, both your faces were dusted a light red.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you sputtered out, stumbling over your words in the haze of panic. “Sorry…”

Delicate fingers came up to trace his lips, the tingling feeling of your lips still dancing. It was crazy, seeing you so calm and collected, when the kingdom that belong to you— was being slowly teared apart, bit by bit.

The amber of the raging fire reflected in your eyes as you stared out at the bloodied battlefield. You kept your gaze trained on anywhere but him, your thoughts still jumbled up from your impulsive decision.

“It’s fine,” he whispered, heart thumping.

He sat down next to you and pulled you into his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

The world was falling apart, but for just the tiniest moment, here in this dark corner of a house, everything seemed to be alright. It was just you and him, and nothing else mattered. Just two idiots in love, but unable to love each other.

You pressed your body against him, feeling the warmth that radiated off.

Suddenly you were 8 years old.

It was storming again. You were hiding in the closet of your bedroom, a blanket tightly wrapped around you.

Scaramouche bursts into your chamber and yanked the closet door open, his hair disheveled and eyes crazed. His breaths were ragged as he looked at you, a wave of relief visibly washing over him.

“There you are,” he mumbled, crawling into the tiny space next to you. “I thought you got kidnapped…”

No response was heard from you, but the extra weight on his shoulder said more than enough. Scaramouche could only muster a tiny smile. Though the boy was only two years older than you, he had shown an incredible progression in his maturity level— this leading your parents to make the final decision and officially appointing him as your personal protector.

“Hey…” he whispered, patting your head. “There’s no need to be scared, I’ll always be there to protect you.”

That was his pledge.

His voice echoed loudly in his head.

“Hey.”

He could barely hear himself over his pounding heartbeat.

“Hey..” he nudged at your still figure. “Hey don’t do this to me. This isn’t time for jokes.”

Very carefully, he lifted your body up and held you close to him. A warm liquid seeped slowly seeped into his attire. You were still alive, Scaramouche could confirm with that faint heartbeat of yours. But it won’t last long, he knows it.

The lightning strikes. Purple streaked across the skies, bringing with it a deafening clap of thunder. All sorts of emotions raged in his heart, but the one above all, was fear.

“Scaramouche,” your voice was faint, just barely audible.

The silent was deafening.

How did it happen?

…

He had lowered his guard and allowed a silent attacker to intrude.

It was my fault.

A tear slipped and rolled down his cheeks. Even though the enemy had long gone cold, it was still too late. That bloodied gash that hastily marked your neck signaled at your death.

It was futile to try and save you. He knows. Yet he tries.

It was only when your body had gone limp, when the light in your eyes dulled out, when you couldn’t feel his warmth anymore, was when he stopped—

— stopped trying to care for the world around him, for what was there to care about when the only person he had ever really loved was gone? A strangled laugh escaped him.

Gone.

He brought your body over to an untainted field, where the surviving flowers flourished. Gently, Scaramouche laid your body down on the bed of flowers and took one final look at you before closing your eyes for the last time. He sat a small clutch of orchids where your hands met.

“Maybe in another lifetime, you and I, could be together,” he whispered. “I’ll wait for you, always.”

With his final words, Scaramouche stood up and faced the warzone ahead of him, his blade clutched tightly in his hands, and the stone hanging by his neck glowed a fierce purple.

Dark heavy clouds began covering the sky, the aura of electrical hanging low in the air. Slowly, rain began to plunge.

And amidst the rain he would fight, fight until the world had finally taken account of what they done, fight until his final breath, fight until he drops dead— fight like that of a warriors final pledge.

The storm was back, and this time, it won’t hold back.

✩ ·┆masterlist

notes—

— bruh I finished this fic at like 12am so the ending might not make sense; making reader suffer in the next fic, I’ve caused scaramoochie too much pain 🙏

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[secularbakedgoods]

Lockout

(science fiction, 3900 words)

When Jackie first met her next-door neighbor, she had no inkling whatsoever that there was six figures’ worth of military hardware grafted onto his body.

The man who answered her knock at the door of the neighboring apartment was somewhere in his early 20s, with the permanent five ‘o’ clock shadow of someone who only shaved with an electric razor. It was early autumn, not even cold, but he wore a hoodie and kept both hands tucked into its front pocket.

Jackie did her best to look friendly (a redundant effort, as she usually came across as the least threatening person alive). “Hi, I’m Jackie. I live next door.”

“Hi.” The neighbor looked pleasantly surprised, as if he’d opened the door expecting much worse. “Connor.”

“So, this is weird and I’m sorry to bother you about it, but my cat is on your balcony right now.”

The balcony was the major selling point of an otherwise standard crappy apartment. Everything was the same shade of Landlord White, and the kitchen backsplash had been ripped out and never replaced, but the building was in decent shape—although construction further up the block had rattled it beyond its usual tolerances, leaving cracks in the walls and ceiling. A balcony meant that Jackie’s cat, Greg, could get some unsupervised fresh air while she worked.

An acquaintance in the local esports league had hired Jackie to replace the control sticks in his lucky gamepad, which were starting to drift. The money wasn’t great, but she was between freelance gigs. The job demanded enough of her attention that it was only once she’d finished and put down the soldering iron that she realized Greg had gone wandering.

Connor left the door open and moved to his window, pulling the heavy blackout curtains aside. His apartment and Jackie’s shared the balcony, with a divider between. Somehow, Greg had made his way across the divider and now lay indolently in front of the sliding door on Connor’s side.

Jackie hovered at the apartment’s threshold. “Can I just—?”

Connor shrugged. Jackie bolted gingerly across the apartment and slid the door open to retrieve her cat.

Greg offered no resistance to being hoisted, even when Jackie held him up in front of her face and said, “You are a very bad cat.” She turned and waggled him at Connor. “Say ‘thank you’ to the nice man for the use of his balcony.”

In response, the cat only yawned. Connor, however, cracked a smile. With his left hand, he gave Greg a scratch behind the ears.

His right hand remained hidden, tucked into the hoodie.

-

Jackie next saw Connor on laundry day.

He came up behind her in the hallway outside the laundry room, where she stood with half a key in her hand and the other half wedged in the lock of the laundry room door.

“Did your key break?” Connor asked.

Jackie glared at the door. “Yes.”

Connor tried to pry the broken key out of the lock, but couldn’t get a grip through his gloves.

“I think you need fingernails for that,” Jackie said, and Connor stepped aside.

It took a few seconds, with Jackie chipping her thumbnail in the process, but eventually the broken key came loose and Connor unlocked the door.

As they commenced the intricate dance that only took place between near-strangers doing their laundry together, Jackie asked, “Why is this room even locked?”

“They found someone sleeping in here once,” Connor said. “Landlord got mad. Do you want one of my keys?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a spare. I’ll just tell the landlord one of mine broke.”

Connor worked the key off the ring with his right hand, but handed it to Jackie with his left.

-

The fire alarm went off at three in the morning. Greg, the asshole, immediately hid under Jackie’s bed and had to be dragged out.

Jackie ended up outside in her slippers with the cat under one arm and her bed’s comforter over her shoulders. There was some consolation to be had that the building’s other occupants, scattered all over the parking lot, were in similar states of undress.

Connor was off in the corner, arms wrapped around himself; he’d neglected to grab a coat on the way out, and the night was chilly. His oversized t-shirt did nothing to hide the advanced mechanical arm grafted to his right shoulder where a flesh-and-blood limb had once been. Jackie faintly recognized the model from videos that crossed her feed every once in a while. It was a military-grade prosthetic, supposedly as dexterous as the human limb it was intended to replace.

People were staring. Connor did his best to ignore them.

Jackie sidled over, holstered Greg against her hip, and extended one side of the comforter. “Hey. You cold?”

It was a polite fiction on both sides: Jackie pretended not to notice the arm, or the fact that she’d offered Connor the side of the comforter that would cover it, and Connor pretended not to see right through the gesture. He ducked under the comforter with a quiet, “thanks.”

They huddled together in the parking lot until the fire department showed up. After all that, it turned out to be a false alarm.

-

The building was only three stories tall, with no trash chute. Instead, Jackie had to haul her garbage bags down to the dumpster in the alley.

Someone had left a bedside dresser—slightly beat up, but still solid—on the ground next to the dumpster. Connor hovered over it with an air of uncertainty.

“You taking that?” Jackie asked.

“I don’t know.” Connor had his hoodie on, with his right hand tucked into the front pocket; the arm hung limp from his shoulder.

“I could help bring it up,” Jackie suggested.

Connor ducked his head, avoiding her eyes. “I can’t lift anything. My arm’s not, uh. Working.”

“I can carry it. Just get the doors for me, okay?”

It was a little awkward to lift, and the stairs were a bitch, but a few minutes later Jackie set the dresser down next to Connor’s bed. It was just a mattress on the floor, no frame.

Jackie stretched, hands at the small of her back. “Can I ask you an awkward question?”

Connor cleared his throat. He still wouldn’t look at her. “The VA hasn’t paid the bill yet.”

“For your arm?”

Connor nodded. “There’s a fee every month, from the company that made it. The VA covers it, but sometimes they’re a few days late.”

“So the company switches the arm off remotely.”

“Yeah.”

“You tried modding it?”

Connor rubbed his shoulder; it had to be a strain, hauling that much dead weight around. “Like how?”

“You could try disabling whatever antenna receives the lockout signal,” Jackie said. “Or cracking the firmware. I could help, if you wanted.”

“Is that legal?”

“More or less?” Jackie shrugged. “It’s the kind of thing the law has trouble keeping up with.”

Connor looked uneasy. “I’ll think about it.”

-

Amelia’s scoff came through Jackie’s headset like a burst of static. “Again, Jackie?”

“What? What’s ‘again?’”

The rest of Jackie’s regular gaming group had gone to bed hours ago, leaving Jackie and Amelia to claw their way up the leaderboards late into the night.

Jackie didn’t particularly like Amelia.

“This thing where you’re nice to some guy,” Amelia said, “because you’re nice to everybody, and then he decides he’s in love with you. And then you have to move halfway across the country because he won’t leave you alone.”

“So I should just be a bitch to everybody?”

“It’d make your life easier.”

“I don’t believe that.”

There was a knock on Jackie’s door.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jackie closed the game and dropped out of the chat server. When she opened the door, Connor was there, looking sheepish.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine, I was up.”

Connor rubbed his shoulder again, although his arm seemed once again able to support its own weight. “So, that thing you suggested. About the arm. Could we try?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Jackie moved to let him in, then hesitated. “Actually, let me grab my tools and we’ll use your place. Less cat hair.”

They set up at Connor’s dining room table, which—like the dresser—looked like it was salvaged out of the trash. Connor changed into a sleeveless shirt, and Jackie got her first full look at the arm.

The prosthesis didn’t stop at the shoulder; the shoulder blade and part of his spine had also been reinforced, the whole apparatus clearly not designed for easy removal. The casing wasn’t metal, like Jackie expected, but some kind of polymer. Where it met flesh, there were scars: long furrows, clumsy and chaotic and not at all surgical.

There was an access panel on the arm’s shoulder, and the screws holding it in place all had a distinctive head. “Security screws,” Jackie said. “You need a proprietary screwdriver for these.”

“So we can’t open it?”

“What? No, I have the screwdriver here.” The toolbox rattled as Jackie fumbled through it. “You can buy them online. They’re like five bucks.”

The screws were all slightly different sizes, just to make Jackie’s life hell. She placed each on the table in a pattern roughly corresponding to where they’d been on the panel.

When she tried to pry the panel up, it didn’t move. Closer inspection revealed it was also glued in place.

It was probably unwise, not to mention impractical, to stick Connor’s arm in the oven. Luckily, Jackie had a heat gun. She tried to keep it away from Connor’s skin, but he still flinched every time the nozzle got a little too close.

Once the panel was off, Jackie grabbed a pen light and examined the board beneath. The network chip that received the lockout signal was easy enough to spot; it was, of course, glued to the board. Everything was.

“Chips are glued down,” Jackie reported.

“Can you melt the glue?”

“Probably shouldn’t,” Jackie explained. “Sometimes they like to layer acid between coats of glue. If I try to dissolve it or pry the chips off, I might damage the board.”

Another sweep of the pen light revealed a port without a connector.

“When they were setting this thing up,” Jackie asked, “did they have any cables plugged into it?”

Connor shifted in his seat. “I don’t remember. Does it matter?”

“Maybe. I think I see a debug port. They would’ve used it to calibrate the arm while it was being installed. If I can solder on a new connector, that might get us the access we need.” Jackie grabbed her laptop. “I’ll have to order the connector online, though. None of the suppliers in this city are anywhere near a bus stop.”

Connor said, “I have a car.”

“Is it the one with the tree growing out of it?”

There was, in the parking lot, a car with four flat tires and a tree growing out of it. It wasn’t a big tree—barely a sapling—but the fact that it was there at all was not a good sign.

The look on Connor’s face was all the answer Jackie needed.

-

A few days later, the courier delivering the new connector called Jackie and said, “I can’t find your address.”

“Oh. Your GPS is pointing you down the wrong street.” Jackie sighed; this was nowhere near the first time. “That’s the pedestrian entrance. Car access is through the parking lot, one street over.”

“Could you come down?”

Jackie groaned. “Yeah, sure.”

The courier hung up.

Jackie was only halfway down the stairs by the time her phone rang again. She answered without looking and said, “Hey, I’m on my way down.”

A voice that was not the courier said, “Jackie?”

Jackie stopped dead, her heart pounding up into her throat. “Wyatt. Hi. How’d you get this number?”

“I got it from Ethan.” Fucking Ethan. “I heard you moved.”

“Sure did,” Jackie said. With any luck Wyatt hadn’t heard where to.

“I’m gonna be out your way pretty soon. We should have coffee or something.”

Jackie’s mouth went dry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I asked you to leave me alone, Wyatt.” Jackie took a deep breath that rattled in her chest. “Please don’t call me again.”

She hung up, blocked the number, and managed to stop crying by the time the courier finally showed up.

-

In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious that soldering parts onto a board was much harder when the board was attached to a human being. One who, on occasion, had to breathe.

“How the hell did they even install this thing?” she grumbled, holding the soldering iron away from anything sensitive as she waited for Connor to settle.

“I was out for most of it,” Connor replied.

Distracted, Jackie asked, “‘Out?’”

“I was in the hospital. IED.”

Jackie had to put the soldering iron down. “You got blown up and then they stuck a robot arm on you? Don’t they have to get consent for stuff like that?”

“When I enlisted, I just signed whatever they put in front of me,” Connor said. “There was a form I could fill out to get an extra few thousand a year. I didn’t read it too closely.”

Jackie took a moment to calm down, picked up the iron again, and went back to work.

Once the connector was on, Jackie plugged in her laptop, opened a terminal, and pulled up the arm’s internal drive. There was a long list of utilities, all with arcane names and no indication as to what any of them did.

“This might take a while,” she warned Connor.

“How long?”

“Long enough that I shouldn’t sit here plugged into your arm the whole time.” Jackie typed out a command to copy the firmware to her own drive. “This next part is going to be very boring.”

-

Around midnight, Jackie closed her laptop and announced, “I need caffeine.”

Connor, half-asleep, grunted in agreement.

There was a convenience store a few blocks away. Jackie lunged for the drinks fridge the moment they arrived, grabbed two, cracked one open, then wandered toward the snack aisle for her usual ten minutes of indecision.

On the walk over, Connor had asked if Jackie was from around here.

“I like that the rent’s way cheaper.” Jackie wavered between chips and jerky. “I never could’ve afforded to live alone back home.”

“Don’t you miss your friends? Family?”

“My kind of people don’t hang out much in person anyway.”

Momentarily distracted by a display of sour candies, Jackie almost missed it when Connor said, “I don’t talk to anyone. From before.”

It was a weird thing to say right then. Jackie suspected Connor had been trying to say it for a while.

“They all felt so bad about it,” he went on. “And then I’d end up apologizing to them over how bad they felt. And then everyone kept ‘checking in,’ and complaining that I wouldn’t open up to them, and had I talked to my therapist lately, and ...” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes trained on the floor. “Eventually I just liked it better when I was alone.”

Jackie said, “Do you want some gummy bears? They’re two for one.”

“Yeah.” Connor’s laugh was short, brittle, but genuine. “Thanks.”

-

Halfway back to their building, Connor said, “Somebody’s following us.”

Jackie stumbled; Connor steadied her and urged her to keep moving.

“He was outside the convenience store,” Connor explained. “I wasn’t sure until we turned that last corner.”

“What should we do?” Jackie fought down the urge to look back. “The last time this happened I hid in a diner bathroom and called my mom, but she’s not—”

Connor turned on his heel and charged down the sidewalk, back the way they’d come. He had the guy by the front of his shirt by the time Jackie caught up.

She knew that guy.

“Wyatt?”

“Jackie!” Wyatt struggled indignantly in Connor’s grip. “What the fuck?”

Connor said, “You know him?”

“Somebody I knew back home,” Jackie said. “He followed me here.”

“He do that a lot?”

“He’s ... kind of why I had to move.”

Connor’s face settled into a cold mask. Whatever happened next was too fast to follow, and then Wyatt was on the ground, clutching his arm, howling.

There was blood, so deeply red it was almost black under the anemic street lights. Something protruded from the red-black mess, white and jagged, at a sickening angle from the natural line of his arm.

Jackie screamed.

Wyatt scrambled back and staggered to his feet. Jackie tried to help him stand, but he lurched away.

“No, no, wait,” Jackie was babbling, “please let me take you to the hospital—”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Wyatt spat, and bolted.

Connor ignored him. He was staring at her, eyes wide; his right hand reached out for her, but faltered.

She ran.

-

Jackie didn’t leave her apartment much for the next few days.

In spare moments, she sifted through her copy of the arm’s firmware: opening each utility and fiddling around until she’d figured out what it did. It was time-consuming, but comfortably monotonous—at least until the words “DEBUG TOOLS” appeared at the top of her terminal.

She still had the laptop open in her hands when she knocked on Connor’s door. Connor opened it, then stared at her without speaking, guilt etched across his face.

“Hi,” Jackie said.

“Hi,” Connor replied. “I figured you weren’t talking to me anymore.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jackie cleared her throat. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“I know. You didn’t, though.”

“I know.”

“So. Uh.” Jackie hefted her laptop. “It looks like the company left their whole suite of testing tools installed on your arm.”

“And that’s good?”

“Very,” Jackie said. “They would’ve used all these scripts and commands to run tests while they were developing the firmware. They’ll let us completely bypass the security on your arm and start switching things off.” She lowered the laptop. “You still want to do this?”

A shaky laugh escaped Connor’s throat; he leaned heavily against the door. “Yeah. I do.”

They settled back in at the dining room table, and Jackie plugged her laptop in.

The trick wasn’t getting the arm to ignore the lockout signal. The trick was getting it to respond to the manufacturer as though it had initiated the lockout, even though it hadn’t. Jackie wound up scripting a workaround so that the arm would receive the command, report back like a good little robot, but otherwise completely ignore the lockout order.

It wasn’t pretty, but it did the job.

“Okay.” Jackie opened up another of the test utilities. “I’m going to send a fake lockout signal to the arm, now. Let’s see what happens.”

“If this works,” Connor said, “I owe you dinner.”

“Don’t promise that,” Jackie warned him. “I’m not a cheap date.”

The false lockout signal went through. The arm sent its report back, indicating that it had done as it was told.

“Try to move your arm,” Jackie said.

Connor’s hand twitched, then closed into a fist.

-

They took the metro downtown. The train rattled and shrieked the whole way; the cars themselves looked to be at least twenty years old, but had been gutted at some point in the last few years so the seats could be “upgraded” to hard, molded plastic. It didn’t deter anyone from sleeping on them.

Connor decided not to wear gloves.

Jackie had found the sushi bar online. It was basically a closet, but the reviews were good—deservedly so, as it turned out. They (mostly Jackie) had demolished at least four rolls and several orders of nigiri when Connor said, “I washed out after they installed the arm.”

Jackie paused to chew and swallow before answering. “Right after?”

“The plan was to send me back out there,” Connor said. “They figured I’d wake up, be grateful for the upgrade, and go right back to fighting. I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I felt wrong.”

Despite her best efforts, Jackie recalled the scars around Connor’s shoulder. Scars that could’ve been made by fingernails.

“Anyway.” Connor smiled at her. “Thank you.”

All in a rush, Jackie said, “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Connor’s head tilted to the side, like a confused dog. “Okay?”

“I just need to make that clear, because sometimes I get friendly with a guy and he thinks things are going in that direction and then gets upset when they don’t.”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t think things are going in that direction.”

“Oh.” Jackie slumped back into her seat with relief. “Good.”

-

Just as the metro was pulling into their station, it came to an abrupt screeching halt. Out on the platform, someone screamed.

Dread pooled in Jackie’s gut. “What’s going on?”

An alert came over the speakers overhead, announcing that all passengers needed to exit the train immediately. There was an edge of panic in the air as they disembarked.

On the platform, a crowd had gathered in front of the gap between two train cars. “What happened?” Jackie asked.

“He jumped,” someone said. “He jumped in front of the train.”

Jackie went cold as the fear in her gut started to spread. “Is he—?”

Connor was taller than most of the others; he leaned over them to look down through the gap between cars, to the tracks below. Recognition flickered across his face.

“What?” Jackie grabbed his sleeve. “Who is it?”

“Nobody.” Connor hooked his arm through Jackie’s and steered her away from the edge of the platform.

Jackie tried to turn back, suspicion dawning. “Is it him?”

Connor didn’t answer.

“Connor.” Jackie tugged on his arm, heart racing. “Is it Wyatt?”

“No.”

She blinked, rapidly. There was something in her eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

Connor shook his head, and Jackie let him pull her up the escalators and out of the station.

-

It was wordlessly understood that neither of them wanted to be alone, so they ended up in Jackie’s living room while some mindless video played on the TV. Jackie lay on the couch, curled up on her side; Connor sat on the floor next to her head, Greg sprawled purring across his lap.

Eventually, Connor said, “It’s a stupid way to try and kill yourself.”

Jackie didn’t know how to answer that, but he didn’t need her to.

“The train is slowing down as it comes into the station,” he continued. “It’s not going fast enough to kill you. At least not right away.”

All at once, Jackie understood why Connor lived in a building only three stories tall. Why he shaved with an electric razor. Why his car sat unused in an open-air parking lot.

She saw the shape of the grand gesture Connor had ruined by ushering her away from the train before she could see who it hit.

She knew she could check the news to see who it was, and decided she wouldn’t.

Jackie slung one arm around Connor’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug, resting her forehead against the back of his neck.

Connor took her fragile human hand in his mechanical one and held on tight.

(my ko-fi)

[sidekick-hero]

Will the man become the monster, or the monster become man?

(steddie | explicit | 5k | cw: Beast!Steve, monsterfucker!Eddie, inspired by this Tumblr Post | AO3)

Happy Birthday, my favorite nickname giver and sister in Keery thirst, @judasofsuburbia 💜 This is super late, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this.

Find 5k of tender, loving monsterfucking under the read more, only for you 🥰

His lungs burn, screaming for precious air as Eddie runs as fast as his legs will carry him.

Twigs claw at his skin, the stinging pain a distant sensation, secondary to the wild crescendo of his beating heart. Behind him, he hears the snapping of branches, even louder than the roar in his ears, and the heavy footsteps of his pursuer. The ground beneath him trembles, telling of the shrinking distance between him and the beast that hunted him.

Above him, the merciless glow of the full moon illuminates the path before him. If you can call it that, it is not much more than a desire path created by the wild life that live in these woods. It winds through the dense trees, slowing him down as he has to duck and twist and jump if he doesn't want to trip or run into a tree trunk. It's like he can feel the body heat of the monster chasing him against his back, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn air, making his hair stand on end and his feet speed up.

There's a meadow somewhere ahead, and beyond it, the Maze Garden, which he knows like the back of his hand. If only he could make it...

He never stood a chance.

Just as he bursts through the trees and into the clearing, the beast pounces. It slams into him, throwing them both to the mossy ground at the edge of the meadow. It’s heavy, holding Eddie down with its weight and he feels its damp breath against the vulnerable skin of his neck.

The ground is soft enough to cushion their fall, but it still knocks what little air there is out of his lungs with a soft hiss. He feels more than he hears the rumble of the beast on top of him.

"Are you...laughing? That fucking hurt, you brute. My poor behind," Eddie grumbles, not really annoyed, but playing it up just so Steve can nuzzle against his cheeks and kiss his ear in apology.

The rumbling only increases, vibrating through Eddie's body. "I'm sorry, love, do you want me to kiss it better?" Steve asks, his voice so deep it sends shivers through Eddie's body. It resembles a low growl that does not hide his beastly nature, even when he speaks softly and playfully.

Eddie squirms under Steve's heavy body to free his arms. Cupping Steve’s face with his hand, Eddie gently pushes it away from where it's tucked into his neck to get a proper look at his husband. His fur is soft under Eddie's palm and Steve nuzzles his muzzle into the hand that holds him. His sharp canines peek out from between his dark lips, and even darker eyes look down at Eddie with love and hunger.

Steve looks like what nightmares are made of, and yet he's everything Eddie ever wanted, ever needed. To Eddie, Steve was the most beautiful thing that ever walked the earth. From the ivory-colored horns on top of his head, almost hidden in the lush mane of gold-brown fur, to his massive paws, adorned with their deadly claws that never touched Eddie with anything but gentle devotion, to his fluffy tail. And his frankly massive cock. Can't forget that.

For that, and Steve's equally massive and kind heart, is what ruined Eddie for everyone else.

Eddie never regretted telling Nancy, the witch who cursed Steve to live as a beast until he found his humanity by learning to love selflessly, that he did not want Steve to lose that side of himself completely. Eddie had fallen in love with both the beast and the man and didn't want to part with either. She had given him a knowing smile at his request and granted it with a soft kiss on his cheek.

Since then, every full moon, when the light of day has faded, man becomes a monster. Only to become human again with the first light that touches the earth.

Smiling up at the man who stole him first and then his heart, Eddie accepts the tender licks and nips on his lips, his jaw and down his sensitive neck. It's a heady feeling to have something as deadly as Steve's fangs so close to where his heart pumps life through his body. To know that Steve could kill him with a single move and not even break a sweat.

It fills him with as much warmth as thrill to know that Steve wouldn't. He'd rather kill himself than let anything, anyone, hurt Eddie.

Eddie knows this because he still wakes up shaking some days to the images of Steve lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, a knife sticking out of his chest. A knife aimed at Eddie because he dared to love a monster.

It was his love, Eddie's love, that saved Steve that day, effectively breaking the curse and giving Steve a second chance. Who would have thought that the town freak's life would turn into a fairy tale. But it did, with a prince and a castle and all. His mother had always told him that there was magic and goodness in the world, and that he would get to have both if he just stayed true to his heart. Eddie only wishes she could see that she was right.

Lost in his own thoughts, it takes Steve nipping at his collarbone with his sharp teeth, drawing a single drop of blood from where one of them pierced his skin, to bring Eddie out of his head and back to the mossy ground. "Am I boring you, angel? Or should I kiss you -" Steve rumbles over him as he leans back on his haunches to eye Eddie like his favorite dinner, "somewhere else?"

“I want to say yes, but I’m afraid Claudia will kill me if I ruin any more clothes. And by ‘I’ I mean you, and by ‘ruin’ I mean tearing them to shreds with your claws.”

It shouldn't be possible for a 7 foot tall furry beast with fangs and horns to pout, but that's exactly what Steve is doing. He gives Eddie his best puppy dog eyes and Eddie is so in love with him that he doesn't know how it hasn't killed him yet.

"Fine, don't look at me like that. You know, we could just try, I dunno, me getting undressed like a normal person. Just an idea."

Another laugh rumbles through Steve's huge body, so strong that Eddie feels it vibrating through his as well. Steve playfully licks a wide stripe across Eddie's cheek, and before Eddie can express the mock disgust on his tongue, Steve's growling voice in his ear sends an almost violent shudder through his body.

“We could, but where would be the fun in that?” As if to accentuate his words, Steve’s sharp claw follows an invisible path down Eddie’s chest, starting at his bopping Adam’s apple and veering to the left over his rapidly beating heart before placing his paw on the center of Eddie’s chest.

Steve’s dark eyes are looking into his own, a silent question in them. Eddie knows that he’s in charge of what they’re doing, always has been. Steve might be able to overpower him and take what he wants but that’s not what either of them is here for.

For Steve, it's Eddie's willingness to submit, to surrender to him, because Eddie wants to. Wants Steve. Needs him, even. It's Eddie's trust in him, Eddie's devotion, that makes Steve purr and writhe, out of his mind with lust and love.

For Eddie, it's the fact that Steve could take what he wants, sure, but doesn't. It's the thrill that comes with the proximity of a predator, the knowledge that Steve’s deadly claws and fangs could rip Eddie to shreds, not just his clothes. And yet all they ever did was caress Eddie, cherish him, claim him, please him.

It was never really a question for Eddie what his answer to Steve would be. He nods with a feral grin that matches Steve's answering one and silently apologizes to Claudia in his head before pushing all thoughts of their friends and staff out of his mind.

The next thing he knows, his shirt is hanging in tatters from his frame and Steve's rough tongue has made it its mission to taste every inch of his upper body, adding a hint of teeth here and there. It's astonishing how much control he has over them as they scrape across his hard nipples without breaking the skin, causing Eddie to moan brokenly.

The ground beneath him is still surprisingly warm from the sun that has been heating it all day, but with the cloudless, star-studded sky above them, the warmth of the day is long gone. Eddie's whole body shivers as the cold air hits his skin and he's glad for the warmth radiating from Steve's body. He’s not wearing any clothing except for some lose pants even if he never lets himself be seen in this form by anyone but Eddie but his thick fur is keeping him plenty warm.

The town’s people think the beast got turned back into the handsome prince, a perfect fairy tale ending. They are happy to believe their reformed ruler is once again fully human, thanks to the town pariah now turned consort. Only very few know the whole truth and only Eddie is allowed to see this side of Steve. It’s his and his alone. He might have to share his husband with a whole (albeit small) kingdom but this right here? That is only for them. Only for Eddie.

Steve’s enormous paw has wandered from his chest to the prominent bulge in Eddie’s pants, putting just the right amount of pressure on it to drive Eddie crazy but not enough to give him any kind of relief. “So eager to be claimed by me. Out here under the stars, where anyone could walk by and see.”

Eddie's cock twitches at these words, at the thought of someone seeing them like this. The beastly looking creature joined with Eddie's fragile human body, so easily broken, yet cherished by this powerful being. Chosen as his mate. Steve could feel it, of course, and as always, he reads Eddie like an open book.

"You'd like that, huh? Everyone seeing us like this. Say it, love. Tell me." He's stroking Eddie through his pants, the pull of the velvet against the sensitive head of his leaking cock igniting more of the heat pooling in his groin. Instead of answering, all Eddie can manage is a breathy whimper as he shakes his head desperately. "No? You don't want people to know how desperate the Prince's consort is for the hideous beast they have hated and feared for so long?"

Eddie wants to tell Steve so many things, most of all how much he loves being his consort, to have everyone know that Steve is his, that their handsome prince chose him, chose Eddie. But he also longs to be more. Craves to be -

"Mate," he gasps between moans and whimpers, "wanna be your mate."

The hungry growl that comes from Steve at his words doesn't sound human at all. It is the sound of a ravenous animal, hungry and about to devour its prey.

Eddie has never been so turned on in his entire life. Consort. Mate. Prey. He wants to be all of those things, wants to be everything Steve will ever want or need.

Before the thought has fully formed in his mind, Eddie feels more cold air hit his skin as his pants suffer the same fate as his shirt. He really doesn't know why he bothers with clothes on full moon nights. They always end this way. Maybe it's because he loves to see the physical proof of how much Steve wants him.

The way Steve paws at his cock, the rough surface of his paw pads creating the most delicious friction, is even more proof of his desire for Eddie. It's almost painful the way it drags over the sensitive flesh and another dollop of pre slides down the side of it. Steve bends down to catch it on his tongue before it reaches the thick patch of pubic hair and Eddie can feel as well as hear his content rumble at tasting Eddie. Hungry for more, the tip of his tongue licks up Eddie's length before dipping into his slit to catch every last drop.

A deep, guttural sound rumbles in Steve's chest, and Eddie thinks to himself that if Steve were a cat, he'd be purring right now. But he's not, so his satisfied growl sounds more like a hungry wolf being fed its favorite meal.

One of his claws plays with Eddie's balls and Eddie has to force himself to stay still, not twitch his hips as he desperately wants. They don't need restraints, he doesn't need to be held down by anything but Steve's presence, the threat that underlies his gentle playfulness.

"If you keep this up, this will be over before we get started," Eddie pants, already on edge, even though Steve has barely touched him. That's nothing new either. On nights like this, his cock starts throbbing in anticipation as soon as the light begins to fade.

"For you maybe. Who says it's going to be over for me, sweet thing?" Steve purrs these words, his lips pressed right against his pulsing cock, and the sensation combined with what his words imply makes Eddie come, suddenly and surprisingly for both of them.

"OhmyGod," Eddie whines, cock still twitching, another weak spurt hitting his stomach and catching in the hair there.

Above him, Steve remains silent, speechless at what has just happened. When Eddie manages to open his tightly shut eyes, he sees his husband looking back at him with an expression so human, it's as if the Prince himself is looking at him right now. There is so much utter and flabbergasted surprise on his face that it would be almost funny if Eddie wasn't so mortified.

"I guess you weren't kidding," Steve finally manages to say, and even his voice now sounds so human in its surprise.

Eddie groans and puts his hands to his face to hide his burning cheeks. "Oh God, please stop talking," he begs the love of his life. He supposes it's a compliment to Steve that he just came like a virgin touched for the very first time.

The familiar rumble is back and Eddie huffs in annoyance at being laughed at. Strong hands - really paws, only with opposable thumbs - circle his wrists and tug gently until he pulls his hands away from his face. Steve's smiling face comes into view, and despite everything, Eddie can't help but smile back at the sight. It always looks a little goofy to him, especially knowing that to most people Steve's smile would look absolutely terrifying. Too many sharp, pointy teeth.

"Don't hide your pretty face from me, my love." Steve chides gently, nuzzling Eddie's nose.

"I will if you laugh at me, asshole." The words lack any heat because Eddie is still fighting that goddamn lovesick smile that's painted on his face.

"I was just laughing at how adorable you are, being embarrassed when you blow my mind with how hot you are." As if to prove his point, Steve presses his groin against Eddie's hip and he can feel the hot, hard line of Steve's arousal. "God, the things I wanna do to you, Eddie, you have no idea. It scares me sometimes how much I want, fuck, how much I need you. So don't hide from me, don't deprive me of your beautiful countenance."

Steve's ardent declaration of love is more beautiful than anything Eddie has ever read in any of the many books he has devoured in his life. Naturally, his reply is just as earnest and heartfelt.

"You absolute sap, I love you and if you don't fuck me right now, you'll be sleeping in the throne room for the foreseeable future".

Another rumble of laughter runs through Steve's body as he bends down to lick the cum from Eddie's belly. When he looks back up at him, his dark eyes sparkle in the bright moonlight. "Your wish is my command, mate."

His soft cock twitches at the name and he knows he'll come a second time before the sun rises.

Sitting up and leaning on one of his elbows, he reaches for the small satchel tied to Steve's pants to retrieve a small vial of oil. "How about you get rid of these then, huh?" Eddie asks, tugging at the waistband before sliding his hand to the huge bulge and squeezing Steve's cock through the thin material. Steve's hips buck at his touch and he lets out a low, growling moan that is music to Eddie's ears. He repeats the motion just to hear it again, twisting his wrist just so and applying a little more pressure to the head, so that the next moan is cut short by a breathless whimper.

When Eddie removes his hand and leans back, Steve makes quick work of his clothes, ripping them off just as he did Eddie's. He swears to himself that this time he'll let Steve explain the sudden loss of their clothes to Claudia. Wayne's knowing looks are enough for him, thank you very much.

His eyes immediately focus on the thick, curved length, his mouth watering at the sight. He's glad he insisted on Steve taking him in their bed this morning. Even if it meant Steve was late for his duties. It means his body will adjust faster, open up more easily.

They learned that it took a little more patience and a lot more oil for Eddie to take Steve in this form. Other than that, all they needed was for Eddie to relax, trust Steve and let him in. And that's something Eddie learned years ago, trapped in a cursed castle with a moody beast and talking household items as his only companions.

His breath catches at the sight of Steve is kneeling in front of him, naked except for the fur on his thick body. Eddie gets on his hands and knees and crawls over to him, oil in hand, straddling his lap, supported by one of Steve's paws on his back, the other between his shoulder blades. Even though his naked body is exposed to the cold night air, he's warm surrounded by Steve. Protected from the outside world in their intimate little bubble.

He dribbles a copious amount of oil on his hands and Steve's length, coating it generously before reaching behind him and lathering his hole with the remaining oil on his fingers. The way Steve nuzzles his throat is distracting and hot in equal measure, his little nips at his collarbone and his hot breath fanning across his sensitive skin enough to make more and more blood rush south. His cock slowly refills where it rests against Steve's and it should give him an inferiority complex, how small it looks in comparison, but all the sight does is make his hole twitch in eager anticipation.

"Steve," Eddie almost whines, taking his husband's pink and deliciously thick cock in his oil coated hand, "work with me here instead of trying to eat me as a midnight snack, yeah?"

One last nip, this one firmer than the rest, drawing another tiny drop of blood from him, and Steve growls in his ear. "Always so impatient, my love. What am I ever going to do with you?" He pretends to wonder aloud and Eddie scoffs.

"How about helping me sit on your massive cock so I can ride you until you come inside me?" Eddie asks with an innocent flutter of his eyelashes, as if suggesting they have turkey for dinner instead of boar.

The feeling of Steve pulsing and twitching against his own length at those words brings Eddie back to full hardness and they both moan at the sensation.

"I take it you like the idea, big boy." It's not a question and they both know it. Steve's paw slides from his lower back to his ass, lifting him further into his lap as if he weighed nothing. His other paw joins the first, and his long fingers slide between Eddie's cheeks, always mindful of his claws. While Eddie holds him steady, Steve spreads Eddie's cheeks so he can line up Steve's cock with his glistening hole.

He can't help but tease, just a little, sliding Steve's length between his cheeks until the head catches at his entrance. Beneath him he can feel how tense Steve is, holding back with all his strength and self-control not to just bury himself in Eddie's warmth. As much as Eddie fantasizes about letting Steve do just that, he knows it wouldn't end in a sexy way. The human body has limits. Still, it's a thought that gets him going like nothing else.

Eddie bears down, trying to remain as relaxed as possible, and slowly shifts his weight to where Steve's cock is pressing against him. It burns and if Eddie didn't know better he would think it would never fit. But he does know better, he knows how delicious the stretch will feel in a moment, how full and complete he will feel then.

One of Steve's paws has settled on his waist to keep him upright, to keep him anchored, and it begins to stroke up and down his side in a soothing way. "That's it, take your time. Easy, my love. I got you. Let me in. Let me be your mate." It's all said in his soft growl, the sound echoing inside Eddie, relaxing his muscles even more and finally allowing the head of Steve's cock to slip inside.

The sound Steve makes sounds wounded, his whole body shaking with it, and Eddie can feel it inside him. He sinks down another inch or two, enveloping more and more of Steve with his body. He's sweating profusely by now, thanks to the effort of holding himself still as he sinks down tortuously slowly, combined with Steve's body heat warming him on all sides and his rapidly beating heart pumping hot blood through his veins.

As he sinks deeper and deeper, he feels Steve's thick cock filling every cell of his being. It's a feeling he's been craving since the last full moon, something raw and animalistic and so profound he can't put it into words. Like it was fate, destiny, some kind of prophecy. Or just his body's reaction to being fucked like it's never been fucked before, all these happy and euphoric feelings driving him a little crazy.

Once he's fully seated on Steve's cock, they both take a moment to just breathe, to adjust to the intense sensation. It always feels like the first time, and Eddie hopes it stays that way until they're old and wrinkled. Sometimes he wonders if Steve's fur will turn gray, too, and he can't wait to find out.

"I love you," Steve breathes out, barely audible if Eddie wasn't so close. "Thank you for choosing me. All of me, even this. Especially this."

Eddie leans forward as far as he physically can in this position and presses sweet kisses against Steve's muzzle. "I love you. Everything about you. Especially this." As he says these words, he begins to move, tentatively rising with the help of Steve's paws on his body before sinking back down again. The drag of the hot flesh against his inner walls sets his nerves on fire, the heat pooling in his groin, his balls already taut. He never lasts long when they fuck like this, even if he has come before.

Steve's not doing much better, Eddie can tell by the way his muscles are twitching. He's still holding back, letting Eddie set the pace, fighting every instinct inside of him that wants to pound, to claim. It's all so hot that Eddie can't help but wrap his hand around his own cock, chasing his release.

"You feel so good inside me. So fucking deep, it's like I can feel you in my throat." He leans back a little, still supported by Steve's paw on him, and puts his other hand on his stomach, where he can see Steve's cock distending it. "Look how well you fill me up, love," he adds, pressing against the bulge.

Steve does as he's told, staring down at Eddie's belly in hungry wonder, and Eddie's hand on his own cock speeds up. The paw that is not propping Eddie up also reaches for his belly so Steve can feel himself inside Eddie. "Mine," Steve growls, "you're mine."

"Yours," Eddie agrees breathlessly. He's so close, he just needs... he needs...

After Steve's fingers wrap around his hand and the tip of his claw strokes the head of his cock, it only takes two more strokes for Eddie to come again, thick ropes of cum matting Steve's golden brown fur, making it look darker.

It's as if someone has cut his strings, all the strength leaves his body and he sinks limply into Steve's arms. He's spent and hypersensitive, yes, but also loose and pliable, so he tells Steve in a soft voice, "Take what you need, my love. I want you to." He can feel Steve hesitating for a moment, letting his words and their implications sink in, so Eddie nods emphatically at his unspoken question and rubs his face against the soft fur on Steve's neck.

"Mate," Steve whispers in an awed voice, his cock pulsing inside Eddie, and it feels so good for Eddie to be able to give this to Steve. Even though his body feels like dead weight, heavy and immovable, he floats on the feeling. He's cradled against Steve's, held still, as if he had any intention of moving away when Steve begins to thrust into him from below. The force of Steve's cock ramming into him makes his body jiggle in Steve's lap. The overstimulation probably borders on painful, but it's only a distant sensation in the back of his mind as he floats too high to really register it.

The sounds Steve keeps making vibrate through him from all sides, around him, inside him, and the way Steve keeps holding him as he ruts into him makes him feel so safe, so loved. Treasured, really, like he's something precious that Steve can't bear to be parted from. Steve is chasing his own high, his own ecstasy, and he's going to find it in Eddie.

The thought makes him smile and he vaguely thinks he should write that down later.

When Steve comes, it's with a high-pitched howl that causes a flock of birds to flee from their hiding place in the surrounding bushes. It's the sound of a wolf howling at the moon, and Eddie knows the townspeople sometimes whisper about the lone wolf that can only be heard at full moon, wondering what it means. They avoid the meadows and woods in the area just in case it's another beast they have to fear. It suits them, so Eddie never bothers to correct them.

He knows it's not a lone wolf, it's a beautiful beast and its human mate.

Eddie must have floated even further away, because when he blinks his eyes again, he realizes that the world has tilted while he was gone. Steve is now lying on his back and Eddie is still held tightly in his arms, covering as much of his naked body as he can.

He's warm and the fur beneath him is soft, the gentle up and down of Steve's chest under his cheek slowly lulling him to sleep. He can feel Steve's cock still nestled inside him, so big that it won't slip out even if he's soft.

Eddie sighs contentedly and smiles, thinking how lucky he is to have this. It's not the first time they've fallen asleep like this and he already knows what their morning will be like. He will wake up at dawn in Steve's very human arms, the crisp autumn morning too cold for them to sleep without the added warmth of Steve's fur.

Steve will already be awake, always an early riser, and he'll kiss Eddie's unruly curls with an affectionate smile on his face. He'll call Eddie a sleepy head and ask him if he'd rather sleep in a bed. Eddie will stretch, savoring the ache in his limbs from the passionate night they just shared. He'll enjoy the sting in his ass where Steve slipped out of him when he turned human again, and the feeling of sticky cum dripping lazily from his gaping hole as he moves to get up.

They will both run to the nearby stables, buck naked, holding hands and laughing joyously like love-struck teenagers. Wayne will be nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. He and Steve got off to a...rocky start, and that's an euphemism, what with Steve taking Wayne hostage only to trade his life for his nephew. Eddie knows that Steve has since grown on Wayne, helped along by Steve giving Wayne his stables and horses to do with as he pleases. It helps even more that Steve makes Eddie smile every day and gives him all the books his heart desires and a personal library to go with it. Something Wayne was never able to do with the meager income he used to make as a blacksmith.

Eddie suspects Wayne knows what they're up to anyway, judging by the way he'll raise a skeptical eyebrow at Eddie later that day.

Once they are back in their rooms, they will crawl into their huge bed under the fluffy covers for another hour of blissful sleep, wrapped around each other, before the needs of the kingdom take Steve away for the day. He will, of course, sneak off to see Eddie, either to seek his counsel or just to steal a kiss from his husband before the next endless meeting commences.

And a month later, they will do it all over again.