#the midnight circle + the unseen one are eye

[gilliontidestriderchampionoftheu]

the suckening is literally all flesh and hunt its about vampires man. BUT if we ignore all that. emizel (+the dangs generally) is slaughter. shilo is web. arthur is the dark.

[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part one)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

At first, you cut your neighbor some slack. Over freshman welcome week, you figured it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him to be quiet.

But it’s Thursday of week two, well past quiet hours, and the bass of his music is nearly making your bed shake.

You assumed the guy you’ve heard but haven’t seen yet would settle down once classes were underway. So much for that.

You have a lecture early tomorrow. It’s past midnight and his music and loud conversations are still drumming through your wall.

You’d call the resident advisor, but you’d rather talk to him yourself so not to risk any bad blood that could form from you snitching on him. You sigh, get out of bed, and decide to finally face him.

Rafe takes another hit of his joint, leaning back in his desk chair while three of his frat buddies talk about the past week of rushing.

He just got accepted into his top choice frat and he’s elated. And if he proves himself, he’ll be able to move into the Sigma Chi house next semester.

He probably will never get used to living in such a small room compared to the mansion he grew up in, but at least the frat house will be an upgrade.

“Dude, I think someone’s knocking,” Blake says, slapping Rafe’s knee.

“Oh, shit,” Rafe laughs, high out of his mind. He pauses the music and ambles out of the circle he’s been sitting in.

When he opens the door to see a girl in pajamas looking up at him, her arms crossed and her lips pinched, he’s taken aback for a second. Damn, you’re pretty.

“Hi,” you say, failing to force a smile at the man towering over you. The smell of weed hits you instantly. “I live next door. I wanted to ask if you could please keep it down?”

He grimaces as his unseen friends jeer behind him. You notice the Greek lettering on his t-shirt. A frat boy. Of course.

“You’re in trouble, Rafe!” one of them taunts.

He props a big arm against his doorframe, his blue eyes trailing down your body.

“Were we being loud?” he teases, purposely playing dumb. He’s obviously wasted. And is giving off strong fuckboy vibes.

“I have an early class tomorrow,” you try to explain. “Can you at least keep the music off?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Listen… Rafe, right?” you say. He nods, his grin still so fucking smug. You tell him your name. “I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s fun, but-”

“That’s kind of what you’re doing,” Rafe interrupts. The way your face screws up when you’re pissed off is too cute for him to stop fucking with you.

“Don’t you have a frat house you can do this at?” you finally snap, gesturing to his t-shirt.

“You telling me I can’t be in my own room?” Rafe says, annoyance starting to prick at his skin.

“Not if you’re gonna keep people up,” you say.

“Turn around.”

“What?” you snap.

“I wanna know if I can see the stick up your ass from here,” he says.

His friends explode in laughter and he looks back with a wide smile.

“I fucking hate frat boys,” you mutter more to yourself than to him. Rafe brings a hand up to his chest in mock offence. “And you’re not allowed to smoke in your room,” you add.

“You gonna tell on me?” He cocks his head, his hair falling over his forehead.

“Yeah, actually, I might.”

A man appears behind Rafe with a charming smile.

“Okay, okay,” he drawls to you, gesturing to dap Rafe up. “We should get going anyway.”

“Nah, man, you don’t have to,” Rafe says, immediately disappointed that his fun is ending.

“It’s late,” he says. The man nods at you with a smile.

“Blake,” he introduces himself to you. “Sorry about the noise.”

“Thank you,” you say through gritted teeth, wishing Rafe had half the manners his friend does. He shuffles past you, followed by two other guys who say their goodbyes to Rafe.

“Happy?” Rafe mutters, all the playfulness from his tone now gone.

“Thrilled,” you say, turning to get back to your room.

The next afternoon, you’re on the phone with your friend, Liv, as you make your way back to your dorm room after a full day of classes.

She’s trying to convince you to come to a party at a frat house tonight. You’re exhausted after a long day, but she’s right that you need some fun.

“I can’t be out long,” you say on the phone, pushing your key into the lock. “I’m tired. And honestly, already kind of stressed out over school.”

“Maybe you’ll meet a guy who’ll take your mind off things,” Liv suggests. You snort.

“The last guy I hooked up was such a disappointment,” you tell her. You try to twist your key. It won’t budge. “I almost faked my orgasm, then was like, it’s not even worth it.”

Liv laughs.

“They should know when they suck,” she says.

You wiggle your key, your fingers starting to hurt.

“Exactly,” you say. “Plus, he wanted to try this position and… I don’t know, I felt too nervous to do it. It was just a failure all around.”

Finally, your key twists and make it into your room, clueless to the fact that Rafe heard everything.

That night, you’re at the Sigma Chi house, two drinks in, when you spot your neighbor playing beer pong across the room. Shit. You’re sure this is his frat.

You already told Liv about your encounter with Rafe, so you nudge her and point him out.

“That’s my fuckboy neighbor,” you say.

“You didn’t mention how hot he is.”

“Wait until he opens his mouth,” you tell her, earning a laugh.

Honestly, Rafe does look good. He fills out his t-shirt so well, his backwards hat pushing his hair out of his handsome face.

Rafe glances around the crowded room and catches you staring at him. Even though you irritated him the first time you spoke last night, heat fills his body once he realizes your eyes are on him.

You quickly look away.

Despite how much of a tight-ass he thinks you are, he’s glad to see you tonight. What he overheard you say on the phone a few hours ago has been weighing on his mind. And his ego.

He finishes up his game of beer pong and the alcohol rushing through his system convinces him to find you and ask you what he’s been mulling over.

“Are you lost?” a voice says behind you.

You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s ducking down so you can hear him over the music. You glance back at Liv, who raises her eyebrows and turns away to give you privacy.

“Or do you actually know how to have fun?” he asks. You sigh as you glance back at him.

“I do, without the expense of people’s sleep,” you reply, a sarcastic smile on your face. “Crazy concept, right?”

“I figured it out,” he says. “Why you’re such a tight-ass.”

“I am not a tight-ass,” you reply.

“It’s ‘cause you can’t get off. I heard you,” he says. He sees embarrassment wash over your face. You know exactly what he’s referring to. “And I’m the loud one?”

You look away, regretting that you didn’t stop to think your voice would float into his dorm room. Fuck.

“Does that actually happen?” Rafe asks. “Girls fake orgasms?”

Your eyes dart up to meet his and you scoff a chuckle.

“Yes,” you say. “What, you didn’t know that?”

Rafe shakes his head. Admittedly, he’s been wondering if any girls faked cumming with him since he overheard you. It’s kind of a blow to his ego.

“Ouch,” you laugh, regaining your confidence. “Let me guess. You thought you had a perfect track record.”

“How can you tell that a girl’s faking it?”

You take a sip of your beer and he can’t help but notice the enticing way your lips look glossed with moisture.

“Every girl’s different,” you say. “But for the most part, you can… feel it. You know… down there.”

You’re glad you’re drunk for this conversation. You doubt you could have it sober.

“How?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I’m not helping you with this,” you say. “Especially after you were such a dick to me.”

Rafe smirks, looking down. You notice he has really cute dimples. Shit. The fuckboy is charming you.

“Let’s start over,” he suggests. “I have an idea.”

“You can have those?” you ask.

“I heard you say you were nervous trying a new position,” Rafe says, ignoring your chide. You look down in unease again.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he says. You look at him again, speechless over how forward he is. “We can help each other. You show me how to make a girl cum and how to know I actually did it. And I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me until you feel confident.”

You freeze for a second. Is he seriously suggesting you two fuck… to get better at fucking?

“Oh, you’ll let me?” you say, his proposal admittedly making your stomach numb with anticipation. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Rafe says with a shrug. You realize he’s being totally and unabashedly serious. “What? Do you need time to think about it?”

You take another sip of your drink, the cold beer spilling down your throat.

He is insane. But he’s also attractive. Charming. Confident. Would it be so crazy to start hooking up with him?

You’d have the guarantee of an orgasm, without wondering if the guy you’re with cares enough about getting you there, and you’d get practice so you don’t feel as insecure next time you’re with a guy you actually like.

“I’m in, only if you promise to actually respect quiet hours from now on,” you finally say.

“Great sex isn’t a good enough deal?”

“Who’s to say it’ll be great?”

“So, I have to tiptoe around my own room,” he says, his temper flaring.

“If you consider not blasting music at night tiptoeing, then yeah,” you retort.

If Rafe wasn’t sure of it before, he is now: you’re hot when you’re pissed off.

“Fine,” he relents. He’ll probably be moving out next semester anyway. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens a new conversation. “Text yourself so I have your number.“

You hand him your cup in exchange for his phone. You send an eggplant emoji to your number. He takes a sip of your drink and you scowl.

“Are you that selfish in bed, too?” you say.

“You can let me know,” he quips. You roll your eyes at him and take your drink, giving him his phone back. Rafe chuckles when he sees the emoji you sent yourself.

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll call you out on everything you do wrong. If you can take it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Tonight?”

Wow. He’s eager. It’s kind of thrilling that he wants you this badly.

“Maybe,” you say. “If I’m not too tired when I get home, I’ll text you.”

Rafe’s chest tightens with excitement. His hot, mouthy neighbor is actually doing this with him.

“Sure.” Rafe juts out his bottom lip, nodding, as if this conversation is completely normal. He’s so casual about it. This feels unreal.

You give him a small smile. Probably the first genuine one you’ve offered him. Okay. You can admit to yourself that you’re looking forward to hooking up with him.

You stay at the frat house for another hour, hanging out with Liv and a few other friends you made, before you make it to your dorm just before midnight.

After changing into pajamas, and the nicest set of bra and panties that you own, you text Rafe: i’m home if you want to come over.

About ten minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see Rafe standing with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.

You’re sure he knows how good he looks when you notice the outline of his length. He did this on purpose.

“Eager,” you say. “Were you already home?”

“I was quiet, huh?” he boasts, stepping into your room. He takes a second to soak in your space, eyes travelling over the way you’ve decorated.

“What the fuck? Your room’s bigger than mine,” he says.

“They’re all the same size.” You settle on your bed, glad he’s so comfortable about this, not making it awkward at all. Truthfully, the beer has worn off, and you’re kind of freaked out.

But this is what you’re doing this for. So you can stop being so nervous about sex.

“I’ll show you my room and you’ll see for yourself,” Rafe says. You watch him pace across your space to study the photos on your wall.

His eyes travel over the snapshots of you with your family and friends, your smile bright and pretty in every image.

With Rafe’s back turned to you, you take in the way his broad shoulders stretch out his white t-shirt. By the slight curve in his back, you can tell he’s not just lean, but muscular, too.

“How long are you expecting this… arrangement to go on for?” you ask.

“Until we’re both satisfied,” he says confidently, turning to meet your eyes.

“So, you’re aware you won’t be coming out of this with a girlfriend, right?” you assert.

While Rafe is attractive and charming, he’s also rude and narcissistic. You don’t want him to think you’re interested in him in that way. This isn’t a romance.

“Oh, yeah,” he huffs. “I’m not gonna be in college tied down to one chick.”

You scoff. Yup. Definitely no romance here.

“Maybe don’t call a girl a chick,” you say. “At least not to her face.”

“Right,” Rafe says with an easy laugh. He slowly steps towards you, his eyelids heavy as he looks down at you. “You have nice tits.”

You feel your skin burn, looking down at your chest in your tank-top. Rafe hardens the longer he looks at you.

“How sweet,” you say flatly.

Rafe smirks and sits down next to you, getting right to business as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like aftershave.

He’s a good kisser. But you expected as much. By his confidence and the fact that he prepositioned you the way he did, you can tell he’s experienced with girls.

You feel his hand slide up your body and squeeze your breast. You sit back, disjointing your lips.

“Slow down,” you tell him. “Do you always go right into groping a girl like this?”

“Yeah?” His brows furrow.

“Okay, some might like it,” you say. “But most want foreplay. You have to give me some time to get turned on.”

“Aren’t you already?” he asks. “We’re kissing.”

“We’ve been at it for like, a second, Rafe. Just because you’re…” You look down at the tent in his sweatpants. “Ready, it doesn’t mean I am.”

“So, what should I do?” he asks.

“Just… don’t rush,” you say.

Rafe nods and leans into kiss you again, his hand cupping your waist this time. He doesn’t usually like kissing that much, typically wanting to jump right into sex, but the way your tongue runs over his is actually sort of nice.

A few moments later, his fingers dip to pull your top off. When Rafe sees you in your bra, he swallows hard. Why does he feel like this is his first time seeing a half-naked woman?

Probably because he’s being graded, he realizes.

“Wow,” he breathes. You look down, scratching your neck. “Damn, you do get nervous.”

“What?” you say.

“When a guy says wow, take the compliment,” he states.

You shyly shake your head and pull him in for another kiss to brush past the moment. He catches on, pushing you back.

“I’m teaching you shit, too, remember?” he mutters. “Don’t be shy. You’re hot.”

“Alright,” you groan, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He smirks and obeys, hoping he at least partly got through to you.

When your eyes roam Rafe’s bare torso, your heart pounds harder.

You continue making out, and he eventually slowly unhooks your bra. He peels it off and slowly cups your breast, fondling and gently squeezing.

“Is this too hard?” he asks.

“No, it’s - it’s good,” you sigh. You remind yourself this is supposed to be instructional. “You should… um…”

“What?” he asks against your lips. “Stop being shy.”

“Play with my nipples,” you say, cheeks burning. “Some girls like that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” He looks down at your chest and softly pinches you, then rubs his thumb back and forth. “Good.”

Rafe is entirely hard now, your praise making him ache to be inside you. But he’s here to learn. He needs to go slower.

He dips to put his mouth on your chest, his lips locking around your nipple. You let out a shaky moan and he knows he’s doing something right.

Big hands gently press against your hips to push you onto your back. You settle on your firm bed, hands roaming over his smooth back.

He shifts to give your other breast the same amount of attention, coating your nipple in his warm spit. You bite your lip, feeling your stomach tighten in arousal.

“Can I go down on you?” he rasps.

You meet his eyes. Rafe realizes just how pleased you look already. It’s really gratifying.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He eagerly pulls down your bottoms and panties in one move, losing his breath when his eyes take you in.

“Goddamn.” His voice is strained. You’re already glistening and he wants to put his mouth on you immediately.

“Go slow there, too,” you say. “Kiss my thighs first.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding urgently. It’s satisfying seeing him listen to you like this, considering he doesn’t seem to care for rules.

Your thighs are so damn soft against his mouth. He peppers kisses up your skin. It’s taking all his willpower not to start eating you out right now.

Your breaths are shallow as he leaves languid, tender kisses on you. You feel his fingers stretch your lips apart and hear him sharply inhale.

“Now?” he asks impatiently.

“Yeah. Lick everywhere,” you say, “but pay the most attention to my clit. You know where it is, right?”

“I’m not that fucking helpless,” he mutters. You can’t help but laugh.

He lowers his mouth onto you and you tremble immediately. He laps at you for a few seconds, a groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You taste really fucking good.”

“Do you always talk like that?” you ask.

“Yeah, is it okay?” Rafe says, suddenly tense.

“It’s amazing,” you admit. “Keep doing it.”

“Yeah?” he says with a smile. He points his tongue over your clit, wriggling it over your flesh.

“That’s good,” you tell him. “Make your tongue flat, too. Switch between the two.”

You feel him nod against you, avidly taking every tip.

“And suck a little,” you tell him. Rafe didn’t think he’d like being bossed around, but the way you’re telling him what feels good and making him better at eating pussy is rewarding.

He starts to suck at your clit and the way you moan tells him everything he needs to know. He sucks harder and your breath gets shaky.

Rafe is desperate to see how the inside of you feels, even if it’s just with his fingers. He shifts to slowly dip a finger in your cunt and glances up to look at you.

“Can I finger you?” he says.

“Yes,” you nod. “It’s good to ask. Start with one.”

He slowly sinks into you, stopping at his knuckle. You’re so tight.

“Shit, baby,” Rafe whispers. “I know you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good.”

Your head is spinning. You’ve never had a man talk to you like this before. This is what you’ve been missing out on, hooking up with guys who didn’t care about your pleasure? It feels unfair.

He adds a finger, curling into you and feeling you clench around him as he continues to work your clit. You look down to enjoy the sight of his head between your legs, the tips of soft dirty blonde hair tickling your skin.

It’s intoxicating, being taken care of the way you want to be.

Rafe’s jaw starts to get sore, but your noises give him the drive to keep going. Eventually, your thighs press against your ears.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mumble. “Don’t stop.” Rafe’s stomach twists with excitement, fully alert and eager to take mental notes.

Your breath stops, your muscles tense, and your walls flutter around him as you meet your peak. Sparks of pleasure fire throughout your body and you tug at the roots of his hair.

He keeps sucking and licking and pumping his fingers until you shuffle beneath him, overstimulated.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Good, that’s good.”

Rafe sits up, his lips wet with your arousal. You look happy, yet somehow kind of guilty. He makes a mental note to figure out how to make you unashamed for having a sex drive.

The way you’re panting is making him so fucking turned on that it hurts.

“I need to fuck you,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, hoping he’d say that. “Do you have something?”

He nods, pulling a condom wrapper out of his pocket. He takes his pants and boxers off at the same time and he springs out.

You never thought you’d think a cock could be perfect, but there’s no other way to describe it.

He leans over you, looking down as he lines himself up and slowly sinks into you. You watch him shut his eyes with pleasure, but when he opens them again, you look down at his body.

“So shy,” Rafe teases, his voice thick. “Make eye contact.”

You listen to him, meeting his eyes. It adds an entirely new level of pleasure and vulnerability, looking at each other while he starts to rock in and out of you.

He starts to thrust faster, revelling in the way your tits are bouncing with his force. His strokes are deep and powerful and you whimper over how nice it feels.

His balls feel tight already. He never cums this fast. There’s something about you that’s making his body react like this. But knowing you already orgasmed, he doesn’t let himself overthink it.

“Feels good?” Rafe asks with amusement in his tone. You moan in response. At least he doesn’t need to improve on this part.

He goes harder, losing his rhythm as he reaches his climax, trembling over you. The way he breathes through it is so unbelievably hot to you.

Once Rafe slows down, he collapses on top of you, his chest pressed against yours.

“How was that?” he mumbles.

“I don’t think your ego needs to get any bigger,” you say breathlessly. “But that was good.”

“Just good?”

You laugh. Okay, it was fucking mind-blowing. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Yup,” you say, patting his shoulder. “Let me up.”

“What - what could I have done better?” he asks, sitting up off of you, pulling out. “I listened to everything you said. I swear, I never cum that fast.”

You smirk. He’s desperate for the praise.

“Fine,” you say. “It was amazing, okay? Don’t let it get to your head, frat boy.”

It definitely gets to his head. You can tell by the way he’s smiling.

“What position did that guy want you to try? Wanna do it?” he asks. You shake your head in disbelief. He could probably go all night.

“Next time,” you say, exhausted, your muscles weak.

Rafe’s disappointed, but he doesn’t show it.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Next time.”

part two

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[chosok-amo]

THERE IS A WITCH IN THE WOODS

geto suguru. to a witch, there is nothing more appealing than a young man wandering around the wood alone at halloween night. and there is nothing more appealing than a witch, naive, stupid, witch.

warning. college! au, loser! geto, public place ( woods ), full-nēlson, slight breeding-kīnk, mention multiple rounds, cūnnilingus.

wc. | MASTERLIST

there is a witch in the woods. that's what people say every halloween-the legend that whispers through the autumn air, chilling the bones of anyone who dares to listen. the witch comes when the night is coldest, when the moon is veiled in mist, and the trees seem to reach out with their gnarled hands. she comes for the young men, those brave or foolish enough to wander too deep into the shadows.

they say she lurks in the darkness, eyes glowing like embers in the distance, waiting for the perfect moment. her breath, as cold as frost, clings to the air as she watches, unseen but always present. the rustle of leaves is her voice, the snap of twigs underfoot her silent steps. no one knows when she’ll appear, only that when she does, it’s too late.

you imagine the taste of their flesh before you even see them-rich with fear, warm with life. the blood, thick and sweet, spills over your lips as you sink your teeth into their soft, vulnerable skin. bones crunch under your fingers, marrow melting on your tongue as you devour every last piece, leaving nothing behind but echoes in the woods.

and then she fades back into the darkness, satisfied, the forest swallowing her whole, as if she was never there. until the next halloween, when she returns, hungry once more.

you saw the man, strikingly beautiful with long, jet-black hair that cascaded like a waterfall of shadows, as dark as the depths of the night you hide within. he seemed to be woven from the fabric of darkness itself, every strand shimmering like the ink of the midnight sky. above him, a raven circled lazily, its wings slicing through the air with an elegance that mirrored the man’s own grace.

his eyes, a captivating shade of deep purple, glowed with an otherworldly light, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. they held secrets, ancient and profound, and as he moved through the dimly lit forest, the very air around him seemed to shimmer, electrified by his presence. his body was sculpted like a god’s, muscular and alluring, every curve and line perfected by some unseen hand, exuding both strength and vulnerability.

as you lingered in the shadows, your heart raced with an insatiable hunger you had never known before, a thirst that clawed at your insides like a wild animal yearning to be free. this was no ordinary craving; it was a primal urge that surged through your veins, urging you to emerge from the darkness and claim him as your own.

you felt the pull of the moonlight, the way it danced upon his skin, illuminating him in a soft, ethereal glow that made him seem almost unreal. each step he took sent ripples of longing through you, and for a moment, time stood still. you were entranced, spellbound by his beauty, captivated by the way the shadows clung to him like a lover’s embrace.

your breath caught in your throat as you imagined the taste of his flesh, the warmth of his blood coursing through your veins. the ache within you intensified, sharper than any hunger you had ever felt, and the line between desire and desperation began to blur. he was a temptation wrapped in darkness, a siren call in the moonlit night, and you were helpless to resist.

in that moment, you knew you would do anything to possess him, to devour him whole, to taste the sweetness of his life as it flowed through you. the thought consumed you, twisting your mind with a beautiful, haunting allure. the witch in the woods had found her prey, and the night was still young.

stupid, naive, idiotic witch. that’s what geto suguru thought the moment he laid eyes on you. you stood amidst the twisted trees, cloaked in shadows, your beauty radiating like an enchanting spell in the darkness. the moonlight filtered through the branches, illuminating your delicate features, casting an ethereal glow that made you seem almost otherworldly. but he could see beyond that facade—beyond your charm and allure—into the depths of your foolishness.

you were a pretty thing, with hair that tumbled like a cascade of silver moonbeams, and eyes that sparkled like stars caught in a web of night. yet, despite your enchanting appearance, you carried an air of innocence that was maddeningly naive. suguru couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration at your reckless curiosity, the way you ventured so deep into the woods, unafraid of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. it was as if you invited doom with every step, a delicious irony that only added to your allure.

he stepped closer, the forest floor crunching softly beneath his feet, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. every instinct within him screamed to turn back, to escape the spell you cast, yet he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you twirled in the moonlight, laughter echoing through the trees, a sound both haunting and beautiful, sending shivers down his spine.

he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that you were playing a dangerous game. he would be the one devouring your soul and flesh, not the other way around. he would ensure it. as much as he admired your beauty, it fueled a dark hunger within him—a need to possess and consume.

as you danced under the moon, blissfully unaware of the predator watching you, suguru’s mind twisted with thoughts of how easily he could snuff out your light. the very idea made his heart race, a morbid thrill coursing through him. you were too innocent for this world, too naive to recognize the darkness that curled around you like a hungry serpent.

he would be the one to show you the truth, to awaken you to the shadows that danced just out of sight. he would weave your fate into his own, and when the moment came, he would relish the sweetness of your demise. your laughter would turn to gasps, and those sparkling eyes would widen in shock as he claimed what was rightfully his.

as he closed the distance between you, the forest whispered secrets of the night, and suguru smiled—a beautiful, chilling smile that promised a delightful darkness lurking just beneath the surface. the witch may have thought herself clever, but she had no idea of the fate that awaited her in the arms of the very predator she danced so carelessly around.

he chuckled softly against your lips, his tongue expertly moving against your own with a growing hunger. his large hand caressed your chin before gripping it firmly, tilting your head back. he broke the kiss with a sly smirk, his breath hot against your ear. god, he is beautiful.

“you taste even sweeter up close.”

his other hand moved down to your hip, pulling you closer to him, closing the remaining space between your bodies. the shadows of the night seemed to dance along with the heat of the moment, adding an air of intensity to the encounter.

he pressed his forehead against, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes dark and intense. his smile is a sinister thing, a spell, a mantra, you name it.

“you’re too careless, witch.”

he continued, his voice a low rumble, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “there are far more dangerous creatures lurking in these woods than me.”

his words were both a warning and a taunt, a reminder of the delicate nature of your actions. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath sending a chill down your spine.

“but i’m the one you’ve chosen to dance with.” he pressed a soft kiss against your jawline, his lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin.

he smirked, relishing the effect his words had on you, his hand moving to your chin, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. his touch was tender yet possessive, an electric pulse that sent shivers racing down your spine. your heart raced as you stared into his deep, dark eyes, a mix of fear and exhilaration swirling within you.

“but you aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he whispered, his voice smooth like honey, each word dripping with a dark allure that wrapped around your senses.

you felt a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks, and for a moment, you could only blink at him, starstruck, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. the world around you faded away, the night air thick with tension and something else—something dangerous and thrilling.

“n-no,” you finally managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, a breathy denial that was laced with uncertainty. as the words left your lips, you could feel the weight of the truth behind them, the hint of thrill in your chest that pushed back against the caution in your mind. there was something captivating about him, something that made you feel alive in ways you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the soft moonlight danced upon his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curled into a knowing smile. he seemed to revel in your answer, his eyes glinting with satisfaction, as if he had unraveled a secret you had tried to hide.

he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, consuming you whole. your heart hammered in your chest, caught between fear and the intoxicating thrill of being so close to someone who felt both dangerous and alluring.

you could almost hear the wicked laughter echoing in your mind, a warning that maybe you should be afraid—afraid of the way he looked at you, of the way he seemed to see straight through to your soul. yet, standing there in his presence, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but an overwhelming fascination.

“hmm... that’s good.”

he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting down your neck, his tongue tracing a path of heat along your throat. he could feel your heart thump against your chest, the quickening rhythm a delicious affirmation of the effect he had on you.

“you haven’t run. you’re either braver than i give you credit for, or you’re more foolish than i could’ve imagined. trusting me in the dead of night, what a stupid little witch.”

a slight smirk playing on his lips. his thumb slowly brushed along your lower lip, his touch both gentle and suggestive. his eyes held a hint of mischief, as if he was silently challenging you to keep pushing the boundaries. he studied your expression, the tension palpable in the air— eyes locking with yours. he caressed your chin with his thumb, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“but i wouldn’t want you to be fearful of me, witch, wouldn’t i?” he whispered. “after all, i’m the only one who can keep you safe in these woods.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as his fingers traced a slow path along your jawline. the touch sends shivers down your spine, a mix of trepidation and anticipation coiling within you.

you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. “s-safe?” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. it was a lie, and you both knew it. he wasn't here to protect you; he was the predator, and you were his prey.

yet, even as the rational part of your mind screamed warnings, another part of you yearned to believe him. to trust in the promise of safety offered by this enigmatic figure, despite everything screaming otherwise. it was a dangerous game, one that blurred the lines between hunter and hunted, victim and savior.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your body as he pulled you closer. his other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“yes, safe,” he repeated, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “i won’t let anyone harm you while you're under my protection. isn’t that what you want, little witch?”

his words were a challenge, a test of your resolve. he knew the danger he posed, the threat he represented, and yet he stood before you now, offering a twisted form of security. it was a perverse irony, one that spoke to the darkness lurking within him.

as he gazed into your eyes, you could see the hunger there, the primal desire that burned hot and bright. “safe from the darkness that lurks in these woods, from the monsters that prowl under the cover of night.” his other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer once more as if he is hungry from possessed you, hunger to feel your skin in his, all bare and glisten. “from the fears that haunt your dreams and the doubts that plague your waking hours.”

his words washed over you like a dark tide, each syllable a seductive promise that threatened to pull you under. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the solid strength of his muscles a counterpoint to the vulnerability you felt in his presence.

your breath hitched as his hand slid further down your side, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist before coming to rest just above the swell of your hip. the contact sent sparks dancing across your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“b-but...” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in your mind. “i don’t need protecting. i can take care of myself. i am a witch, it’s you who needs protection.”

even as the words left your lips, you knew they were a lie.

a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he listened to your words. he could sense the hesitation in your voice, the way your body trembled ever so slightly beneath his touch.

“is that so?” he murmured, his hand sliding further down to cup your rear, squeezing the supple flesh with a possessive grip. “you think you can handle me, little witch? you think you have the power to tame the beast?”

he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "i'm not so sure about that. i've seen witches like you before, all bravado and bluster. but when push comes to shove, you're nothing more than delicate little flowers, ready to wilt at the first sign of trouble." his hand glazed your skin above your beautiful gown and stop in your breast, giving you a firm squeeze.

a gasp escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, the sudden pressure sending a jolt of sensation through your body. you could feel your nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of your gown, aching for his touch.

“t-trouble?” you managed to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. the word seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the circle of light cast by the moon.

despite the fear that knotted in your stomach, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he offered. it was a dangerous surrender, one that blurred the lines between captor and captive, predator and prey.

“’m not a flower,” you insisted, even as your body betrayed your words.

“no,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “you're something far more enticing.”

his hand moved away from your breast, trailing down your belly until it reached the hem of your dress. he gave a small tug, lifting the fabric enough to expose the smooth skin of your thighs.

“so tell me, little witch,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh. “are you scared?” he asked, his words hanging heavy in the air between them. he watched your reaction closely, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

a shudder ran through you at his touch, your skin tingling where his fingers grazed. the cool night air kissed your exposed flesh, a stark contrast to the heat building within you.

“scared?” you repeated, the word sounding foreign on your tongue. you tried to gather your scattered thoughts, to muster some semblance of defiance, but it was a losing battle. his proximity, his scent, the raw masculinity emanating from him— it all served to short-circuit your brain, reducing you to a quivering mass of nerves and hormones.

“i..” you started, then faltered. truth be told, you were terrified. not just of him, but of the feelings he stirred up inside you. the way your body responded to his touch, the traitorous ache building between your legs— it was all so wrong, so dangerous.

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he sensed your inner turmoil. his fingers continued their maddeningly slow exploration of your thigh, inching higher with each pass. “fear is natural,” he purred, his breath warm against your ear. “but it's also exhilarating, isn't it? the thrill of being out of control, of surrendering to the unknown...”

his hand finally reached the apex of your thighs, fingers tracing the edge of your panties with deliberate slowness. he paused there, letting the weight of his gaze settle upon you.

“i can make you feel things you’ve never experienced before,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper. “pleasures so intense, they’ll leave you breathless and begging for more.” with that, he pushed your gown up around your hips, baring your lower half to the moonlight.

your heart pounded in your chest as he exposed you to the night air, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the heat pooling between your thighs. you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and intent, making your skin prickle with awareness.

a whimper escaped your lips as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, the intimate touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. you bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill free.

“d-don’t,” you managed to choke out, even as your hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. the dichotomy of your actions— resisting even as you craved— was a constant struggle, a war waged within the confines of your own mind.

a wicked grin spread across his face as he witnessed your internal conflict. he loved seeing you squirm, loved knowing that he held such power over your body and emotions.

“oh, but i must,” he countered, his voice dripping with sinful intent. “you see, little witch, this body of yours... it's a work of art. and an artist can't resist the urge to explore, to create, to bring forth beauty from the canvas.”

his fingers dipped beneath the elastic of your panties, teasing the slick folds of your sex. he groaned softly at the wetness he found there, his thumb circling your clit with deliberate slowness.

“look at how responsive you are,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “how eager to please. you were made for this, weren’t you? made to be touched, tasted, claimed...”

it went too far, toooo far for your liking. you were supposed to hunt a young man, consume their fear, even bones, blood and flesh. but here you are, face flushed against the moist, moss tree trunk and the ’young man’ kneel behind you with your hips in the air and suffocate himself in your pussy.

he grinned against your slick folds, the vibrations of his laughter sending ripples of pleasure through your core. his tongue delved deeper, lapping at your essence with fervent hunger.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he growled, his voice muffled by your arousal. “like forbidden fruit, ripe, untouched and ready for plucking.”

his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his face as he feasted upon you. he alternated between broad, flat strokes and targeted flicks against your sensitive bud, driving you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

“come undone for me, little witch,” he urged, his words a sensual command. “let go of your inhibitions and give in to the pleasure. let me hear those sweet moans as i devour this pretty pussy...”

he redoubled his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth as his tongue plunged into your depths, stroking along your inner walls. the lewd sounds of his oral assault filled the night air, mingling with your ragged breathing and keening whimpers.

geto was lost in the heady musk of your arousal, drunk on the power he wielded over your trembling form.

the world narrowed to the point of pleasure, everything else fading into insignificance as he worked you over with skillful precision. his mouth, hot and insistent, devoured your most intimate places, leaving no inch of your sex unexplored.

your back arched, pressing your breasts against the rough bark of the tree as waves of bliss crashed over you. the tension coiling in your belly tightened to a snapping point, threatening to unravel you completely.

“ahh!” you cried out, unable to contain the desperate plea as your orgasm built to a crescendo. your thighs trembled, the muscles locking up as you teetered on the brink. then, with a guttural moan, you came apart at the seams. your vision went white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as ecstasy ripped through you like a wildfire.

the moment you peaked, he doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his tongue thrust deep, coaxing out every last tremor of your climax. he reveled in the way your body shook, in the wanton cries that spilled from your lips, in the sweet nectar that flooded his mouth.

as the aftershocks subsided, he gentled his ministrations, lapsing into long, soothing strokes to ease you back to earth. when he finally pulled away, his chin glistened with your release, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“exquisite,” he murmured, his praise a low, appreciative rumble. “you're a natural-born seductress, little witch.”

dazed and sated, you sagged against the tree, your legs still weak from the intensity of your orgasm. you couldn't meet his gaze, too overwhelmed by the lingering sensations and the realization of what had just transpired.

“w-what have we done?” you whispered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. the night air carried the musky scent of your arousal, a tangible reminder of the forbidden pleasures you’d indulged in.

despite the haze of post-coital bliss, a twinge of guilt tugged at your conscience. you were a witch, sworn to uphold the laws of nature and magic. yet here you stood, panting and disheveled, having just succumbed to the advances of a stranger. and yet, as you stole a glance at the man you haven't known his name yet, you felt no regret.

he rose to his feet, towering over your trembling form. his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, dark and hungry, as he took in your debauched state.

“we’ve given in to our desires, little witch,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “and there’s nothing wrong with that. pleasure is a gift, one to be savored and enjoyed without shame or apology.”

his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing caress. “besides, we're not strangers anymore, are we? i’ve seen parts of you that no one else has, tasted your essence, felt your body quake beneath my touch.

he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your sweat-dampened forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “there’s no shame in giving in to that instinct, especially when it leads to moments like these.”

his gaze drifted down to your lips, which still bore the faint imprint of his kiss. a flicker of longing sparked in his purple eyes, a silent promise of more to come. the warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, calming the residual tremors of your climax. his words, spoken with such conviction and passion, resonated deep within you, stirring something primal and yearning.

you leaned into his hand, craving more of his gentle affection. the vulnerability of the moment, coupled with the afterglow of your intense encounter, left you feeling open and receptive to whatever he might offer.

“i... i never knew it could feel like that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. the admission hung in the air, a confession of sorts, as you struggled to find the right words to express the depth of your experience.

“with you, it’s different,” you continued, meeting his gaze with a hint of shy courage. “i want to explore this... what’s your name?”

a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he listened to your confession. the vulnerability in your voice, the raw honesty of your words, stirred something deep within him— a primal need to protect, to possess, to claim.

“geto suguru,” he replied, his voice a low, husky murmur. "but you can call me suguru.”

his thumb brushed across your lower lip, tracing its contours with deliberate slowness. “and i’m glad it feels different with me, little witch. because you and I... we're meant for each other.”

he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin as he spoke. “i can show you things you've only dreamed about, take you to heights of pleasure you never thought possible. all you have to do is trust me, surrender yourself to the moment...”

the heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine, his words weaving a spell of temptation around you. the promise of untold pleasures, of experiences beyond your wildest dreams, was intoxicating.

you nodded slowly, your heart pounding in anticipation. “i trust you, suguru,” you breathed, the name falling easily from your lips. “i want to see what you can show me, to feel the heights you speak of...”

your hands reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you drew him closer. the scent of him, musky and masculine, filled your senses, stoking the flames of desire that still smoldered within you.

“take me further,” you whispered, your voice a sultry purr. “show me the depths of pleasure, the extremes of sensation. i’m yours, suguru, body and soul.”

a deep, throaty chuckle rumbled from his chest at your eager submission. his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you flush against him.

‘what a naive, stupid witch’ he thought.

“such a good little witch, so willing to submit to her desires,” he praised, his voice dripping with approval. “i'll take you to the very edge and push you off, again and again, until you're screaming my name in ecstasy.”

his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss, demanding and dominating. tongues clashed, dancing in a sensual duel as he explored the depths of your mouth. his hands roamed your curves, kneading and squeezing, mapping every inch of your body with an almost reverent touch.

breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at your sensitive flesh.

your mind reeled from the onslaught of sensations, the force of his kiss leaving you breathless and wanting more. his words, laced with dark promises, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

the roughness of his touch, the dominance in his actions, awakened a part of you that craved to be taken, to be possessed utterly. you arched into his embrace, offering yourself willingly to his exploration.

when his lips found your neck, you tilted your head to grant him better access, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he marked you with his teeth and tongue. the pain mingled with pleasure, heightening your awareness of every sensation.

“yes, suguru,” you panted, your hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer. “more... please.”

a wicked grin twisted his features as he heard your plea, his eyes flashing with dark intent. his hands slipped beneath your skirt, fingers grazing the smooth skin of your thighs before delving between them.

“so wet already,” he growled approvingly, his fingertips circling your slick entrance. “you’re practically dripping for me, aren't you, little witch?”

he pushed a finger inside you, groaning at the tight, scorching heat that enveloped him. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm circles as he began to pump his finger in and out of your pussy.

“i’m going to fuck you right here, against this tree,” he promised, his voice thick with lust.

a sharp cry escaped your lips as his finger plunged deep, stretching and filling you in ways you hadn't experienced before. the pressure on your clit sent sparks of pleasure racing through your nerves, intensifying the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“oh it feels good!” you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his thrusts. the rough bark of the tree scratched your back, but you hardly noticed, lost as you was in the exquisite torture of his touch.

his words, spoken with such raw hunger, only fueled the fire burning within you. the idea of being taken, right there in the open, with no pretense or restraint, sent a thrill of danger and excitement through your veins.

“please, suguru,” you begged, your voice high and breathy.

he added a second finger, scissoring them inside you to stretch your tight passage even further. his thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, driving you closer to the brink of climax with each passing second.

“begging so sweetly,” he purred, his free hand coming up to grasp your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “look at you, so desperate for my cock, for me to fill you up and make you scream.”

he withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching. before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing you face-first against the tree trunk. his hands gripped your hips, pulling them back to present your ass to him invitingly. “spread your legs, witch,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

a whimper of protest escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly withdrawn, leaving you hollow and needy. the sudden shift in position had you teetering on the edge of panic, but the firm grip on your hips offered a strange sense of security.

you obeyed his command without hesitation, spreading your legs wide to expose your dripping cunt and puckered asshole. the cool night air kissed your wet folds, sending shivers down your spine.

“suguru..” you pleaded, your voice muffled against the tree. “like this?”

a guttural groan of appreciation rumbled from his chest as he took in the sight of you, spread wide and vulnerable before him. his eyes burned with a fierce, primal hunger, drinking in every detail of your exposed flesh.

“exactly like that, little witch,” he rasped, his hands roaming over your ass, squeezing and kneading the plump cheeks. “so pretty, so perfect for taking my cock.”

he lined himself up with your entrance, the broad head of his dick nudging against your slick folds. with a swift, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, a low growl of satisfaction vibrating through his chest.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his hips jerking as he began to move, setting a brutal pace that had you crying out with each deep stroke.

a strangled scream tore from your throat as he impaled you on his massive cock, the sheer size of him stretching your walls to their limits. the initial pain gave way to overwhelming pleasure, each thrust driving him deeper, harder, until it felt like he was reaching the very core of your being.

“ahh! s-suguru!” you wailed, your nails digging into the rough bark of the tree as you clung to it for support. the relentless pounding of his hips sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, threatening to consume you whole.

your inner muscles clenched around him, trying to accommodate his girth, to milk him for all he was worth. the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with your ragged breathing and his guttural grunts.

he pounded into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your clit with each savage thrust. the sound of your cries, your desperate pleas for more, only spurred him on, driving him to claim you completely.

“goooood girl, good little witch,” he snarled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “take every inch of my cock, let it ruin you for anyone else.”

his hand snaked around to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch back against him. the combination of the rough grip and the unrelenting pace had you teetering on the edge of oblivion.

he adjusted his hold on you, spinning you around to face away from him once more. this time, however, he had you suspended in mid-air, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wrapped his strong arms around you, pinning your knees to your shoulders in tight nelson hold.

the new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper inside you, his thick cock stroking against sensitive spots with every thrust. the change in position also put your clit directly in line with his pelvis, the friction sending jolts of electricity through your entire body.

“feel that, witch?” he panted in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “this is what it means to be mine, to be fucked by me. i’m going to use you, fill you, mark you as my property, i’m gonna breed you.”

a hoarse moan ripped from your throat as he drove into you with renewed vigor, the intense stimulation of your clit and the depth of his penetration pushing you rapidly towards climax. the feeling of helplessness, of being completely at his mercy, only heightened your arousal.

“oh, my god!” you screamed, your body trembling in his iron grip. “it’s— too much, too—mhmm.” your inner walls spasmed around his cock with the thought of being bred by him, of carrying his child, sent a thrill of dark desire through your veins.

he could feel your pussy fluttering around his shaft, the telltale signs of an impending orgasm. he redoubled his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon, determined to bring you over the edge.

“that's it, cum for me,” he growled, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck. “let go, witch. show me how much you need my cock.”

with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, grinding against your cervix as he unleashed a torrent of seed deep within your womb. the sensation of his hot cum flooding your insides triggered your own climax, and you came undone in his arms, convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

your world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color and sensation as your orgasm washed over you, the intensity of it almost painful in its ferocity. you could feel every pulse of geto’s cock as he emptied himself deep inside you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

a keening wail tore from your throat, echoing through the forest as your body shook and trembled in his grasp. the feeling of his cum filling you, claiming you, was both terrifying and exhilarating, a surrender to the darkness that lurked within you both.

as the aftershocks slowly faded, you collapsed against him, still in the mid air as he held you, spent and boneless, your mind reeling from the force of your release. somehow, despite the overwhelming pleasure, you managed to whisper a single word, a plea for more of this intoxicating madness.

“again...”

he chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your back. despite having just come, his cock remained hard and throbbing inside you, ready for another round.

“insatiable little things, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “don't worry, we're far from done here.”

slowly, he lowered you to the ground, but kept you pinned beneath him, his weight pressing you into the soft earth. his hands roamed over your body possessively, caressing and teasing, stoking the fires of your desire once more.

“’m going to take you again and again,” he promised, his voice low and dangerous. “gonna fuck you in every hole, fill you with my cum until it’s dripping out of you. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else. watch me breed you.”

[macbethsymphony]

Port Wine & Sake | Chapter 4

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

wc: 7.7k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Whole fic content/warnings: NSFW, 18+, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, slight alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, past trauma

Summary: You were tired of the fucking nuisances freeloading in your brother's castle, but it seemed you had no choice but to endure. A tumultuous romance between Roronoa Zoro and Dracule Mihawk's sister, set throughout the 2 year time skip.

Chapters [1 & 2] ◈ [3]

Masterlist

Also on AO3 if you prefer

Tag: @itsagoodluckkiss

Chapter 4: The First Month — Midnight Wanderings

As Roronoa Zoro’s training intensified, he often found himself roaming the halls in the dead of night. The adrenaline from Mihawk's relentless regimen still coursed through his veins, keeping him awake when he should have been sleeping. It was during one of these restless nights that he first glimpsed you wandering the eerie corridors, your figure shrouded in a ghostly robe that billowed behind you like a specter haunting the damned cursed castle.

At first, he almost mistook you for Perona, the way your silhouette moved with an ethereal grace, illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the high windows was otherworldly. He almost expected you to disappear through a wall, almost called out but something stayed his tongue—a faint trace of cinnamon and something uniquely you, a scent that clung to the stillness of the darkness and pricked at his senses. Zoro had hesitated, his annoyance at the interruption of his solitude mingling with a begrudging curiosity.

He watched as you moved with a purposeful stride, the unusual softness of your features catching his eye despite himself. You seemed driven by some unseen force, your path illuminated by the thin glow of the moon. He followed you from a distance, justifying it to himself as idle boredom. The corridors were silent save for the quiet echo of your footsteps and the far away hum of the sea beyond.

That first night, you had simply wandered back to your room. Zoro had stood there, hidden in the shadows, watching as you disappeared behind your door. The encounter left him with a lingering sense of intrigue that gnawed at him, an unwanted added distraction he couldn’t shake.

The next night, sleeplessness plagued him again and he found himself in the halls, hoping—against his better judgment—to glimpse you once more. But as he roamed the corridors aimlessly, you were nowhere to be seen.

You could feel yourself slowly unraveling. You knew you were sleepwalking again. Your feet were sore from your endless wanderings, exhaustion loomed over your shoulders but most of all you were bored. Bored out of your fucking mind. Roronoa Zoro had finally started his training and as you’d promised Mihawk, this meant the end of your entertainment.

The little swordsman was even avoiding you. You weren’t sure if you should be flattered of that fact or annoyed that he had seemingly disappeared from your quotidian. It was truly a dreadful situation. A tragedy.

You kneaded the dough with a bit more force than necessary. Perona had asked for bagels. Well asked wasn’t quite the adequate word. Demanded was more like it.

The dough resisted under your hands, an extremely poor substitute for the excitement Zoro's presence had brought. You glanced out the window, where you could just make out the training grounds in the distance. The rhythmic clanging of swords carried faintly on the breeze, a reminder of where your distraction had gone.

With a sigh, you focused back on your task. Perona's demands weren't going to go away on their own and you had learned that keeping the specter princess happy greatly improved your peace. Besides, it wasn’t the worst of requests. You quite enjoyed bagels yourself.

As you shaped the dough into perfect circles, your mind wandered, replaying moments with Zoro. Oh, how easily he flustered. How he twitched and squirmed so beautifully beneath your stare. You bet Mihawk was having a field day training him.

You sighed.

It was truly a shame, such great entertainment wasted on sword training.

”What’s got you sighing like that?” Perona interrupted your train of thought. The girl floated in from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you worked.

”Wouldn’t you like to know?” You smirked, not looking up from the dough.

She huffed, hovering closer. “Oh please, he’s not THAT interesting,” she remarked, leaning in with a mischievous grin.

You shot her a sideways glance, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “No? You should see the way he reacts when you catch him off guard. It’s priceless.”

Perona rolled her eyes. “You two siblings are insane,” she stated. “He’s not interesting. He’s just another swordsman obsessed with his training. Entirely boring and entirely not cute.” She poked at one of the dough circles. “And yet here you are, making bagels and sighing about him.”

You gave her an overdramatic shrug. “What can I say? Boredom has overtaken my life once more.”

“As I said, entirely insane.” Perona floated to the other side of the counter, facing you. “You even played doll and dressed him. What a complete waste.”

You chuckled, the memory of his reaction as your nail had grazed his abdomen delightfully sweet on your mind. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, girl? Do you desire new clothes too?”

”Don’t call me like that.” She pouted. “How old are you anyways?”

”It’s really none of your business,” you replied, your tone a touch too short.

She frowned at that, her passing interest growing into something more concrete. “What? Are you actually younger than me?”

Your jaw clenched, and you regretted your words. You should have simply given her a bullshit answer. “I wouldn’t know, Perona. Father wasn’t particularly keen on birthdays.”

That seemed to shut her up for a second. She let out a small “oh” of realization as your statement sank in.

You couldn’t help the hint of bitterness coloring your tone as you continued. “Don’t dwell on it too much. It’s not something I tend to think about, myself.”

For a moment Perona hovered in silence, seemingly lost in thought. Then with a shake of her head, she switched gears, returning to her mischievous demeanor. “So, about those bagels. Any chance I can get a heart-shaped one?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips once more. “I can try. No promises though.”

”And, yes,” she said. “I would also like new clothes. So make me a dress.”

You laughed, a hearty laugh. “Now, why would I do that?”

As Roronoa Zoro swung his swords in precise, furious arcs, the rhythm of his training became a battleground of its own. Amidst the clash of steel and the exertion of muscle, your presence haunted him like a persistent ghost. He couldn't escape the memory of your laughter, the way you effortlessly turned your interactions into a game of wits that left him off balance. It was infuriating how you managed to get under his skin with such ease.

He needed to get stronger, he reminded himself. For Luffy. His captain should never have been fighting alone.

Each swing of his swords echoed with frustration. The more he trained, the more his thoughts drifted to you—your sharp retorts, the way you so easily unraveled his composure with a mere glance or a fleeting touch. It was maddening, it had been days since you last played with him. And yet, you were still a torment that gnawed at him relentlessly.

No.

He needed to get stronger. He wouldn’t let what happened in Sabaody happen again.

Zoro’s mind flashed back to the moments that lingered like a curse—the curve of your lips as you teased him, the warmth of your breath on his skin, and the tantalizing scent of cinnamon that clung to the air long after you had left. Those memories, intertwined with the intensity of his training, threatened to drive him to madness.

Damn it.

He needed to get stronger. For his crew, for his friends.

He gritted his teeth, focusing harder on his strikes, hoping to drown out the reminiscences with the physical exertion. But no matter how fiercely he swung his swords, your presence remained like an indelible mark etched upon his consciousness. The memory of your softened features in the moonlight, the way that sheer robe you wore at night, that short slip and how it left nearly nothing to the imagination.

Fuck.

He needed—

"You're distracted, Roronoa," Mihawk's voice cut through the air, bringing Zoro's attention back to the present. The warlord observed him with his characteristic stoicism, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—almost amusement.

Zoro’s mouth twisted at being read so easily. “I’m not,” he stubbornly denied.

“Those forms of yours would disagree.” Mihawk stepped forward, drawing his sword. “I would suggest you don’t entertain my sister’s antics, but I doubt that is within your control.”

Zoro’s jaw clenched as Mihawk’s words hit their mark. He knew the warlord saw through him, saw through the façade of focus he tried to maintain during training. Swinging his swords with renewed determination, Zoro fought to regain his composure, but the memory of you kneeling before him as you laced up his pants lingered like a stubborn shadow.

“I’m not distracted,” Zoro insisted, his voice edged with frustration as he parried Mihawk’s assault.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his swordplay graceful and precise, effortlessly overpowering him. “Denial suits you poorly, Roronoa.”

The memory of the tips of your fingers grazing his skin plagued his mind once more and his strike faltered, allowing the warlord to bring him to his knees, blade at his throat.

“I can see what she meant,” he continued with a rare smile. “You are delightfully easy to rile up.”

Zoro scowled.

“Emotions play a large part in winning battles, Roronoa.” He lowered his sword, letting Zoro rise. “Learn to control them.”

He needed to get stronger.

The second time Roronoa Zoro caught you wandering in the dead of night was days later. He had almost convinced himself that the first encounter was a one-time fluke, a bizarre chapter in the castle’s ghostly narrative. The sprawling fortress was enveloped in darkness, the moonlight barely filtering through the heavy clouds, casting an eerie, fragmented glow along the stone corridors. The silence was thick, oppressive, wrapping around him like a shroud.

It was a rare solace, this peaceful solitude. A respite from Perona’s incessant chatter and, more importantly, a break from the piercing scrutiny of your stare.

Your stare...

It lingered in his mind, unsettling, annoying. He gritted his teeth.

It was the soft echo of steps that made him stop, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a series of faint, smeared footprints on the usually pristine surface of the marble floor. He bent down, observing the dirt tracks and, disturbingly enough, specks of blood that marked the path. Irritation flared further within him—why did you have to bring chaos even in your sleep?

Still, he quickened his pace, following the trail. The delicate scent of cinnamon pricked his senses, signaling that he was drawing closer. You moved slowly, your features bathed in the dim, cold glow of the moon. Your eyes were half-lidded, your expression serene, almost childlike. The sight was unsettling, and yet, there was a beauty to it that he reluctantly acknowledged.

A soft murmur escaped your lips as you reached a wall, barely audible in the stillness. Zoro strained to hear, trying to catch the fragmented words. “Father... locked all the doors... trapped...” you mumbled, nails digging into the stone. “The doors...can’t get out…”

There was no distress in your tone, only a grim acceptance that tugged at something he didn’t like deep within him. He dimly spotted tear tracks glistening on your cheeks.

Eerily beautiful.

Before he could take another step, a figure emerged from the shadows. Mihawk moved with his usual grace, his gaze fixed on you with a softness Zoro hadn’t known the warlord was capable of.

Zoro froze, watching as Mihawk reached out and placed a hand over yours, stopping the mindless digging of your fingers. “You’re safe,” Mihawk’s voice was a low murmur, soothing. “No one can harm you here.”

You didn’t turn to Mihawk, your eyes still unfocused, far away. “But... Father... the doors...”

“Hush, now,” Mihawk whispered, his tone softening further. “I’m here. There are no locked doors.”

You seemed to relax in his hold. “Father,” you stumbled, and Mihawk settled you. “Father’ll be angry.” Your voice was so quiet he barely heard the last few words.

The warlord’s stare caught Zoro’s eyes, and he flinched under the coldness of the amber gaze. “Father’s not here,” Mihawk’s tone was tender, a sharp contrast to the expression on his features.

He should not care. Really should not care.

He watched as Mihawk picked you up effortlessly, as your face buried itself in his coat.

“Forget what you’ve seen, Roronoa,” Mihawk said as he passed him.

Forget, huh?

Yes, he could do that. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

Or at least, he tried to convince himself he didn’t.

"You've started wandering again," Mihawk's voice, calm and measured, cut through the stillness as he strode into the dining room.

You winced, pausing mid-bite. The weariness from your restless nights was evident in the dark circles under your eyes, a testament to the strain you were under.

"I am aware," you replied, your words tinged with frustration, each syllable a sharp edge against the tranquility of the early morning hour.

He observed you silently for a moment, his gaze inscrutable, a flicker of concern hidden deep within his amber stare. "It's becoming a problem," he said finally, his tone devoid of accusation, merely stating a fact that hung heavily between you.

You brought the piece of bread back to your lips, chewing with a slight annoyance, not tasting the buttery jam as you watched him pull out a chair and sit down across from you. The quiet scrape against the floor felt unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room.

You sighed, the weight of his stare pressing down on you, an invisible burden that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. "As I said, I am aware it has," you muttered, the depths of your voice trembling almost imperceptibly, a crack in your usually composed facade.

Mihawk's sharp eyes missed nothing. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed. "You need rest," he said, his tone softer now, gentle. "This can't continue."

You looked down, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "It’ll pass," the vulnerability in your voice betraying how close you were to crumbling. “You know it always does.” The words felt heavy, laden with the exhaustion that had settled deep in your bones, making every night a battle you seemed destined to lose.

Mihawk's stance eased a little at your answer. "It seems our guest has also been following you on your nightly escapades,” he added, almost as though it was an afterthought.

Your gaze snapped back to him at that, a slow, satisfied smile spreading on your lips. “Has he?” you cooed with sudden interest. “And here I thought our little swordsman was trying to avoid me.”

A flicker of amusement danced in Mihawk’s eyes, though it was fleeting. "It seems you have a way of captivating even the most unwilling participants," he replied, his tone light yet laced with an underlying seriousness.

You leaned back in your chair, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh, I’m well aware of that," you said, the confidence in your voice masking the exhaustion that still clung to you.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, leaning back as well. “I would appreciate it if you stopped distracting my student.”

You were about to say something clever, maybe a little provocative when the sound of arguing made the words disappear on your tongue.

“Are you dense or something?” Perona's sharp screech sliced through the air, her annoyance palpable as she directed her scolding at Zoro. “We’re in this room three times a day, minimum. How is it possible you still don’t know your way around?”

Zoro shot her a sidelong glance, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “I made it here, didn’t I?”

Perona rolled her eyes dramatically, her exasperation evident. “Barely. It took us over an hour. For someone who supposedly helped defeat Moria-sama, your sense of direction is abysmal.”

Zoro scowled at Perona, the frustration clear in the tightness of his jaw. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he muttered, throwing himself in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Perona huffed, her hands on her hips. “Well, you should. If you keep wandering around like this, you’ll never make it to the dining room in time for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.”

The tension between them was almost tangible, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at their bickering. “Now, now,” you interjected smoothly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Leave him alone, Perona. It’s not every day someone manages to get lost in a straight corridor.”

”It is quite the miracle you ever make it to training,” Mihawk added.

Zoro’s scowl deepened, his pride clearly bruised by the collective teasing. “I didn’t ask for your commentary either,” he grumbled, the frustration evident in his voice.

You smiled sweetly, leaning back in your chair. “Just trying to help,” you said, feigning innocence. “You seemed to be having a rough time, little swordsman.”

His jaw twitched visibly. “I’m not little,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You laughed.

Zoro's breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming in protest, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth more intense with each exhale. He tried to ready himself, tightening his grip on his swords, bracing for the onslaught he knew was coming. Mihawk’s eyes bore into him. Sharp. Calculating.

“Again,” Mihawk’s voice cut through the air, cold and unyielding.

Zoro barely had time to raise his blades before Mihawk was upon him, his strikes swift and merciless. Each clash of their swords reverberated through Zoro’s bones, the sheer force of Mihawk’s blows driving him back, step by agonizing step.

He tried to focus, tried to find an opening, but Mihawk’s movements were a blur, a dance of deadly precision that left Zoro scrambling to keep up. His vision wavered, the edges of his sight tinged with red. Was he hallucinating? The warlord’s strikes seemed more brutal than usual, each one carrying a weight that threatened to crush Zoro’s spirit.

“Is this all you’ve got, Roronoa?” Mihawk’s evident boredom was a dagger to Zoro’s pride. “You’ll never defeat me with such feeble attempts.”

Gritting his teeth, Zoro pushed forward, his swords a whirlwind of steel. But no matter how fiercely he attacked, Mihawk was always one step ahead, his defenses impenetrable. Zoro’s frustration mounted with each failed attempt, his body growing heavier with every passing moment.

Sweat dripped from Zoro’s brow, mixing with the blood that trickled from a cut above his eye. His grip on his swords faltered for a split second, and Mihawk seized the opportunity, disarming him with a single, decisive strike. Zoro’s swords clattered to the ground, and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath.

“Get up,” Mihawk ordered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “You’re not done yet.”

Zoro’s vision swam, the trees and the sky spinning around him. He reached for his swords, his hands trembling. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stand, to face Mihawk once more.

“Again,” Mihawk said, his tone unwavering.

Zoro lunged forward, his movements fueled by sheer willpower. But Mihawk’s blade met his with a resounding clash, effortlessly deflecting his attacks. Each strike sent shockwaves through Zoro’s body, his limbs growing heavier, his breaths more labored.

“You’re slow,” Mihawk taunted, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Predictable.”

Zoro’s frustration reached a boiling point. With a roar, he unleashed a flurry of attacks, his swords moving with lightning speed. But it was a hopeless struggle, the warlord's swordsmanship was flawless. He parried with ease, his expression never wavering, not a drop of sweat or dirt marring his skin.

His vision blurred further as exhaustion and pain took their toll. He could barely keep his grip on his swords. He stumbled, his legs buckling beneath him, and Mihawk’s blade was there, waiting, knocking him to the ground with a final, decisive blow.

Zoro lay, his chest heaving, every breath a struggle. He could hear Mihawk's footsteps approaching, each step a reminder of his failure.

“Do you see now, Roronoa?” Mihawk’s voice was calm, almost gentle, but the words cut deeper than any sword. “You have strength, but you lack control. You have determination, but you lack discipline. Until you learn to master both, you will never defeat me.”

Zoro’s vision darkened, his body refusing to move. He could hear Mihawk walking away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

“Ghost girl, patch him up,” Mihawk's command was sharp, the final blow to Zoro's pride.

He lay there long after Perona finished patching him up, watching as the sky shifted from its usual gray to hues of twilight. It was only him and the moon, and even though his mind was swirling with pain and exhaustion it was still a peaceful moment.

With a grunt he sat up, his eyes falling on his swords, still scattered on the ground. Slowly, painfully, he crawled over to them, his fingers wrapping around the familiar hilts. Each movement was agony, but he refused to give in, to let his body dictate his limits.

With unwavering determination he stood up and he brought Wado Ichimonji to his mouth. He got into stance and then… then he saw you.

You, tittering on the edge of the balustrade. You, your hair flowing in the cold night wind. You, ethereal under the moonlight.

His breath halted.

For a moment he thought you’d jump and his sword fell from his mouth and he instinctively took a step forward, not that he could do anything from so far away. And his heart both stopped and beat too hard in his ears.

But then you simply backed away and disappeared. Disappeared as though you had only been a hallucination his psyche had conjured out of desperation.

And he cursed himself. Cursed the hold you had on him. Cursed the fact that he was not able to keep you from his mind.

You were always vaguely aware that you were dreaming, but your consciousness never quite allowed you to return to reality. You knew the halls you wandered through were not real, that you were not back in the nightmare of your childhood, and yet the dreams persisted. The walls around you were the same cold, unforgiving stone, the same locked doors and barred windows. There was also a faint awareness that you were sleepwalking, the sensation of your feet against the floor just a little too real for it to be purely a dream.

But the scent of that familiar cologne filled the air, the unmistakable smell making your heart race with fear and anger. It was always there in these dreams, a cruel reminder of the control he had wielded over your life. You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you down usual paths, your hands brushing against the rough stone walls.

The memories forever played out in your mind, a loop of pain and helplessness. You could hear his voice, sharp and demanding, as if he were right behind you. You flinched at the phantom sound of his steps, your own quickening as you tried to escape his hold. But no matter how fast you moved, you were always trapped, always locked in this prison of memories.

Your fingers traced the edges of a door, the wood splintered and worn. You tried the handle, knowing it would be locked, but the compulsion to try was too strong. It rattled in your hand, and a grim acceptance overcame you.

Your gaze locked with the one window you knew was never sealed.

It would be so easy.

As you pried the panes open, the cold night air rushed in, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the halls. You felt a momentary sense of freedom, a fleeting respite from the relentless memories that plagued you. The ground below seemed to call to you, promising an escape from the torment.

It would be so, so easy.

You opened your eyes, taking in the sight before you. The wind was freezing on your skin, far colder than the one of your dreams. You were so up high, tittering on the edge of the balustrade. Your gaze met Zoro’s from afar. You watched as the sword in his mouth dropped down. He looked concerned. How adorable. For a moment, you moved your foot, still with half a mind to jump, half a mind to end it all but instead you laughed, rich bitter laughter.

It was the dreams talking. The past, not the present.

You gave a long shaky exhale.

“Have you been following me for long?” you asked Mihawk, whom was hovering right at the edge of the balcony’s door.

“Long enough,” he answered simply. “You were rather uncooperative tonight.”

You sighed, hopping backwards, back onto the stone floor and turning to face him. “I see,” you dragged on the word. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

He hummed, following you as you stepped back inside. Your steps instinctually brought you to the cellar and you selected two bottles of wine at random from the top shelf.

“You should rest,” Mihawk said as he watched you continue to browse. You chose a bottle of port, taking a moment to shift your hold so you could carry all three bottles comfortably.

“I’m going to drink Mihawk.” You strolled past him. “Get entirely wasted, forget for a moment, so while I appreciate you keeping me safe, I’d also appreciate it if you left me alone for a while.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you. His expression softened just a fraction, the concern in his gaze unusually barely hidden.

"Drowning your sorrows in wine won't solve anything," he said, his voice calm but firm.

You laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. "Perhaps not, but it will give me some sort of reprieve," you replied, your tone matching the emptiness you felt inside. "For a few hours at least."

He didn't respond immediately, and you could feel his stare boring into you, weighing his next words carefully. "Very well," he finally said. "Try not to do anything too dumb, Sister.”

You offered him a wry smile. "When have I ever, Brother?" you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

With that, you turned and made your way to one of the salons, the bottles of wine clinking softly with each step.

It seemed to Roronoa Zoro that the only thing in this damned castle he could find, was you. Every corridor he turned down, every hallway he explored, he couldn’t for the life of him find his way back to his fucking room. And still, his steps brought him to you.

He paused outside the slightly ajar door to the salon, a soft humming and the flickering warmth of a fire drawing him in. He cursed himself. He couldn’t help it. He pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

You were seated by the fireplace, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. You looked up as he entered, a wry smile playing on your mouth. “Well, well, if it isn’t my little swordsman,” you drawled, raising your glass in a mock toast.

Zoro scowled at the nickname, ignored the urge to snap back. His eyes unwittingly roamed your form. Seared into his mind how the short black silken slip you wore rode dangerously high along the plushness of your thighs, the way your hair framed your face, how your features were unusually relaxed, the tint of wine on your lips, the way one of the straps was sliding lower and lower against your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. “Oh? Then you should join me?” You took a sip of your wine, watching him over the rim of your glass.

He huffed, dropping into the chair opposite you. “I’m not here to babysit you,” he said gruffly, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice he didn’t quite understand—concern, perhaps?

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with an almost lazy interest. “No, you’re not. You’re here because you’re lost, aren’t you?”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, the firelight casting shadows on his face. “You’re annoying,” he grumbled.

“And yet, here you are,” you retorted, pouring another glass of wine and offering it to him. “Drink with me, Zoro. Maybe you’ll find me less annoying.”

He eyed the glass warily, his instinct screaming at him that it was a bad idea. But something about your demeanor made it impossible for him to refuse. With a grunt, he took it from your hand, the touch of your fingers against his sending a jolt through his system.

Fuck.

He downed the wine in one gulp, barely tasting the rich flavor as it burned its way down his throat. You watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity, refilling his glass without a word. Zoro took it, this time sipping more slowly, the alcohol warming him from the inside out.

“It’s been a while, little swordsman. Did you miss me?”

Zoro’s jaw tightened at your question, his grip on the wine glass firm. “Miss you? Hardly,” he retorted, though it lacked the venom he intended. The warmth of the wine and the flickering firelight softened his resolve, making it all the more difficult to maintain his usual gruff exterior.

You chuckled, the sound rich and melodic, filling the room with an odd sense of comfort. “Oh, come now. We both know you enjoy our little exchanges. Why else would you be here?”

He huffed, taking another sip of his wine. “As you said, I’m lost. This castle is a damned maze.”

You leaned back in your chair, your eyes never leaving his. “Is that so? I hear you’ve been keeping me company.”

Surprise flickered on his features which he quickly tried to mask with a scowl. It didn’t work though, the slow spreading smile on your lip’s infuriating. “Why do you always have to be so—“

You laughed and the words died on his tongue.

“So what? Annoying? Vexing? Overdramatic? Theatrical?” you listed off each word with exaggerated flair. Your laughter bubbling up again as his scowl deepened.

In a languid movement you got up and he downed the glass in his hands in a desperate attempt to quiet his beating heart.

“Oh I know!” You continued, your fingers slowly brushing against his shoulder. “Sanctimonious? Maddening? Irking?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew you had a little too much alcohol flowing through your veins for you to make sensible decisions and by the way he’d just downed the entirety of the almost overflowing glass you’d poured him so did he. But you wanted to play. You needed to play. Your boredom craved to be satiated and Roronoa Zoro was the perfect little plaything to satiate its incessant demands.

He was so pretty struggling like that, the challenge in his steely gaze intoxicating.

Despite the haze of alcohol, you remained keenly aware, attuned to the signals he might give were he to choose to stop you. You doubted he would, however. No, he would not. If you were reading him well, and you knew how easily you could read him, he wanted this…perhaps even more than you.

He was so pretty struggling like that, his body held taut, desperately restraining himself.

The way his gaze fixated on you spoke volumes, clouded with a raw intensity that could only be interpreted as desire. As you continued to speak, your words tumbling out in a provocative stream, you wondered if he truly comprehended any of it. His attention seemed consumed by something primal, a hunger that mirrored your own need for amusement.

He was so pretty struggling like that, entirely lost to the allure of lust.

Drawing closer, you abandoned decorum, slowly you pressed your knee between his legs. You leaned in close, your lips almost touching his earrings, your hand finding balance over the backrest of his chair.

”You’re so easy to rile up, Roronoa Zoro,” you whispered, your breath grazing his skin.

The only thing you seemed to like more than fine wine and messing with him was the sound of your own fucking voice. Fuck. You were so pretty taunting him like that. So pretty, so pretty, so pretty. He needed you to shut up or he’d do something he’d regret.

Zoro gritted his teeth, his pulse quickening as your words echoed in his mind, yet remained unregistered. Each of your smiles, every playful insult, all of your fleeting touches, only served to ignite the simmering frustration within him.

You were close now, hovering over his seat, the smell of amber and cinnamon filling his every senses.

"You're so easy to rile up, Roronoa Zoro," your voice had a lilting quality, a teasing edge that drove him to the brink. You leaned in closer, your knee slotting between his, your hand finding balance on the backrest over his shoulder, your breath warm against his ear. "Maybe one day, you'll actually do something about it."

You were playing with fire and you both knew it. But as your gaze locked with his and he registered the mischievous glint in yours, it became evident to him that you were exactly aware of what you were doing and that you clearly didn’t care.

Zoro's fists clenched at his sides, fingers digging into the wooden armrests until his knuckles went white and his nails left crescent marks. The muscles in his jaw worked overtime to keep his composure. Damn you and your games. He wanted to walk away, to distance himself from your intoxicating presence, but he found he was rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Your lips moved but he didn’t hear anything.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice an imperceptible growl. "So beautiful.” The words were so low they were lost in the air between you.

You may not have heard the words but you’d definitely read them on his lips. He cursed himself, cursed that he’d slipped up. He expected you to taunt him further, say something clever, but instead, you laughed, the sound like a bell chiming, and it drove him to the edge.

His self-control was fraying, unraveling with each passing second. He could feel the heat rising in him, a primal urge to close the distance between you, to capture those taunting lips with his own and silence you in the only way he knew how. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

“It’s been so long since we’ve played together.” Your hand traveled from the backrest to his bandaged chest, sliding down and dangerously close to the waistband of his pants then to his thighs.

You dropped to your knees, pushing his apart, settling yourself as though it was your rightful place. Your hands went up and down his thighs, then your nails dug in hard in the leather as they roamed back up one last time, closer and closer to his crotch, finding the laces at his waist.

“How about I thank you for entertaining me tonight?” You cooed, pulling absentmindedly at the cords, your cheek resting on his tensing thigh as you gazed up at him through your lashes.

Zoro's breath hitched, the sight of you between his legs nearly undoing him. Your touch, your voice, your proximity—it was all too much, yet not enough. He watched, mesmerized, as you slowly worked at the laces of his pants, your eyes never leaving his. The smirk on your lips was a promise of the wicked intentions you harbored, and he could feel his resolve crumbling under the weight of his own desire.

The alcohol dulled the edges of his restraint, making his mind fuzzy and his body hyper-aware of every movement, every touch. Your fingers brushed against his skin, and he shivered, a low growl catching at the back of his throat. "You're playing a dangerous game," he managed to rasp out, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control.

You tilted your head, your cheek pressing further against his thigh as you looked up at him with a mixture of mischief and defiance. "Is that so?" you murmured, your tone dripping with faux innocence.

With a swift, deliberate motion, you loosened the last of the laces, your fingers grazing his heated skin, riskily close to his crotch. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he sucked in a breath, his body responding instinctively to your touch. His hands, which had been gripping the armrests, moved to your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to anchor his sanity in reality.

"Stop," he said, but the word lacked conviction. It was a weak attempt to assert control, to regain the upper hand, but the truth was, he was losing himself in you. In this moment, your touch, your presence, was a drug he couldn't resist.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through him. "Are you sure?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. You tugged at his waistband, and his breath came out in a harsh exhale. Your fingers slid beneath the fabric, teasing, exploring, never quite where he needed them to go. His head fell back, eyes closing as he surrendered to the sensation. “I’ll stop if you really want me to, little swordsman.”

Your breath was warm against his skin as you leaned in, your lips brushing his abdomen in feather light touches. The tension was unbearable, the hunger overwhelming, and he knew he was on the verge of breaking.

You sensed it too, your grin widening as you watched him struggle.

"Fuck, woman," he muttered, his voice a gravelly whisper. He opened his eyes, looking down at you with a mixture of frustration and raw, unbridled lust. His hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, tangling in the strands as he pulled you closer, the intensity of his need overwhelming any remnants of hesitation. “Fuck.”

You smiled, a slow, satisfied smile that told him you knew exactly what he meant. "Good," you purred, your hand moving with a practiced ease that made his pulse race. "Now let me thank you properly." You finally dragged his aching cock out of his pants.

You ran a finger along the underside, your breath hot against his tip. “Already?” You teased, gathering a bead of precum and bringing it to your lips. “I haven’t even started yet.”

You held his gaze as you brought your tongue to him, licking a slow thick stripe before giving his tip a soft kiss. His response was a guttural sound, half-growl, half-moan. You deftly slipped the straps of your slip down, revealing your chest, your fingers playing with your erect nipples.

"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were captivated by the show you gave him but as a small mewl escaped your lips, his gaze met yours once more, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was only you and him, locked in this dance of lust and power.

As you moved to take him into your mouth, he let out a low, shuddering breath, his entire being falling back against the chair. The sensation was overwhelming, a combination of pleasure and torment that left him gasping for air. He could feel his control slipping, the tight leash he kept on his desires fraying with every passing second.

"Please," he whispered, the word escaping him before he could stop it. It was a plea, a surrender, a desperate acknowledgment that he was at your mercy.

You paused, looking up at him with triumph in your eyes. "That's more like it," you murmured, your voice a sultry purr.

His hand twitched at that, his fingers itching to grab harder, to pull you closer and control this tortuous game. But he held back, a war raging within him. He ached for your touch, but he would be damned if he gave you the satisfaction of seeing him lose control any further.

You, however, feasted on the desperation in his gaze, drank in every shaky moan escaping his lips as yours wrapped around his length. You wanted to hear more, craved to hear him beg. You hollowed out your cheeks and he almost bucked under you.

Adorable.

You took more of him, your nose nearly finding the patch of green hair at his base. His lids fluttered shut in pleasure. That wouldn’t do. You needed to see him unravel. You backed a little before taking him again, one of your hands traveled between your thighs and you moaned around him. His eyes snapped open as the sound hit his ears, as he felt the vibrations around him and the unbridled lust that broke on his features was the sweetest of victory.

In this moment, he was yours. You held all the power of the world over him. He was lost and you were his guiding star.

His fingers tightened their hold in your hair, his thighs trembled at your sides. You moaned around him again and again. The taste of him, the feel of him against your tongue, was intoxicating, and you reveled in the way he shuddered beneath your touch.

You slowed back down for a moment, savoring every sound he made, each little reaction but as his grip tightened and his hips bucked, you increased your pace, taking him deeper, faster, harder.

His breathing grew ragged, moans filling the room as you brought him closer to the edge. He was lost in ecstasy, the pleasure overwhelming, and you knew he couldn't hold back much longer.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice a desperate growl. "I'm gonna—"

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his as you stroked him with your hand, your mouth still teasing the sensitive head. "Do it," you whispered, your voice filled with anticipation. "I want to taste you."

With a final, shuddering groan, Zoro gave in to the pleasure, his release hitting your tongue. You took him in, savoring the taste, the feel of him pulsing in your mouth, and you didn't stop until he was spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

His seed was hot in your mouth. You smirked as you snaked your way up, straddling him with ease. You traced his jaw then his lips, prying them open gently. Your hair formed a curtain around you as you leaned closer, your lips almost upon his.

You let his cum dribble out of your mouth and into his, lust thick in your gaze as your fingers mixed the milky white with his spit. His eyes never left yours, something akin to reverence merging with the haze of release swirling in them. You absentmindedly grasped for the bottle of port at your side and brought it to your lips. As you savored the rich sweetness, you pushed further almost choking him and he groaned and you delighted in the hold you held over him.

You put back the bottle, craving for his touch. Your hand reached for his, dragging it along your outer thigh, then to your core, letting him feel how wet you were. “It’s a shame you came so fast, little swordsman,” you moaned as his fingers gathered your slick. You had half a mind to pursue your own rapture but instead you continued to guide his hand up, pressing it harder against the softness of your breast, to your cheek. “We could have had so much more fun,” you teased as your reddened lips wrapped along his slick digits.

You let them go with a pop and moved in closer still. Your tongue met his lower lip, then your teeth and through your grin you nipped at the soft flesh. Your lips finally found his, and your tongues swirled together, the taste of both your arousals mixing with the sweetness of the port wine.

Zoro's senses were overwhelmed by the intoxicating blend of your taste and touch. The coldness of your spit on his fingers, the softness of your breasts beneath his hold, and the way your lips and tongue moved against his—all of it combined to create a maelstrom of desire that left him breathless and yearning for more.

He groaned into your mouth, his hand traveling to your waist, somehow pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperation. His hands dug into your flesh, knotted into fine silk, the ache to claim you, to make you his, growing stronger with every passing second.

You let out a moan, which he drank in with intensity. It was intoxicating, it made the world disappear, ecstasy flowed through his veins. He rolled his hips under you and you let out another one, needy and muffled against his lips and he reveled in it. His fingers traveled under your slip, seeking your skin, tracing your spine, tugging you into him.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmured against you, his voice rough with lust.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. “Good,” you said as you slipped away, leaving him stranded in the heat of his desire. “I like being in your thoughts.”

Your hands met his, and you dragged them away from you. You touched his cheek tenderly before pulling up the fallen straps of your slip and smoothing down the thin fabric. With slow deliberate steps you made your way to the door. You looked back at him, delighting in his confusion.

Adorable.

“Thank you for playing with me, little swordsman,” you giggled, disappearing into the corridor. “Come and find me, if you want to play again,” you called out.

And just like that you left him in a haze of bewilderment and wild desire. His ragged breath slowly tamed and the heat of your presence dissipated so quickly he almost thought it had all been a hallucination. With a shaky hand, he reached for one of the bottles on the side table, not caring as he brought it to his lips.

Port wine. He scowled as the liquid hit his tongue. He’d never been a fan of port. It was too sweet. Too rich. Too expensive. But in this moment, it was intoxicating.

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Masterlist

[a-court-of-mischief-and-madness]

Midnight revelations

Part 4------Part 5

Eris vanserra x rhysand sister reader!

Summary: with the mating bond between her and Eris revealed. Rhysand isn't too happy and asks her to use it to get information out of Eris. After being invited to a ball in the Autumn Court she isn't too sure if she wants to do that anymore.

A/n: sorry for the delay guys, this chapter is a bit short coz it was finals week and I did not get any sleep at all. Hopefully you guys enjoy this one!

Warnings: slight romance, mentions of blood! other than that nothing else.

A few weeks later, the tension in the Night Court was palpable. Rhysand received a note from Beron, summoning him to the Autumn Court. Rhysand, ever wary, gathered his inner circle for the meeting. They all knew Beron rarely summoned anyone without ulterior motives, and his intentions were never benign.

When they arrived at the Autumn Court, Beron was waiting for them, his eyes glittering with malicious delight. Eris stood by his father's side, his expression unreadable, though his eyes flickered with a mix of defiance and resignation.

"Rhysand," Beron greeted, his tone deceptively cordial. "I'm glad you could make it. We have much to discuss."

Rhysand's gaze was cold as he responded, "Get to the point, Beron. Why did you summon us?"

Beron's smile widened, a predator baring its teeth. "It's come to my attention that there is a bond of great significance between our courts." He glanced meaningfully at Eris, then back at you. "Eris, it seems, has found his mate."

Gasps echoed around the room. Rhysand's face contorted with fury, and Mor looked utterly betrayed, her eyes flicking between you and Eris with disbelief and hurt.

You shook your head vehemently, your heart pounding in your chest. "I haven't felt anything," you insisted, your voice trembling with the effort to remain calm. But just as the words left your mouth, your eyes locked with Eris's, and a powerful surge of energy rippled through you.

In that instant, the mating bond snapped into place, the golden thread tying your fates together. It was like a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, an undeniable connection that sent shivers down your spine. You felt it as a magnetic pull, an unseen force binding you to Eris with an intensity you couldn't ignore.

As the bond solidified, a strange, tingling sensation spread across your scalp. You reached up, instinctively, to touch your hair, your fingers brushing through the dark strands. Before your eyes, the color began to shift, the deep brown transforming into a vibrant, fiery red that matched Eris's own. The change was mesmerizing and terrifying, each strand shimmering as it took on the new hue.

Gasps echoed around the room, and the entire inner circle watched in stunned disbelief. Rhysand's face contorted with fury, and Mor looked utterly betrayed, her eyes flicking between you and Eris with disbelief and hurt.

"What is happening?" Mor whispered, her voice filled with anguish.

Your heart raced as the realization settled over you. The bond was real, and it was changing you in ways you couldn't have imagined. Your hair, now the same shade as Eris's, was a visible mark of the connection between you, one that couldn't be hidden or denied.

Rhysand's fury was palpable, his power crackling in the air around him. "No," he growled, stepping protectively in front of you. "I won't allow this. She isn't going anywhere."

Beron's smile was triumphant. "You have no choice, Rhysand. According to the laws of Prythian, she must be given the opportunity to meet with her mate. She must visit the Autumn Court every week."

Rhysand clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. "I don't care about your laws, Beron. I won't let you use her for your schemes."

Beron raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking. "This isn't about you, Rhysand. This is about the bond between them. Denying it will only cause them both pain."

You could feel the truth of Beron's words in the depth of your soul, the bond tugging at you, demanding to be acknowledged. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew you couldn't ignore it.

Mor stepped forward, her face pale with a mix of betrayal and concern. "Do you want this?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of your true feelings.

Torn between loyalty to your family and the undeniable pull of the bond, you looked at Eris, his red hair and amber eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and fear. "I don't know," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Beron seized the moment, his tone authoritative. "Then it's settled. According to the ancient laws, she will visit the Autumn Court every week to explore the bond. It's only fair."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with defiance, but he knew the laws were binding. With a heavy heart, he turned to you, his gaze softening with concern. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "I have to," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Beron smirked, victorious. "Very well. We expect her next week."

As you left the Autumn Court, the reality of your situation settled over you. The bond with Eris was undeniable, but the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty. You couldn't help but wonder what the future held and how you would navigate the treacherous waters of both your courts and your heart.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

Returning to the Night Court after Beron's revelation felt like walking into a storm. You had barely stepped into the House of Wind when Rhysand summoned the entire inner circle to the grand hall. The tension was palpable as everyone gathered, their expressions a mix of shock, concern, and anger.

Rhysand paced back and forth, his fury barely contained. "I can't believe this. Eris, of all people."

Feyre stood by his side, trying to calm him. "Rhys, please. Getting angry won't change what's happened. We need to think this through."

You sat on the edge of a plush armchair, your heart pounding. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but it was Rhysand's intense gaze that made you feel the most vulnerable.

"He’s dangerous," Rhysand continued, his voice rising. "And now he’s bound to my sister by the mating bond."

Mor, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly stood up. "Rhys, this isn’t her fault. The mating bond isn’t something anyone can control."

You looked up, surprised by her support. Mor had every reason to be furious, but there was a calm determination in her eyes.

"Mor, how can you defend this?" Rhysand's voice was incredulous.

"Because I know what it feels like to be judged for something out of your control," Mor replied firmly. "And because she’s our family. We need to support her."

Nesta, sitting next to Cassian, nodded in agreement. "Mor's right. This isn’t her fault. Blaming her won’t help."

Cassian crossed his arms, his expression serious. "We need to focus on what’s important. Protecting her and figuring out what Beron might do next."

Azriel, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Eris might be her mate, but that doesn’t mean we trust him. We need to stay vigilant."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the supportive faces around you. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I never wanted this."

Feyre came over and knelt beside you, taking your hands in hers. "We know. And we’re here for you, no matter what."

Rhysand let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I don’t want what happened to Mor to happen to you."

You nodded, understanding his fear. "I don’t either. But I can’t deny what’s happening. The bond is real."

Rhysand's expression softened slightly, the anger giving way to concern. "We’ll figure this out. Together."

Feyre squeezed your hands. "Yes, we will. And no matter what, you’re not alone in this."

Mor stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We’ll get through this. All of us."

Nesta gave you a small, reassuring smile. "And we’ll make sure you’re safe."

As the tension in the room began to ease, you felt a flicker of hope. Rhysand seemed extremely uncomfortable with the events of tonight and you hoped he would calm down before anything else was to happen with the Autumn Court

Later, in the privacy of your room, you examined your reflection in the mirror, the fiery red of your hair a constant reminder of the bond. You knew from ancient lore that this transformation was not just cosmetic. Your hair would remain this vivid shade until the bond was consummated, until you mated with Eris.

The thought sent a shiver through you. The bond demanded recognition, and until it was fully acknowledged, you were marked by it. The vibrant red was a symbol of the passion and desire that tied you to Eris, an intimate and undeniable connection that changed everything.

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

The invitation to the ball at the Autumn Court arrived unexpectedly, a beautifully crafted scroll sealed with Beron's crest. Rhysand gathered the inner circle to discuss it, his expression a mix of caution and curiosity.

“We’ve been invited to a ball,” Rhysand announced, holding up the scroll. “Beron wants to finalize the peace treaty.”

Cassian scoffed. “Sounds like a trap.”

“We have to be careful,” Feyre agreed, her eyes scanning the faces around the table.

You sat quietly, your heart pounding at the thought of returning to the Autumn Court. Since the revelation of the mating bond, your interactions with Eris had been fraught with tension and confusion. Rhysand noticed your silence and gave you a concerned look.

“You’ll be coming with us,” Rhysand said, his tone brooking no argument. “But stay close. I don’t trust Beron or his sons.”

The night of the ball arrived, and you found yourself dressed in a stunning silver gown that shimmered with every movement. The fabric was delicate and flowing, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel both powerful and vulnerable. The plunging neckline and open back revealed just enough to be tantalizing without being overtly scandalous, and a high slit ran up one leg, adding an edge of daring to the ensemble.

The grand ballroom of Beron’s palace was a spectacle of opulence and decadence, every inch dripping with gold and crystal. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers and rich perfumes, the music a haunting melody that echoed through the high, vaulted ceilings. You entered the ballroom, feeling the eyes of the Autumn Court upon you, your silver gown flowing around you like liquid crystals. The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the deep neckline and intricate lace detailing drawing more than a few appreciative gazes. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the anxiety of being in such a hostile environment and the anticipation of seeing him.

As the Night Court entourage entered the grand ballroom of the Autumn Court, you were struck by the opulence and the flickering warmth of the firelight reflecting off the gilded decorations. Nobles and courtiers filled the room, their eyes turning towards your group with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Eris was there, standing near the center of the room, his golden eyes locking onto you the moment you entered. He wore a tailored suit in rich autumnal colors, looking every bit the princely heir of the Autumn Court. The bond between you hummed with an almost tangible electricity, drawing you towards him despite your better judgment.

Rhysand kept a protective hand on your shoulder, his gaze wary as he scanned the room. But Eris approached with a confidence that belied the tension between the two courts.

"Dance with me," he said, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

Rhysand hesitated, his protective instincts warring with the necessity of diplomacy. After a moment, he nodded curtly, releasing you. “Be careful,” he whispered.

You placed your hand in his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you. He led you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting to make way for you. The music swelled, a dark and haunting waltz, and you found yourself swept up in his embrace, the world around you blurring as you moved together.

Eris’s hand rested possessively on your lower back, his touch scorching through the fabric of your gown. "You look stunning tonight, red is a good look on you" he murmured, referring to your hair, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "But don’t think I’ve forgotten who you are."

His words were a reminder of the delicate dance you were both engaged in, a game of power and seduction that neither of you could afford to lose. Yet, beneath the barbs and the tension, there was something else—a pull that neither of you could deny.

"Nor I, you," you replied, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Eris twirled you expertly, your gown flaring out around you like a flame, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. The twirl brought you back into his arms, your bodies aligning perfectly, his breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to spin with you, the music and the crowd blurring into a distant echo.

His hand slid lower on your back, his fingers pressing into the curve of your spine with possessive heat. "You think you can manipulate me with this bond?" Eris whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you can use it to get what you want?"

You met his gaze, your eyes burning with defiance. "And what if I am?" you challenged, your voice a seductive whisper.

The air around you crackled with tension, the music and the crowd fading into the background. Eris's grip on you tightened, his eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and desire. "Tell me you don’t feel this," he growled, his voice a raw, dangerous edge.

Your heart raced, the bond between you thrumming with intensity. "I feel it," you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you."

Eris’s eyes blazed with a fierce, possessive light. "Then we are at an impasse," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Because I won’t let you go."

He spun you again, your skirts flaring out, and when he pulled you back, his hand was firmer, more insistent. Your bodies moved as one, each step a seductive dance of defiance and desire. His fingers brushed the bare skin of your back through the cutout of your gown, sending shivers down your spine. The heat from his touch was both thrilling and maddening, his presence consuming.

As the music slowed, Eris’s hand slid down further, his fingers trailing down your bare legs. Your breath hitched, the intimate touch sending a wave of heat through your body. He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. "Look who's excited," he murmured, his voice a teasing caress.

The dance was a battle of wills, each step a carefully calculated move. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of his body overwhelming. Your breaths mingled as you moved, the friction between you a tantalizing promise of what could be. The way he held you, the way his body pressed against yours, it felt as if you were the only two people in the room.

"You’re playing with fire," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, sending another shiver down your spine.

"Maybe I like the heat," you replied, your voice a soft challenge.

His eyes flared with something dark and dangerous, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken. The music reached a crescendo, and with a final, dizzying spin, the dance ended, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

Eris's eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge that left you reeling. "Remember, little bird," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "This game is far from over."

He released you then, stepping back and leaving you standing alone on the dance floor, the heat of his touch lingering on your skin. The crowd around you resumed their revelry, oblivious to the battle that had just played out in their midst. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing with the implications of what had just happened.

As you made your way off the dance floor, you couldn't help but glance back at Eris. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his fiery gaze still locked onto you, a promise of more to come. The game between you was far from over, and you knew that the next move was yours.

-----------------------♧-----------------------------------

Later after the dance, you looked around the ballroom for eris but didn't seem to find him. You found yourself wandering off into Autumn Court, looking for him.

A few hours earlier

The day had come for you to go the Autumn Court for the ball , a place that had become a maze of emotions and conflicts. The knowledge of your newly discovered mating bond with Eris had created a whirlwind within the inner circle. The tension was palpable, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on everyone. As you prepared to leave, Rhysand summoned you to his office.

You stood before your brother, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. Feyre was by his side, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions.

"You know why you need to go tonight," Rhysand said, his voice steady but laced with underlying tension. "But there's more to this visit than just the mating bond."

You frowned, sensing the gravity of his words. "What do you mean?"

Rhysand exchanged a look with Feyre before continuing. "We need Eris to sign the peace treaty. It's crucial for the stability between our courts."

Your heart sank. Convincing Eris of anything, let alone a peace treaty, seemed an insurmountable task given your current situation.

Rhysand seemed to notice and asked with hesitation in his voice "you don't plan on accepting this bond do you sister?"

Your eyes met with his and you firmly said "no, brother I would never betray you or our family that way"

"good, that's what I like to hear" rhysand gave you a warm smile

"And you think I can do this?" you asked, your feet shifting and trying to change the subject, doubt creeping into your voice.

Rhysand's gaze softened. "You are stronger than you think. And you have a unique connection with him now. Use it to our advantage."

Feyre stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "We believe in you. Just remember, you have us backing you every step of the way."

You nodded, drawing strength from their unwavering support. "I'll do my best"

--------------------------♧--------------------------------

The grand ball in the Autumn Court had been a dazzling affair, with the glittering lights and the melodious music setting an enchanting atmosphere. You had danced with Eris, feeling the intensity of the mating bond thrumming between you, even as Rhysand had watched with a guarded expression.

Later that night, after the festivities had wound down, you found yourself wandering through the quiet halls of the Autumn Court palace, seeking out Eris. You knew he was in his study, and despite the tension between you, you needed to speak with him about this, about the treaty, about what was going to happen next.

The heavy oak doors to his study were slightly ajar, and you pushed them open cautiously. Eris was there, sitting behind his desk, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. His face was hard and unreadable as he glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply, his voice tinged with bitterness.

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of his anger and the pull of the mating bond between you. "Eris, we need to talk," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions inside you.

He scoffed, his gaze darkening. "Talk? About what? The mating bond?" He rose from his chair, his movements tense and controlled. "I've made myself clear. This... thing between us changes nothing. You need to stay away from me."

His words stung, but you refused to back down. "Eris you came to me, you started this at the unification ceremony, when i came to visit Lucien, right now at the ball" you gripped your hair strands, frustrated.

He chuckled "Don't you understand? We are all pawns in his game, all that I did was just a game, it didn't mean anything i can promise you that, you didn't seriously think all my gestures meant anything? Did you now?" he responded ruthlessly making your heart swell with sadness and anger

"Eris, I know you're afraid of your father, but I won't let him control us," you said firmly, taking a step closer to him.

He laughed bitterly, a harsh sound that cut through the air. "You have no idea what my father is capable of," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous. ''He wants your wings, and before you ask, no I did not tell him he practically pried his way into my head"

You gasped upon the revelation of the news that you just heard. Your mind raced with thoughts of what Beron wanted to do with your wings and that made you shudder.

The sexual tension between you was palpable, a volatile mix of desire and frustration. You could feel the heat radiating from him, drawing you in even as he pushed you away.

"Eris, I can protect myself," you insisted, your voice softening as you reached out to touch his arm.

He jerked away from your touch, his eyes flashing with a mixture of longing and fear. "Don't," he warned, his voice hoarse. "You don't understand what you're dealing with."

You stood your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "Then help me understand," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion.

For a moment, he looked at you with something akin to despair in his eyes. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your arms firmly. The intensity of his gaze bore into yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"You need to leave," he said roughly, his voice low and urgent. "Before it's too late."

But you couldn't tear your gaze away from his, couldn't deny the pull of the bond that bound you together. "I can't," you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

With that he holds your face, you feel the cold rings on his fingers digging into your skin. He towers over you, his height making you feel small and vulnerable pushing you against the harsh surface of the wall. His elbow leans against the wall, trapping you between his strong body and the unyielding surface behind you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath against your face, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

For a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his lips. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat as anticipation builds between the two of you. But just as quickly as he moved in, he pulls back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You have no idea what you're getting into, we can never be anything more, we are just a game" he whispers, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing with a mix of fear and something else you can't quite name. His proximity is maddening, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. You know you should push him away, to resist the pull he has over you, but your body betrays you, frozen under his gaze.

"I... I need to go," you stammer, trying to break free from his grip.

Eris's smirk widens, his eyes darkening with amusement. "Run away if you must," he says softly, his voice dripping with mockery. "But you'll be back. They always come back."

With that, he releases you and steps back, leaving you breathless and confused, your heart pounding in her chest. You gather yourself and hurry out of the room, Eris's taunting words echoing in your mind.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @sunny1616 @st4r-girl-official @krowiathemythologynerd

[spacedustmantis]

woe, the suckening tma au be upon ye (this is my scheme to get my tma followers into jrwi and my jrwi followers into tma)

fucking. putting them in london

emizel - hunt (self explanatory, hunting for gabriel first, hunting for whatever he can get his fangs on next)

shilo - web (he's so manipulative i love him. textbook web avatar)

arthur - slaughter (considering everything with his family and the gradual loss of humanity and his indiscriminate killing and mauling and diablerizing towards the end... yeah quite clearly an unwilling/unaware slaugher avatar)

the weylin twins - flesh (duh)

deacon - hunt (bc he's a cop and the inherent power dynamic between cop and person they wanna get behind bars or worse is inherently hunt coded (bc the hunt isn't just about the chase, it's about the feeling of powerlessness in the face of a predator)

the unseen one/the nosferatu - eye (again, duh)

the midnight circle - also eye (more in the knowledge sense than in the watching sense)

edward - stranger (what if i made the whole world look like me forever)

soda - marked by the web (curtesy of shilo)

grefgor - marked by the web (curtesy of shilo yet again)

magnus - honestly fuck if i know. probably neither marked nor an avatar. he's just chilling. watching smosh with his husband

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Devoted

Written: Feb 8, 2020

Requested by @the-soulofdevil way back when. <3

Dark!Bucky Barnes

Respectfully, your head hung low. 

“Do you love me?” Bucky’s voice moved through your skin. Your body shivered as his words sunk into your muscles before you could register his tone.

The endearment within it caught you off guard. You could count only a few times he had used this. He was far more bitter than sweet. From your knees you peered up at the dark ash brown haired man. Pink cheeks, eyes the color of metal and sky were stuck on you, simmering. He blinked and they went soft like your pride.

He swept a thumb down the center of your forehead to the tip of your nose. He waited for your answer. But you couldn’t take your eyes off the sudden empathy in his gaze as the world within you fell apart.

After he had taken you from your life he wasn’t always this gentle. Before this moment of lapsed compassion he was more brazen with his lust and cruel with the application. So you felt inadequate in trying to catch up with the sudden shift of his mood.

“Yes,” the word preened from your lips in hopes it would make him happy. A reflex really.

Your eyes darted across his face in search of his praise. Your breaths abated holding out for his affection.  

In your time with him you attempted to normalize this union. If that was what this was. There was no escape anyway. So you submitted to his aggression with your fear. But you realized nothing had changed at this moment. He laid in wait. He merely was using his kindness as a tool.

You cautiously reached for him, lifting cool hands from your thighs to cup around the hot skin of his naked calves.

The blue fades to midnight and with it you sensed another shift was upon you.

Again he surprised you. He took you by the arms as he helped you to rise and face him. In another life, this might have been beautiful. A weary love sick soldier and his girl so enraptured with their love the world was unseen around them. That perhaps a different man, a whole spirit, could use his love for good.

It might not have been wholly true. But you eat it up anyway. Your hands entangled in his silky strands praying with your touch that his would also be just as gentle.

And you react as he sees fit. His benevolence spirals down from your eyes to the valley between your thighs.

And he sees that it does. You nudged them together and then pressed against his and in doing so skimmed across his growing erection. A mischievous grin played across his pouty lips creasing the dimple in his chin. He backed you against the wall. A slight brush down your chest and he tore your shirt from your body.

A hand of metal and one of skin pinched your nipples. He rolled them around his finger tips and pulled them up against the weight of your breasts.

“Girl of my dreams.” He drawled before pushing his scratching kiss upon your neck. Rough, big hands cascaded down your body and pulled up your skirt. He smiled into your skin as his long fingers dug to the sides of your lace panties.

His touch pushes beyond your slit. “Pure, devoted, girl,” his lascivious growl left your eyes rolling behind their lids. 

You jumped at his heated prodding. His metal hand holds the back of your neck. He pushed his body in tighter and forced you to stay close. He crooks two fingers within you and dragged them against your wet walls. You shriek at first but it quickly devolves into desperate yammers. 

“Bucky.” You panted, pressed him harder into your neck. “I love you.” You said while wrapping one of your hands around his wrist.

But you know better than to fight. Instead you used him as leverage and grind your hips into his palm.

His wide tongue tastes a strip of skin from your chin to your clavicle. “And I love you,” he murmured, scraping his teeth along your shoulder.

“You’re in my hands,” he twisted his wrist and began to thumb your clit in circles. “Only my grip.”

A shattering cry fumbled from your lips.

“Yes,” you shouted. “Only you,” you hissed.

His warm metal hand twitched across the nape of your neck. The hesitation in his movement confused you momentarily. He was never one to second guess. But he recovered.

The possessiveness takes over that your pleasure is at his gain and moves the silver fingers to your throat. And when he squeezes your breath hitches. He pushed the wet slippery head of his cock against your belly and buries his forehead against your temple. You are wet for him, dripping around his last knuckles but he doesn’t stop despite your whimpers.

“Look at me, love.” He groaned. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You do as he said with his fingers coated deep within you.

“You are mine,” he rubbed your clit harder. “I can take you now if I wanted. Couldn’t I?”

You feebly nodded.

“But I’ll give you this,” your eyes shut tight with his words. “Do you feel how hard you make me?” he asked, pushing his length into the skin of your stomach. “Touch me,” he ordered.

Your hands fell from his hair and wrist and wrapped around his cock.

His moans left you shaken with how much it turned you on. You do this to him. Your captor.

He crushes his mouth on yours and fucked you harder. But he was desperate to hear you cum. His metal hand left your neck. He sprawled his steely fingers across your clit—the other, he pushed three fingers within you.

His motions send you hurtling toward the end.

“Keep stroking me,” he commanded. And you did.

He swiped your clit quicker, slid his tongue across your lips slackened with bliss.

“Bucky-“ you whimpered breathlessly.

Your mind blanked. You stopped thinking about him. For a few seconds you lost the knowledge that you lived in his prison. Faint with pleasure your head rolled back against the wall. The wetness of his tongue near your chin faded to the background of your body searing from the inside out and cuming all over his fingers.

Dizzy, your head pulled back toward him.

“I love you,” you whispered. Bucky dragged his fingers from your core and up into your hair.

He fisted them there and pulled you away from the wall.

“Then show me how much.” He said softly.

[lavender-laney]

drabble, untitled concept

...this is definitely not something I decided to start in my notes app after replaying tears of the kingdom and being filled with the need to write a dynamic like link and zelda... definitely not working on this when I should be working on my other projects...

anyway. hope you enjoy and hope this is even slightly comprehensible as it is midnight but I refuse to wait <3

Cool water laps over Enya’s ankles, her bare feet prickling at the sensation. She can feel smooth stones and soft foliage beneath her, and, when she glances down, the water is clear enough to easily see minnows darting around her legs. Distraction takes her for a moment, and she watches the fish. They’re unlike any she’s ever seen. Their bodies glisten, glowing like the fireflies that fill the air around her. Every time her eyes begin to focus on their forms, they dart away, sparkling and flickering. The movement nearly feels mischievous.

She draws her eyes away from the flashing scales, continuing on as she fights the urge to glance back at her mother. She would be met with only the same stern gaze she seems to find with every look at the queen. The edges of her dress lift with the water’s pull, though somehow she’s sure these marshes will leave no sign of muck on the pure white material. As it is, it hardly seems to affect the fabric’s weight, and Enya feels almost dizzy for a moment at the sensation of walking through air rather than water.

When she reaches the sculpture previously only described to her in scriptures, the water touches her waist. She takes in the sight before her, the sight she’s waited so many moons to behold, that her family has long prepared her to witness.

Stone steps before her rise into a platform in the center of the marsh, and between one blink and the next, the moon’s rays seem to focus on the fixture. Enya’s eyes hungrily roam across the ornate carvings that decorate the pale stone. First, Enya thinks them to be constellations, then soaring birds, then the fish that still circle her like flies buzzing around carrion. She refocuses. The center of the platform is laid with a circle of pale blue crystal of some kind, one that seems to glitter and shift under the celestial light. Enya does not recognize it from any of her lessons, and her father’s voice echoes in her mind as she imagines the ways he would ponder its worth rather than its composition. Past the crystal, Enya can see where the stone lengthens into a pathway, but she cannot discern any other details. It appears as though it simply vanishes into the fog, fallen away into a chasm.

The water stills. At once, the fish dart away from her form, managing to vanish despite the water’s transparency. The fireflies blink out one by one, and a single owl offers a long, mournful call before the landscape falls silent. 

Enya looks back. 

Even as she turns to do so, she can imagine the way her mother’s face will fall into irritation, the way she will lecture her during her classes tomorrow on the importance of appearing unyielding in the face of the beasts’ judgment. As Enya's braids brush against her bare shoulders, she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so vulnerable, so naked, despite the fabric draped across her form. She needn’t have worried about her mother’s reaction. The fog around her has grown so thick that she can hardly see the stretch of water behind her, and certainly not the bank on which her mother and handmaiden stand. Her heart clenches.

Turning back to the platform, she steadies herself, suddenly aware of the dozens of eyes that rest on her, unseen, unfelt. Not even a prickle on the back of her neck alerts her to their presence, but she knows they are waiting for her. Thus, when she lifts the circlet from her brow, she does so gracefully, poised, just as her mother taught her. She turns it, slowly, studying the citrine set in the center. The gem is nearly the size of her thumbnail, perfect from any angle, any light under which you study its form. She lifts it free from its cage, holding it in her palm for a moment, watching it glimmer in the pale light. When she lays it on the stone, its gentle tink is absorbed by the fog. The circlet is returned to her brow. Her hands clasp before her. Her hair drags the water when she bows her head, eyes falling closed with some reluctance. 

Then, she waits. It doesn’t take long.

Gentle steps disrupt the air’s stillness. Unbidden, the way her mother’s dress shoes tap against the castle’s marble floors rise to Enya’s mind. The simultaneously harsh yet melodic beats grow louder with each step, in tune with the princess’s pounding heart. She wonders if the creature can hear it fluttering like a butterfly clutched between palms, sunlight flickering through just out of reach, vibrant scales tarnishing and falling away under the unyielding grip. When the steps pause, Enya still finds herself unable to detect any presence. She can hardly be blamed, then, when she lifts her head before she’s meant to.

Enya's deep brown eyes meets ice blue, and the mysterious crystal flashes to the front of Enya’s mind. The beast's face is mere inches away from Enya's own, close enough that she can see the silver spots speckled across its fur so shockingly white it nearly seems to emit its own light. When her eyes land on its somehow brighter mane, she is abruptly filled with the desire to reach out and graze her fingers through it, positive it must feel like the most expensive of silks and the most lush of prairie grass, the softest of hares and the smoothest of trout.

Her attention broadens. Its body is comparable to both a young elk and a mare of royal lineage, rippling with power and grace but, to the untrained eye, delicate and soft. Enya can so clearly imagine it scaling the most steep of cliffs, dark hooves finding purchase in the smallest of crags, or endlessly galloping through open land, seemingly gliding across the ground in a flurry of hoofbeats. 

Its fur thickens and curls around its ankles and chest, similar to the tuft at the tip of its whip-like tail. At first, Enya can see no imperfections at all, and for a moment, believes with her whole heart the tales of creatures delivered straight from the heavens above, crafted in the painstaking hands of a mythical power. But, no, she realizes. Mud clumps around its hooves, fur hangs in disheveled tendrils where it's tail has dragged the ground, a pale pink scar mars its shoulder.

The creature blinks, long white eyelashes brushing its cheeks, and Enya’s attention is brought back to its face, to perhaps the most awe-inspiring detail, but the one she reflexively avoided like a child with a burnt palm shying away from a stove — its horn.

Enya doesn't know what color to call it, the way it shifts between lavender to salmon to silver to gold, opalescent. It spirals up, up, up, from the beast’s forehead, nearly long enough for it to touch the ground with a dip of its head. It culminates into a wicked point, and it sends a jolt of primal fear through the princess. 

She knows exactly what that horn could do to a mortal, and she knows exactly what it will do to her.

All in all, a majesty of beauty and strength nearly divine in nature. A creature that pulls your attention like butterflies on a bloated corpse: delight at the puddle of gently flapping wings, then horror at what lies beneath.

A unicorn. Her unicorn.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

I have big plans for this concept, my vision right now is something that emulates 80s fantasy movies (labyrinth, the last unicorn, the princess bride, etc etc), ofc a sapphic romance (the unicorn does in fact have a human form), and, like I mentioned, a dynamic similar to link and princess zelda <3 we'll see!! 🤗

[thepiratefish]

SUCKENING EP 5 SPOILERS!!!!

Basically my reaction during the entire ep

[]

Started writing this during the fight

[]

[]

Deacon and shilo, ahhhhhhhhh dogs

Deacon pls don't diee, tf you mean by red mist.

OH FRENZY- Deacon pls

Ribs ouchie

DEACON, DEACONN

Sneksss

Snake in da boot refrence-

Sword???

Shilo dosent want his dad's to fight-

YOUR FREIBDS ARE ALREADY DEAD. SHILO.

The dads are getting a divorce (they have never dated)

The dads are talking

Are they gay or enemies? Both

FROM THE TOP ROPE MY PRINCE!!

DEACON! WUHH

Is he dead? Yes, my prince

SEX HOTEL

OH HES STILL ON DRUGS

EMEZIEL TIMEEE

YOOOOOO ARTTTTTTTTT

PEPER!

He's a cryptid now

SODA NOOOOO

SHILOS HOUSE ON FIRE??

Do NOT let him drive

Sex motel part 2

HAHRHRVJ EMEZIL THINKS THEY FUCKES

SODA NO

GE GOT HIS SODA BACK

BRother timee

Grefgor time-

Noo Shilo can't say it :(

OH NO

Whhhhhh crying

EMEZIL

Arthur don't leave the kiddos

Ohhh?

Midnight circle???

Do not rewire his memeory-

WEASLE

Unseen one??

LOOKING GOOD???

I don't want Deacon to leave :[

WAHHH SHILO

Arthur pep talk

Shilooo

Found Family tropes -sniff-

Shilo is a pure boy

Artifical feelingssd

My brain is spinnignggf

Deacons aura is scrambled???

SUNSHINE!

Shiloo this pure boy

ARTHUR COVER THE BOYS EYES

Gregfour???? Grefgors siblings??

Truama

Bed 🛌

[kaylarenee98]

The Morbidity Club by Kayla Renee

In the hushed winds of midnight, we gather near

where shadows whisper secrets only we can hear

The air- thick with incense, a damp, earthly blend

a candle flickers softly, like a familiar friend

We sit in a circle as darkness unfolds

each face bears a soul of stories untold

Eyes, like deep wells, hold a sorrowful grace

echoing the battles that time can't erase

One speaks of the night and its tender embrace

how silence enfolds us in this spiritual space

With every dark moment, we find sweet release

in the arms of twilight we gain much needed peace

Another, a poet, with her ink-stained hands

pours verses like blood from her heart's hidden lands

Words drip effortlessly, weaving tales of despair

creating landscapes of longing that float in the air

We raise our goblets, containing a bitter red wine

a familiar taste of heartache, aged like fine brine

The moon watches closely- gaze soft yet keen

we drink to the shadows that shape the unseen

In this sacred hall, we worship the dusk

celebrate twilight, embrace the dust

In absence of light, our true selves emerge

lowering the masks where spirits converge

The clocks quick rhythm, a heartbeat of gloom

each tick a reminder of life's coming doom

Yet here we are timeless, lost in our thoughts

In the depths of night we find all that we've sought

We share our scars gently, like treasures we own

each mark a reminder of battles we've known

In this sisterhood bound by the darkness we trust

We weave the threads of our own stories, from blood to dust

As candles burn dim, casting long shadows wide

We lean on each other- fears set aside

In the flickering light, a communion we find

bonds forged in sorrow- hearts now intertwined

When dawn creeps in with its unforgiving light

we cling to the shadows, reluctant, we fight

For in the Morbidity Club, we are never alone

united in sorrow, we've created a home

So let this world spin wildly, let the Sun blaze high

We'll find our own shared darkness, beneath the night sky

Here, in the stillness, we flourish and thrive

in the shadows we linger, into twilight we dive

[ladykailitha]

In the Midnight Hour Part 10

I’m having trouble wrapping it up because I want Eddie to play Steve a love song on his guitar but all the best love songs from that decade are either breakup songs or from 1987-89. So if you have any suggestions, I would be happy to hear them.

But here we go. The moment you’ve all been waiting for: the final battle.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

*

“Are you sure this going to work?” Dustin asked as they neared where Vecna was waiting for them.

Steve sighed. “I don’t know, bud. But it fits. All the pieces are there. It’s the only thing that could work. Because if it doesn’t, nothing will.”

Dustin nodded solemnly.

Eddie swooped down in front of them. “I can’t let you through, Steve. You know why I can’t.”

Steve took a step away from his friends. “I’m not going to ask you to.”

Eddie frowned. “What’s going on? Where is everyone else?”

“They’re safe,” Wayne said softly.

Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He spotted the sword strapped to Steve’s back. “That’s not going to work. You can’t kill him with that.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m just the distraction.”

He stepped close to Eddie. “This is going to hurt. And if I’m right. If you’re  right, there isn’t going to much time.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath.

Steve took another step forward. “Now.”

“NOW!” Dustin repeated into the walkie-talkie.

BOOM!

Vines shot up from behind Eddie, demobats rose in the air, a wave to crush them where the stood. The bats went first in a spray of guts and gore, landing behind Eddie in a semi circle.

Steve chuckled at how they were destroyed. Ripped in half from tip to tail.

The vines had nearly reached them, but the four of them stood still and calm as the tendrils shot past Eddie and Steve only to slam against an unseen barrier.

Then the vines began to distort and rotate on themselves unnaturally. Eddie watched in horror as he recognized the motion. It was the same twisted motion he had seen take Chrissy.

Whoever was doing that had a sick sense of humor.

Vecna screamed in frustration and was forced to come running out at them full speed. All other options stripped away from him. Eddie closed his eyes again. “Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast.”

And then Vecna came to a sudden stop. Eddie looked behind him again and saw that Vecna had been lifted into the air. Like what he had done to Max and Chrissy and Patrick.

Wayne took Robin and Dustin’s hands and said, “Now.”

Dustin repeated it into the walkie-talkie.

Suddenly the area was flooded with Wayne’s power. From the trinkets he wore around his neck, he felt the outpouring of love from everyone in the party. El finding her family and making friends. Learning to control her power in a meaningful way. Max realizing that blood wasn’t everything and that her found family was what she had craved for all along. How much she loved Lucas. They might not last, but what if they did?

Will’s love for his brother and mom. His love for his best friend. A romantic love. One he had never dared to share with anyone. He added it to the pile of good things. Jonathan’s love for his family, but especially Nancy, Argyle and maybe Steve, too. He had thought himself a loner, but standing there hugging his family, he realized he never had been.

Joyce and Hopper’s love for each other. And their blended family. Their love for the town they grew up in. How much Hawkins meant to them.

Lucas and Erica’s love each other and their parents. Lucas’s love for Max, shining brightly. Lucas’s love for his friends. The party they had originally started with. Mike. Dustin. Will.

Nancy and Mike holding on to each other. That even if everything else went wrong, they were still siblings. Mike felt the love Will had for him and for the first time in his life he knew what it meant. He loved El. Prehaps he always would, but Will? Will was he first love. Nancy thought about her mom, Jonathan. The love she had for them both. The love for Barb, even though she was gone. The love she had for Steve. Platonic with a capital “P” to steal from Robin. It made her laugh.  

Robin’s love for her parents. But especially her love for Steve. The best friend she never knew she needed. She thought briefly about Vickie, but it wasn’t strong enough. It was a crush. One that she would probably get over far too soon.

Dustin thought about Suzy and his mom. He thought about his best friends, still friends after all they’ve been through. He thought about Robin and Steve. How much he loved them, too. But especially his love for Eddie.

Argyle, the funky little dude from California who had traveled miles and miles for his first true friend, Jonathan. He loved deeper than anyone. He loved Jonathan and all the people he had met since coming out east. He didn’t understand what was going on most of the time. He didn’t care. If his love would save the town, their friend. He would put as much love into the world as he could.

Wayne’s only thought was of his nephew, his sweet nephew. The boy that came to him from a broken home with a shattered heart and still was one of the most generous souls he’d met. The boy that looked out for lost sheep, despite being a black sheep himself. His boy.

Eddie watched as Wayne’s power seemed to strip the flesh off of Vecna, leaving behind the struggling form of Henry Creel.

“What have you done to me?” Henry cried.  

Eddie grinned. “Love not music. I figured it out. Music couldn’t save me because I am always surrounded by it. You planned for that, but not this.” He turned back around. “What about you, sweetheart?” he asked Steve.

Steve closed his eyes and took the final step into Eddie’s space. He held Eddie’s face in his hands, Henry screaming from the pain of Steve’s touch.

“Only people who loved Eddie, their touch hurt you, Creel,” Steve murmured. “Eddie figured it out. The last piece of the puzzle. How to save himself.” He leaned forward and kissed Eddie full on the lips.

Eddie pulled away harshly and Steve gasped in shock, but before he had chance to say anything, Eddie ripped the blade from Steve’s back and turned around and threw it straight into Henry Creel’s heart.

The Upside Down shook as Creel tried to pull the sword from his body.

“I’m ready for that kiss now, Stevie,” Eddie said, grasping both sides of Steve’s face. “Hold me tight, I’ll try to get away.” And then he kissed Steve back with all his might.

Steve held on as Creel struggled with the sword, screaming and clawing in his final moments.

Eddie thrashed under Steve’s embrace, but Steve didn’t let go. The teeth were the first to go, then the claws. Eddie’s head whipped back as the wings were literally torn from his back.

He screamed as his wounds reopened and he slumped against Steve’s chest, as Robin and Dustin rushed forward.

Steve let him down gently and let Robin and Dustin tend to his wounds. He walked up slowly to Henry, taking the hilt in both hands.

“This is for all of Hawkins,” he growled. “You sick son of a bitch!” He drove the blade all the way through up to the guard. Henry exploded, knocking Steve backwards to the ground.

But from that explosion a gate opened up directly above the place Henry had died.

Wayne rushed to Steve’s side. “Dustin, come quick!”

Dustin looked up at Robin.

“I’ve got Eddie,” she said. “Go save Steve!”

Dustin grabbed the first aid kit and ran to Wayne’s side.

“I don’t know how much of it is his,” Wayne cried. “There’s so much blood.”

Dustin pulled out the water bottles and began splashing water all over, trying to get Steve cleaned up enough to see where the actual wounds were.

And then from the gate Owens stepped out on the ground, “I believe you are in need of quick transport to the hospital.” He spotted Steve on the ground. “For both of these young men.”

Wayne sighed in relief as medics swarmed them, taking Eddie and Steve on stretchers back to the real world.

Wayne grabbed Dustin’s hand and they made a break for the closing gate. It snapped to a close behind them as they fell on mattress pads.

Wayne checked on Dustin making sure he was okay before he promptly fainted.

Owen walked over to the fallen older man.

“Don’t touch him!” Dustin screamed.

“I need to in order to help him,” Owens said gently. He reached down and yanked the trinket necklace off from around Wayne’s neck. He held it out to Dustin to take. “Here, return these to your friends.”

Dustin took it gently and noticed for the first time that in the middle of all the other trinkets was Eddie’s guitar pick. He ran his fingers over the warm metal, a small smile on his face.

Part 11 Part 12  Part 13

Tag List: @babbler1202 @clumsywriter @clumsywriter @gregre369 @currently-steddiebrainrot @steddieassheg0es @estrellami-1 @anzelsilver @grtwdsmwhr @thequeenrainacorn @savory-babby @chaoticlovingdreamer  @renaissan-vvitch @panicatthediaz @swimmingbirdrunningrock

[ultragift]

FROM: @scribby-wibby TO: @melancholystorms It's a real shame that philosophy and artistry had fallen out of sphere during the latter years of the Final War. Had the world been more receptive, they wouldn't have missed the philosophies of a certain Dr. Julia Ritzer who proudly proclaimed that all problems could be solved with a ladder. Need to reach a high shelf? Ladder. Need to pass a test? Take a ladder to your professors house, break in, and find the answers. Nations warring over land? Ladder, obviously.

The quintessential dilemma of this very philosophy was taking place long after Dr. Ritzer’s death, where a drone swore at it's swordmachine who was currently struggling to scramble up a steep jut of rock in Greed. Fun fact: drones are capable of complete speech, serving as messenger pigeons during the 22nd century, but have an abhorrent temper, therefore only speak in censored swears.

Enter stage right, our morally inept protagonist on sabbatical. V1 watches the two bicker from the velvety shadows, draped gracefully over the desiccated terrain. Thick cuts of building stick out of the sand like broken teeth. Why two machines sought to scale a lone pillar in the middle of perpetual midnight was beyond V1’s reasoning. Perhaps Dr. Ritzer’s ideology was not precisely about ladders, but just upwards movement previously unseen; a bush-beaten way of reaching upwards instead of pushing forward; To build bridges into the heavens.

V1, who was attempting with little success, to build bridges between its brethren, approaches the pair with outstretched arms in what was supposed to be a peace offering. Of course, when one of your arms is a also a gun, this offering is swiftly misinterpreted.

The swordmachine wheels around with it’s blade unsheathed, upheaving the sand around it into a dusty whirlwind. V1 dodges to the left, narrowly avoiding a shot from the drone locked onto it from above.

V1 in turn unsheathes a small flag, which used to be white but was stained a burnt red from… well, an inability to abide by what the white flag symbolizes.

Fun fact: swordmachines are colorblind. There’s no reason for this. It’s a learned behavior from dogs, supposedly.

The three come to a screeching halt, all with their weapons still raised. V1 wiggles the flag again. The other two machines relax marginally.

Peering up at the lip of the pillar, V1 sticks out a thumbs up in their direction with it’s arms akimbo.

It takes an exaggerated step towards the pillar, hunches down, and leaps up. it’s feet scrape against the side briefly before it jumps again. On the third meeting of V1s feet with the pillar, it realizes this method may be ineffective. Less than halfway to the top, V1 skids down the pillar like nails across chalkboard. It hits the ground rear first with the grace of a beached whale.

Despite not having eyes, the swordmachine looks unimpressed. The drone beeps once, low and drawling.

V1 gets back onto its feet and extends it’s finger as if to say wait. It reaches behind and pulls a small device from it’s wings, making a series of clicks.

The incredulous looks shared between the drone and swordmachine is cut short by a sharp brilliance of light cutting through the dark sweep of desert.

“Machine, I thought I had told you not to call on me unless it was a matter of utmost importance.”

V1 cocks its head in confusion. Apparently losing a game of checkers counts as a matter of utmost importance to the former judge of Hell, but assisting its denizens doesn’t.

V1 circles its finger between itself and the two other machines before pointing to the top of the pillar.

Gabriel sighs petulantly: “I am not a chauffeur, Machine.” He lies.

Regardless of Gabriel’s anti-chauffeur attitude, he grips V1 and the swordmachine’s head like ski poles, with the drone nestled in the swordmachine’s hands, and transports them to the top of the pillar. The view is staggering. Concrete strewn across the sand like crumbs, various twisting architecture catching the moonlight to create a field of glistening needles.

More perplexing that the view, is the circular table with two chair tucked beneath in the center of the platform. The swordmachine pulls out both the chair and sits in one, while the drone awkwardly hovers over the other.

“What.” Gabriel speaks, his voice creeping along the edge of anger, “why would you need help getting up here again if you already moved a whole furniture set here before?”

The swordsmachine and drone look between V1 and Gabriel as if to shoo them away. V1 pats its companion’s arm in condolence as his wings begin quivering in disbelief.

It takes a large step off the pillar, leaving Gabriel no choice but to follow.

[eric-the-bmo]

Blood and Silicon Episode 7: New Territory, Part Two (Your Cross to Bear)

[Summary: We explore the territory; Pauline heads to church, Blake chats with a friend, and Leo only has more questions.]

(Putting in a Content Warning for mention of religion, just in case.)

The coterie reaches the territory, parking in front of the San Jose Museum of Art. Blake trails behind the other two, certain that there's a catch to all of this; Pauline is keeping an eye out for any drug dealers, criminals, etc. Leo's headache is pretty bad, and he excuses himself, saying he needs to take care of something. Pauline tells him to be safe as he leaves, and Pauline heads off towards the church on the territory. Blake gets a text but doesn't check it yet, and heads off to one of the sports bars.

As he gets closer to one, he hears something knock over a garbage can- he doesn't get a good look at whatever it was, but it was too big to be a cat. He activates his Eyes of the Beast; there's the end of a fox tail. Blake enters the bar (turning off his eye ability beforehand), and orders a drink. Checking his phone, Blake sees the text is from Wes, a character we haven't met yet, saying that the two of them should talk since it's been a while.

Meanwhile, Leo goes till he's sure the coterie won't see or hear him, and ends up near this circle of palm trees with benches; there's a bit of a weird vibe going on. He uses Auspex to see what's up in the circle; there's a bit of power in the center, but he can check that out later. As he gets closer, he sees someone on a bench- it's Chris, of backstory fame. Leo freezes and wonders how she even got here, he has a lot of questions, but also- he's got shit to deal with. He avoids her, and finds a spot to contact Jeremiah. He tries to ask his sire questions, but Jeremiah is currently frustrated about something, and refuses to elaborate or even answer Leo's questions. They both seem to only agitate each other further; Leo ends the conversation, kinda pissed off, and lights a cigarette as he walks away.

As soon as Pauline gets onto the steps of the church she gets an uneasy feeling. With Eyes of The Unseen, she sees that the place has a bad aura. She looks through a window and sees flyers and the like, advertising Spanish and English services during the day; The latest is at 7-9:30pm. The church is grand inside with stained-glass windows. The giant cross makes her uncomfortable, and she holds onto her own for comfort. She looks at the other flyers; there’s Christmas events that will happen at midnight. Pauline takes a photo of the schedule, planning to come over on Sunday.

She sits on the steps on the church, smoking a cigarette when she sees Leo approach. She asks if he's okay; Leo sits down next to her and grumbles about how Jeremiah never answers. Pauline asks him what he even expected, given how he was sent away with only a coat.

Pauline tells him she was adopted by other Kindred after her sire left her, and that she was raised Protestant. She had a crisis of faith, but it's not that she doesn't believe, its just hard to with everything around them. She doesn't think we’re alone.  (Leo, however, says that he believes in the supernatural, but not in God.) While Pauline believes in God, she doesn't believe in the doctrine, saying how easy it would be for them to manipulate humans through the church, comparing them to dogs on a leash- She then adds that she has no intention of doing that, though.

She says that all Kindred are cut off from god, and that Jeremiah (her dislike of him is clear with how she said his name) cut Leo off from Heaven the moment he brought him back. She wishes she could spare him the pain, she tells him, and he admits that he thought he was going to go to Hell the night he was Embraced.

She asks to show him something, and leads him to the large cross she saw earlier. Leo feels the same unease as she did, and his Beast is afraid; he takes a small step back. Pauline almost reaches out to reassure him. Instead she quotes Leviticus 17:14, and tells Leo that partaking in the blood is the closest they'll ever get to divinity. Leo has a thought, but stays silent.

Meanwhile, Blake continues to text Wes- Wes mentions that unlike Blake, he needs to sleep, and Blake says his schedule recently freed up. They agree to meet the next night. Blake tips the bartender and sees which sports team wins before he leaves. He goes to the palm circle and sits down one or two benches away from Chris- her eyes are closed in meditation almost like she’s trying to focus. Blake sends a text to the group chat [Blake: "Sitting in this palm circle thing. Ready when you are."].

In the church, the Malkavians receive the message and make their way over to him. As they approach Blake at the Palm Circle, Chris finally opens her eyes and heads towards Leo. They both ask each other what the hell they're doing here- Blake looks up at this- and Chris asks what happened to him. She notices his coterie and seems a bit nervous at their presence. She tells Leo that the two of them should talk- but not here- and upon being asked, Leo tells her that Blake and Pauline are his acquaintances. Chris mentions how she doesn't like being as direct, but here, take this- and offers him a folded-up note.

As he goes to grab it, she snatches him by the wrist- he activates Blush of Life in a panic and his Beast whispers Chris is a liability, and she pulls him close and whispers: "You weren't you that month."

Leo gets a horrible feeling. She hurries off. [Blake and Pauline ask if Chris is going to be a problem; Leo tells them she's nothing to worry about. His headache is worse.] They other members once again remind Leo to keep people at an arm's length, and they make a note about predators- and speaking of predators, Blake mentions the fox. Pauline refers to it as a kistune, and Leo tries to explain what yokai are to Blake.

As Blake and Pauline discuss payment methods [Blake gets 400 bucks I think, I didn't get any of that], Leo checks Chris's note; it's a time and place to meet up with her. He writes this down in his notebook as well as other things, because he's connecting some dots in his brain, and scribbles down "We seriously need to fucking talk."

Leo tells the coterie he's going to feed; Blake directs him to the sports bar, and Pauline says if he messes up, just tell her and she'll use Dominate to make them forget. ["I don't want that." "Then don't mess up!" "I won't!"] So Leo heads off and mimics his sire's feeding method, feeding off a drunk man after offering to get him a ride home. His Beast is hyped about this, and he gets very intoxicated as a result of feeding from the guy. His headache lessens.

Leo stumbles his way back to the coterie, where Pauline seems disappointed in him. Blake is all "oh, he's drunk again?" which makes her suspicious. He lies, not wanting her to know about the failed Garage Heist, and says he saw Leo trail after some drunk people after he dropped him off once; Pauline doesn't fully believe this, but it works. Blake tries to find some footprints that could give clues about the fox; Leo is trying his best to ramble about yokai to Pauline. They hop in Blake's car so he can drop them all off home.

Drunkenly, Leo realizes he forgot to tell Pauline how he lost his faith, before realizing he doesn't quite remember how- he reveals to the coterie that J erased his memories a lot. Pauline says people shouldn't do that to those they allegedly care about, and a breath of air comes from Blake’s nose when he hears that. Leo looks conflicted and upset, and holds his hands together. Pauline stares at his shoulder from where she's sitting; she wants to comfort him.

-=+=-

The next night, Blake wakes up at the tattoo shop he stays at, and lets Wes know he'll be up after closing. When the time comes, Blake knocks at the basement door to wait for Wes to open it; Wes waits for Blake to open it ["Are you sure you don't need to be invited in?"]. Eventually the game of chicken ends with Wes opening the door, and the two of them get to cleaning the shop together, bantering along the way.

It turns out Wes is a ghoul, and Blake fills him in on what he's been doing, how the territory he's been given feels like a target on his back, and maybe Wes should stay out of the territory until Blake figures out what it's for. Wes says he has a bad feeling and whats to know if he's safe- he's not on anyone's territory, is he?- but Blake informs him the shop isn't on anyone's turf as far as he knows, but if it comes down to it he can see if Harrison can grab it- Blake claiming the shop as his own territory would be seen as a political thing, and he doesn't wanna deal with that. He catches Wes up on the coterie; Wes says Leo seems odd, and Blake says that it's Pauline he's a bit worried about. Blake also seems to invite Wes to a party, and also tells him to not visit the Asylum until Blake feels more comfortable going there himself; He says Seb is cool and around Wes’s age, but to keep an eye out. Blake adds that it's merely advice, since he cant really tell Wes what to do {“Yeah," Wes agrees, "I'm not your ghoul."}.

Blake closes up the shop and heads out.

Notes/Commentary:

So much is going on with Leo can this man catch a break /lh

Jeremiah seems to be going through something atm, what's up my guy

Literally yelled when Chris showed up btw

Pauline's player came prepared for the Church conversation!! it was insanely impressive, 10/10 dialogue

Leo mentioned he believes in aliens during the church, I love him dropping hints he's a conspiracy theorist it's so fun. Not-local man doesn't believe in God but believes in aliens

LETS GO ONE OF THE THEORIES IS SEMI-CORRECT!! [Context: Kev has a long-winded theory about Ancestral Dominion being used on Leo during that month]

I'm normal about Leo mimicking Jeremiah's feeding method. Like sire like childe [I dont think he likes it]

Not mentioned during the Blake and Wes conversation: Discussing if Pauline is a milf/ Blake learning wtf that means, and the whole entire Blake/Wes conversation being really homoerotic

Wes isn't Blake's ghoul?? Interesting,,,,

Also not seen is Leo waking up, gaining a point of Hunger, and Immediately flipping off his Beast [it grins and flips him off too]

[harmonyhealinghub]

Echoes of Silent Heroes Shaina Tranquilino November 12, 2024

In a dense, ancient forest touched by sunbeams and whispering leaves, lived a young stallion named Valor. His coat was as dark as midnight, glistening with strength and spirit. Born among oaks that spoke the language of centuries, he never imagined that the world beyond his green sanctuary would soon call upon him.

The war drums thundered one fateful autumn morning, vibrating the very ground beneath the hooves of the woodland creatures. From his meadow, Valor watched as a band of men clad in iron and fear appeared. They spoke in hurried voices, their eyes flickering like the wildfires that had once scarred the forest. A trumpet sounded, sharp and urgent, and Valor was led away, his neck adorned with a bright, red ribbon — a mark of his new destiny as a warhorse.

In the days that followed, Valor’s world became a blur of galloping nights, cannon smoke, and cries that shattered the silence of twilight. He ran with the speed of wind, his breath steaming in the chill of battle, carrying messengers whose words meant life or death. By his side, a dog named Patch, a scruffy terrier with a coat speckled like the stars, raced with messages clutched between his teeth, dodging the chaos with astonishing agility.

The front lines were a cacophony of chaos, where pigeons like Misty flew high above, her wings slicing through the air to deliver coded slips of paper to men hunched over makeshift tables. Her eyes, sharp as the needles that stitched soldiers' uniforms, scanned the fields below for glimpses of friend and foe alike. It was here, amid the mud and shrapnel, that the loyalty and lives of animals were measured not by gold, but by heartbeats and feathers and the gleam of loyal eyes.

Weeks turned into months, and the battles wore on like stories carved into stone. Valor, Patch, and Misty moved like threads through the fabric of war, each stitch a silent testimony to courage. Valor’s muscles ached from the unyielding weight of riders, and Patch's paws were worn raw. Misty’s once-sleek feathers became ragged from endless flights. Yet none faltered; they carried on, driven by bonds unseen yet unbreakable.

One storm-lashed evening, as the skies wept in torrents, an ambush erupted at the edge of a field. The clash of iron and the roar of artillery filled the night. Valor surged forward, eyes wide with fear but heart full of duty, when an explosion ripped through the air, sending him tumbling to the ground. Patch, who had been racing to deliver an urgent command, halted at his friend’s side, barking wildly, urging Valor to rise. But the stallion, eyes glazed with the dim light of departing life, lay still. Misty circled overhead, her wings beating desperately against the night as the battle swallowed them whole.

The dawn rose on silence. The fog of gunpowder and grief lifted to reveal the battlefield strewn with remnants of valor and sacrifice. In the cold light, the generals and soldiers stood, eyes cast downward. They walked among the fallen, pausing to place their hands on lifeless muzzles and feathers that would never fly again.

Time passed, and the war became another story in the long history of men. Yet, monuments were raised not only for the soldiers in boots, but for the silent companions who served without question. A statue was placed in the town square, cast in bronze, depicting a stallion mid-gallop, a terrier at its side, and a pigeon with wings wide in eternal flight.

Children would gather around this memorial, asking their elders, “Why is there a statue of animals here?” And the old would reply with voices tinged in both sorrow and pride, “Because they too were soldiers. And their bravery bore no less weight.”

Today, flowers are laid at its feet, and the memory of Valor, Patch, and Misty lingers on the breeze. It is a reminder that gratitude extends beyond the human heart, stretching into the realms where feathers flutter and hooves pound. It is a silent thank you, whispered into the wind, for those who had no voice but gave everything they had.

[leafisamenace]

The Crow

I stand in my kitchen, meticulously scrubbing the dirt from under my nails and wiping the sweat from my stinging, sunburnt face. I glance out the window above my sink to admire the work I have done today. Young, dark green English Ivy sprouts reach from the dark soil towards my sturdy wooden trellis. At the edge of my garden, cloaked in his midnight garb, a crow peers over curiously. He catches the gentle breeze and glides over to the ivy, landing among them as if for a closer look. 

He turns his head in that peculiar way crows do, and suddenly pecks at an ivy sprout. In one swift motion he pulls it from the recently disturbed ground. Its roots now grasp towards the sun, barren of dirt or shade. I bolt from my kitchen to the garden to shoo this troublesome bird away but, upon arriving he has already uprooted all of my work. Then, as if to only further draw my ire, he looks at me and caws victoriously before flying off.

After I replant my ivy three times, to answer the antagonistic challenge of the crow, I decide to remain in my garden as the sun sets. I will defeat this villainous crow. My garden becomes shrouded in a quiet darkness, almost eerily so. No birds chirp, bugs buzz, cicadas or crickets sing. A peaceful silence I have conquered for myself, now besieged by a single crow.

I accidentally drift to sleep in my silent watch, swaddled by the warmth of the night air. As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, it is not the light that wakes me. Instead my morning alarm is the single, piercing, dreaded “CAW!”

My eyes snap open to see the treacherous crow, parading through his destruction, my work, my peace again uprooted. My rage billows. I lunge forward but I am only met with the cool, dew covered soil. The crow takes flight again, fleeing my garden. But that is not enough. I make a fierce chase. Like a fiend I leap over the garden wall, sprint into the woods, launch off of any trail or path in pursuit of my feathered foe. He flies from me hastily, fleeing deeper and deeper into the forest.

Suddenly I snap back to reality as my rage is replaced with exhaustion. Catching my breath I realize I am lost and alone. My grumbling stomach reminds me I had just exited the fast of sleep but I am now without any food, lost in the woods. Filled with frustration and shaken by the quiet pangs of fear, I throw myself onto the ground and cry. All while that damned crow looks down from his perch, tilting his head mockingly.

He glides down in a gentle half circle and lands next to me. Then he utters a caw so soft it almost sounds like a coo. Fueled by my frustration I, again, make a foolishly futile lunge. The crow, again, flies from my disoriented attack and perches in a tree, but remains in my sight. The woods around me feel strange. The plants are almost alien, holding a clashing complexity not seen in my garden, adorning the roads and buildings, or in the comfortable conformity of my neighbors lawns. A cacophonic chorus of birds and insects begins to overwhelm me, all while the crow inspects me with his apparent mocking pity. I grasp for a stone on the forest floor, preparing to fling it at my foe but the futility of that is revealed to me. I slump down and jealousy observe the crow. He in return observes me back. 

As I stand, preparing to desperately wander the woods, he utters another soft, cooing caw. I look towards him curiously, and he flies to a nearby branch a little farther away. Then, looking directly at me, the crow repeated his caw, almost as if it were an invitation. Being truly lost, with no other plan I decide to follow the crow as he appears to suggest. While I follow him, the crow continues to inspect me, looking back in between each flight to a new branch. He moves with a comfortable confidence while I stumble through the woods, tripping over unseen stones and roots that jut from the shadows. He guides me for what must be an hour through the intimidatingly lively woods.My stomach again growls, its gnawing accenting my desperation. Suddenly, the crow bursts ahead. I speed after him and upon catching up, I am greeted with the soothing sound of a gentle creek.

I am surrounded by a quaint glen. The canopy above opens to let in a flood of beaming sun. Flowers, wild grasses, and shrubs bask in its warmth. By the flowing creek, ferns lie in the cool shade. Under their dark fronds a frog sits softly croaking, only stopping to eat the occasional bug that crosses his path. Bees waltz among the blooming flowers accompanied by their soft buzzing. All while insects dance above the water like fae. Despite its ideal beauty, the glen still holds a sense of foreign unease over me. The crow sits in a young but established oak tree. Adorned with a blooming purple passion vine. The vine, while still dotted with the occasional brilliant bloom has gone to a fruit so bounteous the weight bends it down in places. The crow again looks at me and repeats his beckoning caw. As I approach him again, he does not flee or even flinch. Instead with a small, trusting hop he turns to look at the vine and its fruit. The beautiful deep purple of the ripe fruit is spectacular. It is a sight I have not seen since I was young when the vine would grow wildly up my grandmother’s fence. She had a garden and yard bustling with the unkempt nature of a southern prairie. It would often draw the ire of her neighbors. They were quick to complain about the unkempt plants and rabbits that would sneak into their gardens that lived there, as if they had not shot any coyote that would keep the rabbits in check. But they never complained about the hummingbirds that nested in her trees or the lightning bugs that flew from the tall grass at night for the kids to catch. Despite the neighbors’ complaints, she loved it and would take us around the yard to show us what nature lived there. One day in her naturalistic way, after we kids complained for a snack, she showed us how to open the passion fruits off of the vine with our bare hands. 

I pluck a ripe fruit from the vine, and guided by memory and hunger I attempt to open it. I struggle at first, as my memory is hazy and my fingers slip from the fruit. I take a moment to collect myself before trying again, this time the fruit splits open into two halves full of yellow fruit. I scoop the fruit from one half and as it touches my tongue a sense of relief fills me. The uneasy worry that had stalked me all morning in the then strange woods began to swiftly dissipate. As I swallow, a sense of familiarity and peace I had never felt washes over me.

The crow, still looking at me, utters a questioning caw. He looks to the other half of the fruit, then back to me. Then he makes a small hop towards me and tilts his head as if to politely ask if I would share. My earlier anger towards him dissipates completely as the newfound calm overtakes me and owing the location of the fruit to him, I offer the other half. He eats it gleefully. I sit in the shadow of the oak next to the creek and eat my fill of fruit, of course sharing with my new friend.

I spend the day relaxing in the glen, listening to the now soothing bird song, watching the insects dance and squirrels chase each other over acorns. I smell the vibrant flowers, touch the smooth leaves, and put my feet in the cool creek. But after a day of leisure the crow swiftly flies to a tree at the edge of the glen and makes his beckoning caw, signaling that it is time to leave. Before I follow I open one last fruit, this time saving its seeds before I eat it.

After arriving home that day I plant the seeds along my trellis where I had futilely fought my friend over the English Ivy. Within a week, passion sprouts erupt from the earth, growing strong and fast. Their beautiful blooms bring hummingbirds and bees that had never visited my garden before. Seeing their success I  plant some Black-eyed Susans, followed by Red Columbines, Milkweed, and any other native plant I can find. By the end of the season my garden is bursting with life. As I relax in my chair in the shade, birds sing tunes accompanied by the rhythmic buzzing of the bees and dancing butterflies. Squirrels chitter along as they eat the seeds dropped by the flowers. Bunnies hop around in the evening and at night fireflies add a mystical blinking to the darkness. And, of course, through it all my friend the crow caws. My now living lawn brings me that same tranquility I found in the glen. Not a conquered silence but a shared symphony.