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Living with the Enemy, Joe Goldberg x Reader

Part 1: Last Nice Guy in New York??

Prompt: YN is close friends with Peach, Annika, Beck, and Lynn. She doesn't fit into their circle, nor does she try to. Joe soon sets his sights on YOU, leading to a domino effect within Y/N's life.

Requested: YES | Requested are OPEN|

Warnings: Mature Content, Manipulation, Stalking, Slightly Proofread.

It had been some time since you last spoke with Peach and her willing and obedient entourage. You blissfully ignored them, avoiding the usual hangouts and skipping daily walks with your son. You took different routes and dined at other eateries, and for a while, you enjoyed this simple and slow-paced lifestyle. 

It was a particularly warm day in New York; the increasing winds had died, allowing you to turn off the space heaters that litter your apartment. You relished the smell of cleaning products and baby formula rather than burning rubber. You watched as Rafi bounced around in his walker from his room back to the living room. His hand slapped against some trinket that sang a quick tune of “You are my sunshine.” It was probably his favorite plaything on that bouncer, but it annoyed the absolute hell out of you. The loud and high-pitched continuous loop of "you are my sunshine... my only sunshine", but he loved it, so you endure it. You cracked open the window, allowing the fresh air to filter into the apartment, the warm breeze washing over you briefly before returning to stillness. Contently, you sighed. Your eyes flickered to the door; a hesitant knock followed by two more confident knocks. You shuffled off the couch, unable to gaze through the peephole due to the grime built up over the years. You mentally noted that you need to tell the landlord about that. Unlocking your three deadbolts, you pressed your ear against the door, hearing the muffled female voices.

You opened the door and noticed Peach, Beck, Lynn, and Annika. Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, Peach charging into the apartment. Her eyes glanced around as she brightly smiled at Rafi before returning her cold gaze to you. She crosses her arms, waiting for you to fill the silence with an apology. The tension hung in the air like a heavy fog, palpable and suffocating everyone as they all watched you, their once easy rapport replaced by an uneasy silence. Every word left unsaid seemed to echo between them, filling the space with a sense of unease that was almost tangible. You chuckled before turning away, gathering some of Rafi’s items out of habit. “You don’t just go MIA for weeks like that!” Everyone slowly shifts into the apartment; you feel suffocated. “I called, you never answer.”

You plainly answered, “I know.” You shoved some clothes into the hamper before returning to the group. You tried to think of something to say and formulate something harsh and crude to say back to Peach and her brainless minions that followed her every call, jumping at the snap of her fingers and pleading for some sort of acceptance from her. You sighed, sitting on the sage-colored love seat, your elbows resting on your knees as you rubbed your temples gently. “Peach, you and your…whatever this is. Can happily get the fuck out of my apartment. You can’t just storm into my home and expect me to drop to my knees begging for you to what…forgive me?” 

You felt the couch dip next to you, the smell of her engulfing you. It iterated the fuck out of you yet offered you a warm feeling. She was home; despite her manipulation, gas-lighting, and bitch behavior, she was home. You finally looked at her, your face growing warm as you pressed your lips together. Her smile growing as she knew, she squealed, wrapping her arms around you. “Say you forgive us… me?” You nodded against her before pulling back. “Great, let’s go out to eat! We’ve missed you and have lots to catch you up on!”

You nodded, pressing a feigned smile on her lips; Annika smiled, wrapping you in a brief, one-armed hug. She was followed by Lyn, who seemed more than pleased that you had returned. They moved away, gawking at Rafi as they spoke with him in an annoying, high-pitched tone. They were flashing toys in front of him before snatching them quickly as he giggled loudly. You stood beside Beck; an awkward silence washed over you both. Beck wanted to speak… she wanted to ask if what Peach had been filling in her head was true. Suppose you had been trying to pine after Joe; how would she feel? She admitted her feelings for Joe were growing; she liked having him around and the attention he provided her when Benji was off on a binge of whatever drug would provide him with whatever relief. “We missed you… I missed you,” Beck spoke, cutting through the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, bumping into her shoulder and offering her a half smile. She tucked a small piece of hair behind her ear.  

“I’ve been dying to tell you about everything, I mean everything,” Beck whispers through her laugh as she watches you for a moment. Beck confided you about everything; you weren’t judgmental and never gave advice—you were just a lending ear that she craved in the whirlpool that was Peach. You sighed, knowing that no matter where you were in your life and how far you thought you had escaped Peach, she was always lurking in the shadows, ready to devour you at any minute.

You hummed softly, your hand occasionally, moving the visor back to check to see if your son was still alive. Your hand fluttered in front of his face; quickly, he reached for your fingers. You had spent most of the morning shopping for groceries and wanting to find some fresh produce. You gathered green apples, strawberries, and some blueberries. It has been a slow-paced morning; class was canceled, you were finally caught up on your assignments, and only needed to grade some papers from some of your classes. You hadn’t seen Peach since your lunch date with the girls two weeks ago. It was spent, for the most part, talking about Beck’s choices in men and the plethora of men that have taken her to bed… all this steaming from Benji ghosting her. You didn’t know what she saw in him, but he was a poser and couldn’t hold down an idea, let alone his own business. She had fucked, Mr. Bedroom Eyes, someone that she had met in the library, all while leading on Joe and worrying about Benji.

Your eyes shifted slightly; noticing him underneath the navy-blue baseball cap, he examined the fruit before placing it down. You smiled brightly, peering left and right before approaching him. You stuttered for a moment; wait is it weird that you were approaching him? Did you even need to say hello? You stood behind him, mindlessly watching his gaze at the fruit. Weaving through the throngs of people as your eyes held steady on him, your hands tightening against the stroller. Panic surged through you, threatening to overwhelm my senses as your hands hesitantly reach out to his shoulder. Joe jumped as he spun around; a toothy grin fell on his lips as his eyes shifted to Rafi. “Sorry, this must be weird.” You quickly tried to explain, and yet there you stood. 

“No!” Joe smiled, “No weird at all.” He watched you, taking in your beauty from the curve of your lips to the furrow of your brows. Your eyes are a soft color, filled with so much emotion. He contained his excitement, continuing to handle the slightly ripe peach in his hand. A soft breath of relief escaped your lips; Joe watched you, taking in every moment, from the twitch of your eye when you smiled to the slight tightening of your hands against the stroller’s handle. Were you nervous? You didn’t need to be! I am all yours! Joe’s thoughts muddled aggressively through his head, his eyes concentrating more on your slight movements, the way you shifted your weight to your left hip as you stood there, watching him. Your index finger nervously taps before stopping.

“Good, I thought it’d be weird if I recognized you in this crowded space,” you laughed; it was soft. A small smile crept on his face as he moved closer to you, a single step to be closer to you. You slightly shifted, leaning against the stroller as you pushed it in front of you before bringing it back. “It’s nice to see you again.” Your heart fluttered as you watched his goofy take hold of his lips. His cheeks dusted pink as he nodded hesitantly; he stepped forward, watching you walk away in the crowd, occasionally wiggling your fingers in front of your son’s view. 

“Are you alone?” Joe mentally cringed as you paused, peering over your shoulder in confusion, “I meant, I could keep you company while you go shopping… If you don’t mind.” Do you mind? You wouldn’t mind, would you? Joe thought; he watched you ponder his offer, and you fully faced him as you smiled, nodding at him. Joe joined you, shoulders bumping into each other as you continued to walk through the farmer’s market. Looking at the different herbs and vegetation sprawled on the tables, you fingered at them, rubbing your fingers with a concentrated look on your face as Joe pushed Rafi. Joe watched you in awe, his hand gripping against the stroller in angst and yearning. He watched you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear; you quickly turned to him, putting a strong-smelling herb in his face. He winced as he swatted at his nose; you laughed softly before agreeing with the saleswoman that the left one was more pungent. 

“My mom made this weird-tasting soup for me when I was sick, but it always helped. It helps when Rafi has a little bug. He hates it; he scratches at my arms when I force-feed it to him.” You laughed, showing him the small craters in her skin that hadn’t healed properly. Joe took your arm, letting his thumb trace over the craters. “He’s so mean when he wants to be; I guess he gets that from his dad.” Joe watched you, taking in every word that was said. 

“His dad hit you?” You were stunned; you placed the herbs in your tote bag before looking at Rafi, making a slight face and tickling him. Joe observed you, your face tense as you seemingly tried to feign enjoyment in the brief time with your son. He watched how you weren’t standing so close to him; your shoulders still touched every again, but not the same as before. Joe cursed at himself for bringing it up; Joe hated that he made you feel so small and helpless again. You froze at the sound of your name; Joe noticed it, too. He peered over his shoulder seeing someone rush to you, his hand waving wildly as he began to jog to catch up to you. He called your name again. Joe’s eyes flickered at you, and you were frozen, eyes wide in fear. Joe leaned closer to you, but you were snapped out of thoughts when the man stood directly behind you. You slowly turned, now facing the stranger. Joe watched the man; something about was familiar, the curve of his lip and the bushiness of his brow. His hair was long and pulled into a rendition of a man-bun with some pieces falling in front of his face; he was clean-shaven and muscular. His skin was a deep cooper color that glistened but wasn’t sweat…more of an oil-based lotion. 

“It’s been so long!” he smiled with a bright smile, teeth perfect and in a row, no obscurities or imperfection. He tried reaching out for a hug, but you backed away, letting a small smile rest on your lips. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to for Joe to notice how uncomfortable you were. “Who’s this?” His eyes never left yours. Joe could see the intimidation in his eyes, and his smile never reached his eyes when he spoke. 

Joe moved the stroller before him, stretching his hand in the process; a bright smile rested on his lips. “Joe.” The man didn’t acknowledge him or care for his name. Finally, he passed him a glance, his face churning into a distasteful look. His eyes moved to the stroller, and as a bright smile crossed his lips, he bent down for a moment. Wiggling at Rafi’s shoes, speaking in a babbled baby talk before looking up to you again. 

“You know he misses you and him; you shouldn’t run away. Especially with his child.” The man spoke, and he stood to his feet. “See around.” He spoke before brushing past you. Joe grabbed your arm, and you winced momentarily, flinching away from him. Your eyes finally connected with Joe’s; you sucked in a deep breath before grabbing unto the stroller. A sense of comfort washed over you. 

“Thanks for today… for this. I appreciate it,” you hummed. Joe nodded, watching you walk away; his eyes focused on the man who had ruined your perfect day together. It started innocently enough, stumbling into an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Plunging into the maze of crowds, Joe found himself, trailing the stranger, drawn by the same curiosity that everyone in the market has. Joe shadowed his movements, picking up a weathered journal or a fruit that was slightly ripe. His eyes cut to the man every chance he had gotten. As Joe meanders through the maze of makeshift booths and colorful displays, the man he’s following remains blissfully unaware of his presence. They weave through the crowd, partaking in a dance that only Joe is aware of. 

“Dom! Dom! Dom Batista! As I live and breathe in the flesh it is you!” Joe groaned at the dramatic nature of New Yorkians, every word that stumbles out of their mouth an illicit affair with Shakespeare and a Soap Opera. “It has been so long since we’ve last seen each other!”

Joe followed behind you, face low as he watched you hurriedly move through the streets, passing men and women alike. 

Batista….Batista….Batista is the name of a Judge in New York City; their mother was an actress who starred in plenty of movies before her fall from grace and getting addicted to cocaine. They had three children, three boys: Jonathan, the oldest—who was a criminal defense attorney. He was married with two sons. He didn’t post on social media, but his wife, Mary Glassgo, came from an Affluent family in Virginia who had established wealth through “other means.” during the late 1700s, did, in fact, post and posted often. She was overly descriptive and pictured all the locations where they dined, shopped, and vacationed. She was on a trip with her two sons, enjoying the mountains in Vermont.  The caption was, “Can’t get away from life all the time, but when I do, it’s always with my two favorite boys.” Joe followed you across the street, scrolling through her Instagram until he came across a photo from Thanksgiving; he dragged his thumb across the screen, revealing a picture of her and another man who looked similar to Jonathan, tagged was St_Do_Batista. Dominick, the middle— Joe, recgonized him as the man he saw today; he frequently posted almost every day at the gym. He was a professional boxer; his face wasn’t riddled with too many lacerations and scars, which indicated that he was good at his craft. He had a girlfriend, one of many girlfriends. They all came and gone, as soon as a new one would be posted with a bright smile, not knowing her fate. Petite blondes, curvy brunettes, tall red-heads, even some bald girls with tattoos riddling every surface of their bodies.  

“Hello….” Joe thought; he scrutinized the photo, and you were smiling, your cheek pressed against him as you embraced him. He just won a fight; he hugged you tight. Joe scrolled to the following image… it was a video; he played it. You giggled as he spun, cheering as one hand held you tight against him. You spoke gently, words that the camera didn’t pick up, nor did anyone else. He continued to scroll as he noticed that most photos were of you cooking in his house, at the park with him, on his couch with the laptop tucked on your thighs as you carefully examined whatever was on the screen. You took up a majority of his life and then nothing. Joe saw a picture of him and another look similar to the Batista family; he clicked on the tagged name. RafiBat didn’t post much, but when he did, he generated a lot of attention from women. He was a boxer, too, and he and his brother were often referred to as the Basista Brothers. He didn’t post you often, once or twice; that was in photos with Dominick. But it was evident that you both were friends. He was attending a university known for its Marine Biology program. He had been traveling overseas, where he had been for the last few months, pictures of him with sharks, fish, turtles, and some other classmates. There was a picture of you, smiling brightly in his bed with her belly exposed; it was small, possibly in the early months of your pregnancy. His caption read “My Everything.”

Joe’s attention was averted to the left as he noticed someone briskly walking, eyes concentrated on you. His hand dug into his pocket as he pulled out his phone, dialing quickly. He spoke before hanging up. Did you not notice? Did you feel someone following you? Joe broke off in a sprint, laughing softly before calling out your name; you peered over your shoulder in confusion, hesitating as you squinted your eyes at him. 

Joe’s body collided against yours, taking your hand as he smiled gently. “Why’d you run off like that? I was looking for you everywhere!” he calls out exaggeratedly loud, his hand falling at his side; he watched your wide eyes swiftly snap to him while he continued to guide you forward, Joe’s hand pressed on your lower back. “Someone has been following you,” he whispered through a gritted smile. Her body stiffened as his words echoed through the stillness in the air; you were tempted to look, her head inching to the left slightly. “No, don’t look… Just keep walking baby.” You hummed in understanding. Joe peered over his shoulder, watching the man avoiding the dim street lights, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his body focused ahead of him, but he could see the whites of his eyes and the darkness of his orbs staring deep into your side. Then Joe remembered the small encounter you had at Peach’s party, the drunken party-goer grabbing you, retelling his woes of missing their friend group and a man who seemed to miss you just as much. Your body reacted negatively, your eyes watering, and your skin paled as you stumbled away from him.  Joe watched your hands dance against your face, trying to wipe the anxiety that was trailing through your body. Joe wanted to lead you home, protecting you from the evils lurking in the shadows you weren’t aware of. Joe allowed you to lead you both to your apartment complex. Joe swiftly grabbed Rafael, allowing you to close the stroller. You put in the code 76477; Joe held open the door as you shuffled in your hands, digging through your satchel in search of your keys. He noticed three locks; just as if you practiced this a hundred times, you easily unlocked the door. 

Joe smelled deeply, taking in the scent of baby powder and your aroma. Rafael rested against his neck, his chest breathing gently as he slept. His tiny breaths could be heard as they smacked against his pacifier. Joe scanned your apartment again; it was vastly bigger than Beck’s and his. His eyes fell on an opening; it wasn’t too big but just big enough to have a window, an oak-colored crib decorated with white and green. “You can just set him down in there…He won’t last too long in the crib,” He heard your voice as you locked the front door. You were latching on the deadbolts and other self-brought knick-knacks. Joe set Rafi down, brushing his hair out his face; he squirmed slightly in a panic. Joe quickly turned on the mobile, slightly out of reach for Rafi. He pressed a button; the mobile began to hum to live, and soon, water sounds came on. Splashing, sounds of whales and dolphins, and what seems like rain hitting the waters. It was soothing, and Rafi’s face soon mellowed. Joe allowed Rafi to hold unto his finger; his grip was tight as his body sprawled on the crib’s mattress.

“He usually isn’t so peaceful to put down. He must like you.” He heard you whisper; Joe peered over his shoulder, watching your head pressed against the door’s frame. Joe removed his finger, returning his attention to you. You walked out of the room as Joe followed you. The silence washed over you as you paced around the room, trying to find the right words. Joe stood there, waiting, allowing you to take as much time as needed. 

“Joe?” You finally whispered, your eyes finally landing on him. In that moment, Joe felt your souls tying together, latching and burning into each other. “Thank you.” you pushed out, tucking your bottom lip into your teeth. 

“I noticed him following you after the market…I didn’t know what to do but when I saw him trying to cross the street… Who is he?” 

“Dominick, my ex’s brother. Rafi’s father.” Joe nodded; you trusted him, you trusted him. You weren’t a liar like Beck, “Dom and I were close; I even thought we would be together, but then he got a girlfriend. He stopped coming around, that’s when I met Rafael, he was gentle at first…but I guess that was the point. I had a fling with him and then with his brother, shit just got messy fast, and I got pregnant. That’s when he got abusive… I tried pressing charges, but his dad always dropped the cases, saying that I was a daughter of a junky prostitute and a “john.” I asked for a different judge and each time I was denied. I was finally….finally allowed to get a restraining against him, but it expired, and I wasn’t allowed to renew due to no current impending dangers.” Joe watched you; he stepped close to you, grabbing your arms. You sighed, looking up at him. 

“If you need anything, anything… I am here for you.” Joe whispers; you nod, folding your arms underneath each other.

Please ask me to say; please beg me to stay. Joe thought; he nodded as he moved away from the couch. “Joe, wait!” You stood up, “You don’t mind staying for the night, do you? I would feel comfortable with a man around the house… just for the night.” Your voice is soft, and Joe could tell you needed him. He couldn’t deny you. He peered over his shoulder and smiled. 

The night progressed as you lay in the bed, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Your eyes squeezing shut, trying to feign being asleep in hopes of tricking your mind into slumber.

“Joe, are you sleeping?” You called out into the darkness, “Joe?” You called out once more, panicked; you sat up quickly squinting through the darkness as you watched his chest slowly fall and rise. You sighed for a moment, shifting comfortably in the bed.

“Yes?” 

Joe rises from the couch, groaning as he shuffles to you. He crawls into bed, and you open the covers, allowing him to slide in. His eyes were low from being awoken from his sleep, his hands tight as he observed you move closer to him. You craved his warmth; a sense of comfort and protection seeped through to you. Your eyes focused on Joe’s, watching through the stillness of the night and the slight light that the moon gave you. His hand gently reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear, holding onto the strand until he reached the end. He moved closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. He held it, trying to compose himself. He didn’t want to push himself onto you; he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He wasn’t going to be like your ex or your father. Joe pulled back, your eyes fluttering open hesitantly, and you moved closer to him. Your lips molded together, smacking in the silence as your slight hums vibrated into his mouth. He pulled away; you were vulnerable and seeking out comfort in him. He needed to wait to see if this feeling rang true. He wanted you more than you could know, more than he thought possible. He couldn’t take advantage of you like this, not right now… not ever. He cuffed your cheek, kissing your forehead before you, wishing you a good night.

Burning something evoked a wide range of emotions in Joe, a symbol of something new shifting in the atmosphere. The flicker of a match igniting, the scent of smoke swirling in the air, and the crackle of flames consuming the body— the overwhelming sensory experiences that engage him in the death of Benji. He stood over the growing flames, watching them dance against his body; Joe thought he would feel at ease. He couldn’t–his mind racing back to you and Rafi. Joe grew angry, feeling compelled to kill Benji; he was powerless against the woe of Beck, her smile and innocence being stripped away. It's as if his autonomy is being stripped away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. The heightened feelings of frustration and resentment began to grow through this loss of control. 

He thought of you as he smelled the charred remains of Benji, your face dancing in the flames. He sighed, pushing his forearm against his brow. He quickly dialed you; he needed to hear your voice. 

“Joey?” Joe heard you whisper, soothing all anxieties that rushed through him. His hand gripping the steering wheel. “Joey? Everything alright?” He hummed, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. It has been one month since he had forced his way into your apartment, leaving articles of clothing behind and coming up with any excuse to stay the night, not that you minded. He had a key to your apartment now, coming in the mornings and getting Rafi together for daycare as you prep for classes and graded papers. Your glasses hung off the bridge of your nose while you gnawed on the cap of the pen—your eyes shifting from the monitor to the paper as you scribbled some markings on it before moving on to the next. The way his lips danced against yours, his hands gently caressed your skin as your lips tangled.

“Yes, everything is alright.” He heard you shuffling, the covers shifting off your body. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, Joey, no, you didn’t. What’s wrong?” You could always read him; you would always tell. You didn’t even have to look at him to see that something was picking at him. He knew that you were good for him; you were everything that he needed you to be. Joe remained silent; the only that was heard was Rafi’s babbling. “Just come over and well talk, okay.”

“Okay.” Joe hung up and made his way to you, his head spinning from his recent murder. His fingers trembled as he pulled down your street, finding a parking spot adjacent to your apartment building. He moved out of the car. His key jingled in the locks swiftly; you swung open the door, watching in bewilderment. Worry drawn on your eyebrows and lips. “Joey, what is going on? Was it—”

“No…no, just Beck.” You nodded for a moment, allowing him to enter the apartment; slamming the door, you proceeded to deadbolt the locks. You stared at the final lock, trying to compose yourself; he wasn’t yours. You were just friends. Why did it hurt at the mention of her name at the thought of him being at her apartment, embracing her? “She just makes me insane, always having to watch her and look out for her. All the lies and the—” You picked up the clothes that scattered the floor, tossing them in Rafi’s dirty clothes hamper. Mindlessly, you grabbed the toys, tossing them in a bin as they interrupted his sentence. 

“I see.” was all you could mumble out, your eyes flickering to him. He continued to ramble about how he didn’t trust her–how she was always so secretive around him. But that was Beck; the doe-like look in her eyes always masked the truth that crawled beneath the surface. She was manipulative; everything she did was calculated and meticulous. Her bold red lip contrasted against her pale skin, and her dress revealed just enough of her thigh to keep her professor yearning for more. The way she teased and poked at man’s most animalistic and primitive yearning, dangling it in front of their face before yanking it. You turned to face him, letting the hamper fall against the floor. 

“I frankly don’t want to hear about Beck. I understand she’s your girlfriend or whatever she is but, I can’t take hearing about her. When you’re sitting in my apartment, helping me take care of my son… playing house with me. I don’t want to hear about Beck. I get enough of her when I am with them. Every issue that plagues her, I hear about, all the damn time. Benji, you, the Captian. I can’t–I just can’t do it.” You turn away, heated you move into the bathroom face burning with embarrassment and angry. Angrily you slapped at the knob, turning on the hot water on. It screeched for a moment before the hot water spit out.

As you step into the shower, the hot water cascades over your skin, offering a momentary reprieve from the turmoil. Droplets dance across your body, carrying away the remnants of anger and frustration that cling to you like a heavy cloak. With each passing second, the tension melts away, replaced by a soothing sensation of renewal. You close your eyes, allowing the water to envelop you completely, washing away the Beck and Joe's monologue that echoed in your mind. Steam fills the air, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you stand beneath the gentle stream, letting it cleanse your body and soul. Slowly, the weight of the conversation begins to lift, replaced by a sense of clarity and calm. In this sanctuary of steam and solitude, you find solace. You sighed as the shower opened; you saw his feet planted in the shower and the sound of a soft sigh resting in the air. You feel his hands gliding against your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips pecked your shoulder, sucking in the aroma that cascaded around him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”  His hand gently drummed your abdomen, his cock hardening against you as he pecked at you, his hands moving to your breast, kneading at them slowly, letting his fingers squeeze and tug at your nipples. 

“Please, forgive me” he whispered; you couldn’t say no to him. So, you nodded, turning around fully to face him. Pressing a gently kiss against his lip, stepping out of the shower, grabbing the towel as you instantly moved to Rafi’s crib. 

As the tears streamed down his Rafi’s flushed cheeks, Joe’s heart ached with empathy. With gentle hands, he lifted the sobbing child into his arms, cradling him against his chest, his hand rubbing circles against his back something that he noticed his mom and he liked. Leaning close, he murmured soothing words in a soft, reassuring tone, his voice a balm to the boy's distressed soul. With each gentle stroke of his hand and whispered promise, Joe felt the tension begin to melt away from his Rafi’s trembling form. He rocked him back and forth, a steady rhythm that mirrored the beating of his own heart, a silent vow to always be there to chase away the shadows and dry the tears. Joe moved back your bed, and you reached out your arms, allowing Rafi to settle into your chest and Joe to cuddle back into your side. Rafi was a crybaby and wanted you to hold him 25/8; you wanted to break him out of that habit. Joe and you had been working on getting him to sleep through the night in his crib, it would only last two nights out of the week before Joe caved and dragged himself to Rafi’s crib, engulfing him in his arms. You didn’t bother to correct him; you could tell that something was off with him. You two didn’t speak much after your moment the shower; you didn’t try to get him to speak either.

A heavy knock on the door had woken Joe; he hissed in frustration, moving the walker out of the way as he stumped his toe against it. He looked back, seeing Rafi whining for him, his arm stretched as he crawled closer to the edge of the bed. Joe scooped him up, snatching your phone and checking the time—7:37 AM. He grunted as he moved to unlock the deadbolts and finally the door. The door swung open, revealing Peach. Her eyes widened as she glanced at Joe; quickly, she shook her head, trying to find the right words to say but couldn’t. Peach observed him, eyes squinted in fury and confusion. “She’s sleeping Peach.”

She called out your name, moving into the living room, her eyes falling on you as you lay in bed. Her head snapped to Joe, realizing that he was in his boxers. “What the fuck! What did you do to her?” Peach asked as she tried to grab Rafi. Joe stiffed her and backed away as she continued to reach for your son. 

Joe held Rafi tightly in his arms as Peach had her outstretched arms and a determined frown on her face. Ignoring Joe’s protective grip, Peach reached for the child, her fingers brushing against Joe’s before clasping around the little one's hand. Joe’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him. He pulled back, his hand resting against Rafi’s back as he watched Peach’s face morph, her eyes narrowing before he turned her attention to you. 

“Peach? What–What are you doing?” You shifted from the covers, you were in a grey crewneck, a B printed in brown and outlined in red. Your hair messing tied away from your face as you squinted to fully focus on her. 

“No! No—what are you doing?” She hisses, stomping towards you, your finger jabbing into the air as she throws her hands dramatically. 

“Peach, he was just—I saw Dominick. Since then, he has been here for me. Nothing… Nothing else has been going on.” You shouted over her rambles. Something in her face changed; she slammed her mouth shut, looking at you, taking in your words. She grabbed the back of her arm, holding it tighter to her person. Joe noticed the slight change in her demeanor at the mention of Dominick; he scared her. 

“Did you–” You quickly shook her hand, stretching out your hands for Rafi; Joe quickly moved to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as Rafi crawled into your lap. Joe’s hands rested on top of yours; he pressed his lips against Rafi’s head before cuffing your chin. He rose to his feet. He grabbed his things, placing them on his clothes. He jiggled his phone before leaving out of your apartment, a silent single for you to call him when she leaves. “When did that happen?”

“Nothing happened. He just was here for me at the time and… I trust him.” Peach laughs, sitting on the bed. 

“Trust him, absolutely not. You know he’s playing you just like he’s playing Beck!” You rolled your eyes, unsure of what to make of her accusations. I mean, they weren’t incorrect in their entirety. Joe had a fleeting romance with Beck and probably still does. “He’s using you. I lost Beck to him, and I am not going to lose you. In this stupid ideology where you think you need him! You don’t need him! I am here for you; call me if you are feeling scared; call me if you are feeling down!” 

“I know” you mumbled, caressing Rafi. “I shouldn’t trust him” you confessed. “I really shouldn’t” a bitter laugh left your throat as you chocked on a sob that rose in your throat. 

“He could be like Rafael! You are so blinded by love that you didn’t see it then, but I did, and now, I do.” Peach whispered, as she inched in Joe’s spot. Resting her head against your chest, her hands wrapping against your torso. 

 Joe stood outside the closed door, his fists clenched at his sides, he strained to hear the muffled voices from within. Anger simmered beneath his skin, fueled by the snippets of conversation that reached his ears. Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the thin veneer of his composure. He could hear her strained voice, a mixture with a Peach’s voice—a voice that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. His jaw tightened, muscles coiling with tension as he fought the urge to burst through the door and confront the source of his jealousy head-on. The temptation to intervene, to demand answers, pulsed through him like a steady drumbeat, drowning out reason and restraint. With every passing moment, his anger mounted, a raging inferno threatening to consume him whole. Yet, for now, he remained on the other side of the door, a silent witness to his own unraveling emotions. Something needed to happen, Peach was always in the way, the intricate dance of relationships that she always blocked. Stepping on his toes and stealing you away from him. Tangling you in her grasp, the same spell that Beck was under.  She was a figure looming in the background, casting a shadow over any potential romance that Joe worked so hard to grow and nourish. Her presence was like a shield, deflecting any attempts at romantic advancement with a casual remark or a well-timed interruption. 

He needed to kill her; her undoing was all the fault of her own. 

Goodbye Peach Sallinger. 

[perkqularkreashions]

So this may be a little long, but hear me out, I had this idea while I was maladaptive daydreaming. The reader is a Greene and is there when Rick brings Carl to the house. Rick and the reader have this fling maybe once or twice, and she ends up pregnant, the reader, is good friends with Lori and doesn't want her to find out, so she enlists the help of Daryl to pretend to be her boyfriend, so no one suspects Rick. Daryl and the reader start to grow real feelings for each other. Rick grows jealous and Lori starts to notice. Then the Randall situation happens and Daryl announces that she's pregnant so they need to figure their shit out. Then she announces that Rick is the father.

ouuuu okay! This is in the queue to be posted!

[perkqularkreashions]

Take the Black |Sandor X Reader|

Part One: Unconditional

I know this doesn't follow the plot exactly, but just roll with it. So, I had some suggestions from mutuals to lowkey make it a Jamie X Reader for her survival... What y'all think?

WARNINGS: unwarranted affection [kissing without consent], Jamie projecting his trauma on the reader, mentions of murder, murder [Ned Stark], SMUT [wrap it up!], Joffrey being Joffrey

AS ALWAYS CHECK YOUR TRIGGERS.

You hated the fresh smell of the air, the cool wind wrapping around you softly, brushing against your exposed skin. You spent many days in the library running your fingers against the spines of the books, taking hold of one in secret as you shoved them into your sack. Books that you read underneath the moonlight, books that only slightly drove your mind away from the King's landing, your father, your sisters, and Sandor. You missed your home, the chilled walls of Winterfell dragging you in as you roamed through, your fingers intertwined with Theon’s in secret, your head resting against his shoulder as he spoke of nonsense. You would just listen; you missed the simplicity of life, and now everything seems muddled with confusion and Lannisters. 

You gasped as you felt a hand wrapped against your upper arm, tugging you away from another book that would soon be a part of your collection. Your eyes followed the man; Ser Jamie stood tall before you. The brightness of his hair reflected in the illuminating sun, his hair mimicking gold. His touch softens in the realization of who you are. His lips play in a soft smile as he watches you, taking in your soft, doe-like features—the surprise written on your face, the paleness of your face, and the claminess of your hands. “So you’re our book thief. For months, you have evaded all the guards.” Jamie was impressed; it was a harmless crime and brought no real attention to the drunken King’s radar. He slurred out a command and had Eddard follow up on the missing books. “Intelligent little wolf,” Jamie hummed in thought; he let out, causing you to stumble back; you hadn’t realized that you had placed all your weight against him. 

You reminded him of Cersei in her youth, not physically but mentally, the way you chewed on your lips when in deep thought. The way you studied people intently before answering. But you weren’t like Cersei, were you? You were kinder and spoke with a gentleness when you spoke with him. Maybe he was attracted to the thought of you possibly being Cersei. Jamie thought about you often; maybe he was projecting his traumatizing relationship with Cersei onto your budding relationship. Jamie sighed for a moment, deep in thought. 

Your voice broke him out, “Just…a little entertainment for myself these days. The castle grows boring,” Jamie hummed, his fingers dancing along the book's spine. The words slightly faded, and the book would crumble at the touch. The pages are a brittle brown color. 

“Entertainment in the decrepit ?” he raised his brow, watching you closely. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and you clutched the book tighter against your stomach, your hands strumming against your sides, the anxiety cementing in your stomach as you nodded. “I see.” Jamie didn’t take his eyes off you, examining all your features, the strongness of your brow, the silverness of your eyes, the darkness of your hair, and your slim face. You reminded him of Eddard, Bran, and even Jon. Despite your femininity, you were a spitting image of your father; no trace of your mother itched its way on your face. His hand gently grabbed a strand of hair, pushing it away from your face, his thumb tracing against your cheek to the tip of your chin. You were boyish and lanky but held a certain beauty. “Tell me, wolf, what amuses you then?” 

“The cold,” you quickly responded; Jamie let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, something that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was unusual for someone not to find something that piqued their interest in the King’s Landing, whoring, welding, swordsmanship, ladyship, or lordship. Sansa wanted to be a princess, Arya wanted to be a swordsman, more or less, and yet you had no place in King’s Landing. “I miss my pup; surely Robb knows nothing of Luan,” Jamie hummed once more as he watched you closely. 

“I see,” silence washed over you both; it was comfortable. You bowed gently, trying to walk past him. He grabs your arm, “Be careful, little wolf, it’s dangerous here at night.” His grab loosened, allowing you to walk away, stuffing the book in your sack. You walked back to your room, your thoughts muddled with the handsome knight, his tall brow, and the subtleness of his lips. He was more gentle than you remember him to be. You recall your passing moments with the knight at Winterfell, rarely staying for the festivities but always within reach from Cersei if needed. Your eyes stumbled ahead, watching the maidens move around you, whispering gently before returning to their task. The knights march about, hands placed on their swords for comfort. 

𓃥𓃦𓃨

As the days stumbled into night, you had seen less of your father and sisters; you’d been confined in your room, your nose nuzzled in a book. You were carefully absorbing every word, noun, verb, and sentence. Slamming your book shut, your eyes flickered to the door. You sat against Sandor’s chest; he had been sleeping for the past couple of hours—he spent his stolen spare time with you in flights of passing moments, reading a book, fucking, or simply lying together on the terrace. His snores lightly salting the air as he adjusted against you. You had started to read the novel to him, but he cursed, waving his hand about in proclamation. “Aye, I would’ve stayed with the Imp if I wanted to hear someone read.” 

“Tyrion.” you corrected as you passed a glance out the side of your eye. He scoffed, rolling his eyes for a moment. “His name is Tyrion.”

Sandor fixed himself against you once more, taking his hand and wrapping it against your waist, tugging you closer, his lips close to your ears, breathing out gently. Shivering, you relaxed against him. He didn’t say anything, though you knew he would make some idiotic remark about you correcting him on another man sooner rather than later. Arya made her way closer as she hesitantly stepped in. She calls out your name softly before shouting it more confidently. 

“Out here,” you finally responded, Arya's face drained of color as she rushed to you. Her hands shakingly moved to your wrist, yanking you into a hug. You could feel her tremble against you as she silently whispered your name. “Arya, what’s wrong?” 

“Dad, they took Dad away. Sansa… I don’t know– something is going on,” she whispered; you nodded, unsure of what to make of this information or how to react. You needed to find Sansa. You pulled her away, your eyes watching over her. You whispered, “Go pack your things, stay calm and easy.” Hesitantly, she nodded, your hands resting against her shoulder as she moved away. Sandor grabbed your arm, his face filled with worry, tightening his grip as he tugged you closer. He slammed his lips against yours, which you now take as his way of kissing. You flinched as your teeth bagged against your gums, and you poked your lips drastically, allowing his deformed ones to mold into yours. He pulled away, your bodies still close, as he looked down at you. “You find the girl, and you come back here. If there is any trouble, you come back here. Aye?” You nodded.

Now, you set out to find Sansa. You held your head high as you moved through the corridors, eying everyone who passed without saying a word. Her door was guarded; you watched the men for a moment; their eyes remained forward as they watched those who passed. 

You gasped softly as you felt a hand grab at yours, yanking you back into a secluded corner. Your chest slammed against your chest as your body was pressed against the chilling wall. Your eyes fell against the Lannister Knight, who eyed you suspiciously—a soft smile toying on his lips. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, something you didn’t know you could feel when next to a Lannister. “What is going on?” was all you could whisper out, your hands trembling as you reached for his elbow. “Where is my father… why are there guards outside of my sister’s chambers?” He stared at you, nothing being spoken between the two, your breath smacking against the air as your chest heaved with each passing moment. 

“He is going to die.” You felt lightheaded; you could feel yourself falling and slipping as your grip tightened against him. His hand wrapped against your waist, keeping you as you rested against him. 

“Take me to him,” you begged, your voice barely escaping. “Please,” Jamie didn’t like to admit, but you reminded him of an innocent Cersei if she ever was to be. The softness of your voice, your gentle touch, the way your lips parted when you spoke, and the way your eyes held so much and yet so little emotion. Jamie moved away from you, keeping his hand on your waist as he nodded. He moved away from you, and you quickly followed behind him; the more you traveled, the colder it began. The darkness surrounded you every few feet; the torches would burn bright until they dimmed behind you. You stayed close to the knight, praying he would protect you if anything unsavory happened. You entered a long, narrowing hallway, one torch placed directly beside the stoned cell and one small window in the uppermost corner of the dungeon. Jamie’s head motions, and you follow, moving slightly as you dip your head slightly to look closely into the cells. 

You paused, seeing a man hunched on a bed of straw; his head pressed against the stone wall as he sucked in a deep breath. His face was only slightly revealed by the torch.

“Father!” you whispered, stumbling to the ground as he grabbed your hands. His face sunken in as he pressed his head against yours, thankful. “Are you—what is going on?” His eyes weakly moved to Jamie, holding his gaze as Jamie watched over you for a moment. Before moving his attention ahead of him, his hand gripping the sword’s pommel, shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He knew you had a few moments before someone would catch you in here; he was not afraid of the consequences for himself; just the thought of being at odds with Cersei was motivating enough not to be down here. Your hand gently rubbed at your father’s face, trembling at the sight. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“You do nothing.” He spoke, his voice calm and confident. “Keep your sisters safe; know I always love you, my wild wolf.”  He pulls away, sinking into the darkness. You felt Jamie’s hand on your upper arms, tugging you up gently. You were stunned, your eyes widening as you gently shook your head. Your mouth gaping open, your throat swelling emotions as your mouth soon became dry. You didn’t have anything to say; you wanted to scream at him– you wanted the truth about why he was here. You found yourself on your feet, leaning against Jamie as he escorted you out of the holding cell, the fresh air overwhelming you, and bile soon rose in your throat. You swallowed thickly before snatching yourself away from him. 

“You will be the safest with your sister; for the moment, she has Joffrey’s favor,” Jamie spoke behind you, his voice muddled in the daze that rushed over your mind, the haze that clouded you. You spun around, eyes low and drained of emotion. Jamie was stunned, his mouth slightly gaped open as he watched you. He quickly recovered, shutting his mouth as he tried to find the right words. He hated–no loathed Eddard Stark, they contrasted–their values and beliefs vastly differed. Eddard knew from Jamie felt like the deepest part of him had been unearthed, and he dishonored him. Jamie grew frustrated. You finally look at him, taking him in. Your lips never said a word, but your eyes spoke for you. He felt vulnerable, the only kind that he felt with Cersei; she stripped him bare and made him feel worthless but loved. He grabbed your shoulders, yanking you closer to him as he pressed his lips harshly against yours. 

You remained frozen, eyes widening as you watched him, the harshness of his breath fanning against your upper lip. His hands tighten around your shoulders, bringing you closer. Jamie pulled back; his chest riled with emotions as he watched you closely, taking in your features—the redness of your cheeks to the salvia dripping on your bottom lip. You were the second woman he had kissed other than Cersei; he stumbled back, the emotions weighing on him. “Accept my sincerest apologies,” Jamie mumbled. You nodded, unsure of what to say or how to feel. 

Now, you both walked silently, your hands resting in front of you as he escorted you to Jamie’s room. Eyes washing over you both, taking in the scene. You felt his hand gently grab your arm as you reached Sansa’s chambers. “Stay safe, Lady Stark.”

𓃥𓃦𓃨

Here you sat confined with Sansa, Lilly, and Jeyne Poole; the girls' faces were puffy from crying. You watched as Sansa stumbled to button the dresses. Sansa begged and pleaded with everyone who came into the room, face flushing with emotions as she begged to speak with the Queen and Joffrey. “Please, Please, I need to speak with the Queen! Prince Joffrey! It is important! She will want to see me! I know it!”  You groaned as they flushed out of the room, leaving you with a sobbing Jeyne, a frantic Sansa, and an aggressive Lilly. Sansa looked at you, eyes full of despair and desperation. She tugged on her bottom lip, tears streaming down her face. She wept, colliding with her older sister. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled against her head. “Well, see father soon and gone from this hellish place.” she nodded against your bosoms, not genuinely believing your words… and neither did you. Night fell upon Kings Landing quickly; you grew irritated with the weeping of Jeyne and Sansa. She stirred in her sleep, mumbling of Joffrey. She cuddled into your side, smiling gently at the comfort she hadn’t felt since she had been there. She wanted so badly to be back home with her mother, brothers, and sisters back in the coldness of Winterfell. You finally could lull yourself asleep, dreaming of home and Sandor. 

Ser Boros burst through the doors, awakening the girls with fright. You stared at him, taking in his features. He was a short man with broad shoulders and stubby legs. His hair was grey and thinning. Sansa greeted him with a smile, bowing gently as she approached him. “You look handsome this morning, Ser Boros.” You stood behind her, watching the knight flush at the compliment before escorting them back to the Queen. You admitted you were nervous to see her; you hated being in her presence. It was heavy and full of darkness. You sucked on your bottom for a moment chewing off the dead skin. Finally arriving at the royal chambers, you watched Cersai at the head of the table. 

Ser Boros bowed, “I brought the girls.” Your heart rushed excitedly as you could climb through your throat, yet you remained stoic. Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Varys were dressed in black at the table. So the king is dead. 

Cersai grew a smile on her lips; you thought of it as feigned and full of mischievous. The smile did reach her eyes. “Sansa. My sweet girl.” Sansa smiled in pleasure; she watched the Queen; she thought it was the sweetest smile she had seen. “I do apologize for not seeing you sooner; things have been unsettling–I trust my people have taken care of you…both.” her eyes flicker to you as you stand still, soaking in her words. 

Sansa said politely, bowing. “Thank you for asking; everyone has been pleasant.” Their attention turns to you, waiting for you to sing the praises of her gracious treatment. You remained emotionless, eyes glaring at Cersei. The conversation droned on, Sansa frantic in concern for the steward girl and her father. You hated the feeling that her anxiety gave you.

“Sit down,” Cersei finally pronounced, patting a chair directly to her left. “ I want to talk to both of you.’ You stayed where you were, not being able to move your feet as you felt dread course through your body. Cersei’s eyes flickered to yours, a harsh expression taking hold of her face before softening. Cersei’s attention turned back to Sansa, who was laying a soft hand on her wrist and speaking. 

“I do hope you know I love you, and so does Joffrey.” Her eyes lit up, her positioning straightening as she leaned closer to her, grasping every word. 

“You do!” The queen nods as she continues spinning gold yarn for Sansa. Her words are calculated and precise, knowing what exactly to say to manipulate the young Stark. You knew Cersei was a witch, something never to be trifled with. Her power and presence weighed more than Robert’s. Her actions were cunning, meticulous, and precise with her words—also ten steps ahead of everyone else. 

“Your father is a traitor,” Vary’s words cut through your thoughts as you tried breathing, your fingers clenching at your side as you pushed out shallow and sharp breaths. “He is a traitor to the crown; he has besmirched the name of King Joffrey. Claiming that he is not the rightful heir to the throne.” You became dizzy and faint, wanting to reach the table and grasp on it. They were going to kill him; that is why he was in the cell, decaying as he awaited punishment. Jamie knew that’s why he took you to see him—one last time. You were also warned of the dangers of speaking against the Lannisters, constantly wary of making one wrong move in front of them. They watched the weak but always preyed on the strong. You swallowed thickly, watching them continue. 

“I am not like Arya.” Sansa blurted, capturing your attention, “She is of traitor’s blood! I am good. Obedient! I only want to serve Joffrey, to be loyal to the throne and him!” Cersei wickedly smiled, watching you for a moment; Baelish and Vary's attention was now on you. You straighten your posture, tightening your trembling lip as you observe them. 

“What of you? Mm? Little wolf?” Baelish questioned, his eyes running down your body. You wanted to cower away in fear, run into her father’s arm, and wish him to protect you. But you were grown– a woman now. You hand to stand on your own. “You look like your father, dark and brooding. Dark wild hair like your father. Eyes as hard as a stone, just like your fathers’, Unlike your sister, who is a spitting image of Cat when she was her age. You are the twin of the proclaimed “King of the North.” He continues; you watched the Grand Maester tug at his beard in thought. You remained silent, unable to form any words. Sansa tried to speak for you, Cersei shushing, comforting her in the thought that she needn’t speak more. “Are you of traitor’s blood?” 

“I wish to see my father.” Was all you muster out, yet your voice was stern and commanding. Baelish stared at you for a moment, chuckling at the sight. “If he is what you call a traitor, then I wish to know for myself.”

“Do you not believe me?” Cersei begins, and Sansa shakes her head rapidly. 

“That’s not what she’s-”

“No, I don’t, and I would like to hear it from my father,” You commanded, sternly looking at her, watching her cat-like eyes churn with an unrecognizable emotion. She sat back, turning her attention back to Sansa. 

“No. You will not. Is that understood?” Cersei commanded, her posture straightened and her eyes a dancing sage color. You found no words, found nothing to object to her decree. You stood there emotionless. With no further acknowledgment, you looked down, fighting back the tears and the rage that built-in you. “If you don’t trust my word, what are you to trust?”

“The devil, preferably,” you whispered as you sucked in a deep breath, masking your words as her eyes snapped towards you.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

Months have passed, and Jamie has only taken to see your father two more times. You begged him to help you free him—to speak with Joffrey and Cersei, but he remained silent. You marveled at your efforts but knew that they were futile. He would confess his sins and take the black. Cersei had soon caught on to this, whispering of Lady Stark and Jamie Lannister. Anger pitted in her stomach as she assigned one of her ladies to gather intel. She was never too far from you, her eyes catching every glance at Jamie and turning at you. The whispers in secluded corners, your hands grabbing at his, pulling him close. Jamie never pulled away, sinking into your warmness. He knew that you were using him, just as Cersei was. But you were different…sincere. But soon Jamie left, taking all the chances of Ned escaping with him; he was off to fight the war against your twin, Robb. You prayed that Jamie would day at the hands of your brother, his sword taking his life as he looks up for his last moments. He wouldn’t see his family, but he would see Robb and prayerfully see you. 

𓃥𓃦𓃨

You were excited for this day, for your father to take the black and your sisters to escape back to Winterfell. You wrote to Robb secretly, updating him on the little things in the code; you sent a trusted guard from Winterfell who rode with you. Soon, those letters would stop as the Royal Guard intercepted them; Cersei would drag you into the throne room, her hands holding the letters in fury. Her lips pursed in anger as she watched you, waiting for you to tell the truth. She waited for you to repent and beg for forgiveness just as Sansa did, but she knew you weren’t like Sansa. You were silent and studied the room before speaking; your brows furrowed in thought before relaxing. It was hard to read you; it was hard for anyone to read you. Cersei knew punishing you would damage what had been damaged, so she dismissed you, keeping her guards around you at all hours of the day and night, ensuring that you were not planning a coup of her authority.

You snapped back to reality; you stared at the bell as it toweled, echoing through your body, signaling you to follow the crowd; you wandered, pushing through as emptiness settled in your stomach. Your eyes landed on your father. He was dressed in a rich grey-colored doublet with a white woven on his shoulder. He was thinner, his face sunken in and eyes shrouded with darkness, given that it had been roughly three months since you had seen your figure as much. All he had to do was confess; he would spared. Your heart filled with terror as he spoke confidently, his words carrying into the wind. Sansa whimpered as they shouted obscenities and taunted him. He would take the Black and be reunited with Jon; he would be alive, and you would be rid of this place. He would take the black. 

“My mother… bids me to let Lord Eddard take the black! Sansa begs for her father’s life. That delectable wolf, Lady Stark, has offered no sentiments on her father’s behalf, just silence. Strong and just that one, not pleading like these women. They have soft hearts. As long as I am your king, no treason will go unpunished, Ser Illyn, bring me his head!” You pushed through, your hand pulling and tugging as you drowned in the crowd. You screamed for Father, “Please! No!” You could feel your knees growing weak as you pushed through the crowd, the man’s longsword glistening. Your chest aching and soon caught his eyes. He smiled, his lips mumbled, and you couldn’t catch it.

You felt someone yank at you, “Here, you!” your vision was clouded in darkness. You screamed, yanking yourself away from the familiar comfort. “Don’t look, little wolf, don’t look,” You sobbed hysterically as you felt him grab your body, tugging you away from the crowd. You hissed in discomfort, watching Sandor, his face full of grief and worry. “Aye, I thought something happened to you! I thought something- I couldn’t find you. For months, they kept you locked away from me.” He grabs your face harshly, bringing your attention to his. “You are alright!”

You sob, tears blurring your vision, and your mouth gaped open as you tried calming yourself down. “Please, tell me–” Sandor brought you close, wrapping his arms around you, letting your sobs rattle through his chest. He didn’t speak much of your father’s death; he dragged you away from the screaming mob, the roar of the crowd, the profanities that hung from their lips.

Sandor returned you to your chambers; you moved through the empty halls. You felt nothing; you could feel nothing. You wanted to cry, but it pained you even to blink. You flopped on your bed, and your body spread erratically across the perfectly made duvet. It was a soft red color decorated with gold flowers, and you hated the color and the scent of warmness it gave. You missed the frigid air of Winterfell, the thick blankets that pilled on your bed, and the dullness that surrounded you. The colors overwhelmed you, and the people overwhelmed you. You felt Sandor tuck you, gently stroking your hair out of your face and leaving you with the Lannister appointment maidens. Gripping one of the women by her dress, he dragged her close. She yelped, startled by his aggression. “If anything happens to her, I will kill all of you.” 

It has been days since anyone has seen you; Sansa grew worried as the maidens wouldn’t allow anyone into your chambers other than the King and his appointment men; Joffrey was worried that you were of traitor’s blood and wished for you to be confined to the four walls of your room against his better judgment. He wanted to behead you and send you to Robb, but Cersei had commanded against it. You were to only speak with Lannister appointment maidens, to be escorted by Ser Meryn and, on occasion, Ser Clegane. Joffrey, to much dismay from his mother, grew fond of you; he sat in your chambers, speaking of how he was going to behead your brothers and offer to you as gifts; accepting this gift would be the only way that you would genuinely be renounced as a traitor. In fear, you agreed softly, nodding along to every sick and psychopathic demand. He enjoys your presence; you say so little, unlike Sansa, who seems to say the wrong things, and his mother, who thinks she is now the King. You were more enjoyable than Sansa. He entered your room, now guarded by knights; his eyes scanned your chamber. Nothing had been touched or moved since the last visit. That was two weeks ago after showing Sansa the head of her traitor father. You didn’t move, but you knew it was Joffrey; he was the only person who came to see you. Your eyes shifted to him as he made his way around your bed. You mumbled out, shifting in the bed slightly, “Your Grace.” 

Lilly bowed gently as Joffrey as he walked away, a smirk resting on his lips. He knew that you recognized his rightful claim to the throne. He knew you were more intelligent than his sister; most importantly, you were Robb’s twin sister. A great show of dominance was fucking his twin sister; he needed to bed you. Get you pregnant; be his mistress. He knew you bleed; he asked the maids to check, and your moonly cycle had just ended. His hand holding the sword's pommel, his eyes scanning over you. “Please make yourself presentable. Once completed, one of the knights will escort you to the throne room. I wish to speak with you.” He walked away, stopping for a moment. Anger was building inside of him as he waited for a response. 

“As you wish, Your Grace.” He heard you shifting in the bed, and with a smile, he was gone. 

You were dressed in a backless black dress, exposing your perky bosoms; despite the rancid looks, you still mourned for your father; embroidered on the right collar was a wolf that Lilly had stitched to all of the gowns given to you by the Lannisters. You thank the maidens before moving with Ser Meryn to the throne room. You said nothing, acknowledged no one. 

You bowed gently at Joffrey, his eyes stalking your body, taking in the sight of your breasts, arms, and face. At his side, Sansa. Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled as she straightened her posture; she missed your touch's warmth and the gentleness of your words. She felt she betrayed you; she didn’t have time to think after the Father’s death; she just wanted to survive. 

“I want you to bear my children, rightful thrones to the heir!” he announced. You said nothing; you continued gazing at Sansa, praying that she was alright and praying to the Old Gods that the light cast shadows on her face instead of the bruises. Your hands clenched at your side as you watched her flinch at each movement made by Joffrey. “To fuck the traitorous blood out of you! Send the babes’s head to your brother, maybe send yours, force him to bend the knee, and submit to me.”

You simply answered, “No.” His face sunk, his eyes widened as his lips tightened, and his jaw clenched in frustration. You heard the footsteps of the knight, his armor rattling against each other. You watched Meryn, his decrepit face glaring into you. 

“Meryn,” he called out, his hand waved in his direction. 

You felt a hand glide across your face, your head snapping from the force; he struck you repeatedly. You remained still as the knight was instructed to hit you again if you didn’t accept his offer; Joffrey grew frustrated at your resilience. You felt blood dripping from your eyes, burning, blinding your vision. “You lay another hand on her, and I kill you.” you heard a knife unsheathing or maybe his longsword. Joffrey cackled; it settled in the throne room. You felt the uneasiness of the air and how it settled in your bones uncomfortably. 

“You want to protect this bitch! Your bitch! You know… I should make you fuck her, fuck the beast until you bear his litter of pups.” Joffrey tossed his hands in the sky, a wicked smile grew on his lips. “Why don’t we feast? A wedding between a wolf and a dog! You want her to fucking bad, have her! Make litters of animals. I’ll behead them and you. We will send them to your traitor brother,” he spits, his cackles once more as he claps his hands in excitement like a child. You squeezed your eyes closed, your face searing in pain; you heard him pushing past Meryn and Clegane, his hand grabbing my chin as he brought it closer to my face. ‘What do you say, wolf? Mm? Want to marry this ugly mutt?” You stared at him, disdain dripping from your lips as you tightened them. His Lannister eyes dull into you; for a moment, you are frightened but realize he was just a little boy playing King. He was a sadistic little boy. You retracted your thoughts, fearing that he might be able to hear them. You didn’t speak; you didn’t acknowledge him. Only turning your head out his hand. 

“This can all go away, and you don’t have to marry this ugly dog if you bear my children. Don’t you want to prove that you aren’t a traitor to be loyal to the rightful King,” he whispers into your ear, feeling your trembling skin with his finger. You calmly replied, remaining solid in your ass. He hisses in dismay, tossing your head back, causing you to stumble around. Sandor’s gently grabbed at your back. “A perfect alliance! You two mutts belong together! Soon, your head-”

“Enough!” you heard Cersei call out, her voice commanding the silence, causing Joffrey to stumble back. His face widened, and for a moment, you saw a child being reprimanded by his mother, a child who needs to be punished. His face grew slightly red, his lips tightening with embarrassment. 

Cersei dismissed you. Walking away, you rushed out of the throne as you felt the emotions run through; you wanted to cry, you could feel the tears building in your throat, and yet nothing. Numbness washed over you as you mindlessly moved back to your chambers… You needed to get out of here. You let yourself stumble into your chambers, greeted by Lilly, the only thing that reminded you of home. You collided with her, remaining silent as you listened to the constant beat of her heart. “It’s a’ght, M’lady,” she murmured. You flinched at the sound of the door; you could feel his presence filling the room. Lilly released you, bowing to Clegane as she stumbled out of the room. You didn’t dare move; you didn’t want to look at or think about him. 

His voice was strong, “Let me see you.” You obeyed, turning your gaze to him. You noticed he had a grey-ish clothe in his hand. In one stride was in front of you, dapping your face gently. You never thought he could be this gentle with you. His thumb caresses your chin as he huffs angrily, his face contorted slightly, causing his lip to twitch. He was in deep thought and wanted to kill Joffrey, behead him just as he did your father. He wanted to prove to you that he was not his loyal dog. “Stupid girl, why didn’t you marry him,” He cuffs your bruised face, bringing you closer to him. “Why didn’ya accept the offer?”

“Sandor,” you mumbled weakly, his name bringing joy to his ears. You didn’t have an answer, nor did you want to provide him with one. You simply let yourself rest against him, feeling the cold sting of his armor. It was nothing like the chilling sensation of the North, but it brought you a sense of comfort. Sandor sat stiffly, allowing you to rest against him. 

“You’re a stupid girl,” he whispers. “My stupid girl.” His lips pushed against your head, mumbling insults to you.

𓃥𓃦𓃨

It was Joffrey’s nameday; you grew tired of the insipid celebration of the arrogant and cruel King. Your body leaned against the railing, the calm winds blowing against you as you were in deep thought. You could hear Lilly calling out for your name, but you ignored her, knowing that it must’ve been Joffrey who once again offered his seed to you and offered you an out for the marriage with Sandor. His hand would grab at your throat, snatching you closer to him before pushing you against the wall. His other hand yanked your hair down, and you croaked as you clawed against his hand. Your whimpers barely escape your throat. Soon, as he grew tired of your squirming, he let go, watching you gasp helplessly. Your body fell limp to the ground as you clutched the dress that pooled at your feet. This became routine for the last couple of weeks, but you were hoping on his nameday, he would leave you be. 

You peered over your shoulder, seeing Sandor aggressively march into the room, his eyes capturing yours; a small smile rode on his lips. You returned your attention ahead of you, taking in the pastures of green and the ant-like bodies walking about. Everyone and Everything was loud in celebration of King Joffrey. You could feel his gaze on you; it was heavy and needy. Roughly, his armor fell against the floor, clanging and being kicked to the side. He could him slightly cursing and fumbling to move closer to you. You relaxed against him, feeling his warmth against your backside. “I need you.” You could feel him stiffen against you, his hand roughly grabbed at your waist. “I miss you…I’ve missed you for some time now.” You grind yourself gently against him, your ass grazing the tip of his throbbing cock. “I just—I want you inside of me.” 

“You don’t know what you are asking for.” he hums, his hands tightening on your waist as he guides your movements slightly. His hands roughly yanked at the back of your dress, exposing you, his fingers gently caressing your ass before moving to your opening. You hiss as he drags his thick finger over your wetness, his finger tracing at your glistening pearl before inserting his finger; you gasp, grabbing at the rails as you let yourself fall against it. He was rough and sloppy, thrusting in an erratic pattern before slowly retracting his finger. You hum in pleasure, your stomach churning with the familiar euphoric sensation as he pounds his finger into you; Sandor is growing impatient. He wanted to fuck you, to make you scream out his name for all to hear. His cock ached and pulsated as he watched your leaking cunt, dripping his fingers against the cement. Irrationally, he became jealous of the bugs that would taste you and the air that kisses you. He admires your soft kitten-like moans, how they purr against his ear gently, the soft meows of his name as he rams his finger into you. You quickly turn to face him, startling him for a moment. His finger was slipping out of you–your face flushed with color as your chest heaved harshly. The material tightened against your chest before retracting as you watched Sandor. Sandor turns away in disgust of himself; your hands inched to his face, tugging at him. 

Slowly, he returns his attention to you. His eyes glared at you. Quickly, he grabs at you, pulling you off of your feet; you gasp as you feel your back pressed against the cool brick. Quickly,  your legs around him, steadying yourself as you watched him fumble with the ties that held up his trousers. You watched him, your eyes taking the scars that riddled his face and the solemn look that marked his lip. His face grew in frustration; he shut his eyes briefly, insecurity shattering him as he tried not to think about your judging eyes. You heed his direction, shutting your eyes as you watch the darkness that clouded you. You flinched at his unexpected softness, his fingers touching your face and lips. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing at your flesh as his hands move to your ass. You could feel the pressure building inside of you as you felt the tip of his cock rest against your entrance, pocking and sliding against your wetness. 

The air is stolen from her as Sandor’s hips meet yours. Your eyes flickered open as you moaned loudly, your hands wrapping against his neck as you lazily pulled him closer to you. He stumbled closer to you, your breath mingling as Sandor’s head rested against your clavicle. He gently gnawed at you, his lips gliding against your skin before resting against your neck. Rapidly, he thrust inside of you, your heat tightening around him as you moaned out his name, the pace of this thrust was ruthless as he cursed at you, using his grip on your hips to yank you further down on his throbbing and needy cock. He pulls away from your neck as he watches you chant his name over and over. “Sandor, Sandor–oh Sandor, Please—Sandor.”

He stops, taking the time to watch you squirm underneath his touch. His nose brushes against your cheek as he kisses it; quickly, you turn your head to face him. He watched your eyes slowly prying open as your doe-like eyes overtook him. Your face contorted in pleasure as he continued to thrust into you. Your fingers danced back to his cheeks, cuffing them in admiration. You slam your lips against him, tasting the bitter wine on his tongue. Your tongue dipped into his mouth, gathering everything before sliding back into your own; you moaned against him while his hips picked up in pace, the slaps echoing into the air as you cried out a moan on his lips. You pull back as a slew of words fall from your lips. “All mine, you’re all mine,” he growls through his runts and your rants, his words falling upon deaf ears as you call out his name through your orgasm. His dick twitches inside of you; he could feel himself approaching his high, his seed jutting out as you whine out his name. Your cunt clenches against him as you feel his cum flooding inside of you, his hips still moving at the painstakingly harsh pace, fucking himself through his orgasm as he pushes himself against you. He retracts slightly, letting his cock slide out, exposed to the cool air. He rams himself deeper inside of you, shoving his seed into you. “You take me so well, little wolf.”

You felt him pick up pace, his jerked against you, his head resting against you as he grunted out your name. Soon, all of his seed was slammed into you, dripping around his cock and your soaking cunt. He pulls back swiftly, his eyes watching as silence veiled over you. Your mouth parted as you tried catching your breath, your hands lazily cuffing his neck as your thumb stroked his jawline. You peeked at his lips, still feeling his cock twitch inside of you. “I missed you.” You repeated, the words lazily falling off your tongue. Sandor had no words; he couldn’t think around you. You left him in a state of wanting—needing more. He pulls himself out of you, causing you to take intake quickly. You weren’t like the whores that he paid to fuck, the needy and whining pleas as he rammed his cock into them, their eyes squeezed tight when laying on their backs. He recalls one time, paying the woman handsomely to moan out his name; she nodded shyly, her eyes never meeting his face that she did, her voice coarse and full of emotion. “Sandor Sandor Sandor—- you fuck me so good, your cock fills me so well.” He hated it, the way her auburn hair bounced, the way her hands grabbed at his chest, the way her teets moved about as she bounced on him, the way her mouth horridly gaped open as she screamed out his name, and everything that falls out of her mouth was scripted and unreal. She came undone, jumping off his lap and taking his manhood into her mouth, soaking up all his seed as she smiled brightly. With a grunt, he pushed her off, irritated by her presence. For months, it went on as such, endless whores that never pleased him.

He regretted it every time, especially the nights he came to you, gentle with your words and touch. You lay with him, letting your hands caress him. You were patient with him, understanding his anger and outbursts; he never understood it and loathed the feeling that rose when he thought everything was feigned and a part of his imagination. 

Here he stands, watching you glistening in the sweet sun’s rays, your skin dewy as you happily watched him. Your touch gentle, your words pure. He never felt like this with any woman. Insecurity knocked into him, and he turned away from you, allowing your feet to slap against the ground. He was once again towing over you. He gathers himself, leaving you alone. You adjusted yourself in your garment; his seed was sticky against your cunt and uppermost inner thighs. You pushed your hands across your face, returning to your chamber as you removed your clothing, readying yourself for today’s affairs.

[perkqularkreashions]

UNCONDITIONAL | SANDOR X READER

Part 2: Take the Black

Sandor X Reader

Mature Content Warning

Requested: YES

Requested: OPEN

WARNINGS: Please check your triggers; SMUT!!! (Always use protection) Mentions of Miscarriages, Homemade Abortions, and Slight mentions of depression. Word Count: 7k plus Slight Proofread :(

You gasped, taking his head in your hands. Pushing him further into your pussy, your hips slowly grinding against his flattened tongue and the bridge of his nose, which flicked against your aching clit. You mouthed oh’ed as you felt the euphoria blissfully wash over you, your heads, grabbing at the grass, digging your nails into the dirt as you quickly closed your legs. Pushing him away from you, you pleaded with him to stop as you felt overstimulated from his still kissing and softly licking at your clit. You moaned out in desperation, “Theon, please stop.” with weakened strength, you pushed him off you, yanking your body closer to yourself, as you moved to your bottom. Your eyes washed over the glistening boy as a smirk played on his lips. 

“I can’t help myself,” he moans lowly, moving on all fours before crawling closer to you, his eyes taking you in from the disheveled state of your hair as it was muddled with leaves, twigs, and bits of grass. From your redding face, your cheeks warm and full of color, your eyes wide and sporadic. Your mouth opened slightly, as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. His finger crawled on top of your hands, waiting to feel your warmth, and despite the crisp coldness of the air, you radiated furnacing warmth. Theon enjoyed these little moments with you, holding you in his arms, letting his hands run down your breast and throbbing pussy. Kissing you on your neck as you moaned out for him. He craved you, simply intoxicating. You spoke again, this time more certain of yourself, “Father will be looking for you soon; I know you have a ceremony to attend.” 

Finally, you started to notice how close Theon was and how the condensation of your breath mingled with the stillness of the cold air. You closed your eyes, sucking in the harsh atmosphere, and you felt his lips peck on yours. Something that he didn’t do often, you quickly cuffed his face, preventing him from turning away from you. Icy fingers caressed his skin for a moment; you dropped your gaze, removing your hand from his face. “Go,” you spoke in the stillness of the air, moving to feet and gathering your gloves. 

It didn’t take long to voyage back to the Winterfell, your eyes taking hold of Jon and Bran, his hair falling against his pale skin. Nervously, he petted at his pony, tugging on his lips as his eyes flickered to Jon, taking hold of every word that came tumbling out of his mouth, yet he still didn’t remember much of what was said. Jon's grey eyes finally captured hold of you as he waved you over, his smile rising on his lips. His dark hair, moving in the chilled wind, he was taller than he was before. Excitedly, you waved to him. He often enjoyed speaking with you; you were kinder than your twin brother, Robb, Theon, and Caitlyn, who put up with him out of respect for Ned. Robb barely talked to him. The conversation only culminated when needed; for Theon he wishes to avoid him at any cost. He thought everything was funny, and it always came off as insensitive and crude. The Stark girls offered him the kindness and a love he craved, but you were different. When thinking of family and thinking of love, he saw you.

Jon’s first core memory of you was when he was 11; you were skin and bones then. Your eyes were as dark as iron as you protectively stood before Jon. You bore no front teeth, yet your words were certain and robust. Caitlyn was scolding him for something trivial. She was harsh to Jon, her finger jamming into his shoulder before waving back in front of his face. It was the only time that you have seen Caitlyn interact with Jon when she was lashing out for punishments or projecting anger to Jon. You grabbed Jon’s hand, stomping past Caitlyn, offering him a toothless smile. “Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll always protect you!”

He drifted back to you, watching you make your way down to them. You smiled upon arrival, pressing your cheek against Bran; he cringed away, swatting at you with embarrassment and giggles. You returned to Jon, bringing him in for a tight hug, taking the smell of his natural aroma; he always smelled of pine and the outdoors. “Are you ready?” you asked in curiosity. You always wanted to go, but Ned forbade it, scolding you for wanting to partake in such boyish pastimes. His fingers danced to Sansa, explaining that you needed to mirror her likeness. Gentle and soft, like her mother. You glanced at Sansa with a faint smile, taking in her stern Tully features. The auburn color of her hair is lighter than our mother’s, paired with high-cheek bones and deep oceanic eyes. She was soft-smelling. You glanced back at your father, his hands cuffing your cheeks, mushing them together before chuckling. In sadness, he spoke, “You remind me so much of her.” 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Theon; you hadn’t realized you drifted off. You straighten your posture as he moves behind you. You never realized how lean and tall he was. 

“I best be going.” You finally uttered a soft farewell to Bran, taking hold of him once more before passing one to Jon. You could see Theon’s gaze on you; you passed a glance over your shoulder, seeing the dark expression on his face. Quickly, you turn around, returning to your attention ahead of you. 

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed; you heard their voices first—muddled with each other, arguing over silly names. Bran's voice you heard first, dismissing the statements as he entered the kitchen. Sansa, Arya, and yourself had turned to meet them, eyes wide with wonder and exhilaration, watching Robb, Bran, Jon, and Theon bring pups into the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to the albino pup, nuzzled in Jon’s arms. With a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his ghostly white fur, his wet nose sniffing at your fingers as he yelped out a yawn. 

“Where on earth did you find these Direwolfs? They do not travel this far up North,” You finally announced. Theon moved to you, a singular wolf in his arms, the color of a flaxen silver color, almost white blonde color. You gently ran your fingers through his dirty fur; you plunked out the crumbled soil, blood, and leaves. Slowly, your eyes moved to Theon, whose fingers had danced along yours, aiding you in removing the dirt and leaves. Jon hummed in dismay as Theon gawked over you, his teeth gritted in irritation. The color on your cheeks rose as you mumbled soft phrases to the pup in his arms. Unamused, he finally turned his full attention to the pair. He watched Theon brush his hand against yours, mumbling something that briefly caused you to look away. Jon’s eyes flickered to Robb, who seemed to have an unamused expression laced on his face. They knew Theon’s admiration for you has grown, significantly since you have grown into womanhood. 

Intensely, he voiced, “You seem to have taken a liking to Direwolfs now, huh, Greyjoy.” Theon laughed loudly, and his chest shook as he threw his head back. His eyes fell on the bastard. Rolling his eyes, he watched him. Theon grew tired of Jon; he always felt that he wanted to  fuck want belonged to him. You weren’t really blood anyway; what was stopping him from fucking you. He always finds his way into sacred moments, checking in on you before bed. You always calmed him, explaining that he was your brother, born from the same blood. Theon would scoff, shifting away from you in your bed. His back was facing you as he decided it was time to depart, leaving you alone. 

Your eyes flickered between the two, along with everyone else. “Jon…” you hissed in frustration; his eyes glanced at you just briefly to catch the expression drawn on your face. Nothing else needed to be said; he could read everything about you; you were his best friend…his sister. The way your mouth twitched when you wanted him to shut up, your eyebrows would raise when you were confused or curious, and your eyes deadlocked on him when you grew angry with him. Jon mumbles an apology before turning his attention back to his albino pup. You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in your pups, their vermilion-brown eyes, and their fur color similarities. You huffed, taking hold of the trembling pup, the chilliness of his fur burning your skin as you cooed gently at the monster. 

“Jon’s right; Theon seems quite interested in many new things lately,” Robb spoke out, eyes still trained on his wolf. Your cheeks burned as you continued to pike through the debris riddled through your pup’s coat. 

***

In preparation for the King, your handmaidens tug at your hair. You grimaced, swatting them away, cursing them for their roughness and prudence. They were appointed by your mother, Caitlynn, whom you were not so fond of at the moment; in a slight urge of deviance, you snatched your head away from them. Your eyes burn into her, your lips tight as you hissed them out. Hesitant, the older crow had stepped in front, her eyes pale brown, her skin riddled with wrinkles and crevices. She opened her mouth and tried to find the right words to say, but much to her expectation, she did not. “Lady-”

“You are dismissed! Bring in the lanky girl; I love her hair! She has a head full of dark curls, maiden of Sansa; she’s gentle and easier to withstand on the eyes!” Your voice was strong, commanding the room just as your father’s. You stood tall, watching the woman cower in obedience, and with a nod, they rushed out. You wiggled out the attire, a dull and lifeless color your mother had decided was appropriate for the King. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him nor the Lannisters. Hundreds would soon gather in Winterfell and make it their home, muddling our paths and haven with their people. The door's opening captures your attention; the girl slowly walks in, her eyes filled with fear as she watches your nude form shyly. 

She bows, longer than needed. “M’lady,” her drawl was different from the rest; she didn’t speak properly, nor did she try. She was burdened with discoloration and freckles, her arms extended and irregular at her side. Her teeth were askew and stained a yellowish color. Yet, there was something pure about her; she screamed, her body jolting to the door, as Luan slowly shifted to her, his nose hung low and his eyes stalking her. Your eyes shifted to the Direwolf, who lurked in the shadows. “Luan,” you hissed out. You turned my attention to her, slightly laughing as you waved my hand towards Luan. 

“He’s harmless, tries to act Ghost, and slightly like Greywind.” You laughed, moving to the girl as you grabbed her hand; she stumbled behind you, and a soft smile played on her lips. You plopped down, hair flying about as you looked up at her. You began to speak, slow and calculated, “Please, may you do my hair. The wolf is no harm to you.” the maiden’s eyes widened at your request, her cheeks dusting slightly pink. 

The maiden picked at her hair; insecurities flushed through her stomach as she tugged on the deep skin of her bottom lip. She was never complimented before by boys in her village and certainly not by the men or women in Winterfell. Her mother always complained of boyish looks, the irregularity of her nose and the harshness of her skin, the scabs, sunburn, and the bug bites that did not go away. Her hair was always hanging on her shoulders and in wild curls, which she tamed with a mixture her grandmother taught her. Her eyes returned to the Eldest Stark girl; she nodded excitedly. 

A small, drawn on your face, “Then it is settled, you shall be my new lady in wait! I grow tired of the old hags my mother tries to force on me.” Your voice boomed as you stood up, your hands clasping her shoulders, tugging at her. Her cheeks burned as she watched the pup and the surroundings of her chambers, hands glued to her side as you were still nude. Time had slowly passed, her hand taking each strand and coating it with a strange concoction she brought into the room; it smelled sweet, and a soft aroma of honeydew filled the air. Staring at your reflection in the copper mirror, you finally felt beautiful; your hair framed the fullness of your face, contrasting against your grey eyes. You often were referred to as Jon’s twin despite being Robb’s; Caitlyn curses quietly to herself as she watches you and the bastard play. She would believe you were Jon's sibling if she hadn’t birthed and watched you milk her teat. Your grey eyes, which people often confuse with a dark obsidian, were that of Father’s and Jon’s. Your dark hairs framed your faces. Jon’s face was strong like Ned’s, while your look was subtle and kind. Yet, as she watched you two grow together, she saw no trace of Tully in you. 

You arrived slightly late to the arrival of the King and Queen; you squeezed beside Robb and Sansa, out of breath and irritated from the festivities already. Robb stood tall next to Father and still mirrored Mother, his crystal blue eyes washing over the gathering visitors before landing on you; he was stocky. His hair was a soft auburn color, much like his mother’s. He smirked momentarily, his body leaning closer as he pushed his words against the winter’s air, “Mother is going to have your head.” Your eyes flickered to the visitors flooding through the gate’s castle, drawing us in their sparkling gold, illuminating silvers, and polished steel. Their banners and knight galloped on their steads, heads held high as they looked down on us.  

Ser Jamie was the first to stand out, his blonde locks falling against his shoulder, bouncing occasionally. Father would often refer to it as “beaten gold.” Despite being on his stead, you could see that he towered over everyone, his cat-green eyes scanning through the ground, laying hold on Winterfell in disdain. Shifting through the knights, your eyes fell on a huskily built man, his nose long and hooked. His long, ravenous hair covered his scar that took hold of half of his face, his flesh black and pocketed with craters colored a deep red. You noticed that much of his face was gone; he had a stump for where his ear was meant to be and a protrusion of his jawbone. You saw the scars running down to his throat. 

“Ah, Ned, seeing your frozen face again is great!” Robert proclaimed, his voice beating through the silence, echoing from the walls and settling in the nothingness. He grabbed him by the face, laughing intensely as he looked at Caitlyn, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Robert stopped when approaching you, his face sunken as he glanced at you; you examined him, taking in the redness of his face and nose and the darkness under his eyes. You recalled the tales your Father told you in your youth, the ones of a handsomely Robert Baratheon, “a handmaiden’s fantasy”; you would giggle feverishly at the thought. Now, beholding him, his thick black hair falling against his burly shoulders, you now see that it was all just a fantasy. If you were to ever ponder deeply on what a King would look like, Robert Baratheon fit the criteria. 

Robert's heart burned in his chest, and his fingers danced with anxiety as he closed his hands. He reframed from reaching out to you, grasping your hair and chin, and wanting to kiss your lips gently– wanting you. He hadn’t seen you in ages, and you were but a child when he did. Lanky with a boyish smile much like Ned, and now you were wildly beautiful, much like Lyanna in her youth. The fullness of your lips, the cheekiness in your smile. He fondly grabbed your hand, nodding gently as he pressed a subtle kiss against the clothed glove. He spoke with a gentleness Ned hadn’t heard in years, “You remind me so much of her, Lyanna; you’re growing to be such a beautiful young lady.” Once completing his introduction to all the Stark children, Robert inquired about her grave sight, eyes flickering to Ned, wasting no more time on other formalities. His heart yearned for her touch and yearned for her kiss. He needed to see her, and Ned admired that of his old friend. 

***

You found yourself isolated with Luan, and his head nuzzled against your leg, your eyes watching the river flow and the grass dance in the chilled wind that kissed over Winterfell. Night soon fell upon Winterfell, and your mother would soon search for you. To scold you for arriving late to the arrival of the King and Queen and for having my hair in such a wildling state. You wanted her to cool down as much as possible, praying to the old Gods and the new that she would only give you a chastising look. Without moving your head, your eyes cut to the left as you heard the soft rustle of the overgrowth and crunch of leaves. Luan’s ears perked, his eyes shifting about. You thought it’d be Theon, and he always finds you no matter where you hid. He stalked you, slowly walking behind you, towering over you. But the footsteps were heavier; the sound of steel filled your ears. Finally, you found your voice, lowly you said, “Whose there?”

His voice was firm as he spoke, “You should be out here alone, M’lady.” You didn’t turn to face him right away; your heart slammed against your chest as you tried to recognize the voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw the scarred soldier, his face tight with irritation as he moved through the brush. You offered a meek smile, taking his appearance in more. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he began to speak, “It’s not safe,” was all he managed to voice out. 

You chuckled, returning your attention to the rushing water; the puddles formed as the fish rushed to the surface, causing ripples to spread until they touched land. You could feel him; his presence was looming and dark, and his eyes ran across your body, wondering how a petite girl could survive the harsh weather. Once again, you peeked at the unfamiliar knight, ��Sit.” It sounded more like a question than a command. You waited for a moment, and he didn’t move from his spot. Sighing, you lay back against the icy grass, letting the sun slightly warm you. “My name is-”

“I know your name,” The knight roughly hisses; he watched you in curiosity, taking in the fullness of your lips, the way your hair fell wildly around the fur that covered your shoulders. Your laugh kisses the air; he never a simple sound could hold much beauty. 

“Well, Ser, you have me at a disadvantage,” he watched how your mouth moved when you spoke; he watched you lick your lips, your tongue quickly out to coat your bottom lip. He suddenly felt nervous, an odd trait; his fingers tingled as he clenched them against his side. He was self-conscious, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you would surely be in disgust, like every woman does, like the whores do, just like everyone does. 

“The Hound,” he finally pronounces; your eyes open slowly, body twisting to stand up, Luan following in her footsteps. You look at him with a softness he has yet to experience. Finally, a smile captures your lips, filling up your entire face. 

“Sandor Clegane, my father has taught me some things.” He watched you, not understanding your disposition; he was a monster and has always been treated as such. Now, this girl is treating him as if they are equals. “Come, why don’t you walk me back to Winterfell? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You spoke through your boisterous laugh that shocked Sandor; it was solid and full of life. His mouth twitched into a smile as he followed behind you. You talk about simple things, nothing that holds any particular interest to Sandor. Still, he listens, soaking in your words, the way you speak so furiously when passionate about something, the pauses in your speech to ensure that he wasn’t growing tired of your rambles. Every time you looked back to catch his eyes, they were focused on you. All you did was smile in contentment, turning back to the path. Silence soon fell over you both; it was tense, yet it was calm; the only sound that could be heard was your footsteps crunching on the earth and the sound of his sword slightly clanging against his armor. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Sandor pauses, halting in his footsteps, noticing you stopped before him. Your head is slightly positioned up to look up at him. You noticed that he was extremely tall, possibly taller than Ser Jamie but definitely taller than Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark. 

His voice was harsh and raspy when he spoke, “Let’s get you back to Winterfell, Little Wolf.” You let out a laugh, pressing your hand against his armor to prevent him from moving forward. Sandor quickly grabbed your wrist; you winced at his aggressiveness, slightly tugging away from him. Sandor loosened his hold on you but still held your hand against his chest. He repeated his statement, his hand letting go of her wrist as you nodded slowly. You watched him before turning around and returning to your trek back to Winterfell. 

You arrived a few moments later, thanking him for his company. You bid him farewell before parting to your chambers. 

Caitlyn's voice oozed with frustration; she thudded through the halls, grabbing your upper arm. “Where were you? Are you okay?” her face churning into one of concern; you nodded gently, tugging your arm away from her. She swallowed thickly. You noticed her eyes were a deep red, her face drained of color. Something was wrong. You could see the anxiety moving through her, her hand's shakiness and her lips tremble. Luan whined at your side, brushing himself against your thigh. His whine increased as they churned into a soft growl. 

“Mom?” you managed, “What happened?” She turned away from you, shutting her eyes as their tears flew down her collarbone. She choked back a sob. 

“I told him to stop climbing, I told him-” 

“Mom! Is it Bran? What the hell happened!” You screamed; you pushed passed her, rushing through the handmaidens, screaming out your brother’s name. You stumbled upon Jon and Robb; you frantically searched their eyes. You heard the howls of his unnamed pup, Luan, stir with anxiety as he began to howl. Jon stalked towards you. You shook your head, punching at his arms as they reached for you. “He’s dead? Is he dead!” 

“No” was all Jon managed to let out, his eyes fluttering to Caitlyn as she watched him comfort you. She hated him. You hugged him, and you cried in his chest as your legs abruptly gave out. Robb rushed to your side, gently placing his hand on your back and whispering comforting words to you. “Let’s go see him,” your words were getting caught in your throat, burning as they tried rising to the surface. All you could do was nod at his command.

***

The crisp morning burned your lungs, and the unnamed Pup howled all night. You were irritated with him; you tried silencing him and even tried to pry him away from Bran, but he wouldn’t leave his side, rightfully so. Now, you walked through the Winterfell with Luan in search of quietness and stillness. You hissed in frustration as Luan rammed his head against your leg, his whines falling from him. He grew more irritable and anxious as the days passed. The constant whine of the unnamed pup sent him on edge. He sat, looking at you through his vermillion eyes. He huffed in disobedience before lying down in the middle of the street. “Luan,” you hissed, pushing at his body. He huffed once more, shutting his eyes and letting out soft yelps and whines. “Luan, get up!” 

Outside, Tyrion stood, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he descended the library's stairs. Sandor Clegane’s voice, raspy in nature, kissed his ears –he spoke, “The boy is taking a long time to die. I wish he would be quicker about it.”

“At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”

“I could silence the creature if it pleased you,” he spoke; his eyes shifted to you, and he instantly regretted his words. He watched you move to your knees, hands tugging him to his feet as he fell limp against you. His squire placed a longsword in his hand, and he sliced through the morning air, testing the weight of it. He returned it to the boy, shaking his head gently. His eyes fell back to you, hearing you beg the pup to get up. “Luan, please stop acting like a brat!” Luan, that was his name, an odd name for a Pup. Luan bared his teeth at you, growling loudly as he captured everyone’s attention; it was a deep guttural sound. As he followed you, you rose to your feet in anger, his head tilted low. Yet, you stood firm, watching the pup testing his dominance against you. 

“Luan!” you shouted. Sandor hated to admit the heaviness and authority in your voice sent chills down him, prickling at his skin; it was harsher than the frigid winds. Your voice reminded him of your father’s, stern and full of strength; it was so different from Sansa's and similar to Arya’s. Sandor watched you sigh, kneeling back down as you cuffed his cheeks. Joffrey flinched as his eyes turned to you; they all watched you in bewilderment. 

“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, and the Starks would never miss one… maybe two.” Joffrey snorted as his gaze fell to his Imp Uncle, who was hopping off the last steps in the yard.

“The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name,” Joffrey scoffed as blush dusted across his cheeks, and he became irritated with the drabble of his Uncle. His eyes flickered to his dog, who seemed infatuated with the Stark girl. You watched the expression change in the dog’s face. He admitted that the Stark held more beauty than the younger one. 

Joffrey let out a cackle, “Go speak to her!” his voice whined in a command; Sandor looked at him, face burning with frustration and embarrassment. “Go on, dog; maybe your presence might calm the mutt.” They watched as he approached you, nervously tapping his fingertips. You could feel his presence behind you, his long shadow casting over you and Luan. His presence was looming and heavy; you didn’t tear your graze away from Luan. 

“Sandor, what a pleasure,” you finally spoke; you turned to look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you moved to your feet. The rush of air sucked into his nose, and you smelt soft and warm. His head rolled toward Luan, his words failing him as he stood there aloof. “Everyone’s going through a rough time, even the Pups. Luan took it a bit harder. He enjoyed Bran's company. Probably more than Jon’s and Ghost.” You stop, looking away as the mention of his name sends a frenzy of emotions through you. 

“Everything will be alright, Little Wolf,” he huffed as he felt you wrap your arms around him. His freezing armor pierced your skin to the touch, numbing you as you dug deeper into his rigidness. His hands gripped at your shoulders in shock, unable to do anything but hold them there. His eyes moved to her overgrown Pup; he stalked around them, his head brushing against the back of his leg affectionately. Pulling away, he noticed the red mark forming on her, her eyes swelling with emotions, and her lip trembled. His gloved finger brushed against her face in slight desperation and wonder; quickly, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it closer to her face, and soon his hand was cuffing her cold skin. She nuzzled into his touch as a dog would, tears soaking her skin and his glove. 

Softly, you mumbled a thank you. Sandor was cold again, the air chilling around him as he watched you walk away with Luan. He forced the emotions down as he hissed to himself; he knew this was one of Joffrey’s games; a woman as delicate and beautiful as yourself would never want him. His teeth gritted as he turned back around, seeing that Joffrey held onto his cheeks and the tiny Lord scolded him. In a hurry, Joffrey rushed off, leaving Tyrion and himself for just a moment. 

You headed to your chambers, allowing Luan to lay by Bran’s side with his unnamed Pup; you thought the gesture was sweet. Moving into your chambers, you began to undress, asking one of the maidens preparing your bed to get Lilly for you. They nodded, bowing before scurrying to fetch your Lady. 

Confused, you slowly watched the tall figure move into your chambers. You began to recognize the presence of Sandor; he towered over every object that cluttered your chambers. You were expecting your handmaiden. Gasping, you pulled the robe tighter against your body as you watched him in surprise. “Sandor,” you breathlessly called out, “What are you doing in here?” 

He shook his head, “You’re tricking me!” his voice bellowed; in a hurry, you rushed to him, shushing him gently. You noticed his attire was different, a dull red-colored tunic with a hound emblem stitched to his right breast. You could smell the stale wine; it radiated off him. 

“I know not what you speak of; please keep your voice down. My mother and father would kill me if they saw a man in my chambers.” Your hand reached up their face, wanting to calm him. You gasped as you felt him yank at your arm. “Sandor, what is the matter?”

“Is this one of insipid Prince’s jokes? Or what, you mocking me girl?” his voice low as he brought his face closer to yours; you could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath flushed against his face. Hesitantly, you let your other hand move to his face; he flinched at your touch, never feeling a warmth like this. You parted lips softly, trying to find some words to say. Your thumb traced against his scarred face, feeling the grooves and imperfections. “Don’t,” his voice laced with desperation as he shut his eyes. Anger washed over him, as he continued to glare at you.

Your lips parted again, as you tried searching for the right words, but how could you even explain it? Explain your fast-growing feelings for him. “I–I” your voice shaking as Sandor brought his eyes to you. You gasped as you felt his lips clashing with yours, his hands wrapping around your lower back, tugging you closer to him and bringing you to the tips of your toes. You gasped as you felt, grabbing his hand, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up, letting your hands rest against your ass. You gasped, as he tugged at your bottom lip. You yelp as you feel yourself connect to the bed; he towers over you; lust fills his eyes as he tugs at your leg, pulling you closer to him. He climbs on top of you, his lips pressing against your neck and chest. You could see him fumbling with his trousers, as he pauses. 

“Can I?” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze momentarily. In awe, you nodded, fumbling to remove your sleeping garment. Hastily, he grabs your breasts, allowing them to fill up in his hands before letting them go. You sucked in a deep breath as he flipped over, placing you on his stomach. His hand reaches your hips, forcing you to push your ass out, revealing your wet and dripping cunt. Rubbing his hand on his aching cock, he shoves it inside you without warning. Your hand clutches your blankets as you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. He wiggled you slightly, letting your wetting spread through his cock. His hand grips your thighs as he begins to grind deeper inside you slowly, your body twisting in pleasure. You stifle a moan as you slap your hand against your lips. You struggled to breathe as he pounded himself inside you, the aggressive slaps filling the silence of the air. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer with each thrust into your tight pussy. Sandor groans in bliss, as he feels you clenching around his cock, the feeling of your hand clawing at his hands for some sort of release. 

Your whole body at his disposal, twitching from euphoria as he continued to pound his cock into your pussy. Your face contorts in pleasure, as his fingers move to your clit. You feel the heat building up to your face, gasping; you moan silently, stuffing your face in the pillows that decorated your bed. Pathetically, you moaned out his name, “Sandor,” a shudder traveled down his spine at the sound of his name being released from your lips. He finally opened his eyes, taking hold of the perfect ass bouncing against his cock and how you tried to contain yourself from being too loud. He never had a whore moan his name, nor did he like hearing it. But, it was something about the neediness in your voice, The way your hands tangled in his. He didn’t mind all too much; he didn’t mind your index finger and thumb tried wrapping itself around the palm of his hand. He didn’t mind the soft coos of his name falling from your lips. 

All mine, He thought.

Sandor snapped back from his thoughts as he felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching as he felt himself becoming sloppy and desperate to cum. His breaths are heavy and shaky. His body twitches as he spills his seed into you, spewing against his cock and your pussy. He pulls you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continues to fuck you, his grunts filling your ear, as his hand travels to your nipple. Sandor didn’t want the bliss to end; he didn’t want to be outside you—outside this room. You lay your arms on him, feeling the heat radiating from his dewy skin. Your breast bounced harshly, slapping against each other as he mercilessly fucks you. Your pussy clenched against him, your head falling into the crock of his neck, as you moaned out his name once more. Desperately, trying to find more words. Your head moved to his face, gently stroking his cheek in admiration and passion. He shrugs you off, moving his head back to avoid your touch. 

He felt himself climaxing; he couldn’t contain his moans, as they fell through the room's silence. He filled you up, jutting as he thrusted weakly into you. You fell to the bed, your arms weak as you pushed yourself to watch Sandor. He was fixing himself, avoiding your gaze. In a daze, you called out his name. He continued to dress himself, his back facing you. Now confused, you moved off your bed, stumbling towards and touching his back. He left the room; the cold air breezed against your naked body as you stood in the middle of the floor. You open to mouth to call his name, but nothing comes of it. 

“M’lady!” Your handmaiden spoke, slamming the door as she wrapped you in your robe. “Everything alright?”

Still in a daze, you nod. The emotions were building in your throat as you choked them down. “You reek of sex, M’Lady… let’s clean you up before people notice!” Lilly whispers, her hand gently pressing against your back as she tugs you further into your chambers.

It has been months since you last felt his touch; you knew he was avoiding you. His eyes never met yours when you were trapped in some isolated corner in Winterfell. His voice was harsh when he spoke to you, and his eyes were dull and emotionless. You tried grabbing his hand, but he pulled it away, huffing in annoyance before moving around you. You couldn’t breathe, your eyes swelling with tears as you sucked in a slow breath. Theon noticed the sudden change in your behavior, how you curled away from his touch and avoided his kiss and sexual advances. 

You watched as Lilly packed your chest. “It’s gonna be lovely! You’ll certainly find a suitor in Kings Landing!” 

“I’m not searching for any suitors.” You responded shortly; she nodded, understanding that she might have upset you. Shaking your head, you mumbled out an apology. “I instead want to stay here with Bran, not travel with my father and sisters to watch my sister marry that little boy,” Lilly laughs, rolling her eyes at your stubbornness. You two had become close, and she would often teach the ways of the “wild,” as she would like to put it simply. The burning of herbs masked the smell of sex and other odors—the concoctions she made when you felt ill. Lilly first noticed when you became increasingly irate at the same things, screaming and fussing at her as the months passed. She would hurry and remove the sheet, swapping them with that of her own. She then noticed that you weren’t bleeding, the sheets stained with a slight pinkish hue but nothing deep enough to be considered. She undressed you one night, letting the smoke engulf you as you lazily let her. Your mind was gone, and your happiness drained. She knew you weren’t the same after your night with Sandor…much less any of the following nights with Theon.

Lilly bathed you, your head against the tub as she watched you. She knew; she sensed it. She scrubbed your leg, sighing as she pleaded you wouldn’t think less of her. “I can help you, M’Lady, but you must trust me.” You nodded, closing your eyes and opening yourself to her. You hissed as you felt her insert something into you. It was hard, and you felt as you clenched and adjusted yourself. Lilly let you lay there, unmoving in the bath, as she gently combed your hair. The following days, you gruesomely bleed.

Lilly whispers a response as she is brought back to reality. “Mm, maybe it’ll do’ya some good to get away from ‘ere” 

It did not; you traveled with your sisters and father back to Kings Landing, the carriage jolting at any little divet in the road. Ayra’s head rested on your lap as she tried to lull herself to sleep for the majority of the voyage, but she always failed in her efforts. “We need to stop!” You finally shouted, your voice carrying throughout, your eyes shut in irritation. “I need to breathe; I am suffocated!” Ned laughed, his head waving to the coachman, signaling us to stop. Arya rose gently, her dark grey eyes watching you intently; she was always suspicious after confiding in Jon that you would cut off your and join the black. Jon laughed, tossing his hand against your shoulder, saying that you were too beautiful ever to be considered a man. 

You tugged on the inside of your cheek. “I need a moment’s peace.” Hurriedly you removed yourself from the carriage, sucking in the fresh air- you coughed slightly. It was nothing like the frigid crisp air in the North; it burned at your throat and nose, leaving you numb. You moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stumbling over stumps and shallow holes. You pressed your head against a tree, shutting your eyes tightly. No matter how far you ventured, you could still feel the carriage walls surrounding you, beating closer and closer. You licked your dry lips, gasping as you felt a hand wrap around your shoulders. With wide eyes, you were now facing Sandor. 

“What?” You grumbled out, snatching your body away from him and finally getting a good look at him after weeks. You wanted to hold him… no, slice his throat open and beat him until he lay bloody on the ground. He used you.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Rolling your eyes, you snatch your dress into your face, moving deeper into the forest, your exposed skin snatching on thorn-ridden branches. You could hear the branches cracking under his weight, and he called out your name low and needy. He hated seeing you upset, the way your round eyes scanned his face, searching for something. He was behind you in one stride, grabbing at your arm and tugging you against him. You kept your gaze ahead, watching the leaves swirl in the wind, the branches dancing briefly. It was eerily quiet, and you loved it. It was filled with silence and not with Sansa mentioning for the hundredth time her plans for the future, Arya not needlessly picking at your dress, and Father not snoring. It was peaceful. Sandor dipped his head down, taking in your scent, his lips nipped at your escaped next. 

“Don’t,” you whispered, unmoving. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to create some friction. Your breaths are uneven and heavy, your fingers twitching to hold his unto his. His other hand shifted slightly, fiddling with his armor. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fuck me when you’re feeling needy” Your back still faces him. 

Sandor never knew the right words, so he didn’t speak much. “Mm,” The silence of the forest grew; it engulfed you and burned your ears. You spun around. 

“Leave me. Tell my father I will return soon.” Your voice barely above a whisper, Sandor reached out for you, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, snatching you closer to him. You felt his lips against yours, and he kissed you harshly. Lips molded against each other as your arms snaked around his neck, pushing yourself closer. He ran his fingers over your waist as gently as he tried to be, dancing back to your ass. 

Your lips unexpectedly separated with a smack, “If I wanted to be in some cunt, I would get some.” You stood there, flustered and confused. The words did not yet make sense to you as he watched him through a daze. He pulled away slowly, letting your hands fall against his armored chest before smacking to your side. 

Getting to Kings Landing took a few more weeks; you were not excited about it. You hated how the people dressed and looked at you, gawking at the Starks. On the other hand, Sansa was rather excited; with wide eyes, she took hold of Kingslanding and marveled at the tall structures and beautiful castles. Arya stuck by your side, her hand wrapped around yours as you both moved through hesitantly. Your eyes caught hold of Sandor’s; quickly, you looked away, following the progression into the Red Keep. You felt a hand gently touch your back; you flinched casting your gaze to your left as you saw an older woman gazing at you. “Why don’t I show you to your chambers, Lady Stark,” Your eyes flickered to your father, who gave a quick nod of approval. You tugged on your bottom lip, praying that he would take him with you to indulge in his political affairs. Ned could see that you were hesitant, and he pressed a sympathetic smile on his lips. His rough hands fell against your shoulder, bringing you closer. You smell him; you inhale powerfully, taking in the familiarity. He smelled of the walls of Winterfell, the crisp and coolness of the North’s air. 

“Go, I will check on you soon,” He spoke lowly, his thumb quickly brushed against your cheek before shooing you with one of the handmaidens. 

Just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone.

[perkqularkreashions]

Hey lovely, I was wondering if you'd be willing to do a second part to your Chasing Pavements fic, I really want to know what happens next! No worries if not.

It's posted!! Enoy

[perkqularkreashions]

Sinful Divination

Part One: Chasing Pavements

AN: I am sooo sorry for the long wait time; I hope you guys like it! 

TW/CW: Mentions: Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Molestation, Child Pregnancy, Mentions of Miscarriage, Mentions of Child Murder. PLEASE CHECK YOUR TRIGGERS!!

Happy Readings!

COLD. It was uncomfortably cold, the kind that pained you when you finally relaxed your body to the surface; it was the only sensation YN felt as her body pressed against a rusted metal pipe. She was bonded by duct tape and rope, her wrists shifting and moving as she tried to create space to escape. Her wrists were raw and burned at the slightest moment; her senses were distorted, and she didn’t know if it had been three days or 20 minutes. The hum of light drilled into the silence, her eyes blurred from the tears and chemicals that knocked her out. In a panic, she aggressively yanked at the restraints. She tried to remain emotionless, but everything weighed on her; her eyes began to water as her lips quivered against the cloth in her mouth. Her chest heaving, as she slightly adjusted herself. The reality was harshly setting in. He spoke, yet YN didn’t hear him, his voice drowning in nothingness. Startled by the abrupt sound, her eyes snapping to his. His eyes were wide and full of excitement, dried blood painted on his face and clothes. Despite his seemingly clean look, his skin smelled of a strong bar soap, and his hair was slightly wet and had slight suds. YN took note of his hair, the color of his eyes, the curve of his chin, the deepness of his Cupid’s bow, his build, and the straightness of his teeth—the flaxen color of his skin riddle with freckles and healed lacerations. A necklace with a pendant that was tucked in his shirt; it was silver in color and looked to be a saint… He was catholic.

She sucked in a deep breath; maybe, she could appeal to his better nature as a Catholic. She shook the idea out of her head as she closed her eyes, waiting for him to strike.

“YN…YN….YN LN. It was just my luck to see you, walking down the street. Arms tucked underneath each other. Your wet clothes clinging to you, the way your hair falls against your face. The way you held me to pick up my papers when they fell. Beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers sliding against her face and moving from her brow to her lips. She didn’t snatch herself away; that was what Maria Cassidy did; he bludgeoned her to death with a hammer. He was quick to anger; YN knew she had to be still and gentle with him until the BAU could find her… until they could save her. She flinched slightly as he plopped beside her, eye to eye. His nose brushes against her; he moans softly, squeezing her shoulders tightly. “I’m sorry, I’m getting too ahead of myself. I never thought you’d notice me..U-Until you did!”

His hand moved to her lips, dry from the cloth and stained with tears. He grabbed at the back of her neck; she watched him fearfully. “I trust you, so I am going to take this off. Don’t make me regret this,” he mumbled against her lips. She nodded gently. With a swift tug, she could close her mouth and swallow. Her throat burned with the sensation of the salvia running down her throat. He smiled widely, his hands clasped around her face as he kissed harshly against her lips. His tongue darting against mouth, with disdain, she kissed back. Her eyes, were open as she watched him. He pulled away; she quickly closed them. Opening slowly, pressing a feigned smile against her lips. 

Everyone watched the screen in disgust; the only sound was clicking the keys against Garcia’s fingers. Occasionally, she would peak at the net but couldn’t stomach it. “She has to be related to all this,” Emily whispered in disbelief. “She has to be.” She spoke louder, turning her attention to the group. “He knows her, maybe from grade school or a youth group. She participated in band, Youth Art, maybe even the church?”

“The only record I’m seeing is high school and college; there was no record that she even went to a public or even private elementary or middle school,” Garcia mumbled, as she continued typing, her eyes snapping from the computer screen to the monitor. Garcia gasped as a hand collided with her face, her body jerking as she let out a soft yelp. Her head dangling for a moment as she yanked herself back. Another blow to her face, as he spits at her. She needed to keep calm and restrain herself from the noises that filtered out of her lips. He punched her again; she gasped as her head dropped against her. The unsub’s hand tangled itself in her hair as he raised her head, revealing her face to the camera. “Now, let’s play a little game. If you get these answers wrong, I'll cut you.  Simple and Fun!”

“This is a completely different M.O. than his other victims. He tortures them on camera and doesn’t utter a word. He feels comfortable. As he wants her to know it’s him. Garcia, we need you to dig deeper into how he communicates with them and how he looks at her. He has to know her.” Spencer spoke, his eyes analyzing how the unsub moved; he was careful in his movements as he was afraid to hurt her. 

“Maria, she was pretty. She was always just that, pretty. Do you remember her crime against the God?” the unsub whispers.

“N-no, I-” his knife glided against her face, blood spewing out; she hissed momentarily, biting her lip as she shut her eyes. JJ and Garcia cringed, watching the knife drag from the brow to the apples of her cheek. 

JJ explains in a hurried voice, pushing another laptop on the table, “The first victim didn’t go to the same school as her; they didn’t even grow up in the same neighborhood. They went to rival schools.” 

“What about, Helena?” Everyone’s attention turned to the monitor. 

“She had an abortion and later tried to commit suicide,” YN answered quickly; she remembered that day in school. The halls were eerily quiet that day. She woke up, her bare feet slapping against the ground as she moved to the shared bathroom. She searched for her roommate; they always woke around the same time. A loud caw snapped YN back into her thoughts as she opened the bathroom. Seeing her body laid in the bathtub, filled with a mixture of water and her blood. She stumbled back, letting out a scream. She screamed for Sister Rose, Sister Anika, and Jesus. They rushed into the room, eyes moving to the tub. “Call Father!” Sister Rose would scream as she dragged Helena out of the tub, grabbing the display and wrapping it around her arms. She survived and was placed right back in the facility after her repentance. 

“What about Margot?” he hummed, the knife danced along her skin. 

She shivered, “She succumbed to her flesh,” he laughed with glee. 

“And what about you? Mm?” Yn froze; watching him closely, she shook her head. Her eyes flickered back to the camera. His eyes flickered down, tracing over a scar resting at her stomach's base. YN screamed as she plunged the knife slightly into the scar, yanking harshly to the left. Snatching the knife out, he watches her squirm against the restraints. “You are a whore! You don’t remember, that day. I do; I remember, you adjusting your blouse as he stumbled out of his office. You smelled of sin, but you smiled at me, you smiled at me, you smiled at me. You smiled at me.” He plunged the knife into her leg, and she gasped, the air getting stuck in her throat as he yanked it out. Chocking on pain and air, she sucked in cool air around her. 

He cut at the restraints behind her, pushing her on her back. He brought himself to his knees, his face scanning her body before moving back to her eyes. He caressed her gently before moving his hand to the hem of her shirt. YN froze, her eyes wide in distress as she soon began to recognize him, his features tugging together to create a vivid picture in her mind. Her heart stabbed against her chest, her head shaking softly as she mumbled softly, “Please don’t.” She couldn’t recall his name. He was always just around, thick circular framed glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose. His hand played with each as he spoke, sat, walked, and did anything. He was often frightened and hid behind the oak desk, that Headmaster Fletcher would rape her on. His eyes would peek over to hers, full of tears and soft pleads. After Headmaster Fletcher was done, he’d kiss the top of her head before leaving YN alone with him. 

His knife met the Cesarean scar; she couldn’t feel it for a moment. Feel him dragging his across the dewiness of her skin, the pain not yet reaching her brain, she sat there in a state of acceptance and solitude. Just as she did when she was a kid. The smell of burning sage and vanilla candles filled her senses, and she was back sitting on his leather couch, hands placed on her lap as she anxiously waited for him to speak. She finally apologized, her eyes brimming with tears as she met the eyes of her father and uncle. “I have sinned” was all she was able to muster out.

 YN was yanked out of thoughts, from a searing pain in her abdomen; she screamed out and jerked upwards, causing him to lose his balance. Violently, she shook, her legs flailing about, wanting to put as much distance from the unsub and herself, finally freeing your right hand from imprisonment.

“I'm pregnant,” YN cries out, “Please, I’m pregnant,” she whispers again. Their eyes met before the unsub’s moved back to her stomach. He thought she was lying; she wouldn’t keep this information from him; she knew she was lying. His grip tightens on the knife as he watches her in disbelief. 

“You’re a liar,” He screams erratically; he shakes his head for a moment. YN yanked at one arm, slipping it from the already loosened restraint; she didn’t have time to subdue him. She saw his hand raise steadily, and without thinking, she blocked her stomach. The knife collided with her palm. YN was stuck, her mind warping to insignificant details that surrounded her. She could suddenly see everything happening outside: the chirp of the bugs, the soft drops of the rain against the roof, and the hum of the air conditioning turning on and off. The wind howled in the night sky. The way the house shook when trucks drove past.  She could feel his breath against her face and the smell of Bourbon and cheese. He yanked the knife back, and finally, her eyes flickered to his. A look of terror was written on his face. Slowly, the unsub’s eyes shifted to her stomach, now covered with blood.

Garcia screamed, her hands slapping against her mouth as she watched the scene before her. Tears burned her eyes as her mascara streaked across her face. “W-who,” the unsub spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Aaron watched the shift in his demeanor; he cared. His face scrunched in dismay at the news, and his body shifted away from him as if he were a scorned lover. 

“He’s family,” Aaron started, his eyes shifting to everyone, landing on Spencer’s momentarily. “I remember, her saying that she went to this-” 

“Catholic Boarding School funded by her church when she was younger,” Spencer finished; everyone was brought back to life, over-talking one another to connect her life to the unsub. 

“I-I don’t know,” YN admitted, “I’m four months along with twins.” Both Spencer and Aaron were standing, gawking at the screen. Emily watched the both of them, as they were trying to register what was going on.  

The unsub stood up quickly, “I will get you a towel for the blood.” With that, he was gone. His footsteps retreated upstairs as the door slowly creaked shut. 

“It’s still raining; we are still in Virginia. The forest surrounds him, maybe a one-lane highway. You could feel the house shaking when trucks go past. He lives alone; he went to an all-boys charter school; when I was 13, I got pregnant, and my parents sent me to an all-girls catholic school. He was punished heavily during his stay. Our father abused the girls, but I never suspected the boys. I see scars and healed bruising shaped like a paddle and whips. He wears a necklace Nicodemus—a saint in the bible.  It was our saint, too.” Garcia vigorously typed as she searched through her databases, typing in one screen before transferring to another. “Spence… Aaron – I am so sorry,” she whispers out. 

The unsub came back downstairs, a towel in his hand with some alcohol and gaze. “You don’t-” he shushes her, grabbing her hand. YN hissed in pain, squirming as he doused her hand in alcohol. 

“It was like when we were kids, remember.” 

. Finally, she was looking at him. She saw him. His hand pressed on the wound as he robotically cleaned it up, just like when they were kids. She remembered his darkened face as she lay restless on the ground, blood pooling on her legs and the mahogany wooden floors. He hesitantly rubbed her thighs and would mumble apologies, but nothing would stop her from sobbing in her elbow.

“Thomas Fletcher, 26, went to Saint Nicodemus school for troubled youth. They had a school for girls and boys. But, it doesn’t seem like this school was doing good for the “troubled” youth. The head minister was charged with 29 counts of child molestation and rape cases. None of the girls testified, and the charges were dropped against him without their testimonies. That’s not all; half of the girls attending this school were pregnant, not by him but by many of the pastors and advisors who came to speak with them about bettering their lives. YN LN had her child on December 25, a healthy baby boy. She named him, Ezekial LN, but he now goes by Zeke LN and is legally adopted by her MaryAnn and Paul Fletcher, the former headmistress and minister of Saint Nicodemus. On the birth certificate, the parents are listed as YN LN and Paul Fletcher, the head minister. For three years, YN was legally married to him.” Garcia moved her findings to the screen. 

Rossi’s face contoured in dismay as he watched the BAU. “How could her parents let their child go through with something so traumatizing?” 

“Because it was her uncle,” Garcia whispered. Her fingers moved swiftly, as she pointed to the screen. News articles block the camera, showing black-and-white photos of YN’s father and the pastor. “Her father was the church pastor and appointed his brother to the head minister of his charter school.” A picture of YN pixeled on the screen, her hair tied behind her, her face emotionless as she held a minor plague in her hand that covered her stomach. “Her uncle raped her, and her father covered it up.”

“We need to know the properties listed in her father’s name,” Aaron demanded. Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared; he feared losing YN, just like how he lost Hayley. He knew there was a chance that the children weren’t his, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted back in their home, lying in their bed. 

“There’s a house, just bordering the Appalachian mountains. The address is, 5687 Wieme Road, Wise, Virginia, only 45 minutes away from her,” she pronounces. The team moved; no words were spoken as they gathered into their respective cars, ready to save YN. 

Spencer’s heart was racing against his chest, his gum aimed in front of him as he watched his surroundings, eyes flickering from left to right, trying to capture every minute detail. The basement door was ajar; Aaron moved first, wasting no time to rush down the stairs, gun aiming at Thomas’s head. He hadn’t yet noticed, the BAU filling the room, carefully, one foot over the either they closed in. 

“Thomas Fletcher,” Rossi called out, his finger dancing along the trigger as he watched the man freeze. “It’s over. Drop the weapon.” Thomas held his hands up slowly, his eyes flickering to YN, pleading for her to help. All she could do with laugh, tears blinding her as she sat up slowly, letting her body fall limp against the metal beam. Her sobs echoed through the room, her hand pressed against her stomach as she exhaled. 

She gasped softly, feeling the blanket tossed over her shoulder. Aaron knelt, cuffing her face as he watched her. “You okay?” he whispers, and she nods frantically. Wrapping her arms around him, she let out a quiet sob. 

She repeats through her sobs, “I’m okay.” Aaron’s arm wrapped around her lower back, bringing her closer. “Are you mad at me?” she could barely find her voice. 

“No…no, please, I could never be mad at you. I love you.” He pulls away, cuffing her face, taking in all her features. The bruises that started to form, the laceration marks, her busted lip. He grew angry; he should’ve killed him and killed him for hurting her, killed for almost killing his children. Aaron moved, as the paramedics came, kneeling beside her. The rest of the team joined, scared she would be gone again if they left her sight. 

They moved her to the back of the ambulance, and the last to see her was Spencer; she was searching for him. He climbed in the back, asking for a moment alone, in which he happily obliged. He sat down. “I love you, YN – I know you love me too. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. Even if they aren’t mine,” he whispers. Standing up, Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead. He held it there as he tried holding in his emotions. 

“Wait, Spence, please don’t go,” YN whispers. Spencer smiled, sitting back as he took her hand, while the other gently rested against her stomach.

[perkqularkreashions]

Dogs Days Are Not Over

Requested | YES. Request | OPEN.

~M~ TWD Imagine: YN finds herself in an impossible situation when she is met with her former lover.

Word Count: 4,667

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Miscarriage, Mentions of Death.

Pairings: Negan X Reader, Dwight X Reader, Rick X Reader [Previous]

Author's note, this is the fourth request I've seen where the reader is pregnant lol; I have two more with Spencer Reid.

Happy Readings :)

NEGAN stirred gently, his back facing me as he groaned. The voices erupted in the halls, signaling that it was morning, another day of being completely absorbed by the idiocy Negan decided to keep in his company. Moments passed before he rose from the bed, dragging his limp body through the room, finding anything to toss on. He spoke softly to me last night, for the first time in a long time. His hand rubbed against me while his lips kissed my neck, gently lulling me to sleep, but I knew in the morning he would be back to sulking and carrying this attitude. We had been arguing for the last few days, and small things turned into big things that snowballed into us not talking for some days. “I want to go get Michael to check out,” he finally pronounces, his back still facing me as he pulls on some clothes. 

“Negan,” I whispered, sitting in our bed, shifting slightly as he dismissed me. The door slammed behind him, and I was left alone. This time, it wasn’t a tiny fight over Dwight flirting with me or me getting jealous of his other wives; I overheard one of his dick-riding minions talking about the current raid that they partook in. They recounted the names in glee, the names of the victims that Negan bludgeoned, Abraham and Glenn. I froze, and my face grew warm as I listened closer to the words tumbling out of their mouths—the gargling of his words and the look of desperation on the woman’s face. I moved to the man, but I grabbed my gun and slammed it against his temple before I could process anything that had happened. Over and over again, I drew the butt of my gun to his face. My eyes burned with tears and blood. My feet slid against the ground as I felt arms wrap around me. It was one hit, a solid punch against my jaw, and another to my temple; I heard a loud crack. 

I fell limp to the floor, a cold hand pressing against my face. His thumb rubbed gently against my skin. I could smell the stale cigarettes and beer on him. His voice was barely above a whisper. I could scarcely see his face, but I knew it was Dwight. I flinched away from him, slowly pushing him away. “Negan will kill you if he sees you,” was all I could mutter before, succumbing to darkness.  

Now, roughly two days later, I have a bruised and darkened eye. I could barely see from my left eye; bright lights irritated me, and I suffered frequent migraines – Negan would call it a suitable punishment for a disrespectful woman. I wore a patch that Dwight had found on one of his excursions. Negan didn’t take too kindly to it, and me jumping to his defense wasn’t helping the situation either. Negan commanded one of the wives to nurse me back to health; with disdain and twisted face, she did so. She changed my bandages from my worsening eye and cleaned the wounds. This morning was no different; she came with a slight frown upon seeing me. She sighed, setting down her materials. “When are you going to tell him?” she finally spoke as she damped a discolored clothe to my eye. 

After moments of silence, I finally responded, “What.” She laughed before snatching her hand away from my face. 

“You’re pregnant, getting into stupid fights with David? He punched you in the stomach, YN, and the only reason you blacked out like that was because that was your old crew.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head softly. 

“There’s no need; he’s not talking to me. I feel fine.” I confided in Rachel often, and on one of my drunken nights, I told her that Michael was the group leader's son to whom I used to belong. It was easier to think he was dead than to believe that Rick was dead. I mourned for Rick, Carl, Glen, Maggie, Abraham, Tara, Sasha, Daryl, and Michonne. I told her about my sisters and Beth’s death, and I told her about first meeting Rick and his family. She listened, soaked in every word as I cried in her lap. 

“Your eye isn’t healing; you might want to get checked out when you go to Alexandria,” she sighs as she leaves me alone. 

It didn’t take me long to get ready: light green cargo shorts, a stained tan t-shirt, and some army boots I stole from a decaying corpse. My head shifted to the door as I heard his babbles break the silence. His head rested on Negan’s chest as he moved closer to the room, avoiding eye contact with me. I ran my hand down his curly hair, taking him in for a moment. “How’s he feeling?”

“Not getting any better from last night, still a high fever, and he sounds hoarse,” He whispers; I could feel his eyes on me. Heavy and daunting. Finally, I look up, praying he doesn’t shift his gaze away. “I worry about you, YN” 

Slowly, I let my hand travel to his face, cuffing it gently. My thumb brushed against his facial hair, prickling my skin uncomfortably, then moving to his lips. “I know… I’m sorry” was all I could manage. 

“He could’ve killed you; I would have to kill him. I would do anything for you — for Michael.” I nodded; I pressed my lips against his, tasting alcohol and some sort of meat. His other hand gently grabbed at my waist, yanking me closer. “Come on,” he whispered against my lips. As we left the room, we were greeted by his dick-riding minions, ready to raid another town. My eyes scanned David, his face distorted from the butt of my gun. He smirked momentarily, before trotting off with the rest of the group. My eyes flickered to Dwight, his movements slow and calculated. He dodged through the crowd and soon walked shoulder-to-shoulder with me. Nothing was, but nothing needed to be said. His fingers brushed against mine, and my eyes shifted to Negan and then to him. 

“How are you feeling?” I heard him grunt, his arms folded against his chest as he moved slightly before me. 

“Better; Rachel says I need to get checked out when I go to the town,” I answered shortly, looking around and disinterested in the conversation. 

“I miss you” 

“Don’t,” I interrupted, speeding past him as I slammed my shoulder against his. I gasped as I felt his arm latch onto mine. I didn’t turn around, but I knew he was upset and needed me to show him I was alright. He let me go, and I continued to move with the group as we boarded our rides. 

It didn’t take us long to reach Alexandria, the scene unfolding in front of me as every memory began to flood back. I began to feel queasy and full of anxiety as I stepped out of the car with Michael in hand. I hissed gently as sharp pain ran through my eye, I brushed it off as I lingered behind most of the group.

“Little pig…Little pig, let me in,” he foolishly commands, Lucille tossed over his shoulder. I squinted at the man; he was pale and had sustained some injuries. He was hunched forward slightly, his shoulders moving at an alarming rate. I caught his eyes, his hair covering most of his case; I took another step in his direction, my chest burning as I watched him intently. Realization struck on his face, and his eyes widened. “Daryl?” I whispered. My head snapped back to the gate as it began to open, and slowly, the figure emerged. He steps in, slowly thrusting Lucille into the man’s hand. 

His face changed, and he gained some weight. His hair wasn’t as curly the last time I saw him more clean cut. His face drained of color and life that used to decorate him – he had hope. I couldn’t move or process the man I was seeing before me. He froze, his eyes moving from Michael to me. My throat tightened as I tried to utter something to him; I dreamt of this day, standing in front of Rick, letting him meet his son, explaining the hell that I went through, seeking comfort in his arms. “Rick?” I hiccuped out, shaking my head. I took a step closer to him, tightening my grip on Michael. 

“YN?” he whispered, his voice kissing against my eyes. His eyes traveled back to Michael, “Is this–” hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers running against his arm before laying his hand against his back. 

“Hold the fuck up,” I heard Negan shout, his laughter filtering into the arm as he stepped closer. His face was full of devious mischievous, but his eyes were full of sorrow and confusion. They watered slightly as he stepped closer to me. “Rick? Ole Rick, here is the father of Michael?” 

“I was traveling with Daryl doing some runs in this town when we got separated. A herd of walkers took us by surprise, and I stumbled in the woods somewhere; I was holding up in some shanty town centers, bars, and a mall to give birth to Michael.” I stared at Negan for a moment as realization crossed his eyes. “Where’s Maggie?” I whispered. Rick looked for a moment, his eyes shifting down as he swallowed. 

“She didn’t make the trip back here after—” I sucked deeply. I needed to hold myself together, and I nodded to his statement. I pressed my lips together. “Let me see her.” 

With that, we moved to her grave sight, next to Glenn. I stared at the dirt graves, my foot mindlessly kicking at the dirt as it tumbled down the pile. My eyes stung with tears as I tugged on my bottom lip. “She was sister,” I spoke to Negan, my eyes fixating on the makeshift wooden cross. “She was always the rock between Beth and I. Beth was a crybaby, and Maggie was always Miss Straight and Narrow while I wanted to drink and stay out late with my hick boyfriend,” I laughed. It was long and rested in the stillness of the air. “When I saw Rick and Shane running down that field with Otis with Carl in his arms, I knew then that we stuck with the crew that came riding in their beat-up van and motorcycle. I nursed Carl back to health and taught him how to be a farmer."

My eyes flashed to Rick; a sunken look rested on his face as he gave me a soft smile. “She was my everything, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you—” I was interrupted by Michael’s whooping cough, his hand gripping against my chest. Negan rushed to my side, his eyes scanning Michael’s face, brushing his hair out of his face. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes pleading to hold him. Absentmindedly, I nodded. He soon began checking his reddening face, the back of his hand pressing against his forehead as he shifted slightly. My eyes flickered to Rick, who tensed; a look of concentration and bewilderment ran across his features. I flinched at the abrupt ring pierced through the air; we froze for a moment; it was a gunshot. I followed behind Rick, my hand removing the gun from my side, upon entering a building far from the gravesite. My gun was aimed at a teenage boy, a bandage covering his eye as he held it at David, who had multiple medical supplies in his arms while tossing them in a crate. My face furrowed in disgust as my eyes shifted to him. 

“Put some back, or the next one goes in you,” he commands; I observed, smirking slightly at this kid's courage. 

“Kid…what do think is gonna happen next?” the boy looked at Negan, his eyes flickering to the child in his hand. 

“He’s taking all of our medicine! You said Half,” he hissed; he squinted in hatred, his lips parted as a low snarl escaped. His finger danced against the trigger. 

“Carl… Carl put the gun down.” I straightened my posture, my eyes taking him in. He was taller; he didn’t have a sweet innocence about him. When I first found out I was pregnant, he stayed by my side — he was overprotective, to say the least. I remember sharing a cell in the prison for a month, his body leaning against the base of the bed, his head resting against the rusted metal pole. His mouth parted, and his chest slowly moved with each huff that pushed past his lips. I watched him for a moment, brushing my hands through his hair. He’d stir in his sleep, uncomfortably adjusting himself, letting his hands run over his neck. He hated sleeping alone since his mother had passed, and I hated being alone since I suffered from the miscarriage. 

Lowering my gun, I watched him. “You should go before you find out how dangerous we are.” I smiled softly at his words.

“David, put the medicine back,” I whispered, holstering my gun. Carl turned to me, his face still tight with anger. I grabbed his arm, and he flinched, his hand locking on the gun. 

“You don’t tell me what to do.” David spits, the crate still locked in his arms. A smirk rode on his face as he cowarded behind Negan. I looked at Carl, pressing a gentle smile on my face. Confusion ran across his eyes; he shifted to face me slightly. 

“You know, cowboy, you grew some damn balls the last time I saw you.” I laughed, tipping his hat back. His face softened, and a smile crept along his face. “Come on, Carl, I promise you, no one will touch the medicine. Half is what he said, and half is what he means,” I whispered, unraveling the gun from his hand. 

I turned to David, taking a long step forward; his eyes widened as he realized that Negan would let me do it, taking the safety of the gun and putting it to his temple. “Put the shit down” his eyes flickered to Negan, who didn’t seem pleased with my sudden demonstration of leadership. “You know I’m good for it.” David curses for a moment, dropping the crate on the ground, his eyes fixed on me as he slowly exited the room. The door slammed behind him as we all listened to his retreating footsteps. 

“YN,” Carl finally lets out, and I turn to him with a wide smile. “YNN,” he finally whispers; I gasped softly as he slammed his body against me. His arms wrapped around me. I chuckled. 

“You’re still a troublemaker, I see” I whispered. 

“I can say the same about you!” he chuckles through his slight frenzy of emotions. 

“I hate to interrupt a touching moment, but this reminds me that, you all have way too many guns,” Negan states. Carl removes himself from me, his eyes shifting to Negan. 

“First, Michael is sick, I know it’s probably too much to ask-”

“No,” Rick interrupted me. “Let’s get him looked at,” he hummed; I nodded, whispering a thank you. A woman with glasses came in, shakingly looking at Negan and me. 

“Hi! I’m YN. That is Michael.” he shyly lifted his head off at the sound of his name, and I motioned her to come closer. She was hesitant for a moment, her eyes scanning the room. She was observing Negan; her hand trembled as she moved to adjust her glasses. “He’s been a little sick, with a bad cough. Negan over here thinks it is serious; he just gets sick easily. He hasn’t had any motivation to do anything but sleep and sometimes eat.” She nods, her hand gently brushing against his back as she tries to take him from Negan. He stiffens, locking his grip on Michael. Resting my hand against his shoulder, I squeeze. Negan’s eyes flickered over to mine, and he sighed content before letting the woman take Michael. 

“What about you, ma’am?” she whispered, setting Michael on a bed. She lay him on his back, her hand moving to his stomach, the left side of his chest, and the right. She turned to me, waiting for an answer. “You should let me check you before you go; the bruising around your eye doesn’t look too good,” she nods for a moment. 

Simply, I responded, “I’m fine.”

“How old is he?” Carl questions

“9 months, he’s so busy and wants to be around everything and see everything.” I laughed, my hands nervously playing with the hem of my shirt; I watched her examine him; the woman made faces at Michael as she poked and prodded him. He whined softly before settling into a soft laugh as she made a goofy face again. 

Carl grabbed my hand, “Hey! It’s going to be okay. If he’s anything like us, Grimes, he’s a survivor,” he hummed; I nodded – tightening my grip on his hand. The memories came flooding in Carl’s kindness towards me, Rick’s loyalty and love, Daryl’s abrasiveness and wit, Abraham’s might and crudeness, and Rosita’s sass and smile. I sucked in a sob as I watched continued to watch Michael. I missed the feeling of Glenn wrapping his arms around in a tight hug after a sleepless night, or Maggie always bringing me a cup of tea in the mornings and before bed. I wanted to kill Negan for taking them away, I wanted to bring him to his knees and make him beg forgiveness as I rammed his stupid ass bat against his head. I wanted him to watch the woman he loved the most murder him. His last memory on this earth, is me wielding Lucille against his skull. But I was weak; I couldn’t imagine my life without him. 

“Well! He’s alright, just a little hay fever; it’s growing increasingly hot outside the pollen and allergens are making him sick. We have some children’s Advil that might help his temperature; some tea and honey would be great. Might wanna keep him in fresh clothes.” I sighed in relief; I nodded rapidly, as she lifted him. “We had some allergy medicine, non-drowsy, of course. I’ll make something to drink for him and get him a change of clothes, and he will be as good as new. But I wanna have a check-up in a week or so. Just to make sure," I moved to grab him, his smile overtaking his face, his hands slamming against my face with excitement as he squeals with glee. 

My eyes shifted to Negan; he stood against the back door. His eyes intensely staring at mine, he nodded briefly before looking away. “Come on, Rick, let’s go get my guns!” he promptly shouts, kicking himself off the door. 

I stared at Carl, we were left alone, and I had so much to say, but nothing came out. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness – I knew it wouldn’t amount to much. He smiled softly, nodding slowly as if he could read my thoughts. Somehow, he always could; he always felt like my first son, the way he clung to me after his mother passed. He would find his way into my room, whispering that he had a nightmare about his mother and Judith. “Don’t,” Carl whispered, tears streaming down his cheek as he nodded. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

It was silence between us. “I was going into labor; I found my way into a mall. Negan and some of the guys, helped me give birth to him. They took me back to the Sanctuary, and I became Negan’s wife. I wanted to come back; I did — I just… I don’t know.” I whispered.

“It’s okay, YNN. Dad always knew you were out there. He said he was too hard to get rid of.” he laughed softly. 

“Show me around, cowboy.” We walked through the streets, talking about different things, his new life, and the small hobbies he had picked up before things went to hell: the relationships and the heartbreaks. 

I stopped him, grabbing his arm. “These people are dicks; they do this shit for dominance to make you feel weak. You aren’t weak. They want to leave with this feeling of hopelessness. He will come back, and when he does, don’t show fear. He feeds off of it. There’s a shanty ranch home, 15 miles north of here, Hutington. Have your father meet me there in 3 days.” He nods quickly; I unholstered my gun, passing it to him. “Please, be safe cowboy.” 

“I will,” he hums, pulling me into a tight hug. I heard a long, high-pitched whistle, my eyes shifting to Dwight as he motioned for me to follow him. Carl looks at me before, whispering goodbye. Slowly, I made my way to Dwight, his eyes seething with jealousy, a look he often carried with him. Daryl was standing in a position directly behind him as he watched me. I passed a sympathetic smile to him. 

“What were you doing with him?” he questioned. I scoffed momentarily, looking around before returning my gaze to him. 

“He’s my son,” I answered without another thought. Carl always felt like my son; when he first arrived on the farm, I helped nurse him back to health—telling him fables that my grandfather used to say to me. I brought him late-night snacks despite my father telling me to not get so attached to them. I remember the look Rick gave me when I pleaded his case for them to stay– I remember the slight touch that sent shivers down my spine and our first kiss after he killed Shane. “Your leader killed my friends and took their guns, beds, and everything else they wanted. He’s a tyrant, and you know this.”

“I’m not one shacking up with him.” he hisses, stepping in my face, his breath fanned against my nose as he towered over me. “You��re fucking him, for fucksakes, you’re pregnant with his child. Don’t think I notice, how you don’t drink or stand around me when I smoke. The oversized shirts you wear? I notice everything about you.” I could find his hand and tried to find a way in mine. “Or Is it mine?” 

I honestly didn’t know; it was one drunken night. Negan and I had gotten into a nasty fight over Michael. I pushed him, and he choked me; I remember him tossing me to the ground and storming out of the room. Dwight had visited me and asked me if I wanted to go on a run. It just happened. I don't regret it.

I sighed, looking away and noticing everyone gathering at the gate. Their chatter and humming, the teasing and provocation. Finally turning to him, he shifts, his head focused on me, “I love them, and I love him. No matter where I go, I will always be a part of this family,” I whispered to him before moving to Negan. I stood at Negan's side, staring at Rick for a moment. He looked at me, and nodded gently, mouthing a slight OK. 

“Oh-ho,” Negan calls out, “What the fuck is that?” he grabs me by the waist, yanking me closer to him. “Are you trying to get at my wife?” He laughs momentarily and harshly grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were delicate, full of curiosity and jealousy. He loosened his hold on my face, his thumb gently rubbing against my bruised cheek. Stunned, I stumbled back as he slammed his lips against mine. I didn’t kiss back; I stood their wide eyes and throbbing upper lip. He continued to kiss me, and soon, we fell into a rhythm, something that came so naturally to us. He pulled back and let out a slight howl. “You see that! She’s mine; I don’t know what you think… is going to happen, but she’s my wife.” 

I looked away from him, my head throbbing, my eyes burning for a moment as he continued with his speech. I closed my eyes briefly, sucking a deep breath before letting it fall against the air. I grew increasingly dizzy as the moments passed, and the longer I stood there, the more irritated I became. I drifted off in the background as Rick and Negan discussed formalities. I brushed past the Saviours as I moved to the truck. 

Night fell as quickly as I was back in my room, breastfeeding Michael, shutting my eyes as I rocked against the rocking chair. The soft sound of the chatter outside of the window calmed me slightly. The door slammed shut; I could hear his footsteps thudding against the ground. His boots slid off and tumbled against the floor. “I love you; I will never let Rick, Dwight, or any man have you. You mean everything to me; you’re mine, and I intend on keeping it that way.” I pried open my eyes, watching him through blurred vision. He stood there, leaning against the wall. 

I got up, placing Michael in a wooden crib covered with soft, thin blankets to prevent him from getting splinters as he would chew on the surroundings if he were up early enough. I tasked Dwight with finding me a different crib for him; after each run, whatever team partakes in, I always receive a report back with an update on any cribs. I brushed his hair out of his face; I tensed as I felt Negan’s body press against mine. I could feel the warmth radiating over me and his head nuzzled in my neck. His lips gently pecked at my skin, slowly as he moaned softly. His hands danced against my waist momentarily, pulling me back into the bedroom. I spun around to face him, noticing a look on his face. I could smell it on him. I chuckled for a moment, tossing my hand in his face. I moved our shared bed. 

Before I could make it to bed, his hand gripped my upper arm. I stumbled back into him. “Don’t walk away from me,” his voice was stern. “Stop walking away for me.” his voice now pleading. His grip loosened as his thumb gently caressed my skin. His hand swiftly moved to my neck –gasping, my hand immediately covered his. He forced my head to the left, our noses meeting slowly he brushed his against mine. “Stop walking away from me,” he repeats, his handcuffing my cheek. 

Our lips collided, my hands moving to his neck as I yanked him closer, letting our bodies tumble onto the bed. I crawled back, trying to keep our lips connected. He pulls back; I fall against the bed and watch him yank my pants down. He doesn’t speak; he usually never does. His fingers, moved on my thighs as he dragged me closer to him. I gasped softly, at the feel of his lips against my clit, his warm tongue tracing patterns as I grabbed his head. “Oh my-” I moaned softly, bucking my hips against my face. 

He kissed the inside of my thighs, moving to my stomach before, kissing my clit again, his finger slid inside me. Slowly he pumped, his knuckles pounding against my lips as he continued eating me out. Holding my breath, I let out disgruntled moans. My hands gripped the sides of his head before moving to my face, and my knuckles moved to my mouth as I bit down. I called out his name softly, he pushed my hand away shoving his finger into my mouth. He shoved it deeper into my mouth as he watched me choke on his finger, my eyes watered as my tongue moved to push his fingers out of my mouth, and yanking them out, I cursed at him. Shutting my legs slowly.

He moved back on top of me, his body weight resting on his hand. “Put it in,” he commanded; I sat there for a moment. My hand hesitantly moving to his dick, I grabbed at it, not bothering to jerk him off. I lined him up at my entrance; I tugged on my bottom, expecting him to shove it in as he usually does. His tip slowly slides in; his face contorts for a moment. 

He moves slowly; I gasp softly, taking sparse and sporadic breaths as he fills me. Finally, he puts all his weight on his forearm, his face closer to mine as he grabs my leg, tossing it around his waist. “I love you” he whispers, into my ear. His thrusts were slow and passionate; he moaned gently in my ear as he nibbled at my ears. “Do you love me?”, I opened my mouth but was interrupted by him thrusting into me. I struggled to push out a yes, my hands clawing at his back as I tightened my legs around his waist. 

“Say it” 

“I love you, D,” I paused, my heart thudding against my chest. I began to notice how heavier he was, how his stomach pressed against mine, and how he just stopped breathing. Fuck. He stopped thrusting; I could feel the anger seething from his skin. I didn’t know what to say. Should I just continue moaning? Should I be aloof?

He lifts himself, and I swiftly close my eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze. “I-I wasn’t thinking about him.” was all I mustered out. 

“No?” he chuckles, the cool air brushing against my body. He was leaving. “You’re fucking moaning his name when I’m fucking you,” he shouts; I look away. 

“You’re going to wake Michael,” I whispered, his footsteps thudding against the room. His hand gripped my arm as he pulled me up. I opened my eyes, watching him. 

“Do you love him?” His voice was eerily calm. 

“No,” I lied; of course, I did. I loved how he made me feel, how wanted he made me feel, and how precious I was to him. How he was so gentle with me, no matter what I did. But I would never love him the way I love Negan…No matter what this sadistic maniac does, I would never love anyone as I loved him.

He chuckles, tossing me back on the bed. “Fuck you YN.”

[perkqularkreashions]

Last Nice Guy in New York??

Part Two: Living with the Enemy

Prompt: YN is close friends with Peach, Annika, Beck, and Lynn. She doesn't fit into their circle, nor does she try to. Joe soon sets his sights on YOU, leading to a domino effect within Y/N's life.

Requested: YES | Requested are OPEN|

YN's POV

PEACHES grabbed my arm slightly; her eyes wandered over my face, and I thought I saw something in them other than narcissism and an inflated ego for a brief moment. They were soft, a look ventured across her features, and her touch was more delicate. “YN,” she calls out in a tone I barely recognized. She saw it. 

I retorted, “Peaches, I have to get going. I have this thing to do for class. But I will see you tonight.” She reluctantly nodded, pushing her lips together in a frown. She turned away, returning to our group of friends. Beck stared apologetically for a moment before turning away with them. Some days, I didn’t feel a part of the friend group; I didn’t live the same life they lived, nor did I want to fake it like Beck does. I couldn’t buy expensive jewelry or spend every day at a high-end coffee shop wasting 15 dollars on coffee and a bagel. I worked on campus as a TA/Tutor, allowing me to qualify for financial aid/assisted living, and being a single parent also helped secure those benefits.

The wind caressed my skin, and the smell of gasoline and pastries filled my nose—the loud chatter of the busy streets surrounded me. I pushed open the solid oak doors, the smell of baby powder, formula, and paper. I was thankful that the Daycare Center was on the third floor, away from prying eyes and judgmental glares. I tapped my toe gently in the elevator as I watched the numbers dance from 1 to 2 and dinging at 3. Hand-painted pictures scattered the walls, bringing life to the dull ward of the campus. Hand turkeys and finger-printed flowers. Photos of children with their names along with their likes and dislikes. I was then greeted by Jessica, one of the students in the Teaching Program –she smiled widely at me as she stood up for a hug. Her arms wrapped around me, her fragrance engulfed as she tried masking the smell of throw-up and other fluids. “Hey YN! Long time no see.” 

A responded with a bright smile, “I know you’ve been gone for some weeks. I think Rafi was starting to miss you too.” she laughed brightly with a toothy grin. She moves away from me, leaving me alone in the hallway. I move away from the receptionist's desk. I stare at the art, my finger dancing against the groves of the crayons and paint. I heard his soft babble; swiftly, I turned around and saw his bright, toothless smile. 

“It’s mama! Look, it’s mama,” she cooed, pointing her finger toward me. I smiled, adjusting my bag and taking him into my arms, momentarily kissing the corner of his head. The anxiety flushing away as he was safe in my arms. “He hasn’t been around the last month from what I heard; keep doing what you’re doing,” she comforts me, her hand resting on my shoulder. I nodded frantically as I moved away from her. 

The ride home was comforting; the soft sound of jazz filled my ears as the mild breeze ran through the enclosed back seat. Rafael slept peacefully in my lap, my fingers dancing against his ravenous locks. I despised that he looked like his father, from his button nose to the beauty marks that scattered his face and arms. He scrunched his face similarly to his father's when thinking or concentrating on a task. He wore a gold bracelet his mother gifted us when he was born. Says that all the men in their family must have one. I contemplated taking it off, but I never found the courage to.

“I’m thankful for him, you know — I am going to be a better father than my dad ever was.” He stared at him, his hand caressing his face, pressing gentle kisses on his skin. “You’re here,” he whispers, “Finally, here.”

“Ma’am, we’re here,” a voice cuts through my wandering mind. My eyes focused on the man in front of me. A sympathetic smile washed over his lips. 

I mumbled out a thanks before exiting the cab. I pressed the fob to the door, yanking it open as I hurriedly moved in. “Hey, YN!” an excited voice shouts out from the top of the stairs. Her feet paddle against the floor as she peaks over the guard rail. 

“Finally, you’re here! I have been calling out to you all evening!” she jumps in front of me as she smiles at Rafi. I move past her, fiddling my key in the keyhole as I push into the apartment. Her chocolate skin illuminated under the dim lighting in the apartment. Her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail that was loosened ever so slightly. “So, you have a date tonight?”

I laughed, tossing a look over my shoulder. 

“Come on, I’m 18 — practically an adult!” she plops down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath as she looks at me with frustration and curiosity. 

“It’s a party for a friend.” I laid Rafael down in the crib, moving all the blankets and toys I tossed in earlier this morning. “I don’t do dates, Nicole, we already spoke about this,”

She laughs, “You have a 7-month baby; you do more than date.” 

I scoffed in her direction, letting a smile hang on my lips. She giggles at me before her eyes move back to her phone. Her fingers were rapidly typing before her attention turned back to mine. “How’s Rafael’s dad doing?”

I stiffened as I moved to the closet, changing out of my clothes. Pulling on a simple dress, emerging from the closet, I posed slightly. “Approval?”

“Absolutely not,” she laughs, “What kind of party– it doesn’t even matter. We need to get you laid!”

“I don’t need to get anything, I just wanna look nice.”

“You can look nice and edible,” she laughs, “How about a little more boobies and less leg? Something to keep their mind wandering but begging for more.” I pulled out, a periwinkle dress, with a bit of cleavage and less leg; I brushed my hands down my hair, moving them behind my ear.

“Ta-da?” I hummed out, her eyes brightening as she offered me an excited smile. “Yes, now go find Rafael a step-daddy!” 

I roll my eyes, moving out of the apartment and waving her goodbye. She was a sweet girl, just graduated high school and looking for some work while she applied to universities. Her mom and dad are professors at Brown and thought it’d be a good idea to push her in the direction of teaching – in their words, “showing her responsibility through taking care of the lives of others. How the responsibility of molding a young mind can be beneficial.” 

Arriving at Peach’s house was always distasteful, the high-brow society looking down at me, seeing me as the new charity case for her to pick at and display. I didn’t fit into their society, no matter how often Peaches and Annika tried. “Beckalicious,” I heard over the roar of the chatter; she was usually so easily seen and heard no matter where she stood. 

“Is this Joseph?” her voice shrilled in disdain, her arm snaked around Beck with a feigned smile. I chuckled at her momentarily, before returning my attention to the trays of wine that moved about. 

“YN,” I heard a voice call out, a hand snaking around my waist and pulling me closer. I froze; the smell of champagne and cheese filled my nose. “I was hoping to run into you! I missed you!” I spun around seeing Liam Hastings; his hair pulled out his face as he wore a chestnut brown jacket with a navy blue button shirt, his chest slightly showing as he flashed me a smile. 

“It’s like after you broke up Rafael, you just fell off the face of the earth!” he shouts, his hand slapping against my shoulder as he swallows a nod. 

“Just wasn’t the crowd I wanted to be around,” I whispered; he tugged me closer. I clenched my hands, letting this reach his chest, trying to pry us apart. I could feel the air leaving me; my chest got tighter with every breath I took. 

“He looks for you, says— you know what he says to me. Keep an eye on you!” he drunkenly laughs; I yank myself away. I found myself, darting up the stairs and escaping to Peaches’s library. 

“I’m pregnant,” I cry out. Peach sank to her knees, her hand snatching at my wrist; she examined them momentarily. “I don’t want to have his baby! It was one night and I– I”

“Calm down, little dove, please. It hurts me to see you cry,” she whispers. I flinched away from her as she tried wiping the tears away. Realizing washes over her, her face turns cold as she studies me. “YN”

She called out my name; I didn’t have an answer, nor did I want to answer. “Y/N, Hello!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a soft voice called, “Hello.” I spun around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I'm sorry. I’m in my little world,” I chuckle, moving my hair behind my ear. I studied how his face was tightly wound together, his shoulder tense, and his brows furrowed with frustration and thought. I recognized him, the infamous Joe Goldberg that Beck had mentioned. “Joseph, right?”

He shakes his head, “Joe, just Joe.” he forces a smile on his lips. His eyes wandered to the bookshelf before back at me. 

“Well, Just Joe, I’m YN; I wish I could say we would meet under better circumstances, but–” I laughed momentarily, letting my head fall to my feet. “This is probably the best you’ll get.” He chuckles; it was lighthearted– it filled the air so gently. 

“Y/N…?” my name played on his lips. He repeated it a couple of times before silencing. “You’re one of Peaches's friends.”

“Don’t let her catch you saying that,” I laugh. “If she catches you humanizing her too much, she’ll lose her shit. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, but I love that about her.”

“Isn’t she your best friend?” He teased; for a moment, I thought, honest to God, she was everything I needed her to be. She was a cold and calculated bitch, but it didn’t change the fact that when she looked at me, I mean really looked at me… she saw me. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I belong in her world,” I whispered. I begin to move past him; his hand grabs my upper arm. His touch was gentle and inviting. His thumb gently caressed my exposed skin, his eyes resting on my shoulder, and my breath caught in my throat. The noise drowned out, the soft hum of the music, the clanking of glasses, and the chatter of drunken adults. The expectations to be perfect melted away. The world slowly sunk around me. Our eyes finally met. 

Carefully, I whispered to him. “Enjoy the party, just Joe.” His grip loosened as the noise around us resumed. I was warped back into the party. 

Peaches watched me, her eyes dark and cold. Her hand yanked at my arm as she dragged me closer to her. A dark smile washed on her face. “I saw that.”

“Peaches, let it go,” I whispered; she yanked me closer to her. She scoffs lightly. "It was nothing."

“Stealing Beck’s boyfriend too.” Her words slurred slightly, her tongue tripping over the slight syllabus. Her eyes were red and hanging low; she took pills. “Do you realize how pathetic you look?” I stiffened, holding my head away from her. 

“Peach, leave it!” I whisper, my voice weakly danced away in the wind. 

“Just like how you stole Sophia’s boyfriend, you steal Becks lowly boy toy?” her voice growing louder, capturing everyone’s attention. Eyes shift, and the music decreases with each word that Peach spews. “Do you realize how you look? I am just trying to protect you!”

“Peach, please,” I begged.

“It’s like you’re trying to win a game that no one else is playing – what getting fucked once at my house isn’t enough?” Silenced washed over us; my throat stung as I watched her. My lips parted as I tried to find the words to combat her statement, to find something to make this seem like banter. My face grew hot, and all I could do was stare at her, tears falling against my cheeks freely and tickling my chin and chest. “YN-” she begins to stutter, her face contorting gently. 

“I have to go, Peach,” I whispered, ducking past her as I moved past the crowd. The fresh air slammed against my face, and I sucked in gently, trying to gather as much composure as possible. 

Fuck me and fuck her.

[perkqularkreashions]

Can we get a part two to chasing pavements?🥺🥲

it’s in the works!!!

[perkqularkreashions]

BEAST

I’m backkkk

PART 1

GOT IMAGINE: y/n [with she/her pronouns] is the beauty of Westeros, is a stark sibling, and has a secret relationship with Jamie and but soon starts to fall for Tyrion. Multiple parts maybe?

NOTES: Follows both Book and TV series. MATURE. 

Sansa stared at her sister, she couldn’t help but become envious of the woman. She was a beauty, nothing like her mother and herself who possessed the beauty of the Tully’s. The way her dark hair shined in the Winterfell’s sun, the way she beautifully blushed, the vermillion color spreading to the apples of her cheek and the tip of her nose. She spoke with ease, everything flowing past her lips, almost felt rehearsed. Y/N Stark, a beauty of Westeros. Many suitors had traveled to take in her beauty, to have a gentle kiss lay on her hand or simply behold in her presence. Sansa, often prayed to the Gods that her sister would succumb to an illness or that she would obtain even a fraction of her beauty. 

Y/N's knees firmly pressed into the ground running the dress that mother had picked out for her. Her smile was bright as she pushed her hands through the dire wolf’s face, her nose mashing against his as she giggled out. Her pup, outgrew the litter, even when he sitting, he was overlooking the rest. Sansa watched Y/N’s fingers run through his obsidian black fur. His dark amber eyes looked down at her as she whispered to him. Something she often did, Eddard Stark often thought it weird as she would always murmur things to the beastly pup, his expression was always filled with intent and understanding. “Beast!” Sansa calls out, both the pup’s and her sister’s heads turned, a soft smile writing itself on her face.

She responds “Sansa?” the mud and sticks attach themselves to her dress, the periwinkle now covered with dirt and mud.

“I want to impress the prince, I want to be as beautiful as you” the words fell out of Sansa’s lips. A frown soon wrote itself on her face as she tugged on her bottom lip. 

“You are a beauty, your grace jealousies me sometimes” Y/N admits, her hand tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Sansa was taken aback, she looks at her sister holding her breath as she smiles. “Don’t ever change yourself for a man, especially a prince. You are Sansa Stark, that should be more than enough for that boy” she gently whispers. 

It happened all too soon, Y/N was unamused by the arrival of the King and the Queen, high above everyone else, their heads held even higher passing through the opening. She squeezed between Robb, and as he brushed her shoulder roughly an enormous smile plastered on his face. “Mother will have your head beast” he whispers, his eyes falling to Beast, the oversized dire wolf that made space for himself tween the two. Y/N smirked before her eyes fell on the Lannisters, blessed with golden locks of hair that gently kissed the chilled breeze. They were radiating, an unpleasant contrast to the dullness that Y/N was used to. Her eyes caught hold of the Kingslayer, and a slow smirk rested on his face as his posture straightened. 

Beast growled, his head jamming into Y/N’s side, her eyes snapping down noticing the wolf’s gaze focused ahead of him. “Don’t be rude” she murmurs before returning her gaze to the Kingslayer’s as he never left hers. He flashed a cocky smile, Y/N's face remained unchanged as she just studied his face, the way his lips curled and the lines on his face contort. She turned her gaze forward, watching the King’s guard tramble in. 

It was finally Y/N’s turn, to be gawked and talked upon. “My Gods” he whispered; Y/N's eyes fluttered to the bellowing man’s voice. It was strong and certain. “You’ve grown” he comments, his hand gently brushing her hair out of her face. The soft and sudden color of her cheek, the flow, and feel of her soft dark hair, and the way her eyes held no emotion yet told captured him as they once did. His attention was cut short, and Beast’s slow guttural growl filled the air. Y/N's face reminded unchanging as Beast’s voice grew louder. Caitlyn's jaw clenched her eyes burning into Ned’s head, as he refused to look her way. 

Caitlyn inconspicuously nuzzled into Ned’s side, whispering “I told her not to bring the damned pup. She’s stubborn” 

A small smile was drawn on Ned’s face as he watched his daughter for a moment. Her dark hair resembled Jon’s. Y/N had her face, that was for certain. 

“I would like to see her” Robert's voice cutting through the silence as he moved away from Y/N. Soon the pair had embarked on seeing Lyanna’s tomb, the heaviness in the air leaving with them. 

“Mom’s going to have your head” Robb teased. 

The festivities grew, the drunken men singing and bellowing. Y/N and Beast watched Jon, sitting at the far end of the hall, tossing scraps to Ghost. She let out a low and long whistle, capturing the dire wolf’s attention. 

“I want to walk alone, go give Jon and Ghost some company” Y/N whispers out, Beast huffs in dismay laying on the floor his eyes trained on Jon, she moves away from Beast, yet she knows that no matter where she went they were always connected, seeing each other’s lives through their shared eyes. She was him and he was her. 

“A beauty of Westeros” a voice whispered, low and snarky. She didn’t need to look to know it was Ser Jamie. She folded her arms slightly, a smile playing on her lips as she turned to him. “I missed you petal”

Delicate like a flower, she was. “Have you really Ser Jamie?” she whispered, finally looking at him. There it was, the soft smile written on his face, his hands wrapping against the fabric of her dress yanking her closer to him. His lips molded into hers, and the taste of honey and ale filled his senses. Slowly, they moved to the ground, the dewy earth soaking her back as she yanked up her dress. His finger slowly glided against her exposed thigh, his hand grazing against her soaking pussy as she moaned against his mouth. He hissed for a moment, snatching himself away. 

“Not tonight” he whispers, Y/N's face grew still, her eyes scanning over his as he slowly sat up. He sat in front of her, eyes churning in an unreadable expression as he sighed for a moment. He didn’t know how to say it, he wanted to be honest, he wanted to prove to himself that he could be good for her. He cuffed her face, his thumb roughly tracing over her lips and her cheek. “Not tonight petal”

A low howl filled the air, long and came in clusters of three. She smiled pressing a long kiss to his unexpecting lips. She stood up, looking down at the Kingslayer. Without a moment to think, words came tumbling out of his mouth. “I love you” It was low and danced through the air. She clung to those words; her lips pressed together. 

She answered in a tone that made him weak. “I love you” With that she was gone, her scent lingering in the air. 

Y/N was met with Beast and Tyrion Lannister scolding each other, his drunken hand moving to his head as he growled lowly. She calls out to him, her face contorting into anger as Tyrion was finally able to rest his hand on his head. 

“Y/N Stark, a pleasure” Tyrion bowed gently, his eyes looking through his ghostly white hair. A smirk played on his lips as he moved toward the Stark girl. “Your dire wolf is most peculiar” 

She answered, “He is, and that you would make you an observant man.” Tyrion chuckled at the word, he heard rumors of her beauty and gentleness- he never took heed to them, he knew of the exaggeration that horny men had. Their dicks harden at the thought of her beauty, men swear it to the Gods that she is above all, men whom have seen her, gaze upon her dark eyes, and caress her soft skin. Tyrion now beholding her beauty can say he understood. The fabric of her gown wraps around her frame, her breast hardening at the chilled wind, but it didn’t bother her greatly. Her full lips and her careful eyes. She was exactly how they describe her. 

“I am no man” he turns away from her, his eyes finding the wolf’s once more. 

“No?” she laughs out, it was soft, and kissed against his ears. “What are you then, may I ask Tyrion?” 

He couldn’t shake the thought that she was mocking him, yet her tone was delicate full of wonder and childlike curiosity. He once again pets the wolf, this time he allows him. Beast enjoys his stubby fingers running through his fur. He catches the look of the dire wolf, for a moment he thought that he could see Y/N in the wolf, her facial expression, and her thoughts as it was written out on the wolf’s face. 

“An abomination” He turned back to her, and suddenly nerves overtook him, he couldn’t be in her presence any longer. 

“Says who?” she chuckles moving to her knees, her hand gripping his shoulder forcing him to look at her. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. 

“I know what I am, nothing will ever hurt as long as I know. Used as a weapon against me” He gazed into her dark eyes; his thumb gently traced against her chin. “Your niceness is a warmth that I appreciate.” 

“And your lies do not fall upon deaf ears” she whispered moving his hand away from her. Y/N's attentions moved to Beast as their caught sight of the figure in the distance, she knew all too well who was. Her gaze remained fixed on Tyrion’s. 

“I must be going now, it was a pleasure Tyrion” she hums, moving to her feet, her scent lingering well past her departure, Tyrion closed his eyes letting his gaze fall to the ground. 

“Brother” Jamie lets out, his eyes narrowing to him. 

“She’s beautiful isn’t she” Tyrion finally lets out after a moment of silence. His hand adjusts his dick as he lets out a low chuckle. “Even beautiful feels like an insult” 

Jamie didn’t utter a word, he couldn’t. Anger built up him, festering in the pit of his stomach. His fist clenches at his side as he gazes in the darkness. 

He must see her tonight.

[perkqularkreashions]

I AM BACKK

Heyyyy everyone, 

So, I kind of have been MIA for last few months, but I am back. I have a lot of requests and imagines in my drafts. So, request away first post will be within this week!

[perkqularkreashions]

Heyyyy, im back w more imagines!!

To Do List

TO DO LIST

Harry Potter:

Draco Malfoy Imagine: Where the reader is the exact opposite of Draco and she calms him down when is he is mad

Severus Snape Imagine: Where he has a crush on the reader, who is also a teacher.

Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them

Newt Scamander Imagine: Where the reader is in love with him and does not believe her

Gotham

Jim Gordon Imagine: Where the reader is the daughter of Fish Moonie and Jim starts to have a crush on the reader

Riverdale

Jughead Jones Imagine: Where the reader is a Blossoms and Jughead is in love with her against his better judgment…..smut?

Now You See Me

Daniel Atlas Imagine: Him and the reader have sex and she doesn’t know that she’s Dylan’s sister.

Harry Styles |AU|

Harry Styles AU: Where he is a streetcar racer and he starts to fall for Y/N the reader

The Vampire Diaries/ The Originals:

Damon Salvatore Imagine;

Where the reader give Damon 28 days to make her see that he is the one

Where Damon is Dating Elena Twin’s sister.

The One Where Damon has protect the reader almost everyday

Klaus Mikaelson Imagine:

Where The reader is kidnapped by the Mystic Falls Gang and Klaus goes to save her.

Where the reader gets turns into a vampire and gets angry at Klaus.

Where Klaus list the reasons of why he loves the reader.

Elijah Mikaelson Imagine

Where Elijah fall helplessly in love with the reader.

Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Where Kol is in love with his sister’s best friend and Rebekah tries and stops him.

Matthew Donovan Imagine: Where the reader is dating an Mikaelson

Gossip Girl;

Dan Humphrey Imagines: Where Dan starts to fall for the new girl in school, Y/N.

Teen Wolf Imagine:

Scott McCall Imagines: Where the reader and Scott go on their first date

Peter Hale Imagines:

Where the reader is pregnant with Peter’s baby and is wondering why is he hanging out with teenagers.

Derek Hale Imagines:

Game of Thrones:

Jaime Lannister Imagine: Cersei is jealous of Jaime’s new found interest of the Beauty of the Seven Kingdoms, Y/N.

Tywin Lannister Imagine : Where the reader helps Arya and Gendry escape all while be pregnant. (Part 2)

Jon Snow Imagines: The reader protects Jon snow from his mother (Caitlyn stark)

Gendry Baratheon Imagine: where the reader is Jon’s twin and gets stuck in King’s landing when Ned get’s executed and she runs into Gendry and then they meet again.

Tyrion Lannister Imagine: the reader is in a secret relationship with Tyrion.

Stranger Things Imagine:

Jonathan Byers:

Where the reader and Jonathan  have sex for first time

The Reader and Jonathan have a sleepover and Jonathan is nervous

Pretty Little Liars Imagines:

Jason Dilaurentis Imagines: Where Jason is married to the reader five years later.

Hawaii Five-0 Imagines:

Steve McGarrett Imagines : Where Steve is dating the reader behind Danny’s back.

Shameless Imagine:

Lip Gallagher Imagines: Where the reader parents meets the Gallagher’s.

[perkqularkreashions]

Chasing Pavements

Requested: Hi! Can I get a Reid or Hotch imagine where the reader use to like one (Reid or Hotch) and they didn’t like her back so she gets with the other and the other gets jealous. Sorry if that was confusing lolll. Thank you! Fem reader please!

TW: Angst, Sadness, Self Harm(Nail Digging), Cussing, Kidnapping

Y/N stared at her reflection, her hand gently brushing against the dull hairstyle that was suppose to last her a couple of days. She ran her finger under the warm water, swiping off the the smudged makeup from under her eyes. Her throat began to burn as she sucked in a little cry, her mouth falling open as she tried sucking in the overwhelming feeling that surfaced. Her hand gripping the sink as her hair falls around her, tears stinging her eyes and slight snot running down the top of lip.

“Y/N?” Her hand snapped to her nose, yanking the back of her hand against her raw skin. “Are you alright?” She flicked her hair over her shoulder broadcasting a small smile, Aaron watched with a crestfallen face, the wrinkles on his brow deepening as he watched her with more intensity. Y/N tried searching for something to say but nothing came to mind, everything slipping through the crevices of her mind.

“I think I’ll survive” she finally murmurs, adjusting her position, her hand slaps against the water faucet. Her eyes searching at her reflection, she didn’t know what exactly she was searching. She finally faces him, a bright smile flashing against her face. One thing about Y/N, she was perfect at masking her emotions, however the blankness behind her eyes staring at Aaron made it very clear.

She was drowning.

“Do you wanna talk-” Y/N spits out a laugh, her chest heaving before resting. Her nails digging into the palm of her skin as she watches the man in front of her. She could feel the pain spiking through her, God she felt alive again. One thing that she could possibly comprehend right now was...pain.

“I don’t wanna talk. I don’t want to... I don’t want to even think about you” she hisses out, Aaron tried analyzing her; her body perfectly straighten, her hands clenched at her sides while her thumb dragged itself around the outside of her index finger and against the knuckle. Her jaw clenching possibly to prevent the tears from spilling against her face. Her face drained from all color, her lips slightly chapped and a bright red.

“Y/N... I just...” Aaron tried rationalizing his thoughts and his behaviors. He knew Y/N’s past was colorful, her walls built high to prevent the situation she was in right now. He knew that no matter how much he pleaded with her that nothing would amount. “I’m sorry”

“He’s sorry” she laughs, “Oh, he’s sorry” her laughs increasing. She could feel the tears falling down as she walks up to him. Her chest pushing against his lower pectoral muscle, Y/N looks up to him, eyes sunken and slightly red. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“You know what! Me too... I’m sorry that I have ever met you. I’m sorry that I wasted so much time caring for you! Wasted so much time loving you!... Aaron fucking Hotchner!” Her voice shrilled voice cracking the more she spoke, her finger jabbing into his chest, blood pooling against his white shirt. His eyes watering slightly, his mouth parted as he tried reaching for her. Y/N smacks his hand away.

Everyone’s attention turning to the restroom, they were currently working a case in Virginia. Three women, none connecting in anyway other than the obvious, kidnapped from public places around 7:30 pm. He’d sent vhs tapes to the police station documenting every moment with the girls up until 5 hours before their death. Y/N was a little excited to be back in hometown, she grew up down the street from one of the girls even went to school with two of them. She tried her best escaping her past but in that moment when they touched down on the strip, she felt the hiraeth washing over her for brief moment. That feeling soon was replaced with sadness and misdirected anger, as she watched Aaron galavant around the station as if nothing was wrong. He content while she was trying her best not to drown, grasping unto anything that would steady her.

Everyone in BAU noticed Y/N’s mannerism; her slurred speech, the dark circle taking hold of her face, her raw lips, and pale face. Reid noticed more, he noticed her consuming coffee-Y/N hated coffee, she only drunk it when she was torturing herself with its bitter taste- her hands were stained bright red with crescent shaped cuts in the palm of her hand, he noticed how she’d tear up at the sight of Aaron. Or how Y/N has called him more than normal to hold her because she couldn’t sleep. Reid was glad to slip on some pants to see her, rushing over no matter what time it was. Holding her through her terrors and endless thoughts that plagued her.

Her body wrapping itself against his, her hand gripping his shirt as she takes in his scent. His lips pushing against the top of her hand calming her slightly from the emotions running through her. His soothing words washing into her mind, cleansing her of the nonsense that was spewing. He was her safe place, whenever Y/N couldn’t control her mind she ran into his arms for safety and stability.

“Aaron you don’t understand!” Reid heard her shout, he could hear the hoarseness in her voice.

“Make me understand Y/N! Help me fucking understand.” Everyone stopped, the police station’s growing quiet. No one daring to enter into the bathroom.

Garcia jumped at the sound of the bathroom door slapping against the wall. Y/N slowly walking out, her chest heaving as she blankly stared into nothingness. Her eyes slow moving but finally locking onto Reid’s, in that moment he knew. She was losing herself in the waves of endless emotions that she constantly tried suppressing. A lone tear escaping down her cheek; and just like that... in an instant her face once full of emotion was now empty.

She travels past the familiar men and women that gawked at her. Reid fumbled to his feet, taking long strides to catch her. She was faster than Reid anticipated, her figure disappearing into the darkness casted by the rain clouds. The rain smacked against his body, stinging slightly while trenching his clothes causing Reid’s hair to fall against his eyes. He searched for her, through the opaqueness that surrounds him. She didn’t make it far, he wasn’t sure if it was the rain or the fact that she hated running.

“I hate him” she whispered, her words getting caught up in her throat. It physically pained Y/N to talked, the rain blending the tears into her face. Reid didn’t know if he could touch her, she was always strict about her personal space and who she let in. Reid slowly stalked his hand out, Y/N spun around startling him. “He’s such an asshole... I suffocate myself every time I’m around him but I can’t fucking help it! I... I...I want to be around him- he makes me feel wanted and makes me feel like I deserve something... I deserve something? Right? I just wanted to feel loved again. I wanted that! Was it so hard to ask for? I am not worthy of being something to someone? I... I...”

“Y/N” he simply calls out her name, her blank eyes finding his. “I’m right here... let me in”

“I need space right now” she mumbled, her fingers moving Reid’s hair out his eyes. Her fingers traveling down the side of his face while she watches him for a moment. “I’ll be back”

Y/N took off, her arms wrapping against her body. Her head tucked down as she watched the muddy grey pavement. Y/N was too muddled in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the van pulling behind her, or that the man had been following her since she turned down the street from the police station. The stained clothe pushing against her nose and lips. Y/N tried not panicking but her mind slipped into darkness.

Her nose began to tingle, her heart drops as she tried reaching for his hand. Y/N’s stomach churning harshly Her eyes blankly stare into the sky, the rain slapping against her skin. For the first time in days, her mind was clear. All her worries washing away as she fell into the forced sleep.

It has officially been two hours since they’ve heard from Y/N. No one spoke much, as they pulled resources together to figure out where she snuck off to, Morgan gently gripping Reid’s shoulder as he watched the space that she once occupied. “I’m sure everything is fine kid”

Garcia let’s a small quiver fall from her lip, her fingers typing vigorously. The pencil once occupying her hand falling to the ground as she tried to force the tears away. Gathering the keyboard, she hurriedly moved to the larger television centered at the front of the police station. Garcia slapped the keyboard against the table gathering everyone’s attention. Her finger spamming a button as the image slowly fizzled onto the television.

Silence washed over the room, everyone moving closer to the table. Duct tape covering her breast as she sat tied against a rustic metal pole.His maniac laugh escaping his lips , jolting Y/N awake. Her eyes landing directly on the camera, no trace of emotion written on her face for a brief moment. Until realization smacked her, yanking her hands roughly as she watches the man pacing in front of her.

“I wanted to make sure you’re comfortable Y/N” his shrill voice speaks.

“I hope the BAU is ready for a damn good show!”

[perkqularkreashions]

Georgia Heat

Requested*

Summary:

hi girlie! I was wondering if you can do an imagine where the reader is rick’s best friend and married to Shane. It kinda follows the first episode. They got into a big argument and she’s worried she won’t see him again.

Hi guys! Just a little input from me before you all start reading. I have a lot of request for gender neutral and I’m trying... sometimes it’s hard to not place the “she/her” but I’m working on it! Thanks for your patience. If it is specifically requested for fem I will do so... if it is not I will make gender neutral! <3

Rick stared at Y/N his eyes squinting under the heat of the Georgia sun. He managed to find himself a horse for ride y’all to ride into town. You weren’t to sure about the that, it exposed you more to the creatures that moaned around. You held onto Rick letting your head hide in his back. You were afraid, you both were alone in an unfamiliar world. Rick has managed to find you hiding out at his place, cowering in a bathroom with a kitchen knife in your hand. You were searching for Shane, you’d gotten into a huge argument the day before the world stopped. You left, staying with your sister in a neighboring city. She didn’t make half way through the trip.

“You alright?” Rick whispers, his hand gently gripping your knee giving it an reassuring squeeze. You didn’t know if you were alright, you couldn’t imagine a life with Shane and now here you are having to do it. “Y/n?”

“I’m fine. Just worried is all” You mumbled, before you return the question, Rick cursed loudly the horse lifting its front legs as you both tumbled off. You gasped loudly landing on your back, the pain vibrated through your body as you saw Rick yanking you off the ground.

“Come on” he hissed, his hand wrapping around her waist dragging you through the heard as he shot of rounds for anything that came near y’all. You managed to climb inside of the tank, your body resting against the interior of the tank. Rick looked at you with a worried expression, checking his gun he sighed softly before settling on the floor.

“Hey you alive?” A voice let out, causing me to jump, Rick scrambling to the radio responding back to the man. You and Rick managed to escape with the assistances of Glenn as you were thengreeted by a group of people. 4 people, Andrea, Morales, Glenn, Jacqui, . Y/n stayed close to Rick as y’all traveled through the building, your eyes snapping in every direction as the dead ones were surrounding the building.

“We’re dead because of you” Andrea cried out as she watched you both, her hand running through blond hair. You jumped at the sound of gunshots, everyone looked around as realization hit them.

“Merle!” They shout as they ran up stairs to the roof of the department store. You and Rick followed close as a man began to shoot off rounds into a crowd of the dead ones or geeks as they liked to call them. Rick held out his hand motioning for you to stay behind, his hand holding on his holstered gun.

“Stay here.” He whispers as he went to go investigate the scene. It didn’t take long for Rick to cuff Merle to a drain pipe, his body hanging lazily against it. The woman gathered around T-Dog as they helped him to his feet. Rick eyes travelled to you, his eyes watching over you making sure that you were okay. That you were, having more people to surround you would help you forgot about the world ending and the fact that you wouldn’t have the chance to tell Shane “fuck him” anymore. Rick had high hopes that he’d find his family, high hopes that were untouched and made it out of the city.

It was time for the game plan to go into action, Glenn and Rick were about disguise themselves as geeks, so travel to the van that would soon get us back to the camp site where they’re more of them. You stared at Rick, your mind racing with all the endless thoughts of what could happen to him. He was last family you had and you couldn’t fathom the fact that he could end up missing. You sigh softly, placing your hand on his check before he went down to cover himself up in their guts. You sat on the drain pipe some ways across from Merle, his eyes scanning you over before he scoffs.

“Let me out of here will ya?” He looks at T-Dog, T-Dog let’s put a loud laugh before continuing to fiddle with the radio. His voice started to irritate you, the heat and the constant static was driving you mad. You peered over your shoulder as someone came to collect y’all. Stating they had made it back would be here soon to pick us up. Merle cried out yanking at his chains. His eyes pleading as uou watched T-Dog eyes snapped between you and Merle. His hand fiddling with the key.

“Come on man! Yeah that’s it!” He shouts, you gasped as T-Dog tripped the key falling out of his hands. You looked up at you before shaking his head wildly. He got up, his words stumbling one another as he grabbed you and pulled you out of the rooftop.

“Go! I’ll meet you down there” he whispers, you nod before rushing down the steps trying to remember what direction you needed to go in. You froze as the geeks had made their way into the front entrance of the department store. T-Dog fumbled behind you, guiding you to where the rest of the group was. They were silent, all begging to ask the same question. “I dropped the key!” He exclaimed, his eyes dropping as they pulled open the garage. You climbed your body crawling deeper inside the van.

Rick looks behind the chair his eyes scanning for you, when he locks out on he lets out a deep breath. His body physically relaxing. He realized that they were missing someone, Merle. “Merle?”

“I left him on the roof. I dropped the key. It’s my fault” he spoke up, his eyes scanning over the crowd. Rick nodded robotically as he followed the ruby red car in front of him. Your head leaning against the cushion as your mind traced back to the fight you had with Shane. Bowls being thrown, him cussing you as you were cussing him out. Your hands shoving against his chest as you thrown you palm in his face as he grabbed you shaking you slightly before pushing you back. It was the worst fight you’d guy had.

Everyone began to move of the van, your eyes scanning over scenery. It was beautiful but you couldn’t being yourself to see people smiling and hunging their family. You sat at the edge of the van, your feet kicking the air.

Rick jumps out the van, his head spinning from the excitement he endure. His mind only circulating around the fact of his family. Looking up he noticing a boy running to him, Rick pauses, his eyes watering as he sees his son colliding against his body. Soon his wife. His snapping to Shane, as he stood with a thin smile against his face. Rick looks back as he notices Y/n wasn’t behind him. Shane moves closer to Rick, his head nodding as he gently slaps his hand against his shoulder.

“Hey! New girl! Come on out! Meet everyone” Everyone’s eyes snapped to trunk. As Y/N finally made her way to the group. Her eyes furrowing as he noticed Rick on the ground hunging a child and a woman. She paused, a slow smile etching across her face as she realized it was Lori and Carl. She laughs slowly before walking to the group, Lori pushes out a air laugh before bringing into a tight hug.

“You’re okay! I- thank you” she whispers against your neck before pulling you back. Lori has been like your sister, growing up with the boys you didn’t have much girl friends, when Rick started dating Lori you both instantly clicked. It was like you were met to be friends.

“That can’t be you” you heard a familiar state, your heart stopped. “Baby? That’s not-” he stopped before yanking you away from Lori, spinning around to look at your face. Disbelief written over his features as he watched his wife stand in front of him. “Y/n?”

“Shane?” You let out finally, your body jumping into his arms, as you let out a soft cry. His head hidden in the crook of your neck as he spun around slightly. He sets you down watching you, taking everything about you from your hair to the clothes that you wore.

“I- I don’t know what to say... there’s so much I need to tell you and I’m just sorry” he spews out. His hand gripping the back of your head pulling you closer to him. You pushed him away quickly, his face carved with confusion.

“Fuck you” you whispers slowly, a low laugh falling out of your lips. He smiles brightly, his face scrunched up for a moment before he looked to the side.

“I... Fuck you too” he laughs

[perkqularkreashions]

City and Colors

//The One Where Y/N is Klaus’s Wife\\

**Requested

Summary: Y/N is a powerful supernatural being that was once married to Klaus. When he shows up to slain Elena, Damon calls her for reinforcement. 

Damon gently shoved at Stefan as the group gathered around. Everyone’s expression filled with worry and anxieties due to the recent circumstances of an original vampire that has come to kill Elena. Damon smirk knowingly, his eyes scanning the room as his grand plan was now falling into action.

Clapping his hands he gained everyone’s attention. Stepping forward he passed a wink to Elena. “I know due to the....recent unforeseen circumstances we have been on high alert. These original vampires have made our lives a living hell” he states, quiet murmurs filled the room. Bonnie lets out a sigh, she sits up her attention falling to Elena with a slight disdain.

“So I’m guessing you called us here because you have a plan?” Bonnie finally spoke, Stefan crossed just arms letting out a low laugh knowing that Damon always had some cockeyed scheme up his sleeve. It was only thing that he admire about his brother.

Elena let a small smile fall against her lips, as Damon nodded quickly. “Back in 1925 to be exact. I was traveling across the world in search of... life. I meet someone whom seemed wiser than her years. She had this face that you couldn’t forgot. A face that you couldn’t just brush away. She spoke of this family that she came in contact with, one thing stuck out to me the most was how she explained them.... immortal” Damon finished, just as he concluded spewing a fond memory a slow clap emitted from the room. Loud and abrupt.

“What a pleasant memory Mr. Salvatore” she lets out, her voice soothing to the ears. Bonnie’s ear perked as she noticed the woman standing behind Damon, her body of absolute perfection. Bonnie noticed her aura, it was something she couldn’t exactly place her finger on it. It was warm and welcoming... something that she hasn’t felt since her grandmother. “Well isn’t my favorite leech... Damon.”

Damon smiles as he moves to closer to her, his hands gently wrapping around her. Taking in her scent and the softness of skin. The way he could feel the essence of her being move through him. Y/N pulled away, her smile gently crossed her face. Damon wrapped his arms around her waist, moving to her side to show her to the group. “Y/N” he states to the crowd whom had watched the interaction.

“I’m Elena Gilbert” Y/N nods watching the girl for a brief moment, Elena’s eyes looking over her one time before returning back to her seat. “That is Stefan... Jeremy... Caroline.... and Bonnie” she introduced

“Well the pleasure is truly all mine” she spoke gently, her voice slow and soothing. “I’m happy to offer my services in your hour of need.”

“So what are you some sort of vampire hating...vampire?” Caroline sassed. Y/n let out a slow laugh, her hand covering her mouth as she clears her throat slowly trying to compose herself.

“No” Bonnie lets out, her eyes watching in confusion as she stands up. She takes two hesitant steps, crossing her arms gently. She examined Y/N, Bonnie’s eyes intently watching hers.

“Correct. I’m a type of witch.” She smiles, Damon squeezes her gently. “I trained with a very powerful woman... a witch who knowns no bounds to this earthy attachment... I can speak for witches in the room when I say that vampires are the root of all our problems”

Bonnie nods slowly, a wide smile scratching over her features. “How can you help me.” Elena interjected. Y/n shakes her head her attention falling on Bonnie.

“I’m here to help you. My dear... tonight at the dance” Y/N spoke

Night slowly fell as Y/N watched the outfit in disgust. She could hear soft footsteps moving into the room. Human, she thought.

“Hello Y/N?” He calls out with a slight hesitation. She spins around seeing Jeremy, his hand nervously fiddling with his cuffling. “I just wanted to say thanks for ya know.

“Don’t mention in... Jeremy. Right.” He smiles slowly. She pressed her lips together as she gave a short nod returning her attention back to the dress.

“I know this disdain for vampires... they stole a lot from me.” He whispers. She turns to face him pressing a thin smile on her lips. “But thank you”

Y/n began to unbuckle her clothing, sliding it off as Jeremy’s attention wander elsewhere for a brief moment. “You don’t mind helping me do you”

His attention snapped back to her noticing the lack of clothing. He clears his throat loudly, choking on his spit as he adjusts himself. “Yeah...yeah”

“I hated these outfits when they were in style. God. The horrendous color patterns and the pompous men.” She groans loudly pulling the material over her body. “It was horrible... I loved the Victorian era. Such beautiful men and women... and the art!”

Jeremy chuckles as he zips up her dress. “You should tell me about it sometime”

Y/n spins around, facing the Gilbert boy. She lets a slow smile fall on her lips. “Let’s go to the dance”

Y/n and Jeremy moved through the hall. The silence overtaken them. Jeremy’s hand shoved his pocket as he gave Y/n a slight glance. His attention returned back to the hall as he noticing 3 boys coming from around the corner.

“Hey what’s up guys?” He states, his eyes curiously rushing over their features. Before he could get another word out, his body fell forward as their fist continued to punch him. Without warning Y/n gasped for air. Her hand snapping to cover her body, taken by surprise she stands their for a moment. With a low growl escaping her lips she snatched out the wooden stake in her stomach. She flicks her hand harshly the boys flew back smacking their body against the lockers. She straighten her posture sensing a familiar energy, her heart thudded against her chest as she watched the ground for a moment. “Niklaus” she whispered to herself. 

“Will you be alright Jeremy?” she questions, he lets out a grunt before trying to move to his feet. 

“Yes, nothing I can’t handle” he hisses, with that she leaves following the soft voices that echoed through the halls. 

There he stood, it wasn’t his body that Y/N recognized but surely it was him. The way he talked and carried himself. The unique dialect of his tongue, it’was him. Bonnie watched Y/N from the ground, her hair blocking most of the view. Her gaze grew more intensively as she watched Y/n actions. Y/N’s hand slowly lifted up, Bonnie sucked in air quickly realizing that she was the source of the impossibly strong energy. It weighed down heavy on her, as her eyes flickered back Klaus. 

“You haven’t changed much my love” Klaus pauses, his heart smacked against his chest as the voice rang through his ears. He swallowed slowly before peaking over his shoulder. 

There she was standing in front of him, her face scrunched in displeasure... he hated that look. His wife...Y/n. He didn’t have any words to say, so he just stood their. 

“It has been awhile hasn’t it...Nik?”

[perkqularkreashions]

SHE’S SO GONE

//Y/N needs to find herself//

Damon Salvatore x (fem) reader

Annonomously Requested... Happy Readings

Y/N stared at Damon, his face growing hot as he watched Stefan. Everyone gathering together to find out what happen to Elena. Panicking as they rushed to find every able body to go out on this suicide mission to save the damsel in distress. Y/N grew tired of the constant saving the helpless mundane. She seemed to be in trouble every time she turned her back and Damon was first to go and risk his life for her.

Y/n knew that he loved her, she knew that deep down their was still feelings that couldn’t easily be pushed aside but she thought the longevity of their relationship he would see her, notice her when she was hurt. Crying for his attention and love but his fixation was on Elena.

“I’m coming too” Y/N shouted, her eyes snapping up as she made her way into the conversation.

“No. No. I’m not letting-”

“Now you decide to care” Y/N laughed before turning her attention back to the group. She tried hiding her emotions the best she could but she could feel them overflowing, she could feel the insecurity and the self loathing bottling up and burning. God she hated how Elena could do this to her without even trying. Y/n sucked in a deep breath before pushing her hands down her face. “I’m older than both of you. I can handle a little supernatural”

Without any more arguments, they were on the way. Y/n sat in the back her fingers twiddling against each other, her leg bouncing, the nerves taking over her. Despite being centuries old, she would always became nervous when going into a battle that could possible risk her life. Damon could always sense that about her, always telling her that she was pacifist in her former life. She looked up noticing Damon glaring at her, almost trying to pick into her mind.

“What?” She snapped, Damon rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to the front. She swallowed wanting to apologize but she knew that she couldn’t bring herself to do knowing that only reason they were sitting in this car was because of the woman that he loved.

The house was huge and abandoned, the windows slightly boarded up but you could hear movement voices murmuring throughout the house. They exited the car, Damon hand wrapping around her wrist as he pulls Y/n close to him. His icy blues eyes staring at hers with fury. “Please just don’t get hurt alright” Y/n nodded slowly at his statement, as the trio began to infiltrate the house. Y/n could hear Elena vividly, her whimpers and cries increasing as a familiar voice captures her ears. She froze as she stood in the middle of the steps, her heart thudding roughly against her chest. Anxiety rushed over her, slowly she turns around as she met with a familiar face. Her eyes watering as she tried holding back the overwhelming emotion that would soon erupt in her.

Elena, Damon, and Stefan watched her, their face contorted in a worried expression. “Eli-Elijah?” She stutters, Y/n drops the stake, with her vampire speed she rushes to him. Her hand instantly grabbing his face. She lets out a tearful laugh, as his face grew with a slow smile.

“You’re- where’s-” before she could finish her sentence, she was suddenly behind the staircase Stefan holding her as they watched Damon lung a wooden coat hanger through his chest.

“Y/n!” Damon shouts, his eyes finding her, Stefan and Y/N walked from the shadows, all eyes landing on Y/N. “You know that son of bitch?”

“I- a long time ago- he...” Y/N paused as she watched Damon for a moment.

“You risk Elena’s life? How do we know you didn’t orchestrate this whole thing?” Y/N looked up at Damon with tears in her eyes. It was the first moment that she let them fall freely, every single emotion was falling out and she couldn’t control it.

“No I didn’t! You and Stefan did that all on your own” Y/n laughs “I’ve been friends with you for how long! Damon! I’ve have gotten you out so many situations that you should have died from! I was there! You fixated on this girl because she reminds you of Katherine. Newsflah Damon she didn’t love you! I did! Did you ever even love me? This whole time you’ve just been using me to get over her... to try and subdue the feelings that you know you have. I was just a doormat because you knew... that I’d do anything for you.” She cries out her face burning as she screams. She looks away before pressing her lips together.

“Y/n/n” Stefan calls out, his body reaching towards trying to pull her in for hug. Y/N slaps his hand away

“No. I’m tired of coming second best to Elena. I’m- more than this. I deserve more than this!” She shouts before disappearing, Y/N didn’t know where she was going but she needed to be gone away from the distractions that haunted her. Away from the loveless relationship that tormented her, that drowned in insecurities she needed to be free.

She just needed to find herself.