#ILL FLESH IT OUT TRUST...

[arolegos]

cooking up a ninjago arcane au rn and what if i was evil

[jbwashere]

When ya boys been cooking a bit TOO much oc lore, both fandom and non fandom related

[your-local-granny]

Me when I go see moby dick and there was no whale 😟

[kkoct-ik]

yk im going through a weird patch mentally and artistically but damn if ive not drawn some awesome things before

[poicyss]

Wip of some identical twins hehe

[shortnspidey]

PROTECTOR BY DEFAULT

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!Reader || WC: 5.7K

SUMMARY: After bringing you up to speed on everything that’s happened, and with the weight of the world now resting on his shoulders, Bucky decides it’s finally time for you to meet the New Avengers.

WARNINGS: Thunderbolts* spoilers! Angst, Fluff, Talks of depression, grief, mental illness, and anxiety, platonic new avengers x reader

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! Although it could technically be a part two for this fic! This was supposed to be short, but I got carried away like usual! 🫣 Another purely self-indulgent fic since I haven't stopped thinking about Thunderbolts* since seeing it in theatres! Hope y'all enjoy! <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

➩ bucky barnes masterlist

It felt strange being back, surreal, even. The towering silhouette of Avengers Tower had once symbolized hope, unity, and legends. Now, rebranded as the Watchtower, it loomed above the skyline like a ghost of a different era. The architecture hadn’t changed, but everything else had. Hell, even Bucky being part of The New Avengers was something you still hadn’t fully wrapped your head around. A part of you kept waiting for the world to snap back to what it used to be.

As you stood silently in the elevator, the soft hum of machinery and the sterile glow of overhead lights did little to calm you. The numbers on the digital panel ticked upward, each one sending another ripple of anxiety down your spine. Bucky’s hand in yours was the only thing grounding you. His grip was firm, fingers slightly calloused but warm, a subtle tether pulling you away from the mental spiral that threatened to take hold. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to.

His presence alone was enough to remind you that you weren’t walking into this alone. You were still gathering your thoughts, trying, and failing, to find some semblance of composure, when the elevator dinged sharply, slicing through the silence like a blade. The doors parted with a soft hiss, and the cool air of the lobby hit you all at once. You held your breath. Bucky stepped forward first, his body language shifting subtly as he sensed your hesitation.

Without looking back, his thumb brushed gently across your knuckles in a silent gesture of reassurance. You followed, one reluctant step after another, heart pounding behind your ribs like a war drum. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful, if only momentarily that the space was empty. You weren’t ready to see anyone yet, even if you knew everything about them on paper. "You okay?" Bucky’s voice was low, gentle, pulling you back from all the memories crashing into your chest.

You blinked, realizing your shoulders had tensed, spine rigid as a board. Your eyes had drifted to the bar, now sleek and modern, its shelves conspicuously empty, all traces of liquor gone. Yet in your mind, it was still stocked with expensive bottles and louder times. Laughter. Sarcasm. Your father’s voice. You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to hold steady. A lump had already formed in your throat, hot and heavy. If you spoke, it just might burst. That fragile quiet shattered as footsteps echoed across the marble floor. You instinctively turned, posture tense.

Hazel eyes met yours, sharp, curious, and brimming with wariness. A familiar face, even if you had never met her in the flesh. “Y/N, this is—” Bucky began, his voice hesitant, a trace of something unreadable in his tone. But he didn’t need to finish. “Yelena Belova,” You breathed, recognition crashing over you like a wave. The blonde’s eyes widened, brows knitting together as confusion flickered in her expression. “Natasha.” The name escaped you as little more than a whisper, and yet it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

It clawed at your throat and dragged water to your eyes with merciless precision. Her name was still a wound. “She talked about you all the time,” You managed, your voice thick. “She loved you so much.” Something shifted behind Yelena’s eyes, like a veil lifting to reveal layers of grief, guilt, and something else...something softer. She blinked rapidly, then tilted her head as recognition seemed to click into place. “You’re the little girl,” She muttered, her accent thick and familiar in a way that tugged at your chest.

“She talked about you too. Tony Stark’s daughter.” She paused, her tone softening. “Said she trained you like her own little widow. That you were strong. Fearless. She kept a picture of you in her wallet, even though she always denied it when I teased her.” Your breath hitched, the knot in your chest pulling tighter. Natasha said it aloud any chance she could get, but now you had confirmation. Proof of her love tucked away in the form of a photo. The thought made your knees feel weak. Yelena stepped forward slowly, as if careful not to startle you.

Her eyes held a glimmer of something raw, vulnerability masked behind her usual bravado.“She loved you too,” She confessed, voice quieter now, almost reverent. “Said we’d get along.” You smiled through the ache. It was the first genuine one you’d felt since stepping back into this tower. Before your nerves could betray you, you gently untangled your hand from Bucky’s and closed the distance between you and Yelena. Your arms wrapped around her in a hesitant but earnest embrace. You felt her stiffen, an instinctual pause, but then, something softened. Her grip tightened, her hold grounding.

You clung to her like a lifeline, both of you seemingly drawing strength from the other. “It’s so good to finally meet you, дорогая.” she murmured into your shoulder, her voice wavering just enough for you to hear the emotion behind it. Hearing Natasha’s nickname in her voice, so similar, yet different brought fresh tears to your eyes. You buried your face in Yelena’s shoulder and held on tighter, hoping she’d feel what you couldn’t say. “She’s a keeper, Barnes,” Yelena drawled, pulling back just enough to glance over her shoulder at Bucky.

Her expression sharpened with mock seriousness, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Don’t screw it up, or you’ll have to deal with me. You laughed, an unfiltered, real laugh that surprised even you with how naturally it came. “I don’t plan on it,” Bucky reassured her, raising both hands in a playful surrender. His lips curved in that crooked little smirk that always made your heart skip. “Message received.” Yelena gave a curt nod, before turning back to you with a gleam in her eye, mischief and challenge dancing in equal measure. “We should spar sometime,” She suggested, rolling her shoulders.

“See if you really live up to your reputation. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.” You arched an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your lips. “Natasha never did. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”Yelena’s smirk widened as if to say good answer, then she took a step back, eyes still assessing you with that blend of curiosity and silent approval. Before either of you could say anything else, a deep voice echoed down the corridor, thick with a Russian accent and zero regard for volume.

“Lena!” Yelena groaned immediately, dragging a hand down her face and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh no,” She muttered under her breath. “Why does he always do this…” Heavy footsteps approached from the direction of the eastern wing, and a moment later, the large figure of a man rounded the corner. You recognized him instantly, broad-shouldered, gray in the beard but still moving with the lumbering energy of a man who had never truly grown out of his prime. “Have you seen my—” He started, trailing off as his eyes landed on the three of you gathered near the lobby.

His gaze jumped from Bucky to Yelena to you, and then his whole face lit up. “Alexei Shostakov,” His eyes practically sparkled at the sound of his name coming from you. “Y/N Stark!” He boomed, beaming with wild enthusiasm. “The Winter Soldier’s lady!” And before you could react, before you could even blink his arms were around you. With shocking speed and strength, Alexei hoisted you clean off the ground, pulling you into a bear hug that knocked the breath right out of you. Your feet left the floor, spine popping under the sheer pressure of his embrace as you let out a muffled oof against his shoulder.

“It’s so good to meet you!” He exclaimed, rocking slightly as if that somehow made the hug friendlier instead of terrifying. “Alexei!” Yelena barked, springing into motion. “Be careful! Don’t break her!” She grabbed at his massive arm, trying to loosen his grip. Alexei grunted and reluctantly released you, setting you down gently, well, gently for him. “Lena, I’m simply saying hello,” He protested, waving a large hand toward you with a look of exaggerated innocence.

“She’s fine. All limbs accounted for. Heart still beating. Good bones!” You stumbled slightly, catching your breath with a startled laugh as Bucky steadied you by the elbow. "It's nice to meet you too." You smiled matching his enthusiasm. Yelena shot her father a glare sharp enough to cut glass, then turned to you apologetically. “Sorry. He gets excited.” Before Alexei could get out another word, another voice called out, this one feminine, and laced with barely contained exasperation. “Alexei, what did we say about using your inside voice?”

Her voice had that steely edge you recognized from the briefing files. Ava Starr. Before another awkward silence could settle, a new voice chimed in from behind Ava, laid-back and cocky in the way only one person could pull off. “Yeah, man,” John Walker coaxed as he approached, shaking his head and giving Alexei a sidelong look. “You scared poor Bob half to death. We’re supposed to keep him calm, remember?” Alexei rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering something in Russian under his breath. As the group entered the lobby fully, the shift in atmosphere was palpable.

You felt it before you saw it. Three new pairs of eyes turned to you in unison, each gaze heavy in its own way. Curiosity. Surprise. Maybe a bit of judgment. “Y/N,” John’s voice broke the moment. His tone held genuine surprise, and not the unwelcome kind. “I hear congratulations are in order.” His smirk widened as he shot a glance at Bucky. “Still don’t know how you managed to pull it off, Barnes. You’re one lucky bastard.” Beside you, you felt Bucky go still for a beat. The quiet tension that coiled in his shoulders was familiar, defensive, but measured.

Then, you watched a slow smirk curled on his lips, the kind you’d seen more than once before. “Walker.” He all but growled, voice laced with warning. You stepped forward, intercepting the brewing testosterone with a neutral nod. The clipped politeness in your voice was enough to stall whatever innuendo was seconds from spilling out of Bucky’s mouth. Redirecting your focus, you turned to Ava, her arms crossed tight against her chest, posture rigid and eyes sharp. You offered your hand nonetheless, your tone respectful but firm. “It’s nice to meet you, Ava.”

She hesitated. A brief flicker of uncertainty passed through her eyes, trust didn’t come easily to her, and you didn’t expect it to. But she reached out, her grip strong. “Likewise.” She replied simply. Her voice held no warmth, but there was no malice either. You took it as a neutral win. Just behind her, standing somewhat apart from the cluster, was Robert Reynolds. Bob. He looked entirely out of place. An oversized hoodie draped over his tall, lean frame like a security, the sleeves almost swallowing his hands.

His hair fell in messy strands around his face, and his eyes, flicked up just long enough to meet yours. “Hi Bob.” You offered him a small smile and a casual wave, nothing too energetic, just enough to let him know you saw him. That he mattered. His gaze didn’t hold. He dipped his head quickly, before he turned slightly, half-shielding himself behind Ava. You didn’t take it personally. Bucky had told you enough. About what Bob was. What he’d endured. What he could become if things went sideways. The fact that he was even standing in the room, surrounded by strangers, was a miracle in itself.

“Don’t stand there, come in!” Alexei boomed ushering you deeper into the tower. “This is your home too, don’t be shy!” You smiled politely, the corner of your lips curving upward in amusement as his voice echoed off the high ceilings. Bucky gently placed a reassuring hand on the small of your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you as you stepped further into the room. The space looked different now, though the bones of Avengers Tower still whispered through the marble and steel. Yet the walls were no longer adorned with Stark-tech.

Instead they were filled with mismatched frames, tactical maps, and, strangely enough, a vintage Soviet flag hanging proudly near the corner. A large couch wrapped around the central area, oversized and broken-in, surrounded by oddball furniture that didn’t match but somehow fit. Each step you took brought back echoes of the past. They lingered, not as ghosts, but as memories, vivid and bittersweet. Bucky gave your side a gentle squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to make sure Alexei hasn’t burned lunch again.” He whispered lowly, already following the scent of something suspiciously smoky wafting from the kitchen.

You chuckled softly, then turned, scanning the room until you found a place to sit between Yelena and Ava, both of whom were locked in a silent mutual tolerance that, somehow, felt like their version of friendship. You sank into the plush cushions, glancing at them with a playful gleam in your eyes. “You girls have plans this weekend? My best friend Kate and I usually grab coffee. You should come.” Ava raised a brow, while Yelena cast a quick, unreadable glance in your direction. “Kate Bishop?” She asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded in confirmation, already making a mental note to ask how she knew about Kate. “We could get out of this tower for a few hours,” You continued, grin spreading as your voice dropped in mock-conspiracy. “Get away from all this testosterone?”You winked, and a low sound rumbled from behind the kitchen island. You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Bucky, biting back a laugh. A second later, he disguised it with a perfectly timed cough. “We can hear you, you know.” John called out dryly from where he leaned against the far wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

His tone was flat as ever, but the twitch of his jaw suggested he was used to being the punchline. “Wasn’t exactly a secret, Walker.” You quipped back, shrugging innocently. That earned a genuine laugh from Alexei, who clapped his hands together with childlike delight, pointing toward John mockingly. You were almost certain you heard the faintest huff of amusement from Bob, seated half-curled in a beanbag by the bookshelf. It was gone just as fast as it came, but your heart warmed all the same. Progress was progress. Yelena snorted beside you reaching behind the couch to give your shoulder an approving squeeze.

Ava leaned in slightly toward Yelena, voice low but not quiet enough. “I like her already.” You smiled, then looked up, sensing the familiar weight of Bucky’s gaze. Across the room, he leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded, cerulean eyes locked on you. That quiet intensity softened as you met his stare, the corners of his mouth twitching into something small and private. The look said it all. Told you so. Maybe this team wasn’t the Avengers. Maybe it didn’t have to be. It was something new. Something rough, imperfect, but full of potential. And maybe, just maybe… it could be home.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you stirred beneath the sheets, restless and uneasy. The room was stuffy and quiet, save for the gentle rhythm of Bucky’s breathing beside you. Careful not to disturb him, you quietly slipped from the bed. The soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the curtains, as you padded silently down the hallway toward the kitchen. You flicked on a small light above the stove, its warm yellow hue illuminating the familiar space.

The hum of the kettle filled the silence as you turned on the burner, hoping a cup of tea might soothe whatever it was that kept you from succumbing to sleep. But then, you felt it, an a subtle shift in the air. You weren’t alone. "You can come out," You called softly. "I could use the company." From the shadows beyond the doorway, a figure emerged, slowly, cautiously. You watched as Bob stepped into the light, his shoulders tense. His eyes flicked around the room but never quite settled on you.

“Can’t sleep either?” You asked, your voice softer now, touched with the kind of quiet understanding that didn’t demand answers. He nodded almost immediately, a curt, vulnerable motion. His eyes dropped to the floor, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. The gesture wasn’t dramatic, but it carried a weight, like even admitting the truth was something shameful. You offered a small, knowing smile and turned back to the stove. The kettle began to hum, the first quiet bubbles nudging the surface with gentle insistence. “Want some tea?” You asked over your shoulder. “Always seems to help me sleep.”

He hesitated, the silence stretching for just a second too long, then gave a slow nod. Smiling to yourself, you rifled through the chaotic mess of tea bags shoved into the cabinet: chamomile, lavender, citrus blends, your fingers settling on a familiar green-and-white packet. Eucalyptus. Cool and calming, the kind your mom used to swear by. “My mom,” You began, pulling two mismatched mugs from the shelf and dropping the bags inside with a soft rustle. “Always made me tea when I couldn’t sleep.”

The water hissed as you poured it, a stream of warmth into the ceramic, instantly coaxing the scent of minty leaves and woodsy herbs into the air. You slid one mug gently across the counter to him. “She always said she’d sprinkle sugar in it, just a little to make all the bad dreams and thoughts go away.” You smiled at the memory, cupping your own mug between both hands. The heat soaked into your skin, comforting, anchoring. You swore you saw a twitch in the corner of Bob’s mouth, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, like a flicker of light swallowed by shadow.

“Thinking back to it now,” You thought aloud, letting out a small breath of a laugh. “It was probably all the placebo effect in full force.” You took a sip, the eucalyptus sharp and soothing on your tongue, feeling it trace a warm line down your throat. Across the counter, Bob mimicked your movements, less fluid, more tentative. When the tea touched his lips, something in him seemed to ease. His shoulders, which had been drawn up as if expecting impact, slowly sagged downward. His posture softened, like a held breath finally released.

“Thank you.” He murmured, his voice no longer brittle but still so quiet it could’ve been missed under the low hum of the kettle. “Nothing to thank me for, Bob. I’m happy to help.” He paused, eyes flicking toward you before returning to the tea cradled between his palms, like he was trying to absorb your words through the warmth of the mug. The silence stretched between you, not cold or awkward this time. Then, finally, he spoke. His voice barely a whisper, edges rough with hesitance. “H-How come you’re up this late?”

The question was simple, but his body betrayed how difficult it had been to ask. His fingers curled tighter around the ceramic, spine going ramrod straight almost as if he was expecting reprimand. He didn’t meet your eyes. The tension returned to his shoulders as though part of him still lived in a place where curiosity came with consequences. You took your time answering, glancing around the room with a soft exhale. “Feels weird being back here,” You admitted, voice tinged with something bittersweet.

You walked over to check the kettle out of habit, even though it had gone quiet, and refilled your mug to chase the chill creeping into your bones.“My dad and I had a rocky relationship,” You began, stirring the tea slowly, watching the leaves swirl in lazy circles. “But in the five years after the Blip… we got close. Worked through a lot of our differences.” You paused, the corners of your mouth curling into a wistful smile as the images swirled through your mind. “He wasn’t perfect. Hell, I wasn’t either. But we tried.” You turned to face Bob again, leaning gently against the counter.

“Being back here just brings all of that back." Bob looked up then, his expression open in a way you weren’t used to seeing. Vulnerable. Unfiltered. Like your honesty had offered him permission to be something other than afraid. “He left me with the best mom I could ask for, and two annoying siblings who drive me absolutely insane, yet I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Your voice cracked with a breath of half-laughter, half-sorrow, the words tinged with affection and weariness. You let out a slow breath, the kind that trembled slightly at the end.

As if your lungs couldn’t quite carry the weight of what you were feeling. The tightness in your throat pulsed, stubborn and raw, and you blinked up at the ceiling in an attempt to keep the water gathering on your lashes from falling. The kitchen light, dim and soft, refracted slightly through the moisture, making the world blur around the edges. “Still, being back here… the memories just resurface.” Bob didn’t speak right away. He just sat there, his figure small and still, the mug clutched tightly in both hands like it was the only thing grounding him to the present.

His fingers trembled slightly, knuckles pale under the strain. But then he nodded, once, slow and deliberate. Not out of politeness, but understanding. Real, lived-in understanding. The kind that doesn't need words. “C-Can I ask you something?” He didn’t look at you, his gaze dropped to the steam curling up from his mug, as if the question might vanish there if he spoke it too loudly. “You can ask me anything, Bob.” You replied gently, keeping your tone low and even, not with pity, but respect. Your fingers twitched slightly against your mug the instinct to reach out strong, to offer comfort, but you stopped yourself.

Not because you didn’t care, but because you did. Because you knew what Bucky had told you, about how touch could feel like danger, not reassurance. Bob’s lips parted, then pressed together again. He swallowed, throat bobbing visibly. “Since you’re… y’know, a therapist,” He began, voice breaking on the word like it tasted bitter. “Do you honestly think I can be fixed?” The question hit the air like a weight. No lightning crack or dramatic silence, just something heavier than gravity. Something that pulled the world down with it. Your heart broke for the man in front of you.

Not because he was broken, but because somewhere along the line, someone had taught him to believe he was. That he was a burden. A ticking time bomb people had to "deal with" instead of help. You exhaled slowly, the words forming not from your training, but your gut. “Bob…” You set your mug down carefully, the ceramic making a soft clink against the counter. “You don’t need to be fixed.” He flinched subtly, but you saw it. His shoulders curled in like a child bracing for discipline. His eyes squeezed shut, head bowed low like the words physically hurt to hear, or like he simply couldn’t let himself believe them.

“I know you’ve heard the opposite, probably more times than you can count,” You continued, voice soft but steady. “And yes, I’m a therapist. But that doesn’t mean I get to decide who you are or what’s wrong with you.” You stepped forward, just one step, slow and quiet so as not to startle him.“There is nothing wrong with you, Bob. You have my word, and I will never abuse that title to pick you apart. I don’t see something broken that needs mending. I see someone who’s survived. Who’s still surviving.” His breath hitched, mug trembling in his hands.

You saw the way his knuckles whitened, how his jaw clenched tight, like he was holding back the storm he thought no one could handle. “You, Robert Reynolds,” You deliberately used his full name, grounding him in the truth of his identity. “Have endured abuse. Manipulation. And yet, you’re still here. Still trying. Still fighting. Still protecting people who don’t even know what you’ve given up to do it.” You took another step, until you were standing just a breath away. Slowly, you turned your hand over, open, palm facing up offering, not imposing. An unspoken gesture of trust. A choice.

“You don’t have to carry this alone. We’re here. All of us. For the low lows and the high highs. And all the weird, confusing, terrifying middle ground too.” Bob didn’t speak. Not yet. But something in him shifted. You saw it, the way his shoulders lost their rigid line, the way his breathing began to even out. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand moved. A flicker of indecision paused him halfway. Then, with a trembling exhale, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. It was the lightest touch. Barely there. But it was real.

It was his choice.

And that choice meant everything.

“You’re really good at this.” Bob’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Yet he offered a timid smile, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough. He opened his mouth again, brow furrowing slightly as if struggling to find the right words, but you held up a hand gently, already knowing where his thoughts were headed. “Don’t thank me,” You repeated softly, your voice threaded with sincerity, anchoring him. “I’m your friend, Bob. Anything you need, don’t hesitate to talk to one of us, okay? Promise me.”

You felt the faint pressure of his fingers curling, a tentative squeeze. It wasn’t strong, but it didn’t need to be. It was deliberate. Trusting. “I promise.” You gave his hand another squeeze, grounding him in the moment, a soft smile lingering on your face. That quiet connection was enough, until the soft, familiar sound of bare feet pattering against tile broke the stillness. You turned your head toward the doorway, footsteps light and rhythmically uneven, someone just roused from sleep.

"Having a tea party without me?" Yelena’s voice drifted into the kitchen, low and gravelly with sleep. She stood in the doorway, rubbing one eye with the sleeve of her oversized T-shirt. You turned, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Just helping out a friend,” You replied gently, not missing the way Bob’s shoulders tensed slightly at her presence, then slowly eased when he realized she hadn’t come with judgment, only curiosity. You didn’t elaborate. That part was entirely up to him. “That tea certainly worked,”

You yawned, the fatigue catching up to you like a tide slipping over your bones. “I’m feeling awfully drowsy.” You rubbed your eyes, the pressure a soothing dullness against the sleepiness building behind them. “Goodnight, guys,” Casting a glance toward Bob and giving him a tired but sincere wink. You leaned over to squeeze Yelena’s hand, her fingers instinctively curling around yours. “Bob, I’ll leave you in great hands.” At that, he managed a faint but genuine smile. With that you padded quietly out of the kitchen and down the dark hallway back into you and Bucky’s shared bedroom.

As you slipped beneath the sheets, the cool cotton brushing over your legs, Bucky stirred instinctively. Even in sleep, his body sought yours. His arms found you with practiced ease, one flesh, one vibranium pulling you into the familiar cradle of his chest. The metal of his left hand met the bare skin of your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips at the contrast: sleek, chilled steel against the warmth of your body. But it wasn’t jarring, it was soothing, anchoring. “Where’d you go?” He murmured, voice thick with sleep, slurred at the edges. “Missed you.” He breathed, the words muffled as he nuzzled into the hollow of your neck.

His breath was warm and slow against your skin. A smile bloomed across your face. You turned in his embrace, your legs tangling with his beneath the sheets, the warmth of him sinking into your bones like a balm. Your hand rose to his hair, fingertips weaving through the unruly strands, soft and tangled from sleep. You gently tugged him closer, not that he needed the encouragement. His blue eyes fluttered open, half-lidded with exhaustion but filled with something else, something steady.

“Couldn’t sleep,” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. “Didn’t want to wake you.” He exhaled slowly, that familiar sound of understanding and quiet guilt mingling together in his breath. At your confession he simply pulled you tighter, burying his face against your neck, the kiss he pressed there slow and reverent. Right over your pulse. You turned your face, noses brushing in the dark, and met his lips in a kiss that was chaste only in its simplicity, not in what it meant. It was soft and slow, an exhale shared between two people who’d known war, grief, loss, and still chose love.

Your hand rested over his heart, where the beat thudded strong beneath your palm, and his settled at the small of your back, anchoring you to the here and now. His touch was steady, un-rushed. After a moment, his voice returned, low and hesitant, slicing through the silence like a thread unraveling. “It is weird, isn’t it?” His blue eyes stared into yours, their usual steel tempered by something softer, uncertainty, maybe. The kind of look someone gave when they were afraid of the answer, but needed to ask anyway. “A little,” You admitted, shrugging one shoulder against the pillow, your lips twitching upward.

“But… it’s not entirely horrible.” He raised a brow, a silent prompt for you to go on. “Yelena, Ava, Bob, Alexei. They’re lovely.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully, trying to find the right balance between honesty and humor. “Not sure how you willingly work with Walker and his ego though.” That made Bucky snort, the sound low and warm. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, lips brushing the curve with a smile tucked against your skin. “This new team will take some getting used to,” You confessed after a beat, voice more thoughtful now. “But it’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

You watched as his brow furrowed, a crease forming between his eyes as he turned the thought over in his head. That familiar flicker of self-doubt crossed his face, so quick you might’ve missed it, unless you knew him like you did. “It’s just…” He started, his voice quieter now. More exposed. “I’m not Steve.” Even the way he said the name carried weight. The silence that followed was thick with things unsaid. The shadow Steve Rogers left was long, and Bucky had spent years trying not to live inside it.

“Half the time I don’t know what I’m doing,” He admitted, eyes drifting downward. “And they willingly follow me. What if someday I make a mistake, one I can’t fix? One that costs someone their life?” You reached up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing along his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and your heart ached for the man in front of you, still haunted by ghosts he could never quite outrun. “You’re right,” You agreed watching as his expression flickered with disappointment, just for a brief moment.

“You’re not Steve Rogers.” His face fell slightly, a muscle in his jaw tightening. But before he could pull away, you continued, your voice unwavering. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes. War hero. Soldier. Congressman. Leader.” You leaned in closer, pressing your forehead against his, your eyes locked onto his with fierce conviction. “And most importantly… my future husband.” You saw the breath catch in his throat. His hand tightened slightly at your back, as if grounding himself in your certainty when he couldn’t find his own. “I don’t need you to be Steve,” You whispered.

“I just need you to be you. And that’s more than enough for me and everyone else.” His lips trembled into the faintest smile, and when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t chaste, it was filled with silent gratitude. A thousand unspoken thank you's pressed to your mouth like prayer. He held you there for a long while, breathing you in like a lifeline, like he could gather up every ounce of warmth you offered and store it in the cracks he still carried. When he pulled back to see your face, his gaze wasn’t burdened by the weight of who he had been or who he thought he had to be.

It was clearer now, tinged not with regret, but something steadier. Something lighter. The silence that settled was different now. Not the silence of things unsaid, but of things understood. The kind that comes after a storm, when the world stills and you realize you’ve made it through. His arms wrapped around you once more pulling you close until your heartbeat found his. Your bodies fit together in that quiet way only love makes possible, each curve and line a map of survival and second chances. You finally let your eyes fall closed, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm beneath your ear grounding you.

Not in the past, but in the present. In this fragile, extraordinary now. The weight of old ghosts hadn’t vanished, but they no longer ruled the room. They faded into the background, overtaken by the smell of eucalyptus still lingering faintly from the tea, the warmth of the blankets drawn over both of you, and the comfort of simply not being alone. Outside, the world slept. Still healing, still aching, but alive. Moving forward. And in that quiet space between what was and what would be, there was something neither of you dared to name, but both held onto nonetheless.

Hope.

There, in the dark, wrapped in each other’s arms, it flickered steadily, guiding you both into whatever came next.

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[eraenaa]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends. 

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.” 

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe. 

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you. 

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.  

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face. 

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin. 

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down. 

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him. 

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. 

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him. 

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face. 

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice. 

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away. 

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet. 

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you. 

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

masterlist

prev. | next

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 6

Summary: Edward and Bella's wedding day was fast approaching. Bella begins to struggle with the idea of becoming a vampire. She also wonders what a future with Edward could look like if he continues his turbulent relationship with Y/N.

TW: Mentions of marriage, manipulation, lack of regard for the feelings of others.

Edward stood on the terrace, looking out into the forest and watching the sun rise through the trees. Y/N made her way over to him, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

The silence settled easily between them and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. He hoped that their tense exchange from the previous day would be forgotten, but Y/N had never been one for turning over new leaves.

Y/N had always been impulsive and Edward dealt with it well until her impulsivity put Bella at risk.

"That gaudy ring that your human has been parading around with leads me to believe that congratulations are in order... I didn't think you had it in you to make so many life ruining choices in so little time," Y/N stated.

"How did you find out?" Edward asked.

"The real question is why you hid it from me," She replied.

"I didn't hide it," Edward said.

"Did you think I wouldn't come back if you told me you were engaged to her?" Y/N questioned.

Edward hesitated, "I needed you," He stated softly.

Y/N hated that he thought the simple statement justified his lies to her. Edward had never been outright cruel, he moved in the shadows with practiced precision. He kept his hands clean while burying the knife in her flesh like he had done countless times before.

Edward lied by omission, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You needed my power, not me," Y/N said.

"I care about you, Y/N... I want you to be here with us," Edward said.

"Where exactly do you think I belong in this perfect life you've created for yourself, hmm? Following you and your wife around until she eventually dies so you're not alone?" Y/N asked, looking over at him.

"I'm turning her into a Vampire after the wedding," He said.

"Oh, how sweet of you to consider me when planning your happy life," Y/N replied bitterly.

"Don't patronize me, Y/N," He snapped.

"You started it," She said calmly, straightening up and turning towards him.

Edward huffed, "That wasn't my intention," He said.

"You're a fool, Edward. I have told you that you need to cut her loose and you've chosen to shackle yourself to her instead," Y/N said.

"I love her," Edward stated.

"She is plain... The only thing that makes her interesting to you is the fact that you can't read her mind. The fascination will wear off after a few decades and you will toss her away like chewed gum," She said.

"I would never do that to her," Edward snapped.

"But you did it to me without an issue," Y/N replied coldly.

Edward huffed, "You were a danger to her, Y/N," He said.

"No, I wasn't. If I wanted the girl dead, she'd be dead and you know that," Y/N said.

Y/N was right, she didn't need to be able to use her powers to kill Bella. Y/N may have had some ill intent during their previous interactions, but she hadn't taken any action.

Y/N had been Edward's trusted friend for years and he couldn't imagine a future without her. He loved Bella, but Y/N was family and he wouldn't turn his back on her.

"You're right," Edward muttered.

Y/N looked over at him, almost confused by his response to her, "Did you just agree with me?" She questioned.

Edward shot her a look, "I did, but don't let it go to your head... I know that you haven't been welcoming to Bella but I want to be able to trust you around her. I'm willing to continue our friendship if you are," Edward said.

"Is your little girlfriend going to be okay with this?" Y/N questioned.

"It doesn't matter. You're one of the most important people in my life and she'll have to deal with it," Edward said.

Y/N smirked, "Already picking favorites before you're even married... Good luck with the wedding," She said, stepping away from the railing and moving inside.

Edward lingered on the balcony, he felt unsettled after their interaction and he couldn't pinpoint why. Y/N knew about Edward's engagement and the plan to change Bella after the wedding which had been his biggest cause for concern.

No one in the family had told her, which meant that the news had come from Bella directly. Edward's relationship with Bella had been strained lately and an unsupervised interaction with Y/N could definitely explain it.

Bella hadn't been sleeping, her nights were filled with bad dreams and restless sleep. When Edward asked her about what was worrying her, she brushed him off and told him that everything was fine. Edward hated not knowing what she was thinking, she had been quiet and it worried him.

There had been no yelling or use of excessive force during his conversation with Y/N which should have made him feel better about their situation, but it didn't.

They were in uncharted territory and Edward couldn't help but feel on edge. Bella was still an undoubtedly fragile human and he just needed to keep her safe until the wedding. After that, she would be a Vampire and a permanent part of the Cullen family.

Edward suddenly stiffened when he realized where Y/N had gone. She would do anything she could to push him and Bella further apart, even if it meant using his own words against him.

...

Edward raced to town and arrived in Bella's bedroom quickly, Y/N was sitting in a chair while the young human hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Hello, Edward. I was just updating your human on the details of our talk. I think you have a couple things that need to be discussed," Y/N said, standing up from the chair.

Edward grabbed her wrist, "Why would you do this?" He asked angrily.

"I just think everyone needs to know where they stand before our friendship can continue. The human agrees, don't you?" Y/N asked, looking over at Bella.

"Leave her out of this," Edward snapped, grip tightening on her wrist.

"Stop it, both of you. My god, you're like children and it's ridiculous," Bella said, Edward released Y/N's arm.

"Look, she's right about knowing where everyone stands, but I know that she only came here to try and mess with my head," Bella stated.

"Not as stupid as she looks," Y/N muttered.

"Shut up," Edward snapped.

"Can you go? You've caused a sufficient amount of issues now, Y/N," Bella mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on her feet and crossing her arms.

"It would be my pleasure," She said, turning her attention to Edward.

"Have fun cleaning up the mess you've created, Edward," Y/N smiled, disappearing without another word.

Edward let out a huff, "Bella, I was going to tell you about reaching out to her," He started.

"When?" Bella asked, making her way over to him.

"You haven't been sleeping lately and I didn't want to add another thing onto your plate," Edward said.

"I haven't been sleeping because of all of this," Bella said, gesturing between them, "She hates me and she's getting in my head about everything. I have nightmares that she kills me before I make it to the altar," Bella said.

"She wouldn't do that," Edward stated.

"I think you're seriously underestimating her, Edward," Bella said, shaking her head.

"Y/N has a problem with me, not you. I haven't been entirely honest with her lately and that's on me," Edward stated.

"Why are you keeping things from her? If she's really your friend, you should be able to tell her everything," Bella said.

"Y/N and I have a complicated relationship, Bella. I can't just abandon her and I need you to respect that," He said.

Bella huffed, "What if I said 'it's her or me'?" She questioned.

Edward faltered, opening his mouth before quickly closing it again. He didn't know what to say, he assumed that the answer would be easy but he hesitated.

Edward had never allowed himself to think about fully giving up on Y/N. He didn't love her, but she was his best friend. He felt like he was missing something when she wasn't around.

Having Y/N disappear from his life had proved to him that he would never be ready to close the door on her.

"Wow... I don't even know what to say," She muttered, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"I don't love her, Bella, but she's my best friend and I won't abandon her," Edward said.

"She's a big girl, Edward. I'm sure she can handle it," Bella stated.

"No, she can't," Edward snapped.

Bella looked shocked before she let out a shaky exhale, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I just- This is something I am not willing to compromise on. Y/N has been through a lot and I owe it to her," Edward said.

"Fine, but I need to know that nothing is going to happen before or during the wedding," Bella said.

"I promise," Edward nodded.

Bella hoped that she could trust him, but the nightmares continued to plague her. She wanted to tell him that he needed to choose her, but his mind was made up.

His hesitation when she asked him to pick between her and Y/N only served to solidify her doubts. When she put him on the spot, he picked Y/N and in high pressure situations he was likely to do the same thing.

The wedding was only days away and a pit was beginning to form in her stomach. Marriage was one thing, but becoming a Vampire was not something that she could opt out of easily. Edward put a lot of weight into the idea of marriage and once she became like him, she would be stuck.

Bella couldn't walk away from him after he gave her immortality. She also struggled to cope with the idea of having her entire life be stuck in such a toxic loop.

Y/N was reactive and manipulative, pushing them apart whenever they got closer to one another. She was possessive of Edward and had some serious issues that would interfere with their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Bella hoped that things would fall into place, but she was beginning to feel like they never would.

...

Edward and Bella were getting married tomorrow. Alice had planned absolutely everything for the wedding. She took care of the guest list, the invitations, the flowers, the dress and everything in between.

The property of the Cullen house had been fully transformed for the wedding. Intricate flowers were hanging from overhead and a beautiful arch had been created for them to get married under.

Bella was still having nightmares, but refused to acknowledge them as the wedding day approached. Bella hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she meddled in their relationship after her conversation with Edward.

Y/N had moved back into the Cullen house, but had been keeping to herself for the most part. Bella was almost beginning to wonder if Edward was keeping her in check or if she was quiet for a more malicious reason.

Edward visited Bella in her bedroom before his bachelor party and they talked about his past. The conversation threw her off, it almost seemed like he was trying to give her a reason to call off their engagement.

Their relationship was still tense, but it was starting to go back to the way it had been. Despite Y/N trying to get under Bella's skin about Edward reaching out to her, the conversation had actually helped.

They were able to lay their cards on the table and be honest. Edward's connection to Y/N was complex and problematic but it was always going to exist. Their conversation lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, but hadn't relieved it entirely.

Bella sent him off to his brothers for his bachelor party before settling in for a night of restless sleep. Edward's bachelor party involved a rather entertaining hunt and some juvenile behavior with his brothers until the sun began to rise.

Edward walked through the forest on his way back to the Cullen house with Jasper and Emmett. Morning dew glistened on the greenery and birds began to chirp in the trees.

"I wonder what Y/N is going to get up to today. That's one hell of a wild card to have at your wedding," Emmett said with a smirk.

"She's not going to try anything," Edward stated.

"You sure about that?" Jasper questioned.

Edward huffed, "I don't know what she's up to lately," He said.

"Might be best to put Carlisle on Y/N duty. He can keep an eye on her for you," Emmett said.

"If I do that she'll think I don't trust her," Edward said.

"But you don't," Emmett stated, climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

"I don't want her to know that," Edward shrugged.

"I'm glad she's moving back in. I missed having her around," Emmett said.

"Me too," Jasper nodded, "She's fun and she makes you loosen up a bit," He said, looking over at Edward.

"She hates Bella," Edward stated.

"Nah, I don't think so. Just seems like she's trying to keep you from doing something stupid," Emmett said, Edward shot him a glare.

"Hey, I don't think it's stupid, but she definitely does," Emmett said, holding his hands up.

Edward huffed, "I'll talk to her. She has to know how important the wedding is to us," He said.

"Good luck with that," Jasper smirked.

The trio fell silent as they approached the Cullen house, splitting off into their respective rooms while Edward made his way to Y/N's bedroom.

He knew that Emmett was right and he needed to talk to Y/N. She had been far too quiet for it to mean anything good. He knocked on her door gently, lowering his hand and waiting for her to reply from inside.

Edward knew she was in her room and the silence frustrated him. Edward opened the door after a moment had passed, Y/N was sitting in her armchair with a book in her lap.

"No response means no one's home," Y/N muttered, flipping the page in her book.

Edward stepped into her room, closing the door behind himself, "I need to talk to you," He said.

"Well, if I wanted to talk to you I would've opened the door," Y/N replied.

"I'm getting married today and I need you to promise me that you won't do anything stupid," Edward said.

"I'm not willing to make that promise, Edward," Y/N stated.

"I can't have you there if you're going to pose a risk to the humans we've invited," He said.

"Uninvite me then," She said, closing her book and looking up at him.

Edward huffed, "You're my friend and I want you to be there. I don't think it's an outlandish request to ask you to behave," Edward said.

"Clearly you haven't met me," Y/N stated.

"I thought we were starting over after our last conversation," He said.

"Are you talking about the conversation where you invited me to be a third wheel in your marriage? Because I don't consider that to be a promising jumping off point for us," Y/N stated.

Edward shook his head, "You're insufferable, you know that? I have been bending over backwards trying to make things work between us and you don't care," He said.

"You brought me here under false pretenses, Edward. You have dragged me along like a fish on a hook for half a century. Forgive me for making you grovel a little bit," Y/N snapped.

"You're a hypocrite... You talk about the things that I've done, but what about you? You haven't always had good intentions with me either," Edward stated.

"We're both awful people, but at least I'm willing to admit it," She shrugged.

Edward sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Y/N. I just want us to be civil and I would like to have you at the wedding," He said.

"I'll go, but I can't promise to be happy about it," Y/N replied.

"That's all I ask," Edward said.

...

PART 7

[whatremains-if]

PLAY THE DEMO (TBA) 

Nothing could quite match the thick tension of a young, emotionally detached adult stuck in the same space as their equally distant and emotionally disturbed family…well, maybe everything except a mysterious illness outbreak. 

As the virus begins to spread like wildfire, suddenly faced with unimaginable grief and loss, forced to kiss all sense of normalcy goodbye.

With life as you knew it falling apart and danger lurking around every corner, pushed to confront the same past you tried to escape. Reconcile with your estranged family, band together with an unlikely group of survivors, and learn how to navigate through the end of the world as you know it.

content warning: Intended for mature audiences rated 18+. Contains strong language, sexual themes, drug and alcohol use, graphic violence, body horror, mental health struggles, references to assault, and both physical and emotional abuse, depictions of sexual content and other potentially triggering material.

what will remain?

Dragged along to some boring town in the middle of Midwest butt-fuck nowhere in the middle of your college semester. Being ripped away from the big city life, your college friends, even what was left of your father's lasting physical memory—all because your mom fell head over heels with some new guy who made her feel like the best thing to do was move on and start over. 

She promised your brother and you that it was all supposed to be a fresh, blank chapter. Promises of having a new job, making a few new friends, and a whole new start—things being presented on a perfect silver platter. It sure is a shame that none of those promises will be fulfilled.

What starts as a weird news report on the news about some virus sweeping the nation spreads into full-blown chaos. A bloody cough. A sudden scream. A neighbor turning into a feral, flesh-eating monster before your eyes. 

The world begins to fall apart faster than you can process it. One moment you’re rolling your eyes at your mom’s hopefulness, and the next you're hopelessly fending for your life. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer just the new city-slumming family in town. It’s all on you to protect your family members, navigate around a collapsing world, and figure out who you can trust when everything feels like it’s rotting from the inside out. The days of peace are gone, and in the end, the question isn’t just whether you will survive…but what kind of person will remain of you.

STORY FEATURES.

Choose your survivor's name, pronouns, sexual identity, appearance, survival style, and more.

Form stronger or ruin the current and new relationships that you have, with the choices you make throughout the story effecting your survival experiences and significant plot changes.

Figure out just how far you're willing to go when it comes to the safety of your family and those that you consider your allies.

Customize your favorite melee or ranged weapon of choice.

Choose whether to form platonic or romantic bonds with other survivors.

Engage or escape, loot or shoot. Learn which fighting style truly fits your character.

Decide who you should indulge your trust in: family, friends, or the government.

ROMANCE OPTIONS.

Along the way, experience unique character routes depending on your section of RO's. The possible romance options being:

.ᐣ  Callan ( M ) — The Realist … Cal is known for his blunt, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly impossible demeanor. He’s the type of guy who somehow managed to make his presence known without actually needing to raise his voice. He’s not the type to sugarcoat or give pep talks. Just the facts, the plan, and the quickest route to survival. Efficiency is his guilty pleasure, and anything outside of that tends to get side-eyed into the dirt. Hardwired to prioritize logic over feelings, he clashes easily with anyone who moves on impulse or emotion, especially in high-stakes situations. His version of loyalty is heavily armored but earned through grit. Trust isn’t freely given, and it’s even harder to earn back once it’s lost. His past is a landmine of choices he doesn't speak about—and likely never will. Still, under the right conditions, his sarcasm cuts through the tension like a blade, delivered so dry it could start a drought. He might never call himself a hero, but when it counts, he’s the one keeping the group from completely falling apart.

.ᐣ  Ezra/Eliza ( M/F ) — The Sparkplug … All bright eyes, fast hands, and a running commentary that never quite turns off. Their curiosity is relentless, their energy infectious (or exhausting, depending on who you ask), and their pockets are always filled with scribbled notes, a cassette player, or that dusty camcorder they use to “document something real quick". They’re the type who lights up when talking about random stuff, old tech software, hero comics, or why the government is secretly terrifying. Most people tune them out before realizing they actually know their shit. And they do. They just don’t always know when to shut up about it. Born into a warm, affectionate home, they carry that love on their sleeve. With impulsive touches, shoulder nudges, and zero understanding of personal space. Beneath the corny puns and awkward cadence is someone afraid of being dismissed but still unwilling to back down when it counts. They’re not the strongest, or the fastest…or even the bravest, just someone trying. And sometimes, that’s all that matters.

.ᐣ  Saint ( M/F ) — The Live Wire … There’s something about them that just feels… off. Not in a dangerous way (maybe a little), but in that “why are you smirking right now?” kind of way. They talk like they’re halfway into a dare and halfway into calling your bluff. And the worst part? They’re usually right. They have this unnerving ability to pick things apart: small details, route patterns, people’s behaviors. The twitch in your voice, even the flick of your eyes when you lie. They clock it all. They won’t mention it until it matters or until they’re bored and want to watch you squirm. While most spiral under pressure, they just power down. Their emotions don’t flare, they simply just flatline. But don’t mistake the quiet for calm. Confrontation is their second language. Their humor? Sharp, inappropriate, timed just wrong enough to kill a room. But some people laugh anyway. Maybe it’s honesty. Maybe it’s chaos. Or maybe that’s just how they know how to truly connect with someone.

.ᐣ  Raymond ( M ) —  The Quiet Heart … Ray’s not the kind of guy who takes up space when he enters a room, he’s the kind who fills the cracks. The one handing out dad jokes like candy, patching up moods with lighthearted banter before people realize they needed it. Humor isn’t just a shield for Ray, it’s a bridge. A way to keep things moving when standing still feels too close to falling apart. There’s a quiet strength in how he exists: always listening, always helping, always moving. He’s at his best when his hands are busy.  Always hauling supplies, fixing busted gear, anything to avoid thinking too hard. When the past sneaks in, it shows. He zones out. Shuts down. Then he tries again. He’s not loud or commanding, and that makes people underestimate him, until they see how steadily he shows up when it matters. He doesn’t need to lead or save the day. He just wants to help. To ease someone’s burden. Ray’s not trying to be a hero, just not helpless again.

.ᐣ  Zoey ( F ) —  The Reluctant Medic … Zoey wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s lifeline. She’s only a pharmacy tech because her family owns the place, and her “expertise” comes from memorizing pill names and dosage charts well enough to keep the old folks’ bottles full. No real education, just enough to stay employed. She doesn’t look useful in a crisis: quiet, twitchy, and standoffish by default, but dangerously impulsive when it counts. Raised in a strict religious household with more siblings than boundaries, Zoey never fit the mold. The town treats her like a recovering addict. She barely talks about her family, when she does, it’s clipped, like she’s pulling words from a wound. Most see a snappy girl who flinches when you’re too close and doesn’t trust easily. They don’t see how hard she works to stay upright. Or how loudly she hates herself, second only to her parents. But when someone’s bleeding or breaking, Zoey’s there. Shaky hands. Quiet prayers. Trying, always. Even if she doesn’t believe she’s worth saving.

OTHER LINKS.

ro intros.

playlist.

pinterest.

kofi jar.

....dedicated to all the apocalyptic loving losers like me and most importantly @anya-dev and her inspirational interactive novel scout :)

[lunarsworld]

pleasure doing business with you

pairing: business man!clark kent x reader warnings: smut under the cut, unprotected p in v, cursing, exhibitionism (slight), office nasty a/n: lowkey buns but trust i’ll be back full force soon

you rocked back and forth on your feet as the elevator went up, up, up. you swiftly shook all your nerves out of your body as you went upstairs to join some meeting your assistant scheduled. only issue was? you fucked your boss, aka clark kent, last week and haven’t seen him since. or well… about to see him now.

you step off the elevator against the cold marble, earning loud clacks underneath as you approach the large door. its presence somewhat loomed on you, taunting you. you sigh before stepping foot in the room, avoiding all eye contact as you walk to your assigned chair. however, somebody is sitting there already with a look of disdain on their face. you look up towards the head of the table to find an open seat next to clark. you huff as you rush over to your seat, feeling how clarks eyes never drop from any part of you. as you sit down, he leans a bit closer, “feeling alright?” you roll your eyes and begin to open your folders. “i’m feeling just fine mr.kent, thank you though.” you say with a smile, brushing him to the side.

clark smirks at you, recognizing your demeanor flipping as he turns through his pages. the meeting starts normal, talking about the next big steps with random things that you tuned out. you stare at the wall across from you before you feel a creeping hand on your thigh. it startles you, making you jump, until you realize it’s clark. you look at him with panicked eyes, unsure of what to do. his fingertips slowly inch closer to your inner thigh, gripping and playing with your warm flesh. you buck your hips up accidentally and immediately fix your posture again, trying to avoid any sight of the interactions from underneath the table. clark slowly dips his fingers underneath your skirt and into your panties, running rough fingers quickly onto your core. you try your best not to make any noises, but its even harder for clark. all he wants to do is praise you, remind you how absolutely soaked he gets you, remind you who you belong with.

the attention swiftly gets thrown back to him though as he pulls his fingers out of your aching cunt. he closes up the meeting for everyone, dismissing them back to their desks. “not you” he says, calling you out like something he owned. once the door slams for the last time, he sighs. you step closer, “yes sir?” and just like that you broke clark kent.

he swiftly spun you around and tugged up your skirt. he stops for almost a second to admire you in your red lace thong, pressing light kisses on your neck while he pressed his raging hard-on against your ass. you sigh at his lips on your skin before a loud ripping noise is present. you look to the floor and your brand new thong is there, in half. you whine at him with a pout, “but sir those were new!” he quickly aligns himself to your dripping hole, the feeling of not being inside you becoming too much to bear. “ill buy you a million,” he groans as he slides into your warm pussy. the way he rams into you, well it’s almost as though he’s going inhumanely. your moans are stuttered and loud as he brings his fingers to your front, rubbing your clit, while his other hand played with your tits. “fuck! mr. kent!” you moan, tears welling up in your eyes at his sheer size stretching your hole. “so fucking tight for me, holy shit. pussy was made for me.” he groans. you throw your ass back on him, chasing your high as you continued to clench around him.

your orgasm hits you like a truck, moaning loud profanities and gasps. clark feels himself grow closer and rushes to pull out when you sink yourself back down on him. “please mr. kent fill me up. wanna be full of you.” you moan as the pleasure becomes too much, his pace still rapid on your clit. and just like you dont need to tell him twice he lets out whimpers. “such a fucking good girl for me, honey. gna make you mine.” he groans, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. after he comes, he stays buried in your pussy, thrusting every once in a while making sure you were full to the brim. “i should probably go, i have an appointment soon.” you say shyly, pulling back down your skirt and grabbing your things. clark doesn’t try to stop you though. although he wants to, wants to keep you there forever, he knows it’ll happen again next week. and again. and again. it also helps him feel better to know you’re walking around crooked with his cum in you. you turn back towards him with a wink before leaving, “thank you, mr. kent.”

and he’s rock hard again.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Mine, Always and Forever ~ Ramsay Bolton x Stark!Reader

Small disclaimer: It's Ramsay we're talking about; The story will have heavy dark themes and scenes that might make you uncomfortable.

Summary: Ramsay's obsession has always been Lady Y/N Stark, since the very moment they were children, and up into their adulthood. Everything he does, he does for her. He would burn the whole world to see her in his arms again, desperately needing him again. Ramsay Snow was going to trample over every noble house known to Westeros, just to gain the right to claim the little she-wolf that encaptured him in her spell.

Y/N was looking down at Sandor Clegane, wearing a conflicted yet highly determined look on her face; He, however, was smirking, he was amused to the point of barking a laugh in her face. His large hands kept a strong grip on her hips to keep her comfortably on his lap.

"Anyone told you you're one crazy lady, little fox?" the disfigured man teased the red haired Stark lady; Her long nails were digging harshly into his shoulders.

"Yes." she said deadpan. "Let them say whatever. As long as I get out of here, I don't care."

"You want me to risk my neck, to get you out of King's Landing. That's bold, even for you." his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "And you think giving me your maidenhood's gonna sweeten me into losing my life, is that it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sandor. I'm only here because you're the only trust-worthy person in this pit of vipers." she hissed at him. "My maidenhood is not yours to take, nor am I giving it away to anyone except the man I've been in love with since I was eleven winters old."

"Sentimentalism won't get you anywhere, girl." he scoffed, finally pushing you off him to tumble on the hard ground. "And neither will you fleeing. Everything is surveilled by the Lions."

"Robb is at the Twins. If I get there, I can return home to Winterfell. I am the oldest - Someone must take care of our home." Y/N got up, her long red hair a beautiful mess all around her. "Sandor, I need you. Please. What do you need me to do? Beg you? I will beg you, if that's what you want."

"Tell me who's that poor bastard." Y/N looked at him confused, but dragged a chair by the bed and sat down.

"Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsay Snow." her voice was serene and casual. "You know, that crazy guy who gets off on flaying living people."

"I'm beginning to think someone slammed your head against a wall. Girl, you're deranged." she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she doesn't care much. "Does anyone know about him?"

"My dad used to know I had a thing for Ramsay - Obviously, we didn't speak much about it. If mother found out I was head over heels over a lowly bastard from a disgusting family like the Boltons... Well, I wouldn't hear the end of it." she laughed dryly. "Mother would be very disappointed to know that all of her girls have terrible taste in men - Take Sansa for example, falling for an old dog like you... And, to be fair, I don't think Arya even has a taste for men at all, if you catch my drift."

"The little bird won't sing me sweet thrills." he huffed under his breath. "Convince me, and I'll think about helping you get out of your cage."

"Let's see... It all began many years ago, when I had just passed my eleventh year alive, and my father took me to the Dreadfort for business with Roose Bolton..."

The Stark party arrived on horse-back after many hours of uncomfortable riding through the snow and cold; Eddard was afraid his little girl would get ill - Cat had told him many times not to take her - But he couldn't refuse Y/N's pleading. She was eleven years of age, and behaving very much like how Lyanna used to. Y/N might favour her Tully side, with scarlet hair shining like red copper in the Sun, and light eyes that peered deep into your soul - But at heart, she was a valiant and loyal Wolf.

The forest hiding the Dreadfort was thick, yet beautiful, though in no way could it compare to the woods around Winterfell. It was a warm Spring afternoon, with the flowers in bloom; the sky was blue and embellished with a few lazy clouds, and the breeze was gently rustling through Y/N's long scarlet locks.

Lord Bolton was awaiting the Stark retinue; He took Ned aside to guide him into his council room to speak business; The servants were guided into the Fort to be houses; And Y/N remained trugging behind, looking around and exploring with the curiosity of a little fox.

It was then that she spotted that brunet runt with eyes like crystal icicles; He was staring intently at her from behind a tree. Y/N knew who that was - Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton. Her dad mentioned him, and told her to be nice to him. Of course she was gonna be nice to him - She loves Jon and treats him just like her younger brother, because that's what he is!

With a bow and quiver attached to her back, Y/N stepped towards the boy, extending her hand towards him. "You are Ramsay Snow, aren't you?" the boy looked at her, soulless, but grumbled affirmatively. "I'm Y/N. Want to come help me out with my archery?" he looked at her as if she was crazy; Y/N let out an impatient sigh, and turned on her heel. "You know the woods better than I do - I am sure you will find me once you remember how to move your feet. Left foot, right foot, and repeat."

She thus wandered into the forest, looking for a place to practice her archery; It didn't take long before she heard the noise of rapid footsteps approaching. Ramsay stood right behind her, his demeanour guarded, cold and wary - Typical for that of a mistreated bastard.

"See? I told you you'd find me easily." she let out a soft chuckle, turning her back to him and fidgeting with her bow.

The boy didn't answer immediately, unsure of how to respond to the noble girl. He’d been taught to keep his distance from highborns, especially someone like her, the daughter of the Warden of the North... But there’s something different about her, something that doesn’t seem to care about the invisible lines that separate them, about ranks or blood.

"How did you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"What, Bolton's bastard son?" Ramsay flinched slightly at the word, but Katrina’s tone is curious rather than cruel. She steps closer, studying him with those sharp, Stark eyes. He nods, unsure of what to expect from her. "Dad told me to be as nice to you as I am with my own bastard younger brother. Jon is a delight to have around, truly - Too bad mother can't see that." she shrugged her shoulders lazily. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I don't know how to speak to noble ladies... My Lady." he admitted begrudgingly. "Nobles aren't supposed to see a bastard like me."

"Well, you can start by calling me by my name - Y/N - And then, you can continue by coming with me and helping me out with my archery." she grinned, and before Ramsay could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, her energy infectious. Ramsay stumbled slightly, caught off guard by her boldness, but he didn’t resist. For once, he didn't protest to being dragged around - He enjoyed the physical touch from her.

"Where are you taking me?" the boy found himself speaking a little louder.

"Deeper into the forest! I need someone to help me practice. I can't hit anything if I don't have someone to fetch the arrows."

Ramsay blinked, bewildered by how casually she dismissed the divide between them. He’d never been treated like this before — Like he’s just another boy, not the bastard son of Roose Bolton. And yet, there’s something exciting about the way she was pulling him along, like he was a part of her adventure rather than an outsider.

They reached a small clearing in the woods. Katrina lets go of his wrist and unslinged her bow, not wasting any time. She lines up an arrow, but her aim is slightly off. The arrow flies past the tree trunk she was aiming at and disappears into the underbrush.

"Damn it!" Y/N stomped her foot impatiently. "This is all Robb's fault! If he hadn't told on me, I would have been able to train with Theon!" she whined so cutely, the bastard thought with amusement, watching her look around aimlessly for that arrow. "Great, it's lost. Only four left I guess." she grumbled to herself with resentment.

Ramsay hesitated for a moment, before rushing toward the underbrush. He found the arrow easily enough and returned it to her, watching as her eyes widened in awe.

"You found it - And so easily! How cool!" no one had ever praised him before - It felt really good. "You know how to shoot?" he nodded his head. "Can you teach me?"

The boy stepped to her side, raising her arms up and placing her in position. Without even realising, his hands lingered on her body; He was enjoying touching her so much, and she wasn't protesting, too focused on holding the bow and arrow properly with those small, delicate hands of hers. She was so very cute, he thought to himself, as he positioned himself in a way that almost engulfed her whole.

"You’re holding it wrong." he muttered into her ear. "Follow the trajectory of my finger - Focus on the target and hold the tip of the arrow a little above the spot you want to hit. Draw the string with an inhale, and release with an exhale." he then fixed the angle of her drawing arm. "Boys won't tell you this, but girls have this small curvature of the arm - To aim properly, you'd have to arch your arm like this... And it will improve your accuracy." he then kicked a little at her feet, getting them in position. "Posture is half the work; Stand straight... And release."

With all points ticked, Y/N released the arrow, and lodged itself close to where it was supposed to reach; It hit the tree trunk, which was all that mattered for a beginner. "Wow! Robb will be so jealous when I beat him at archery next time!" her voice went up cutely as she chirped with excitement, almost bouncing on the spot with glee. "Thank you, Ramsay, thank you!" huh... She thanked him. What a peculiar girl.

"Don't thank me until you win." he teased her. "Try again - Without my help this time." that comment stopped her in her little joy party. Right, Ramsay won't be there to help her. Damn.

Regaining posture, Y/N drew the bowstring back, feeling the difference in her stance. She released the arrow, and this time it hit the tree trunk with a satisfying thud. She did that, all by herself! She grinned, turning to Ramsay with a look of triumph and victory.

"Was that cool?!" was she asking for validation - From him?!

"Yes, My Lady, you did well." she didn't seem to notice the way he called her; She was far too absorbed into her success and practice.

Ramsay smiled for the first time in his life; a small, hesitant smile that Y/N almost missed - But she caught it, and something about that moment made her feel like she’d cracked through a layer of ice.

For once, the boy felt at ease around another human being, even if that person was an eleven year old brazen noble lady who tried to best her younger brothers at silly things like archery and swordsmanship. Wasn't she supposed to learn embroidery and other girly things? Well, now that he thought it over, Ramsay was sure most noble Lords wouldn't take their daughters with them on delegations; They'd take their sons, right? It only meant Lord Stark loved his daughter very much, he noted. Not that he'd know what that was - Surely, the little haughty thing was going to forget all about him.

As the sun began to set, Ramsay realised he had to escort the young lady back, before either her father worries, or his father thinks he murdered her. That bloody monster - He hated his father more than he hated anyone alive. He was going to get the most miserable death there is.

For dinner, however, Ramsay wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the nobles; Y/N's mother also didn't want Jon to sit with the rest of the children... So in that regard, she could understand the miserable, spiteful look on Ramsay's face. It was Y/N and Robb who begged their dad to allow Jon and Theon to eat with them... But Y/N was afraid of Roose Bolton and his terrifying icy glare - He was empty, and ruthless, just like a harsh blizzard.

In a way, Y/N was glad they'll only be staying one more night in this awful place... But she would dearly miss her new friend. She wonders if she'll ever see him again - Hopefully, yes!

The night settled swiftly over the cold stone halls of the Dreadfort - The place was deathly silent, save for the scary howling wind and the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, terrifying shadows all around.

Ramsay was lying on the bed, half-asleep, and thinking over the events of the day - His mind was obsessively settled on the young noble lady who treated him so well, who smiled so sweetly at him... Who felt so good in his arms. He loved how she dragged him all around, and grinned so enthusiastically; How she thanked him for helping her with archery... In his perverse mind, he wanted to bury his hands in that gorgeous mess of long red hair and pull her into his arms, never to let go ever again; He wanted to squish her in his arms until she explode, that's how cute she was; He wanted to slam his lips against hers and kiss her until she had no more air in her lungs, and her body was bruised and imprinted with his hands all over.

Not once did he expect to hear the heavy door of his sparsely furnished cold room creaking open, revealing the very girl he was fantasising over, wearing a thick nightgown and holding tightly a fur-lined cloaked draped over her small shoulders; Her wild hair was even more tousled than before.

The air is cold, a reminder of the unforgiving northern weather. Ramsay’s small, sparsely furnished room is dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. She waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, before walking in - The boy, already on edge, bolted right up, startled by the sudden intrusion. His first thought was that an assassin was trying to get him, or his father wanted to beat him half to death -

But no. It was the object of his obsessions. Y/N stepped forward, letting the dim light of the fireplace reveal her nervous face. The boy's stiffness melted away, and he leaned forward to look at her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice as cold as that of his father.

Y/N offered a small, sheepish smile, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders as she moved closer to his bed. "I don't like sleeping alone. It's cold and scary here." she said, moving her bare feet closer to the bed. "Can I sleep in your room... Please?"

Ramsay blinked in shock, still processing her presence. It was not every day that a noble’s daughter sneaked into his room in the middle of the night, asking to spend the night. He shifted, making space on the bed as Y/N climbed on... The sheep walked right into the wolf's den.

"I thought noble ladies weren't allowed alone in a room with a boy - A lowly bastard, no less. Who knows what I'll do to you." she looked at him all confused and innocent - Of course she had no idea what he was talking about; No one tells noble ladies what men want to do to them... How they want to ravage them...

"No one has to know I am here." she smiled sweetly. "Besides - I had something for you." all of his wicked thoughts dispersed on the spot, thinking what it could be that she brought - For him! He felt a weird warmth spread through his chest - And much below also; He watched attentively as Y/N revealed a small tray filled with desserts from inside her cloak - All the sweet desserts a bastard son like him wasn't allowed to eat, from the dinner he wasn't allowed to attend.

"I am sorry... Your father scared me too much... I was too much of a coward to ask him to let you dine with us." she said in a tender, guilty voice, placing the plate on the bed for him to try out the cakes. "At home, mother doesn't want to see Jon and Theon, our ward, eat with us... So I and Robb begged dad to let them eat with us, and he agreed." she messed up her already rousled hair. "Forgive me."

Ramsay looked deep into her eyes, making her look away with a blush; She didn't seem to like holding eye-contact, he realised; He was intimidating her with his usually cold and empty expression - Just like his father. She was afraid of his father - And rightfully so; But he didn't want her to be afraid of him too; He wanted Lady Y/N to like him, to love him, to want him and only him.

"It's a man's job to protect his woman, Y/N, not the other way around." he let out a small, sardonic chuckle. "I can't blame you for being scared of my Lord Father. I know he can look rather... Intimidating."

"But... It's not right... And regardless of the circumstances of your birth, you should not be treated any less. You deserve better than this." Ramsay's body grew ever hotter the more she spoke, and were it not for his self-control, who knows what he would have done to this little fox girl. She was far too cute for her own good... Far too nice... And nice girls always end up the worst, because of monsters like him.

But it was fine. He was a monster, but he would protect her. His mind was settled - Y/N was his, and only his.

"Are you not cold?" she asked all of a sudden; He had forgotten he was wearing no shirt, and his body was in full view. She was worried about him, how cute of her.

"I am a man of the North, Y/N. This is how I sleep every night." he let himself fall back on the bed, casually eating some of those little cakes. "You're just cold because you're a girl, and you're all frail and mellow. You need a man's heat to keep you warm through the night." he ended with a cocky smirk addressed her way.

"Is that so?" she hummed softly. "Prove to me that you are right, then." how cheeky she was, Ramsay thought to himself, watching with shock as the little vixen laid herself so carefree in his arms; Her hand was placed comfortably on his shoulder, and she nestled herself on his side. "Keep me warm."

"What a playful little minx." he scoffed, watching her so cutely clinging to his body. He reveled in the silence broken only by him enjoying the cakes she brought over, and soon enough, in her rhythmic slow breathing - She had fallen asleep so easily, he was truly mesmerised. She was so cute and little compared to him, he realised once again.

As the candle flickered and the night deepened, Ramsay stood awake for a little while longer, his mind racing with wild thoughts and feeling he's never experienced before. Eventually, however, the warmth of her presence lulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep, yet holding a small smile of triumph on his face.

The very next day, early in the morning, Lady Y/N sneaked out of Ramsay's room and went back into her own so no one would suspect a thing. She received breakfast in bed and her maid helped her dressed and get ready for another exciting day spent with Ramsay.

This time, the bastard thought he'd show off - He brought her to the kennels to his the hounds. It was his idea to raise dogs to hunt and guard the place and what not; The kennel master was a middle-aged man full of experience... But his daughter was an annoying little girl around his age. She wanted to appear strong and rough around him... To show off. Why, he couldn't quite understand - He was pretty sure girls this age weren't so interested in boys and their bodies - Unlike boys wanting desperately to see girls naked.

Lady Y/N was cheeky, yes, but she was gracious also; Myranda, on the other hand, was a disgrace... A disgrace that Ramsay loved to humiliate. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that she also enjoyed that kind of treatment in a rather profound way.

The kennels were dark and chilly, filled with low rumbles and growls, and the smell of straw and wet dog fur. The light filtered through narrow, creaked windows... Y/N didn't think it was a nice place for dogs to stay at, but at least they were protected from the snow, wind and cold outside.

Much to Ramsay's dismay, Myranda was there, tending to the dogs and snapping at them every once in a while; She wasn't stern - She was harsh and cruel; The exact opposite of Lady Stark, who had a natural affinity for animals, and the gift of warmth and compassion to all living beings.

With a protective arm holding Y/N firm into his chest, he showed off his dogs; Most of them were females, large, with long fur, and highly aggressive. "What do you think about my bitches, Y/N? They make the best hunters, not the mutts." he spoke cockily. "And they know to obey only their master."

Y/N's visage was tender and soft; With no fear, she approached one of the dogs who had just given birth, and her puppies were sucking at her teats. She knelt by her side; The dog's menacing growls all but dissipated once she sniffed the lady's hand, allowing her to pet her head.

"What a gorgeous mommy you are, darling! Oh, but you must be cold - Your little ones too!" Y/N took off her cloak, draping her mother dog nicely in it. "There - Isn't it better? Nice and toasty!"

Ramsay watched the interaction with a mix of shock and fascination - He was so used to commanding the dogs through fear and dominance, that he hadn't expected the dogs to listen so quickly to a gentle word. Was it the Wolf's blood coursing through her veins that made her a canine whisperer? Or was it simply that sweet voice of her that bewitched even him? "I’ve never seen them act like that. They usually tear anyone apart who gets too close."

Y/N smiled sweetly, scratching the dog behind her ears, completely at ease. "They’re just like people, but trust-worthy and reliable. If you show them kindness, they’ll return it. They’re not so different from us, really."

Before Ramsay can respond, a harsh voice cut through the air. Myranda, holding a leash, stood at the other end of the kennel, glaring at Y/n with undisguised jealousy. She tugged on the leash, yanking a dog that was already straining against her rough grip. "They’re not pets, they’re beasts. You can’t trust them with soft words, or they’ll turn on you. That one already bit me once."

The dog on the leash cowered, her tail between her legs as Myranda yanked it towards her. Y/N frowned, rising to her feet. The bastard didn't think even a small, little girl like her could hold such an undeniable presence and imposing aura. "Maybe if you weren’t so harsh, they wouldn’t bite. They’re only reacting to how you treat them."

Myranda’s face flushed with anger, her grip tightening on the leash. She sneered at Y/N, her eyes dark with resentment and spite. "What would you know about it? You’re just a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand anything about the real world." How dare that obnoxious slut speak like that to his darling little fox? She was his - His only - And no one was allowed to treat her like this. Ramsay, sensing the tension, steps forward. His expression shifts, a cold smirk curling his lips as he looked at Myranda, enjoying the sudden shift in her demeanour; Immediately meek and pathetic. It was time to put her back in her place.

"Watch your tongue, Myranda. What's the filthy peasant daughter of the kennel master, compared to the Wolf Lady herself?" he hissed at the girl who immediately went quiet; She flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes were wide and hurt. She was used to his cruel streak, but it still stung in the sweetest way... But to be scolded like that in front of that little whore...

"I... I didn’t mean anything by it, Ramsay. I just—" she was at a loss for words; Her mind was empty as always, the boy remarked spitefully.

"Didn't mean anything, you say - Any other noble would have your tongue for speaking ill of Lady Y/N Stark; You should fall on your knees and seek forgiveness. She is graceful, don't you think? If it were me, well... We both know what I like to do with disobedient cunts like you, don't you, Myranda?" his gargoyle eyes stared emptily into her own tearful eyes; Somewhere lower, she noticed the subtle way the bastard showed off a small knife that she knew very well was used to flay. She gulped, hanging her head low, and trembling pathetically. "I'm waiting, Myranda - Where is that apology?"

As Myranda bit her lip, holding back the tears of her weakness, Y/N sighed, walking in front of her; Though Y/N was smaller than her, she still placed her hand gently on her hand. "It's fine - She's not wrong. I couldn't possibly be knowledgeable in dogs than someone who was raised in the arts of dog-raising. The only difference is the approach - I have a different approach in caring for my animals, and it has proven far more reliable than ruling with an iron fist." her voice was soft and tender. "Raise your head. No need to ask for forgiveness. Just make sure they are all well taken care of." with a graceful twirl, Y/N turned to her friend and hooked her arm to his, guiding him out into the forest.

"If I was in her place, I'd have shot you when you turned your back at me." he grumbled harshly under his breath.

"She wouldn't have dared, and neither would you - Not for as long as I am Lady Stark, and mine own Lord Father is here, on the very premises... Not unless you want to meet a fate worse than death." oh, that wicked smirk of her, so different than anything sweet and tender she embodied thus far; The twisted grin of a rabid fox, not the sweet smile of a flower.

"What would you know, the little flower knows how to play to her political strength. How adorable." he huffed, pulling her into his side harshly. "Politics aside, you are still just a frail little thing that can break so easily... It would be a pity if anyone did anything to hurt you..."

"So what, you are saying you want to protect me?" she scoffed at him; Though her question was genuine, and his answer even more so.

"Yes." once they were deep into the forest, he held her in a painfully tight embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck; She smelled sweet, like honey and flowers... It only made him want to taste her even more. "Always, and forever."

Just like the previous night, Y/N had snuck out of her room again, her small feet padding silently across the cold stone floor. The Dreadfort, with its bleak atmosphere, had never bothered her, not with Ramsay nearby. Tonight, though, was different. It was her last night here, and the thought of leaving him behind made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Ramsay was her friend, and though the Dreadfort wasn't too far away from Winterfell, it was unbecoming of a young Lady to go out of her way to visit a bastard... She wouldn't be allowed to.

She slipped into Ramsay’s room, finding him lying on his bed, shirtless, his dark eyes gleaming as he watched her approach, just like a predator seeing delicious prey walk willingly inside his lair.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little fox.” he drawled, the nickname slipping from his lips with ease.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small pout formed on her lips as she climbed in bed next to him. “I don’t care. It’s too cold in my room, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ramsay smirked, propping himself up on one elbow. He was shirtless again. “Afraid of the dark, are we?” His tone was teasing, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his playful words.

She stuck her tongue out at him but nodded nonetheless, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am used to sleeping with my siblings."

"Fine, fine, little rose, I won't tease you about it - After all, you've come to seek my protection; How can I tease a lovely little lady such as yourself." she blushed softly at her new nickname, looking away but said nothing. “You know, sweetling..." Ramsay began, his voice dripping with mischief. “Did you know there are things that boys and girls do together when they’re older. Things you wouldn’t even imagine.” he leaned closer to her body, his bare chest against her back; His hand found itself playing with a velvety lock of red hair - It was quite addicting. SHE was addicting.

Y/N turned her head a little to look at him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

His grin widened, enjoying the way her innocent mind struggled to grasp the meaning behind his words... His intentions. “Oh, nothing you’d understand now...” he said, his tone teasing. “But one day, when you’re older… I could teach you.”

Y/N tilted her head, still perplexed. “Teach me what?”

Ramsay leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What boys and girls do together when they’re alone. It’s something… Special.”

She blinked at him, her confusion deepening. “Like playing games?”

He chuckled, a dark sound that made her shiver despite the warmth of his presence. "I suppose... A game only for grown-ups.”

Katrina pouted, feeling as though he was making fun of her. “I’m not that young, Ramsay. Mother said I am old enough to flower soon - That makes me an adult in the eyes of the noble families.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering a little too long. “And when that time comes, sweetling, I’ll make sure you know everything.”

The thought of Y/N flowering soon... The thought of making her his own... It made his body all hot and greedy. Some day, when she becomes a woman, he wanted to be the one to claim her; Her one and only; The only man she ever looks at. But he was a bastard, and she was the eldest daughter of the Stark Family... How the hell could he make her his, forever?

It was a maddening thought... That his bastard label would keep him away from her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. There was no way any man would be capable of taking care of her the way only HE could. No one could make her as happy as he can. No one can understand her the way he does.

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was something in his tone, something she didn’t quite understand, but it made her feel uneasy... But also, enticed. Curious. Addicted. Still, she trusted him. He was her friend, after all... And will forever be her friend... Whether he wants to or not. What Lady Y/N Stark wanted, she got, even if she had to force the hands of fate to achieve her goals.

Ramsay, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, decided to push her just a little further. “You should just enjoy being a little girl, for now, all innocent and pure like a dove. Don’t worry about what happens when you’re older.” he hummed, his low, husky voice, whispering in her ear, making her shudder and blush. "I'll take care of everything."

Katrina huffed, turning her face away from him. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a strange thrill through him. He sneaked his arms around her body, pulling her into his chest; One hand was holding strongly onto her small body, while the other held her jaw, firm but gentle. “Noble men don't know horseshite about these things - They're all stupid, but have the pride of lions and cockiness like no other. They think they know the game well, but they are shamefully bad... And without an experienced man to teach them, you, noble ladies, are all cute and confused, losing the game...” ah, tsk tsk, bad Ramsay, he was talking too much when he shouldn't... Not now.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re just trying to confuse me.” she huffed, quite like a brat, getting out of his clutches and drawing the blanket over her.

Ramsay watched her for a moment, his smirk fading as he realized she was serious about ignoring him. She couldn't ignore her. She wasn't allowed to. She was supposed to look at him with those beautiful eyes of hers - To look at him, and only him.

The silence stretched on, and something dark and possessive flared up inside him. He hated being ignored, especially by her. Desperate for her attention, he threw the blanket off of her, pinning her down on the bed before she could react. He straddled her waist, his hands holding her wrists above her head as he loomed over her.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her wide eyes locking with his - Finally, she was looking at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name.

Ramsay’s smirk returned - He enjoyed looking down at her like that, her face all innocent and confused, so damn precious. "Ramsay...?" don't talk to him in that sweet voice... Don't... He'll lose control... He will...

To stop his own wicked thoughts and urges, he started tickling her sides mercilessly. Y/N squealed, her laughter filling the room as she squirmed beneath him, trying in vain to escape his grasp. This wasn't any better, he noted; It only made him more desperate to touch her, to hold her... To...

“Ramsay, stop!” she begged, her voice breathless with laughter - He only tickled her harder, delighting in her helplessness. There was something so special about ignoring such lovely pleas.

In her desperate attempts to defend herself, Y/N’s nails raked across his arm, deep enough to draw blood. Ramsay hissed at the sharp sting, letting out a surprising sound of pleasure... Surprising even for him... but he didn’t stop tickling her until she was breathless and teary-eyed from laughing and her body aching for freedom and mercy.

Finally, he relented, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and something darker... Victory, triumph... Y/N panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath - Yet her eyes widened when she saw the red lines on his arm, painting his pale arm a lovely shade of crimson red.

“Ramsay...! I’m sorry - I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” she shot up, her voice small as she reached out to touch the scratch she had left.

Ramsay caught her hand, his grip firm but not painful. He looked at the blood, then at her, a strange expression on his face. “It’s nothing.” he said, though the intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter with unease. “Just a mark... A precious little reminder.”

“A reminder? Of what?” she asked, confused, watching him lick the blood leaking down his skin.

His smirk returned, though there was something almost possessive in his eyes. “That you, little Kitten, are all mine, and only mine; Even when you leave, you’ll still be mine." he wiped some of the blood his his thumb, and unexpectedly, he pressed it gently against her bottom lip - Pink turning red - Then a little inside, touching her tongue. "You want us to be together, don't you, My Lady?" he got closer to her face, now both hands cupping her small face carefully. "Always and forever."

"Yes... I want us to be friends... Forever." he wanted to kiss those plump dewy lips so bad, but he couldn't; Not not. She was driving him crazy... A twisted child with nefarious cravings and desires... And all his obsessions channeled into a single being... A precious little kitten who loves to scratch him. "Always and forever." he kissed her forehead gently, almost as if he was sealing an unspoken vow between them.

The bastard of Dreadfort wasn't happy to see his cute little kitten leave; But he couldn't do anything about it - Not yet. He lingered in the back, far away, and watched as her horse disappeared into the horizon. He knew it was going to be an awful day for him. He just knew.

The atmosphere was terrible all around the fort, heavy with the chill of winter and the unspoken tension that has settled over the castle. Ramsay remained in his small room, reflecting on the recent visit, the fleeting moments of warmth with Lady Y/N still fresh in his mind.

Every time his mind lingered back on their closeness, his body grew all hot and restless; He felt himself going crazy, needing to touch himself to relieve the pressure building inside his stomach; His core was all knots and ache.

He couldn't though... He couldn't... He had to hold on... It wasn't night yet, and he risked anyone barging inside his room... But he needed her so badly... Her scorching touch on his ice-cold skin... Those sweet, soft rose petal lips on his rough, chapped ones... Her small body, all cute and frail under his own... At his mercy...

His rapid thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room. His heart quickened even more, a sense of dread creeping in. He knew what was going to happen, and he dreaded every second of it.

The door opened, and Roose Bolton stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever... But Ramsay knew better than to trust the calm before the storm.

"Do you have anything you wish to tell me, Ramsay?" those harsh eyes bore silently into him, carving his heart out.

"No... Father." he muttered under his breath, getting off the bed and standing in front of his father, his head hung, but jaw clenched in anger and humiliation.

"Is that so?" the boy remained quiet. "I’ve heard... Things, Ramsay. Things I don’t like."

Ramsay tensed, his eyes meeting his father’s cold, manipulative gaze. He knew what was coming, and though he’s experienced his father’s wrath before, the dread never really faded. He tried to stand taller, to show no weakness, but the apprehension was clear in his voice.

"Lady Y/N wanted to talk to me. She was bored with no child her age around, so she dragged me to be her companion. I couldn't refuse the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark..." he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to; He was desperate for her attention, after all. It was only by luck that he captured her attention so easily - And by fate, he will continue aligning with her, no matter what obstacles jump in his way.

Roose’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He stepped closer, his presence looming over the subject of his deepest disappointments and shame, who instinctively took a step back. "In case you've forgotten - You’re a lowly bastard, Ramsay. You might be my son by blood, but you will never be a Bolton in the eyes of the world." he spat at his son who flinched habitually. "Your place is not with the likes of her. You forget yourself too easily. We are lucky Lord Stark didn't have your head for tainting his precious daughter's air."

The words cut deep into his heart, a reminder of the bitter truth Ramsay always tried to ignore... But this time, they stung more than usual, because for a moment, Y/N made him believe he could be something more.

"Lady Y/N said Lord Stark agreed to allow the bastard and the ward to dine at the same table as his legitimate children. They treat them like their own flesh and blood..." the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted his impertinence. Roose’s expression darkened further, his patience wearing thin.

"You fool - How dare you fall in love with a noblewoman?! You think Lord Stark would ever allow his eldest daughter to marry some filthy low-life like you and take his riches? His noble name? Have you lost your mind, child? This is not how I raised you." his voice boomed painfully through the echoing empty stone walls of his room. "Love and foolishness are weakness, Ramsay, and I will not tolerate either in my son."

Before Ramsay could react, Roose’s hand struck him, delivering a sharp backhand across Ramsay’s face - The force of the blow sent him stumbling, crashing into the bedside table, the candle tumbling to the floor. Pain spread across his cheek, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed as Roose grabbed him by the neck, dragging him back to his feet.

"You are my son, Ramsay, and you will do as I say. I will not have you ruin yourself over foolish maiden dreams of love and marriage . You are a tool, nothing more - And I will carve you into something useful, no matter how much you resist." Ramsay tried to fight back, to push against his father’s grip, but he was no match for Roose’s strength and iron grip.

The beating that followed was brutal, each strike a lesson in obedience, in submission, a reminder of the cruelty that defines his existence. He tried not to cry out, to show no weakness - And he did just that. Ramsay utter no sound through it all.

When Roose finally released him, Ramsay crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, his body battered and bruised. Roose looked down at him, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

"Remember this, Ramsay - You are nothing but my bastard son, and you will learn your place, or I will teach it to you until you understand."

Roose left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ramsay was left alone, the echoes of his father’s words ringing in his ears, the pain throbbing through his body. He remained there, motionless on the ground and growling like a rabid animal.

Hours passed before Ramsay finally moved, dragging himself back onto the bed, wincing with every motion. He stares at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of emotions — Anger, shame, dread.

He thought of Y/N, of her kindness, of the way she treated him like he was worth something. That memory was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness, but it was also a source of pain, a reminder of what he can never have...

He clenched his fists, the pain in his body overshadowed by the rage building inside him. He hated his father, hated the world that condemned him to this life, hated the fact that he was born a bastard - But most of all, he hated that he cared — That he yearned for something more, something better.

"I will make them pay." the words were whispered into the darkness, a promise to himself. "I will kill them all." he punched the ground with his fist until it became a bloody mess - Yet he felt no pain at all, only wrath.

He knew he couldn't change the circumstances of his birth, but he could at least take control of his life. He could become what his father wanted — A lethal weapon - But he will do so on his terms; And one day, when he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts him again, he will walk forward to force all of his wishes to come true...

Even if that meant kidnapping Lady Y/N Stark and marrying her in secret.

Three years down the line, Y/N was now 14 years of age, and putting her brothers to shame when it came to archery and hunting; Thus, they all agreed they would have a hunting competition, to which, albeit reticently, their father agreed.

Three whole days spent in the Wolfswood; The one who brings the most game wins the contest - Thus, Theon, Y/N, Robb and Jon rode confidently into the forest.

The Wolfswood was a dense, ancient forest stretching between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - She felt so close, yet so far from her best friend; Alas, she couldn't afford to think of him. She had to win. The woods were thick, the towering trees created a canopy that blocked out much of the sky, leaving only slivers of light to pierce the darkness. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and distant cries of creatures every now and again.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the clearing where Y/N had set up her camp. She’d done well so far, managing to bring down two deer, a boar and a few smaller game, which were now tied securely to a tree. Her brothers were likely doing just as well, but she was determined to win. She had to. If she won, she would forever get rid of her brothers' teasing, or them telling her to return to embroidering. How bothersome.

After finishing her meal, she moved cautiously around the perimeter of her camp, checking the traps she’d set earlier; They were simple, designed more to alert her to danger than to catch anything significant. As she returned to the fire, she couldn't help but shiver slightly. It wasn't the cold that bothered her, but the darkness pressing in around her.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves, she settled down by a large tree, its sturdy trunk at her back. The fire crackled, offering some comfort, but the night was still intimidating. She tried to focus on her goal — Winning the competition, proving she was just as capable as her brothers - But the fear of being alone in the dark was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, the snap of a trap echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud, furious string of curses. Y/N’s heart leaped into her throat, and she instinctively grabbed her bow, an arrow quickly nocked. Her eyes darted around the shadows until she spotted the source of the commotion.

Hanging upside down by his leg, thrashing and cursing loudly, was Ramsay Snow.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her grip on the bow loosening as she lowered the weapon. “Ramsay?!” she muttered, barely believing her eyes.

Ramsay twisted around, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. “Who else would be stupid enough to get caught in one of your traps, Kitten?”

Finally getting over her shock, Y/N dropped her bow and rushed over, pulling out her knife to cut the rope. Ramsay landed with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his ankle. She knelt beside him, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?!” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ramsay looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face despite the pain. “I’ve had worse - But really, trapping people now? I didn’t know you’d gotten so ruthless.”

She blushed, embarrassed that she’d caught him of all people. “It wasn’t meant for you! I just didn’t want anything sneaking up on me.”

Ramsay chuckled, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “And you did a fine job of that." he stepped towards her, and lazily rested his arms on her shoulders, leaning on her body to the point of making her stumble over her feet from his weight. "You could have just asked for help instead of trying to do all this alone.”

Y/N looked at him, his face so close to her own that she could feel her breath. "I genuinely didn't think I would meet you again - Not like this, at least." her voice was so tender and soft; Oh, how he missed her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her. "Yes, I was sad not getting a visit for three whole years... Though now that I look at you, all sadness magically vanished." he smirked at her, his expression confident and cocky. "You still look like a child compared to me."

"You will always be older than me, Ramsay - What exactly do you want me to do about it?" she breathed out, slowly analysing him; He grew up so much in three years... He looked gorgeous. Gorgeous, and deranged. Those crystal clear eyes were swimming with craziness, only highlighted by the peeking moonlight caressing his already pale face.

"Grow up!" with a swift power move, he grabbed her body and lifted her in the air, reveling in the cutesy squeals of her surprise, and the strong grip she held on his shoulders. Little kitten loved to dig her nails in his flesh, how exciting.

"How about you help me win, instead?!" she cried out. "Now please, put me down - And help me out, please!" begrudgingly, he did just that, dragging her to the fire, where she explained the premise of their contest... And how adorable she was, admitting to still feeling afraid of the dark, clinging onto him so adorably.

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased with her bagging for his help so sweetly. “Of course, Kitten. I’ll make sure you have a little… advantage.”

"Meow." she meowed! She... Meowed, of all things! How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she was being so adorable?! It had been three whole years since they last saw each other; She grew even more beautiful than he expected, than he imagined - And now, he can't even touch her! How unnerving.

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in Ramsay’s presence. Though he teased her mercilessly, there was something reassuring about having him by her side - And though she didn’t realize it yet, Ramsay was just as glad to be there with her, the thrill of the hunt only heightened by the prospect of spending the night together in the wild - In the shadows of the Wolfswood, their bond deepened, forged in the darkness and sealed by the blood they would spill together.

Since then, every fortnight, until she would turn 17 years of age, they would meet in their special spot in the Wolfswood. Eddard and Cat sometimes spotted her sneaking away, but they could never get her to say a thing - She was praying in the Godswood or something - No one would believe her.

It was a fortnight after the hunting competition when Y/N first returned to the Wolfswood alone. The memory of Ramsay helping her secure that precious victory over her brothers still lingered in her mind, and she found herself drawn back to the forest, eager to see him again. As she rode into the familiar clearing, she noticed the way the trees seemed to close in around her, the shadows long and deep. She dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close before she could react. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she struggled instinctively, but then she heard his familiar chuckle in her ear.

“Miss me, Kitten?” Ramsay’s voice was a low, teasing murmur.

Y/N relaxed slightly, though she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Ramsay, you scared me!” she whined, trying and failing to push him away from her.

“That was the point.” he replied, his arms still holding her securely. “It’s no fun if you see me coming.”

She turned in his arms to face him, her expression both annoyed and amused. “One of these days, I’ll get the jump on you.”

Ramsay smirked, clearly pleased by her challenge. “I’d like to see you try.”

Each meeting after that became a game — A test of wits and skill - For the bastard, that is. Ramsay would always arrive first, hiding in the shadows of the forest, waiting impatiently for the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes he would leap out from behind a tree, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise; Other times, he would sneak up silently, wrapping his arms around her waist or pinning her against a tree before she even realized he was there.

With each encounter, Ramsay’s touches grew bolder. He would linger behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, or let his fingers brush against her hair as they walked together through the forest. Y/N, now 16, was aware of his increasing boldness, but she couldn’t deny the thrill it brought her. She was beginning to understand all those suspicious things he would tell her as children - To think he would be so bold and knowledgeable since so long ago... His advances were teasing, playful and straight-forward, and she felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension each time he touched her.

Ramsay seemed to revel in her reactions, his smirk ever-present as he found new ways to surprise and corner her. He would pin her to the ground during their mock fights, holding her down as she struggled and laughed, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite understand. Other times, he would push her against a tree, their faces inches apart, his breath warm against her skin as he teased her mercilessly.

As the years passed, their meetings became a constant in their lives. No matter what happened between Winterfell and the Dreadfort, they always returned to the Wolfswood, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

She began bringing her pets— A red wolf named Meleys after the Red Dragon Queen, and a fox named Jade to match her eyes; Meleys, with her fiery fur and fierce loyalty, would growl softly at Ramsay whenever he got too close, while Jade, more curious than cautious, would dart around their feet, sniffing at Ramsay with mild interest, yapping to play with him, or to garner his affections.

One night, after a rather intense wrestling onto the ground that left Y/N pinned beneath Ramsay, her wrists above her head, unable to move and breathing hard, struggling to break free, she managed scratched him, again, drawing blood - This time, it was his neck instead. The sight of the single scarlet line against his pale skin made her freeze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Oh no, not again!" she got naturally worried. "I told you not to tease me so much - Now I hurt you! I'm so sorry!"

Ramsay, however, only laughed, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive. He grabbed her in his arms, holding her chin. “Looks like you’ve marked me again, Kitten.” he said, his voice a low purr. “Afraid I forgot who you belonged to?”

Katrina flushed, unsure of what to say. She didn’t fully understand the weight of his words, but the way he looked at her made her heart race in a way she couldn’t quite explain. "Let me wipe the blood... I should put some snow on it to stop the bleeding..."

"Or you could be a good little Kitten and lick the blood away." his affirmation shocked the girl so much that she almost didn't realise she was pulled into his lap, her chest flush against his own. "Or... My Lady doesn't want to take accountability for her actions~?"

"That's... That's weird, I can't... I'm not..." he grabbed her face, fixing it to look deep into her eyes.

"What a naughty, naughty Kitten you've been... You wouldn't want me to punish you... Or... Mayhaps that is exactly what you wish for~?" the blush on her cheeks was as beautifully red as her hair; She was so precious and shy, how sweet... And how hard to resist.

"F-Fine... Stay still..." with reticence, she carefully held onto him, one hand holding his jaw up, and the other keeping herself steady by holding onto his shoulder.

The feeling of her hot, wet tongue trailing the small scratch line along his neck garnered a strong shiver from the young man, and a shameless groan of pleasure; Such a sound, so primal, so masculine, it made Y/N feel even more timid... And intrigued. She wanted to hear more... To make him react more.

She continued in her conquest, using instead her lips, kissing at his skin until there was no more blood leaking down... Each kiss made his grip on her body get stronger to the point of pain... But she loved it. She loved how feral Ramsay could get, so strong, so unchained... So arousing. And then, once she held onto him tighter, and her kisses turned bolder, nipping away at his skin, sucking on it, he was desperate... So desperate, in fact, that he had to roughly push her away and place snow on his neck to cool down his scorching body, or he was sure to burst and make a mess of his breeches... Or worse, force her down and claim her. It wasn't how he wanted her to look at him... But it wasn't easy to hold back around her.

"Never do that again, sweetling - Not to anyone, except me."

As the time approached for Y/N to turn 17, their meetings in the Wolfswood took on a new tension. Ramsay’s touches became more lingering, his teasing words more loaded with meaning. He would hold her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered things that made her cheeks burn. He wanted her so desperately, but there was no way he would destroy the way she craves him so, by taking her against the tree in the forest.

During their last meeting before her birthday, Ramsay surprised her by sneaking up behind her as she sat by a stream, lost in thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him as he nuzzled her neck.

“You’ve gotten better at sneaking up on me.” Katrina admitted, her voice betraying the mix of emotions she felt.

Ramsay smirked, his breath warm against her skin. “I love seeing you squeal for me, My Lady."

She tried to pull away, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, but he held her fast, his hands firm on her waist. “What do boys and girls do together when they’re old enough?” he had teased her many times before, always with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/N had never fully understood the implications, but she knew enough to feel a flutter of something in her chest — Something that made her both curious and uneasy - The same wicked thing she felt, kissing his neck, and witnessing his raw reactions. That was what happened to young people whose parents never told them how babies were made... And, worse... Parents who never knew how pleasure was made.

“When you’re old enough, I’ll show you.” Ramsay had once promised, his voice dark and mischievous. "I will show you something even better than the games boys and girls do when they're alone." Unfortunately, he wouldn't have the opportunity to show her the hedonistic world of pleasure he succumbed himself into... The world in which he wanted to drown together... For she was forced to join the retinue to King's Landing and search for a proper marriage prospect... Fit for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

Y/N was always looking forward to the routine her and Ramsay created for themselves, meeting at the same spot once every two weeks, and catching up, havin fun... She was always the happiest when around him... And yet, this time, Y/N was troubled... Desperate, frustrated, angry, betrayed...

She dismounted from her horse with a heavy heart, her hands trembling as she tied the reins to a nearby tree. Meleys, her red wolf, and Jade, her pet fox, followed closely behind her, sensing the tension that hung in the air. She had come to the clearing many times over the years, but this time felt different... The finality of an ephemeral bliss hung over her neck like a guillotine.

Ramsay was already there, leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, as always, filled with playful malice and mischief, ready to torment his sweet flower - Though, as she approached him, he straightened, his posture tense, as though bracing himself for the bad news brought by a black raven. In the past three years, not once had he seen her this miserable... This... Sorrowful.

“What's gotten my naughty little Kitten so pissed? No more drapes to scratch? Or human flesh is the only thing that can satisfy you now?” he spoke in his usual dark, taunting voice, but for once, his teasing didn't seem to have the intended effect - Or any at all, for what matters.

Y/N didn't even look at him, or acknowledge his presence. H he greeted her, his voice rougher than usual. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were puffy pink and glazed with tears, her brows were furrowed in a deep frown, and her mind lost in thought. He couldn't stand this look on her. She was supposed to be sweet and smile, to be energetic and filled with vitality, to jump on his and scratch him, to cuddle into his arms and purr so lovingly;

She did none of that.

"What's the matter? Daddy found us out?" he scoffed a question, but she merely shook her head. "So?" she said nothing. "Go on. Speak." still nothing. "I do not appreciate this, Y/N."

She nodded in response, unable to find her voice at first. The words she had rehearsed so many times in her mind now seemed hollow, insufficient for the gravity of the moment. In his rage and frustration, Ramsay roughly grabbed the girl by the furs of her dress, wrestling her to the ground into the soothingly cold snow; His hands were holding tightly onto her shoulders, his face twisted into a malicious sneer - Yet one look into her devastated eyes... Her hopelessness... And he was immediately simmered down.

"The King came over a few days ago." she stammered pitifully over her words. "Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King died... And he wants daddy to become the next Hand..." with great difficulty, she managed to utter some words.

"What's that got to do with you?" he hissed under his breath, his eyes not even once flickering away from her own.

"My daddy was forced to accept... Thus, he has to stay in King's Landing." he slowly nodded his head, as if to urge her to continue. "Sansa fell in love with the King's son, Joffrey... I told her he's a real cunt, that he's not the gallant prince she dreams of, from 'The Ballad of Florian and Jonquil'... But she wouldn't listen... She wants to marry him..." she gulped, tears streaming down her face. "She is barely eleven... Hasn't even flowered yet..."

"You were eleven when I met you." Ramsay noted, earning a nod from her. "You are seventeen now, and still an unwed maiden. The eldest Lady Stark." she cringed softly at the affirmation. "They want to trade you to some rich old fuck, like a piece of meat." she nodded again. "How miserable."

"I don't want to go, Ramsay." she whimpered so pitifully, that the young man found his body growing hot. "I want to stay with you - Forever. The North is my home... I-I can't stay there... I can't..."

"A flower of the North, uprooted and forced to wilt in the stench and stifling heat of the South." he muttered under his breath.

"Mother has been furious for a while that daddy let me unmarried for so long... He wanted me to fall in love and marry someone I wanted... But my mother, married out of duty, also wanted me to do the same... Just like the Tully word - Family, Duty, Honour - ... Marry, have many heirs, do your duties..." he had never seen her cry before, but now, she clinged onto him, sobbing into the crook of her neck, so desperately and pitifully that he almost couldn't understand her. "I don't want to marry some pathetic lordling! I don't want to give birth! I don't want it - Any of it!" she whined and mewled like that some more; Ramsay's grip tightened around her protectively... Possessively... And then... "I want you, Ramsay! I want only you! I want to be you friend, I want to have fun with you, I want to marry you - I want to stay with you forever - Forever and Always!"

His breathing was heavy, picking up a little; He dragged her on his lap, and held her so tightly to his chest that she almost got lost inside his strong embrace. "That's right, little Kitten. You are mine, and only mine. No one can have you. No one but me." he grumbled in her ear, his hand burying into her hair, holding her firmly. "Did they find some shit lord yet?" annoyingly enough, she nodded her head.

"Tyrion Lannister... The Imp." she whimpered lowly. "He is a witty and respectful man... I would have a content life with him... He wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want..." she hiccuped from sobbing. "But he isn't you. No one is you. And I want only you."

The thought of losing her — Of her being taken away to a place where he couldn’t reach her—stoked the fire of his rage once more. “And you brought your pets over to let me take care of them, then?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't want your pets, Y/N. I want you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. She had known for years that Ramsay’s feelings for her were intense, even possessive, but this was the first time he had spoken so plainly. She felt more tears slip down her cheek as she looked up at him, her vision blurred by the emotion she had tried so hard to contain.

He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re mine, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a dark promise. “You’ve always been mine, and you always will be.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, wanting to believe him— To believe that they could find a way to be together, despite the forces of the universe pulling them apart. She knew how difficult it would be - Escaping King's Landing was close to blasphemy; She knew the expectations placed upon her as a Stark, and the dangers of being tied to a man like Ramsay... A bastard...

She cared for nothing, except for her happiness. She wanted to be selfish, in spite of how much she loved her family. “I’ll find a way back to you.” she promised, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll escape King’s Landing, I swear it.”

Ramsay’s expression darkened, his grip on her face tightening. “You’d better.” he growled. “Because if you don’t, I’ll come for you. I’ll burn that wretched city to the ground if I have to.”

His words, though terrifying, were also a twisted comfort to her. She knew Ramsay meant every word — He would stop at nothing to claim what he believed was his. But as much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t ignore the fear that gripped her heart, the fear that she might not be able to return, that she might be trapped in the South forever. That she would wilt before she got the chance to liberate herself.

Ramsay pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll take care of Meleys and Jade.” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. “But don't forget who you belong to, Y/N."

Y/N nodded, her tears mingling with his breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent promise that she would return to him, no matter the cost.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to hold back another sob that threatened to escape. She couldn’t bear to leave him like this, but she had no choice - She wasn't a wild wolf anymore, but a collared dog on a leash, and the handler was a slut like Myranda.

With one last glance at him, she forced herself out of his protective arms, turned around and mounted her horse, her heart heavy with sorrow. "I cannot say farewell... But I can try and say... I will see you again... Soon."

As she rode away, she heard Ramsay’s voice call out to her, filled with a desperation that shook her to her core. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

Y/N didn’t look back, tears streaming down her face as she urged her horse forward, the forest closing in around her. She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Ramsay, but the thought of the long, uncertain road ahead filled her with dread... And determination to break free from her shackles... A ferocious, feral instinct broke inside of her, and she was ready to transform into the she-wolf she was born to be...

The cold, dimly lit chamber of the Dreadfort, where the stone walls seem to absorb any warmth that might exist felt now even colder than before, Ramsay noted unconsciously, once he realised it had already been over a year since he hasn't seen Y/N... Since she'd been mercilessly snatched away from his grasp.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, his expression as impassive as ever, while Ramsay stood before him; The tension between father and son was as harshly palpable as always. The air was thick with the scent of burning torches and the ever-present dampness of the castle, a stark reminder of the harshness of the North, didn't bother him anymore; A man of the North would never be bothered by such trivialities.

Fueled by a mixture of fury and frustration, Ramsay is seething inside at the thought of losing Y/N, but his father’s presence was forcing him to maintain a veneer of calm... For as long as humanly possible for him.

Ramsay paced the length of the chamber, his hands clenched behind his back, his mind a storm of rage and dark thoughts - He was restless - Restless as never before, and that restlessness usually brought with it a storm of torture, hedonism and quite a lot of erratic flaying.

The room felt too small, too suffocating; His father’s cold gaze on him felt like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his fury, to tear the room apart, and his father with it, but he knew better. Roose Bolton did not tolerate outbursts, and Ramsay knew he had to keep his emotions in check... As long as he was a bastard, his father was still useful... Afterwards, well...

“You are going to dig a dam if you keep pacing.” Roose’s voice broke through his thoughts, a calm, controlled tone that belied the gravity of their discussion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of that Stark girl again."

Ramsay forced himself to stop pacing, turning to face his father. He knew Roose saw everything, knew everything, and any attempt to hide his feelings would be futile. Still, he had to be careful. His voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. “She’s in King’s Landing.” he grumbled. "For over a year."

Roose arched an eyebrow, his expression giving nothing away. “And this concerns you... How, exactly?" his father's words cut as deep as the cold Valyrian steel. "Have you forgotten you place again?"

Ramsay’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No... Father." he licked his lips, looking down for a few seconds. "But she's a Stark - The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and now, Hand of the King. Marrying her - Politically, of course - Would help our House regain power and wealth again."

"MY House." his father's words felt like whips against his skin. "Not yours. You are a Snow, not a Bolton." he continued with a painfully strong word. "Yet." Roose leaned back in his chair, studying his son with those cold, calculating eyes. “You’ve grown attached to the girl, haven’t you?” he said, a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You don't care about politics - You only care about yourself." he scoffed, sneering at his son with disgust. "It’s only natural for a bastard to crave what he can’t have.” he continued to belittle him even more. "If you got tired of Tansy's cunt, just move to Kyra - And if even she bores you, you have Myranda. There's plenty women in here - Stop wasting time thinking of the one you can never have. You're wasting your time - And mine."

Ramsay’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He hated the way his father spoke, the way he dismissed him, the way he thought him incompetent and lesser, just because he was born out of wedlock. "She's mine. I claimed her - And I will make sure I get what I want."

Roose’s amusement faded, replaced by a steely resolve. “If you want to make her yours in more than just your mind, you’ll have to do more than just ruining the floor of my study chamber.” he said, his voice as cold as the North itself. “Listen clearly to me, Ramsay. We have a new ally - Far more powerful than the Starks.”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you mean?” it was the first time he heard his father speaking about aiding someone other than the Starks - Knowing full well the Bolton army was aiding the Young Wolf win against the Lannister - And that his father, also, had to return to the battlefield soon enough.

Roose leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “The Stark boy, Robb, is a threat to the Crown. Naturally, the self-proclaimed 'King In The North' has a huge bounty on his head - And there is a way to remove him from the board, permanently.”

Ramsay’s heart skipped a beat. He had heard whispers of the plot, rumors of a grand betrayal that would see the Young Wolf brought to his knees, but hearing it from his father’s lips made it real, tangible. He had allied with the Lannisters. “The Red Wedding.” he said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Lord Bolton nodded, his expression unreadable. “The army is going to reach the Twins, and Lord Frey demands a groom. Alas, Robb Stark has the same dangerous sense of loyalty that his own father had - The same loyalty that got him killed." he let out a sardonic laugh. "He married the woman he slept with, out of duty - He cannot be the groom; He's sending his uncle, a lowly, incompetent Tully Fish. Of course Walder Frey would feel betrayed... And will act accordingly." his peering eyes stabbed his own, and his voice was threatening and alarming. "If you want to secure your claim to Winterfell, you must act soon. After Robb Stark dies, the next-in-line heirs are merely children of 7 and 3. The heir is clear - Your darling Y/N Stark." Roose smirked ironically, seeing his bastard's interest piqued, for once. "Everyone wants to fuck an heir in her womb, Ramsay. She is every Noble House's target." his jaw clenched in anger, in rage, in madness. "But only you must claim her maidenhood, make her your woman and have her bare your heirs. It is the only way to secure your position as the next Lord Bolton."

Ramsay’s mind raced. The idea of Robb Stark dead, of Winterfell ripe for the taking, filled him with a dark excitement. But it was Y/N’s face that haunted his thoughts, her tearful promise to return to him, to escape the South and come back to the North. The thought of losing her, of her being out of his reach, drove him to the brink of madness. Then, he remembered the tears painting her face, her distraught, her agony - How loudly she yelled that she didn't want to be a tool to create heirs? That she didn't want to give birth, because she was terrified of the pain, terrified of death, of motherhood - Of everything? And he was on the same wavelength as her - No way he wanted to be a father - Not while his mind still works properly. But Roose continued, his voice like ice, waking him up from his excruciating inner conflict. “Do something useful for once in your pathetic, miserable life and marry that Stark wench you kept sneaking out to meet for three years." he spat at his son. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Ramsay. You may be stealthy, but I know everything.”

Ramsay’s blood ran cold. His father knew—of course, he knew. Roose Bolton knew every secret, every move his son made. There was no hiding from him. But what Roose didn’t understand, what he couldn’t comprehend, was the depth of Ramsay’s obsession with Katrina. She was not just a means to an end, not just a stepping stone to power. She was his, in a way that went beyond any rational thought or ambition.

The bastard didn’t respond; He didn’t trust himself to speak. He left the chamber, his heart and mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he stepped into the cold corridors of the Dreadfort, his thoughts returned to Y/N, to her promise to return, to the way she had looked at him in the Wolfswood. He would make sure she kept that promise. She would be his, no matter the cost.

As he walked through the dimly lit halls, all the way outside of the Fort, and into the forest, his mind churned with plans and possibilities. The Red Wedding would be the first step, yes... His father's betrayal... But Y/N… She was his obsession, his desire, the one thing that mattered more than anything else. He would marry her, claim Winterfell, and make sure that she never left his side again m- All on his own accord, not the traditional way the old fucks want to force upon them. He needed her happy; He needed her to want him, to need him, to desire him the same way he wants, needs and desires her.

No one, not even his father, would stand in his way to get his little Kitten back in his arms.

Lost in his mind, the young bastard found himself by the running river - He always wanted to take Y/N here, his special spot to get away from the world. Once, she admitted to him that, although her personality is very much that of a wolf, she still find a good portion of her peace by the river-run, just like her Tully mother.

The icy wind blew through the trees along the riverbank, but Ramsay barely felt it. His dark mood had numbed him to the cold of the North. He stood by the rushing waters of the river, his fists clenched, chest heaving with barely suppressed rage.

He couldn't believe over a year had passed since his sweetling had been taken to King’s Landing, and in that time, Ramsay had fallen into a restless spiral. His hunts no longer thrilled him, and even the cruel games he played with his prisoners brought him no joy. No one could satisfy him anymore, and every woman he took to his bed only made the ache for Y/N grow worse. With an empty chuckle, he remembered the hurt in Myranda's eyes, and the protest she chirped, once he called her by Y/N's name instead of her own. Hilarious how either of them thought themselves important in his life. Dumb cunts, all of them.

He cursed under his breath, pacing along the riverbank, his thoughts tangled in frustration and agony. The image of her haunted him - Her eyes, her smile, the playful way she used to tease him. It wasn't just her beauty that lingered in his mind; it was the feeling she invoked in him. A need deeper than any he'd known before. She had marked him, claimed him, and he hated her for it, almost as much as he longed for her, needed her, just like he needed air to breathe.

His breath came in harsh gasps as he leaned against a tree, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. He slammed his fist against the bark, the roughness biting into his skin, but the pain brought him no relief. His mind kept returning to her, to the day she left, to her cries, her tears, her screams, to the promise she'd made, the way she'd looked back at him with those desperate, pleading eyes, almost as if she was begging him to kidnap her and tie her up in the dungeons, away from the harsh world that would hurt her... That would take her away from him.

"Where the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the wind, as he continued punching at the tree, an unfortunate bad habit he got since childhood; Punching until his fist was a bloody mess... Punching until he didn't want to claw his own body out, as if he needed to escape this cage of flesh and sinew.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Ramsay caught movement; He tensed, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his side - Instead of danger, he saw the familiar forms of Meleys and Jade that approached him. The red wolf padded silently through the trees, her light coloured eyes gleaming with intelligence and caution, while the fox moved with graceful playfulness. Ramsay lowered his guard, watching as they approached him.

The wolf nuzzled his hand, the softness of her fur a stark contrast to his cold rage... Her red-coppery fur was as velvety soft as Y/N's hair, he remembered. His muscles relaxed, if only slightly, and he knelt down, letting his fingers run through Meleys' fur. Jade, ever loving, kept her green eyes fixed on him, before she yapped for his attention.

"You're missing her too, aren’t you?" Ramsay muttered, his voice softening for a moment. He scratched Meleys behind the ears, feeling the animal’s warmth against his skin. It was strange — He’d never cared for animals like Y/N did, but these two were different. Sure, he preferred the company of dogs over that of people, and for good reason...

When he looked Meleys in the eyes, she looked straight back at him; She climbed on his lap and gently licked at his face. He didn't stop her. He remembered those times when he'd meet Y/N, and she'd show him how she learnt to warg into Meleys, to see life through her, to control her... To live through her. He often wondered if Y/N was warged into Meleys, and she was trying to comfort him... To show him her love... To give him hope...

Jade, too, jumped on him, nudging her small wet truffle-snout against his palm, licking at his bloody wounds; Ramsay found some strange solace in their presence, though he would never admit it. Meleys and Jade missed her too — He could see it in the way they searched for her, the way they lingered near places where she used to be. They were as restless as he was, as hungry for her return.

"She promised." Ramsay whispered, more to himself than to the animals. "She swore she'd come back."

Meleys whimpered softly, nudging Ramsay's hand, as though offering comfort in her own way, then gently placed her head on his shoulder. Jade blinked up at him with her bright eyes, her tail flicking slightly. They were loyal creatures, just as Y/N had been loyal to him - That loyalty, that bond they all shared — It was the one thing he could cling to when the loneliness clawed at his insides.

"I will flay everyone who gets in her way." his hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, his jaw tightening with renewed resolve. Y/N would return to him. She had to. And when she did, he would never let her go again. Not to anyone. Not to anything. She was his, marked by him, claimed by him; He wore her mark, that haughty little kitten.

He sat there in the snow for a while longer, the quiet of the forest and the gentle presence of Meleys and Jade soothing his maddening thoughts. For the first time in what felt like weeks, Ramsay allowed himself to relax just a little; Though beneath his calm exterior, the storm still brewed.

"See, Sandor?!" Y/N desperately tried to shake him into agreeing with her plan; Though her lack of strength managed to move him not even by a fraction of an inch. "You must help me! Please - You must!"

"You're just as fucked in the head as he is, little fox." the Hound barked a sarcastic laugh. "What of the little bird?"

Y/N hesitated, looking down. "She..." Y/N gulped, her voice wavering. "The Lannisters have her in their clutches. She won't listen to me... Not anymore. She's forgotten herself, who she is... Since father died." she bit her lip painfully hard. "I cannot save her anymore, Sandor; And I can save our family even less if I am trapped here, in this hell." she looked up into his eyes, strength and determination surprising even him "I trust only you with her safety. Whatever happens of that... A wolf must always return to the North. I hope, one day, you will escape also - And bring her with you to our home." she continued in a more tender home. "You will always be welcomed in the North, Sandor."

"You've lost your mind, girl. I am welcomed nowhere - Especially not given my reputation." he rolled his eyes, pushing her away from him. "Fine. I'll take care of the little song bird - But don't expect me to die for her. That damned lousy cunt who calls himself the King is unpredictable, and I am still just a dog."

"A loyal dog who's earned the trust of the Queen In The North."

The night of the wildfire siege at Blackwater Bay was a chaos of screams and roaring flames that lit the sky with an eerie green glow. The city was in disarray, and amidst the flames, the terrified Sandor Clegane dragged the two Stark sisters out of their rooms and fled the blasted Crown city for good, never to look back or miss the damned stench.

At first, they didn't know where to go, except North - Always into the North - Yet during one silent camping stop where their fear calmed down the littlest bit, they agreed on a temporary strategy - Reunite with the Young Wolf who was currently hosted at the Twins.

Unfortunately the reunion was bitter, and that night they didn't meet Robb Stark nor Catelyn Stark or Grey Wind... They met death staring right at them. Sansa fell into the Hound's arms, sobbing, wailing, almost waiting at the grotesque sight... Almost as bad as seeing her father beheaded... Y/N remained silent, her mind all but blank and filled with rage and revenge. What once was her proud brother, the beautiful Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, the King in the North... Was now reduced to a headless corpse mounted on a horse... With his precious Grey Wind's head sewn on his shoulders. No doubt, their mother also met a similarly humiliating and grotesque fate.

"Y/N. I found your rat runt of a sister." Sandor spoke, out of nowhere, holding Arya by the back of her shirt as she was trying to escape his grasp and run head-first into the Bolton and Frey army to kill them all.

"Let me go! Now! I'll kill you, you stupid mutt! Y/N, tell him!" the little sister tried to struggle, but it was Sansa who slapped her face.

"Arya, can't you see?! Robb is dead! Mother is dead! If you go there, we will lose you too! Stop being a brat for once, and listen to us!" poor Sansa's heartbroken cries made even the wild little sister stare at her with wide eyes, and teared up too.

"They... They killed them... Slaughtered... Like livestock... Why..." came her little, trembling voice. "It's not fair..."

"Life ain't fair, girl." the dog grunted under his breath, taking them away from there. They suffered enough, no need to see the enemy making a mockery of their beloved family anymore.

"The North remembers... And we will have their skins..." though Arya was emboldened by that fearsome threat, Sansa shuddered a little at her cold, hars voice. It was only Sandor who noticed the malice and vendetta behind her words... And the ally hidden in the North, ready to flay anyone alive. What a deranged bastard. Gulping away her sorrow, Y/N finally found the words and strength to speak. "Let's go to aunt Lysa for now, and we'll see what we do from there."

The road to the Eyrie was filled with danger, but Sandor, Arya and Y/N knew how to fight away the assailants; They pushed forward relentlessly, despite their exhaustion and heartbreak. The girls needed a place to recover — Somewhere far from the reach of the Lannisters and the Freys. The only safe place they had left.

The eerie mountain fortress became their temporary sanctuary, though they knew they couldn't stay forever. Surprisingly even to himself, Sandor guarded over the Stark girls with the fierce loyalty of a dog - Though not for long. The girls had to divide and conquer, to make a plan and gain enough support and a proper army to regain what was lost through the Red Wedding, and the loss of Robb and Catelyn Stark.

Sansa, ever the diplomat, remained at the Eyrie to deal with aunt Lysa and young Robert; Arya had escaped into the night, ready to take on the unknown and learn how to properly fight and fend for herself, a little girl against the endless world; Y/N was going to reclaim their home and name herself the heir and Lady of Winterfell - Bran and Rickon were far too little to lead, even with the Maesters aiding them. Maester Luwin might have been as intelligent and loving as their second father, but even he couldn't rule the way a true Stark would.

Leaving Sansa in the care of Sandor, Y/N began her lonely ride northward. She hadn’t heard of what had befallen Winterfell — Only whispers of its burning and rumors of her brothers’ deaths. Her heart told her it was lies, but her mind feared the worst.

The North was desolate, colder than she remembered, and the haunting loneliness echoed in every step she took toward her home. Winterfell had once been a place of safety, but now, the foreboding silence filled her with dread.

When she finally arrived at Winterfell, the place she called home was but a shell of what it had been. The castle stood lonely and bleak, with the Greyjoy banner flapping mockingly above the walls. Panic surged through her veins as she noticed two small bodies, covered in tar, burnt and hanged above the gate as display for all to see. They couldn't be... No way those were Bran and Rickon... Theon Greyjoy would never...

She stormed inside, desperately searching for answers, only to be greeted by the sight of Theon, standing in her father’s hall, playing at being Lord of Winterfell.

Fury like she had never known surged through her - Theon had betrayed them, his only family that accepted him after is own father renounced him in favour of his sister, Asha, who was a far better leader than he would ever be.

Her anger overwhelmed her to the point of irrationality; The words were ripping from her throat with all the venom she could muster. Theon was no longer the boy she once knew. He was brittle, broken, and deluded with false power. The arrogant power-trip that the weak get once given the chance to hold a fickle grain of power.

"You... You pathetic, loathsome, disgusting, arrogant little cockroach!" the voice of a Stark roared loudly through the castle walls, calling forth all of its original inhabitants - They all marveled in joy and horror at seeing Lady Stark return home. "Theon Greyjoy, who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?!" she lunged at him, wrestling him to the ground in his state of confusion and panic.

"You—!" her voice was a guttural snarl, thick with disbelief and outrage. "You traitorous bastard!" she screamed as her fists slammed into him, each strike landing with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. The hall fell into shocked silence, with the few guards present too stunned to react immediately - Though none of them had any respect for the poor excuse of a Kraken playing the leader role. "How dare you sit there! That seat belongs to my father! My family! You are nothing!"

Theon, momentarily caught off guard, could only try to shield himself from the onslaught; Y/N’s blows came hard and fast, her nails scratching at his face and her fists thudding against his chest. For a brief moment, she was relentless, every ounce of betrayal and rage from months of being away from her home, from seeing her family butchered, pouring out of her.

Theon groaned in pain and surprise as she clawed at him, her anger consuming every fiber of her being. “Stop—!” he tried to shout over her furious attacks, but his voice was drowned out by her curses - Just like his useless God.

"How could you?!" she cried, voice cracking with the raw emotion of betrayal. "After everything we've done for you! After we treated you like one of us! You were my brother, Theon! And now this?! You betray your best friend who trusted you above all else, take over my home, declare yourself the Lord and even kill my brothers!" her fists slammed into him again, the intensity of her emotions seeping into every word. "You disgust me! You, vile, evil, pathetic worm!"

The old citizens of Winterfell, those who had remained loyal to the Starks, rushed forward in an attempt to hold her back. A few guards hesitated at first, unsure whether or not to protect Theon from the girl’s wrath or to stand aside. One of the older men, who had known Y/N since she was a child, wrapped his arms around her from behind, gently restraining her despite her thrashing.

"Lady Y/N, please!" the man pleaded, his voice filled with sorrow. "You'll only get yourself hurt - Your precious hands should not be damaged against a lowly peasant such as him." truly, no one feared him, nor respected him. He was a wretch everywhere he went. Even his own family was praying for him never to return.

Y/N was panting, her wild eyes still fixed on Theon, who now stood from the ground, wiping at his bleeding face, his eyes a mix of embarrassment and growing rage. Her chest heaved as she struggled against the arms holding her back, her voice hoarse with the weight of everything she had bottled up for too long, a dark, malicious murder intent growing ever stronger.

"You don't belong here!" she spat, trying to wrench herself free. "This is my home!"

Theon’s pride, wounded by both her words and her successful attack, twisted his expression into something unknown. His initial shock and shame from being attacked by a woman was quickly replaced by a cruel sneer, the only way he knew to hide the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides.

“Shut up, you worthless mewling quim!” he snapped, straightening himself and brushing off his tunic as though her blows were nothing but an inconvenience. “The past doesn't matter. Winterfell is mine - The House of Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Warden in the North." unexpectedly, Y/N managed to land another harsh slap against his gaunt face, then spat him in the eyes.

"You may call yourself whatever you wish, but you will never earn the respect or aid of anyone! You’re nothing but a coward playing at being king in a castle that’s not yours! Do you really think this charade will last? You think you can be anything more than the Greyjoy runt, pathetic and spineless?!” she screeched at him even as he dug his hand into her hair and tugged harshly at it. "You don't know what happens to traitors, do you, Theon? Everyone hates a traitor."

Theon’s face flushed red as Y/N's words pierced through the thin veil of arrogance he had built around himself. For a moment, he wavered, the reality of the situation crashing into him - But his desperation to hold on to his fleeting power won out, and he grabbed her from the man's arms, slapping her face hard with his gloved hand; She simply grinned with defiance - No once could hit harder than Meryn Trant and his metal gauntlet. "You even hit like a cunt, Theon. You could never best me at anything."

Theon looked around at the gathered faces—faces of the people he had known for years, people who had served the Starks faithfully. They were not looking at him with fear or respect, but with contempt and disgust. His eyes flickered back to Y/N, who was still breathing heavily, her eyes filled with loathing and burning rage. Something shifted in him. For a moment, guilt seemed to seep into his features, but he masked it quickly with a cold glare.

“Lock her in her room.” he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice trembling slightly. “I will teach some proper discipline into her later - And you will learn to scream my name from the top of your lungs - Lord Theon Greyjoy."

The old man holding Katrina hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to her and his fear of what Theon might do if defied. Y/N, however, stopped struggling, her fury replaced by a dangerous calm. "You don't have a big enough cock to fuck me, nor the balls to dare even approach me. That's why you could only get women through coin - You are everyone's laughing-stock, and that's what you will remain forever." she said, her voice low but venomous. “And mark my words — You will regret ever stepping foot in this castle.”

Theon flinched slightly at the threat, but he quickly turned away, trying to maintain an air of control as Y/N was swiftly led away by the remaining Stark loyalists who were afraid to see their Lady get in even more trouble. His grip on power was tenuous at best, and deep down, he knew it. Anarchy was approaching.

Y/N’s parting words echoed in his mind, and for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He had lost his only true family in the Starks, and now even Y/N, the girl who had treated him like a brother for years, despised him, and rightfully so. Despite his stolen throne, Theon felt more alone than ever before.

She was supposed to become a prisoner in her own bedroom chambers, but Y/N Stark was no prisoner — At least, not for long. That night, before Theon could instill his faux sense of discipline and power on her, she escaped through the old tunnels she had explored as a child, her heart set on freedom and revenge. She fled back into the Wolfswood, where the wolves of her ancestors watched over her and awaited the Stark she-wolf to reclaim her home. Yes, the initial plan failed, but there was one last thing she could do -

Return to Ramsay Snow and get the Bolton army on her side.

Once she reached the forest edge close to the Dreadfort, Y/N dismounted and stumbled through the underbrush of the Wolfswood, her clothes torn and her face streaked with tears and dirt. Once she saw the fort in her sight, she took a deep breath and let out a long, haunting howl, the sound echoing through the trees like a wolf’s cry — A cry of both pain and a call for her true brethren to reunite as one once more.

She felt her voice tearing at her throat as she called out into the cold, sharp air. Her fury was boundless. It was the Boltons who had betrayed her family's trust, Roose Bolton who teamed up with Tywin Lannister and orchestrated the Red Wedding, the massacre that took her mother and her brother from her. He was going to pay for betraying her trust. They all will. She will have their skins.

Before long, the silence of the woods was broken. Meleys, her loyal Red Queen, sprinted through the undergrowth, her frozen eyes gleaming in the low light. Behind her, padding quietly, came Jade, her beloved fokin - But it was not just her darling animal-sisters who emerged from the darkness.

As she expected, Ramsay followed shortly after, his black hair wild and messy, his expression one of uncharacteristic joy at the sight of her. For a moment, a flicker of something softer passed through his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of hope. She had come back to him, the only living being he had ever truly wanted - She returned to him, just as she promised.

Y/N’s greeting was, however, far from warm and heartfelt; She snarled at him, her hand instinctively going for her bow. In one swift motion, she nocked an arrow and aimed it at his chest. “Y/N…” Ramsay began, his voice low, almost tender. "You've come back to—"

"Stop right there, you traitorous bastard!" she growled, her voice dripping with venom. She didn't care about the small smile that briefly flashed on his face, or the way his hands slowly rose as if in surrender. She loosed a warning arrow, purposefully missing him by inches, letting it thud dangerously into the trunk of a nearby tree. “Don’t you dare say my name!” she screamed, her voice shaking. Another arrow flew, this one even closer to him, landing in the snow at his feet. “You... you monster! How could you let this happen? How could you betray us? How could you betray me?”

Ramsay's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then anger. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step forward. Not yet. How dare she accuse him?! And of what, he didn't even know - How dare she?! How DARE she?!

"Betray you?" Ramsay's voice was bubbling and sneering but laced with an undercurrent of fury. He finally realised - It was all about his father's betrayal of the Stark family. Of course. Of - fucking - course. He knew his father was going to ruin everything he ever did in his life - That blasted worm... "You think I had something to do with that?!”

"You’re a Bolton!" Katrina shouted, another arrow notched and ready. “Your father slaughtered my family! My mother, my brother! They were all butchered! Tortured! And for what? For Theon fucking Greyjoy to burn my little brothers alive and take Winterfell for himself?” her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. "You knew! You had to have known!"

“I didn’t!” Ramsay spat, his voice growing desperate as her accusations cut into him. “I had nothing to do with it!” his tone was raising with every bit of defense he had to shout to be heard.

"LIAR!" Y/N screamed, and her voice broke as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “You’re no different than him! You’re just like your father, Ramsay! You’re—”

In that moment, Ramsay snapped, something inside him, probably his sanity, shattered. The frustration, the rage, the desperation to make her understand, to stop her from hating him - They all boiled over. With a savage growl, he moved faster than she could react, lunging forward and knocking the bow from her hands.

He slammed her back against a nearby tree, his hands gripping her shoulders with a bruising force; She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants as she stared up at him, wide-eyed like a fawn and trembling, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

“Shut up!” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth, his face inches from hers. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to blame me for what he did!” he snarled at her like a rabid beast.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she was silenced — Bot by fear, but by the intensity of Ramsay’s gaze on her. It burned into her, wild, petrifying and unhinged, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite decipher. Her tears streamed down her face in endless waterfalls, and she tried to shove him away, but he only pressed her harder against the tree, their bodies closer than ever before.

“I have nothing to do with that.” Ramsay snarled, his breath hot against her face. “Nothing - Yet you… You came back, just to accuse me like this?”

She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but before she could speak, Ramsay’s lips crashed against hers in a violent, desperate kiss. Her entire body tensed, shocked by the suddenness of it, by the raw hunger in the way his mouth moved against hers. She tried pushing against him, her mind going crazy, but Ramsay was relentless, strong, and his hands were gripping her tighter as if he was trying to claim her once again, to force her back into submission.

For a moment, her mind blanked, overwhelmed by the intensity of the kiss, her very first kiss; The way his lips devoured hers with a desperation she had never seen in him before. When she finally managed to shove him off, they both stood there, breathing heavily, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“What…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you—”

Ramsay’s eyes softened for just a moment. “I didn't betray you.” he said, his voice quieter now, like a threatening low whisper. “Don't ever do that to me ever again. Not even the Old Gods could stop me from tearing you apart if you accuse me of such horse shite ever again. You hear me?!"

She glared at him through her tears, still uncertain, still struggling with the whirlwind of emotions tearing her apart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Ramsay wasn’t involved in the betrayal of her family, but the bitterness of grief and the sting of betrayal ran deep.

“I will kill him.” Ramsay promised, his voice turning dark again as he took a step closer, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “Once he legitimises me, I will kill him. He deserves it for everything he did to me - To us." he hissed softly, his lips almost touching her again. "I will flay him alive for you."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression torn. She was still angry, still grieving, but the conviction in his voice made her pause; She believed him. “I heard what that worthless cockroach did to your home.” Ramsay continued, his voice dripping with venom. “I will gift you Winterfell back, and Theon Greyjoy's skin made into a flag."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her heart torn between hatred and hope. She stared up at Ramsay, her thoughts swirling. She had seen so much darkness, so much death - And yet, through all the horrors of the world, Ramsay Snow remained the only person she fully trusted... The one person who might be twisted and screwed in the head enough to give her the vengeance she craved.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, she nodded, her voice a soft, broken whisper. “Bring me Winterfell… And bring me Theon Greyjoy. Alive, but not for long.”

Ramsay’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down, his forehead brushing against hers. “It’s yours.” he whispered. “All of it.” his lips trailed down to her ear, whispering sultry. "All of me."

For the first time in a long time in may painful years, Y/N felt a gleaming of something resembling hope — Dark, twisted, insane hope, but hope nonetheless. They would take Winterfell back, and they would make sure that every betrayal was paid for in blood - That's what he promised her; She kept her promise to him, and it was time for him to reciprocate.

Winterfell will be reclaimed by the shocking wit of the bastard of the Dreadfort - Truly, not only did Y/N never imagine he would be so witty, but also such a fantastic actor; He would play the role of a half-wit peasant called Reek, bring her to Theon as a prize, and gain his trust - Trust which will be oh-so-satisfyingly shattered once Reek betrays him and becomes Ramsay once more... And he will learn his place, that pesky little filth.

The frigid winds howled through the corridors of Winterfell, but within the walls, tension simmered hotter than any hearth. The once-proud castle of Winterfell was shadowed by the Kraken banners of House Greyjoy, their sigil hanging where the direwolf of Stark once stood tall and proud for generations.

Ramsay had donned the rags of a peasant, dirtying himself with soot and mud until he was nothing more than a shadow of the handsome yet brutal man he truly was.

He became "Reek", it rhymes with "Meek", it rhymes with "Leek", it rhymes with "Weak" - a pathetic and broken figure, eager to please and loyal only to Lord Theon Greyjoy. Y/N, playing along, allowed herself to be dragged in as his prisoner, bound and silent, though her eyes burned with cold fury and thirst for a torturous revenge.

Theon, still drunk on his fleeting power-trip, was easily fooled by their flawless charade; He sneered at Y/N, mocked her, and paraded her around like a trophy in front of her people. "Lookie here, Lady Stark came back home!" he struck her face so hard she fell to the ground. Each word, each cruel jest, was like a knife twisted in Y/N’s heart repeatedly, and added salt and cyanide - But she held herself together, knowing that it was only temporary.

She could feel the storming wrath in Ramsay's eyes - The humiliation won't last long, before he snaps and goes berserk. Theon had fallen too far to see the trap being laid for him. Even as he and "Reek" bonded over Y/N’s torment, the bastard’s true self remained hidden, seething beneath the surface, watching and waiting impatiently to destroy this worthless cunt who thinks himself a King.

One of Greyjoy's favourite ways of tormenting the she-wolf was to degrade her in front of his Ironborn; He'd force her to kneel before him, his foot on her shoulder, and would belittle her. "You like kneeling for men, don't you, Y/N? Is that what you did in King's Landing? Whore yourself for any man who gave you attention?" he laughed mockingly at her, looking at Reek for validation, to see if his joke was funny. "The proud Lady Stark, sucking cock like a greedy slut!" he wanted to go further, to take out his dick and dangle it in her face - But something in him couldn't go that far; Was it their previous sibling bond, or the fact that he practically froze under the harsh blizzard-like glare of her eyes - He kicked her to the ground, having his people drag her back to her room, before he took Reek away from there.

Reek kept his eyes downcast and his hands clenched into fists whenever Theon mistreated his sweet little thorny rose. He would swallow down his rage, pretending to be the loyal, cowardly "Reek" who would never dare to defy his master. His nails would dig into his palms until they drew blood, the pain a reminder to keep his cover intact, no matter how badly he wanted to rip Theon apart with his bare hands. He will pay with his skin, and not only. The more he saw Theon mistreating his darling, the more he wanted to make him feel eternal pain. He will lose his cock, his finger nails, toe nails, and more...

He would shove her around, slap her, hit her, insult her and more; So many threats of him fucking a bastard into her womb, and that he will beat her pregnant belly until she loses the babe; Each word he addressed her way became a new way of Ramsay to torture him.

But one night he went to far... Too far, even for Ramsay to accept. Theon had dragged him into Lady Stark's chambers; He buried his hand into her hair, throwing her onto the bed, his hands gripping at her slender body. "Don't you fucking dare..." came a low, guttural rumble, a threat, a warning... But the Kraken was deaf and blind; He ripped the bodice of her dress and with a weirdly strong grip, he tried to spread her legs apart for him to get to her honeyed core. "I will tear you apart, Theon Greyjoy."

"Shut up, you greedy little whore, I know you're desperate for me... You've always looked at me, since we were little..." with a strike to her face, he slumped over her body, rendering her unable to struggle away. "Don't play coy with me - I know you're not pure anymore - You cannot be."

"Listen to me, Theon Greyjoy - I am not yours to claim." she smirked with wicked defiance; She knew her wait was over, and she could rise up and riot. "The only man allowed to claim me is Ramsay Bolton."

"Then I'll make sure to tell him how tight your cunt is." his hand was fumbling with his breeches, ready to take his cock out and fulfill his promise, until...

"I'd like to see you try." Theon was fell limp over Y/N's body, knocked unconscious by an iron poker struck onto his head. "You don't get to touch her - Filth." THE Theon Greyjoy crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his body lifeless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, as Ramsay had to restrain himself to jump on him and punch him to death - He deserved far, far worse for even daring to touch his precious Kitten's skin... Let alone think he can CLAIM her.

"Took you long enough." Y/N found herself panting for air, regaining her senses.

"Be glad I'm not claiming you right now." he was trembling with anger as he hissed under his breath.

"You can claim me in front of him." her bold, teasing voice made him snap at her, his eyes wide, tormented. "Down in the dungeons, when you've had your way torturing him... After you cut that useless prick off... Tormented him..."

"Shut up." he growled at her. "Get your people back, raise your flag - Just get away from me." his warning made a shiver go down her spine, and she scurried away from her chambers. She'd never seen Ramsay so pissed that he couldn't control himself even around her. She will let him have his fun for a while, let him cool down on his own, before she returns to check on him.

She moved to the court where the few remaining people of Winterfell— Those who had not yet been driven away or killed — Waited in tense silence. They had seen the Starks fall, seen the banners torn down and replaced with the Kraken of the Ironborn. But now, standing before them, was their last glimmer of hope — The rightful heir to Winterfell. The Queen in the North.

Y/N looked out at the faces of her people, her voice ringing out clear and strong, despite the bruise forming on her cheek. “Theon Greyjoy is no more. Winterfell is our home once more!" there was no mistaking the fierce determination that burned within her - The Scarlet She-Wolf of the Stark House. Once she cupped her hands to her mouth, she let out a loud howl, haunting, booming, alert; Meleys joined in, and from the forest, many more were heard.

The Stark Wolves howled under the Northern Moon once again.

After the bastard finished tying up the naked, unconscious Theon Greyjoy on a wooden X-cross in the dungeons, he went out, watching his Kitten's loud meowing from the shadows, and he held a satisfied smirk on his face. That was his girl, he thought to herself, feeling power brewing in his chest as the people cheered loudly on her - Queen in the North, Lady Y/N Stark - With all the strength and fury of the North.

He slipped away, heading toward the gates where his own forces waited in the cover of night. He signaled them, and like a tidal wave, the Bastard's Boys stormed the premises, decimating any Ironborn still alive. Of course, Y/N wasn't happy to see foreign armies in her home - Alas, she had to accept it for a while.

Back in the dungeons, Theon awoke to the cold, damp darkness, his head throbbing and his wrists bound tightly with burning ropes. He could hear the distant sounds of battle above, the faint screams of his men as they were cut down one by one. Panic surged through him, but before he could cry out, the door to his cell creaked open, and Ramsay stepped inside, carrying the Greyjoy flag in his hands.

With a cruel grin, Ramsay unfolded the Kraken banner before Theon’s wide, terrified eyes. “You’ve made quite a mess of this place, haven’t you, Theon?” Ramsay drawled, his voice mocking. “But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to clean it up.”

With a twisted grin, Ramsay unceremoniously pissed on the Greyjoy flag, defiling it just as Theon had defiled Winterfell. The stench filled the air, and Theon recoiled in horror, but Ramsay only laughed — A dark, mirthless sound that echoed through the dungeon like a death knell.

Ramsay approached him slowly, his leather gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his pale blue eyes told a different story. He was eager, too eager to start, but he reined himself in, savoring the anticipation. He wanted to make Theon fully aware of what was coming before he even laid a hand on him.

"Reek?! What - How did I get here?! Go on, get me out of here! What are you waiting for?!" but Theon was horrified to see the empty grin of Reek growing ever wider... Twisted, cruel, malicious. "Reek...?! I order you, as Lord Theon Greyjoy, to get me the hell out of here!"

"Y/N was right, you are as stupid as it gets." the bastard scoffed. "I am not 'Reek' - You are! You are Reek." he got close to his face. "And I - I am Ramsay Bolton." Theon's eyes widened with shock and horror, realising he tried to rape this psychopath's woman in front of him; He threatened and tormented her - In front of him.

“You thought you could have her...” Ramsay said, his voice soft, almost conversational, as he circled Theon like a wolf preparing to strike. “Y/N - MY Y/N." he hummed softly. "The Red She-Wolf Queen in the North, Y/N Stark, The Lady of Winterfell... Otherwise known as my precious little Kitten.” He smiled darkly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Theon's ear. “You thought you could take what’s mine?”

Theon’s eyes widened with terror, but he couldn’t respond with words that weren't protests or pleas. in his mouth. “Please… Ramsay…” Theon stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shhh…” Ramsay placed a gloved finger to Theon’s lips, cutting him off. “I’m not interested in your excuses, Greyjoy. I’m interested in watching you suffer.”

Without another word, Ramsay picked up a small, sharp blade from his table of tools. He held it up for Theon to see, letting the dim light from the torches glint off the steel. He then moved toward Theon's hand, grabbing it roughly. Ramsay pressed the blade to Theon's fingers, drawing shallow cuts along the tips—just enough to sting, just enough to let Theon feel the sharpness of the pain before the real suffering began.

He gasped and grunted, squirming, trying to pull his hand away, but Ramsay held him firm, his grip painful and firm. “This is only the foreplay.” Ramsay whispered, his voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll feel every inch of what I’m about to do to you - And I’ll enjoy every second.”

The bastard had chosen a small patch of skin on Theon's chest located where he knew the pain would radiate and linger. He peeled back the flesh slowly, deliberately, relishing in the sight of Theon's blood as it oozed from the wound, along with his screams; His body was convulsing with excruciating agony, but Ramsay remained unfazed - In fact, his nether regions grow hot with desire and lust; He always got aroused when torturing people. His hands worked expertly, and every cry from Theon only seemed to spur him on.

“You should have known better - You have only yourself to blame, Reek.” Ramsay said with an almost casual tone as he continued his work. “You think you’re a lord, you think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were. Y/N could never belong to a filthy wretch like you. You’re nothing. Nothing but an urchin pretending to be a lord.”

As Theon’s screams grew louder, Ramsay only leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “This is what happens when you try to steal what belongs to me.”

Once Ramsay was satisfied with the patch of flayed skin, he moved on to Theon’s fingers again, this time bending them back slowly until he heard the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Theon’s howls echoed through the dungeon - Utterly powerless, utterly broken.

“What’s wrong, Reek?” Ramsay mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. “These fingers tried to touch my woman. I either remove them, or kill you, you see? You have to get purified if you want to remain alive."

Theon, shaking from both pain and terror, could only whimper in response - He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to continue living or not, the pain was unbearable. His body was drenched in sweat, his skin pale, and his breath came in ragged gasps, and Ramsay wasn’t done. He wanted more. He needed to hear Theon beg, to hear him plead for the mercy that would never come.

Ramsay brought out a thin iron rod, heated in the fire until it glowed red-hot. He held it up, letting Theon see it, letting him anticipate the pain to come. “It's getting rather cold in here, don't you think? And you're all naked... Let me heat you up a little!” Ramsay exclaimed with a wicked grin.

“Please… Please, no more!” Theon sobbed, his voice barely audible through the tears. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Ramsay’s grin only widened as he pressed the hot iron against Theon’s thigh. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as Theon screamed louder than ever, his entire body shaking with agony. Ramsay watched with dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight as Theon writhed in pain beneath him.

But then... The bastard went on to remove that worthless little prick of his... And Theon Greyjoy lost consciousness from the agony.

With Winterfell reclaimed once more, Roose Bolton had reason to celebrate, and so did the Crown, who not only appointed him Warden of the North; but offered his bastard son the legitimisation every bastard dreamt of; Ramsay Snow was no more - Ramsay Bolton finally took over - And Roose was going to make a special trip to tell him just that.

The grand hall of Winterfell had been transformed for the feast. Lord Bolton, as imposing as ever, entered, met with a display of power and wealth. Y/N had spared no expense in preparing a lavish meal - His last meal. The long table was covered with roasted meats, warm bread, and jugs of dark wine. The hall glowed with the light of torches and hearths, and a low hum of music filled the air.

Ramsay stood at the head of the table, his face a mask of restraint, as his father entered. Katrina was seated beside him, regal and defiant, her eyes never leaving Roose's cold figure.

Roose barely acknowledged her at first, his eyes fixed on Ramsay. "You've done well, Ramsay." Roose remarked, his tone devoid of warmth as he took his seat. "Winterfell is yours. You’ve managed not to disgrace the name I gave you, for once." as harsh as ever. "Now, you are truly Ramsay Bolton." with that, he threw the letter at his son.

That letter had arrived from King's Landing just that day - Ramsay Snow truly was no more. He had been legitimized by the King's royal decree. He was now Ramsay Bolton, the only living true son of Lord Bolton, no longer the Bastard of Bolton. This was everything Ramsay had ever desired — Power, status, and legitimacy.

This was it - He had the Dreadfort, he had the Bolton name, and he had Y/N. He had everything he ever wanted in his grasp.

It was time to take one step further; He will be the son of Lord Bolton no more - He will be Lord Bolton.

Ramsay smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, father.”

But as the feast began, Roose turned his attention to Katrina, eyeing her in a manner that made Ramsay’s blood boil. The cold Lord of the Dreadfort spoke of her as though she were little more than a breeding sow, not even present in the room.

“She’s a Stark.” Roose said dismissively between bites of food. “Strong bloodline - But don’t let her think she has power of Winterfell, Ramsay - She’s just a woman after all. Her worth is in her womb, in the heirs she can give you. Many heirs... Strong boys to continue our line.”

Y/N’s face twisted with fury at the crude comment, and Ramsay’s fist clenched beneath the table. He had never been a man to hide his anger well, but for a moment, he restrained himself. His eyes flickered toward his sweetling, and he could see her seething. Roose's words had wounded her pride, and that was something Ramsay would never allow. He spoke ill of her far too many times - But he will speak no more.

After a few more tense exchanges that he hadn't even heard, Ramsay stood and moved toward his father, his expression darkening. “You’ve always been so wise, father.” Ramsay said in a soft voice, though the undercurrent of malice was undeniable. “And I have always sought your approval.”

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the sudden shift in his son's demeanor, but before he could react, Ramsay pulled him into an embrace, feigning affection. "But I’m afraid it’s time for you to step aside." Ramsay whispered into his father's ear. "I am Lord Bolton now."

In one swift motion, Ramsay plunged a dagger deep into Roose’s gut. The older man gasped in shock and the sharp pain of the twist, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but Ramsay held him close, continuing to twist the blade cruelly, to make him feel the same pain he always did. The hall fell into stunned silence as the Lord of the Dreadfort staggered backward, blood pouring from the wound.

“Goodbye, father.” Ramsay sneered as Roose collapsed to the ground, his hands desperately clutching at the bleeding wound. Ramsay’s eyes shifted to Meleys, the red wolf that had been protectively waiting at Y/N’s side. “Meleys.” he called, his voice cold as winter’s night. The wolf moved with deadly grace, approaching Roose with glowing, hungry eyes. With one swift leap, Meleys tore into Roose's already weakened form, ripping flesh from bone as blood pooled on the stone floor, her red fur mingling with his red blood.

Y/N watched the scene unfold with a dark satisfaction in her eyes, not even realising she was grinning. There was no remorse, no sorrow— Only cold justice and triumph. She had grown ruthless, just as life had molded her to be. And now, her tormentor was dead. She felt no pity for Roose Bolton. He had betrayed her family, destroyed everything she once held dear. His death was a small payment for the suffering he had caused.

As the last breath escaped Roose’s lips, Y/N turned to Ramsay. “He deserved worse.” she said softly.

Ramsay smiled. “I thought so too, but I wanted to give you a special gift."

Katrina’s lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “Truth is - While I was in King’s Landing, I took a potion - Something to ensure I would never bear children. I almost died, and the pain was excruciating, but it paid off. As a prisoner, I couldn’t allow anyone to use me for my bloodline - As their political pawn and breeding-stock." she let out an empty chuckle. "I never wanted heirs anyway - And neither did you."

Ramsay stared at her for a moment, processing the words. Slowly, his smile returned, but this time it was something different — Almost relieved. “You clever, clever kitten.” he murmured, stroking her cheek, painting her skin with the blood of his father. “No babes, no risk of you dying in childbirth, no squalling brats to annoy me. You’ve just made everything so much easier for the both of us.” he grinned all sultry and enticing. "I never could resist you."

Katrina chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. “I am yours, Ramsay. Yours and yours alone. No one will ever take that from you.”

Ramsay’s hand trailed down to her throat, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “Good.” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Because I’ve never wanted to share you with anyone.”

Katrina looked into his eyes, seeing the madness, the obsession, but also the devotion that lurked beneath. She knew she had tamed the beast within him, at least enough to keep him by her side. Ramsay had given her everything — Her home, her revenge, and even himself — And in return, she had given him herself, Always and Forever.

"I've got something to show you." the man dragged her back into her chamber, and showed her the beautiful Stark flag gently swaying with the wind. "Perfect view." he stood behind her, his arms around her waist holding her in a tight embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder. "How do you feel being back home, Lady Stark?" the closeness was intoxicating him, suffocating him - And he was craving more.

"Perfect, now that you're here with me." her innocently genuine comment made the man instinctively tighten his grip on her; He wanted desperately to get lost in her heat.

She could feel his heat against her back, the possessiveness in the way his hands lingered at her hips. There was a tension in his touch, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. But she wasn’t afraid - She never was afraid of him. Instead, there was something else building inside her, something that had been growing for some time now. She was craving his touch more than she needed air to breathe.

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was a storm in those gorgeous icy blue eyes of his, one that both excited and thrilled her. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, the tension between them palpable, suffocating.

"Ramsay." she spoke in a tender whisper, filled with curiosity and desire. "What do boys and girls do together when they grow up?"

His breath hitched as he remembered the many times he had teased her about that when they were younger; He loved toying with her innocence. The way Ramsay looked at her, the way his fingers brushed along her waist, set her heart racing in a way she didn’t fully understand.

"Show me." she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation and need.

Ramsay’s smirk widened, and without warning, he pushed her back against the bed, his hands gripping her waist firmly. His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through her veins. His lips hovered inches from hers, teasing, taunting, as he held her there, trapped between him and the comfortable bed underneath her.

"You want it, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My sweet, greedy kitten… You’ve wanted this all along... You've been craving my touch for so long..."

Y/N’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as his words sent a flush of heat and arousal through her body. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but she wanted this... The way his mere words stirred her insides... She was nervous and excited to see what else she could feel... With his breath warm against her lips, and his body pressed against hers.

"Yes." she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her pride crumbling beneath the weight of her desire for him

"Have you been touching yourself, thinking of me, sweetling?" Ramsay’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again, teasing her mercilessly. "So greedy." he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement, watching that precious blush of hers. "I’ve barely touched you, and already you’re begging for more."

She let out a soft whimper of frustration, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer, but he held her firmly in place, refusing to give in just yet. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and she could feel the heat pooling in her belly, the need for him growing stronger with every passing second. "Ramsay..." she whined out his name, her voice thick with need. "Stop teasing me... You're so cruel..."

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "But where’s the fun in that, my little naughty kitty-cat?" his hands slid lower, teasing her waist, his touch light and maddeningly slow. She could feel her pulse quickening, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the anticipation built to an unbearable crescendo. He knew exactly what he was doing to her — Knew how much she wanted him, how much she needed him — And he reveled in it and the power he held over her.

"You’re mine, Y/N. Forever and Always." Ramsay growled softly, his voice thick with possessiveness. "And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He finally gave in to her silent pleas, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce, demanding intensity. Y/N moaned sweetly into the kiss, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled him closer, desperate for more. The scorching heat between them was electric, a wildfire that had been building for far too long, and now that it had been unleashed, there was no stopping it.

Ramsay’s hands roamed her body with a possessive hunger, his touch rough and insistent, but she didn’t care — She wanted this, needed this. She had been denying herself for too long, and now, in the darkness of her home, with the snow falling outside and the fire crackling behind them, she finally let go and embraced his hedonism.

When he pulled back, his breath heavy, Ramsay smirked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. She looked so kissable, so needy, so innocent and in need of corruption.

"Such a greedy little kitten... All for me..." he teased, his voice low and full of dark amusement. "Just as I always knew you would be." his whisper was husky and sultry. "Insatiable, greedy, needy... Only for me."

Y/N glared weakly at him, blushing through the timidness of a demure maiden in all her glory, purer than the Maiden, and far more beautiful than the Moon herself - And she was burning with desire that was not even close to being satisfied. "And whose fault is that?" she shot back, her voice breathless.

Ramsay chuckled darkly, leaning in to nip at her lower lip, sending another shiver down her spine. "Mine, of course. I love spoiling my haughty little sweetling." he admitted, his voice full of dark pride and impure thought. "The night is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you..."

In the aftermath of countless betrayals and bloodshed, the North was finally restored to its rightful rulers - House Stark. Y/N Stark, with the aid of her Lord Husband, Ramsay Bolton, had reclaimed Winterfell - She united the world once more with a claim as strong as that of the previous King in the North, her dear brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark; She became Queen in the North, ruling with a wisdom and wit, aided by the ruthless strategies of her beloved Ramsay - And even more surprisingly, the aid of her little brothers, who had survived Theon's siege - They were brought back by Meera and Jojen Reed.

Theon Greyjoy, now a broken man, lived as "Reek" — A forever shattered reflection of the once-proud yet pathetic Ironborn prince. He became Ramsay's pitiful plaything, his mind too far gone to remember even his own true name.

Far away in the Eyrie, Sansa Stark took over the Vale after Sandor had to throw her Lady aunt, Lysa Arryn, through the Moon Door after she dared attack his beloved songbird out of sheer jealousy - Sansa was far more beautiful than Lysa ever was. The she-wolf willingly married Sandor Clegane out of love, feeling safe and sound in his strong, protective embrace for the first time since she left home. Sansa became Warden in the East, and Y/N's eternal ally, just as their Catelyn and Lysa used to be... As Ned and Jon used to be...

The direwolves returned to the North as well, filling the halls of Winterfell with the howl of 'home' once more. Though Grey Wind was dead, and Ghost was loyally protective Jon at Castle Black, everyone else replaced the Stark siblings for Y/N, whenever she missed her sweet brothers and sisters a little too much. The family was sort-of reunited... The pack survived... But at what cost?

Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen, the true Heir to the Crown, laid her claim over King's Landing, with the aid of her dragons and Tyrion Lannister as her Hand; Cersei Lannister and her devil-spawn child were no more; Myrcella had married the Prince of Dorne and happily remained there, whilst Tommen was more than willing to go to his bride, Margaery Tyrell, and live in the peace and prosperity of Highgarden. No doubt, the happiest was Jaime Lannister, who happily married Brienne of Tarth and returned to Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West, enjoying, for once, a normal life, away from the drama of the Crown, and all that his father and sister brought along.

With peace finally settling over Westeros, Daenerys married Jon - Who found out was actually Aegon Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell;

Together they united in A Song of Ice and Fire.

And what became of the little rat of Winterfell? Arya hadn't stepped in Westeros of ages - She was living her best life, traveling West of Westeros, discovering what was never discovered, venturing into the unknown, and exploring to her heart's content. She was the happiest she could ever be. Perhaps, some day, she would return, homesick - Until then, she will become Nymeria of the Rhoynar and sail into the vast horizon.

The terrible Winds of Winter had dissipated, and the Dream of Spring nurtured blooming hope and joy into the people of Westeros once more.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. 

[fatuismooches]

Celestia has fallen, ending a period of turmoil, meaning you and Dottore are free to do what you want with the rest of your lives - but both of you have trouble getting accustomed to this new, strangely peaceful life.

Seeing the sky completely clear save for puffy clouds was a sight that still took getting used to, after all, the island that had once been there was commonplace for everyone. But now, after a long and arduous war, and centuries of preparation and loss, it was over. Celestia had been defeated, the era of rebuilding was slow yet steady, and the Fatui had disbanded shortly after their victory.

... Meaning that you and Dottore, who once had much to do and worry about, now had... very little to do and worry about. His once-important experiments had reached their peak, and what's more, you were finally free from your illness. There was no need for all-nighters spent hastily writing notes, creating new concoctions for you, tending to the darker side of his work. Similarly, the days spent in anguish and sickness had now become a memory of the past, although your body was still slowly recovering.

So what was there to do now?

That was what you thought as you lay in the dark, cuddling close to Zandik's chest in your new home. It was an odd feeling - having him this close for days on end - sleeping with you from nightfall to the sun rising. It was once an exceedingly rare occurrence, from when he was once a busy Harbinger, but here he was still in bed. (Although he still had a habit of waking up early - whether he laid there and stared at you, or got up to find something to busy himself with was still a fifty-fifty chance.)

To be honest, now that you thought about it, you never had a real, fleshed-out plan on what to do after everything was over. All you had was the first step - acquire a spacious and cozy home in Sumeru to settle down. And well, that had been accomplished surprisingly easier than you anticipated - The Jester had gifted you such a house in a perfect spot - leaving it as a goodbye gift.

In the beginning, the days had been as leisurely as possible, bordering on lazy. Sleeping in late into the day, hours upon hours spent appreciating each other's presence and body. You defended it as making up for centuries of lost time, although Dottore didn't protest in the first place. Dinner was spent quietly outside, looking up at the sky that was no longer false. However, it was obvious both of you were growing a bit restless - which was why you quickly came up with a plethora of new things to do.

—

"Let's start a garden!"

And so had started a common goal between you two - although another issue that had been presented in this new relaxing life was Dottore's lingering hesitation to trust you with certain activities. Constantly he was keeping an eye on your every move or stepping in himself, even though he knew you could do some things yourself now.

Truthfully, you couldn't blame him, already aware that overprotectiveness that lasted centuries wouldn't go away so easily, but that was something that would have to be worked through slowly. He was still performing a routine check-up on your every day...

"Zandik, it's just digging up some soil. You're acting like the worms are going to attack me or something."

"... Just make sure not to scrap your knees."

"I'm also not a child- darling, what are you injecting into the plants...?" Your husband only smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"This? Do not worry, we won't consume these ones. This is simply... a test to indulge my curiosity."

Well, you always knew his love of experimenting would never truly go away! Maybe you'll get some cool, fucked up, weird mutated plants!

—

"Let's get a kitty so Foxttore has a friend!"

Despite all the tragedy you'd endured, Foxttore was one of the few things that remained with you the whole time, even after the way. The creature quite liked Sumeru after surviving Snezhnaya - it was always lazily sunbathing and refused to come in. Dottore still kept his habit of locking it out.

The pufflings too of course - but they had made the two of you become the gossip of the children - turns out the black puff balls started playing with the kids and kept returning to your house, making them whisper about "the two weird grown-ups who live out in the middle of nowhere." You were amused.

Regardless of your reputation, now you and your husband were in the perfect environment to finally own a cute kitty. The lab wasn't exactly the ideal place for such an animal, after all.

... So now, an equally as lazy cat could be found sleeping on Zandik's lap as he read by the window, giving it languid tummy rubs and pets. Foxttore wasn't invited.

—

"Let's go exploring!"

When you had dropped this idea on Zandik, he had given you a strange look.

"All this time, you had been pleading with me to stay inside and relax, but now you wish to go and exert yourself?" Despite his remarks, you could tell Zandik wished to do something with his hands as well.

"Well, this is because it's going to be fun! It'll be like we're students again!"

And with that, you two were back inside the huge Ruin Golem in the forest. To be honest, there was not much to actually explore here, but... it was nostalgic. It was places like these where the two of you spent a lot of time together, and where he told you of his grand ambitions as a young scholar.

And even after all this time, the former Harbinger was still fascinated with the technology, already playing with something, to which you joined him. No doubt he already knew the answer, but it was something to keep his once-overworked mind occupied.

"Guess the two of us aren't cut out for this 'normal life' stuff, eh? Coming back here even though there's nothing left to be discovered. Think the notes we left are still here?"

"That's impossible. They must have long eroded by now," he briefly commented, hands still running over the cool metal.

"So... wanna test if you're still motion-sick?"

—

"Let's teach you how to cook... again!"

Loads of spare time had come with nothing better to do than to attempt to make the impossible become possible once again, which was why you had the Harbinger turned house husband in the kitchen with you, equipped with an apron you forced him to wear if he wanted any sweets.

This time you had decided to forget actual food and make one, singular, cupcake. Surely he couldn't mess that up, right?

You made him clean the kitchen after throwing out the burnt apron.

—

In conclusion, there were still lots of things that could fill the endless time you two were given. But there was still something you wanted, although you weren't sure how to bring it up.

The loss of the segments still remained a wound in your heart, although you moved on from all those years ago. More specifically, Zandy was someone you held extremely dear in your heart and memories. The child had changed your life, and Dottore's too - opening his own heart to softness - which was something you longed for too.

However, naturally, you were nervous asking Zandik about it. After all, becoming a father was probably not something he saw himself doing. Of course, your anxiety was quickly recognized by your lover, who beckoned you one night.

"What plagues your mind?" His question startled you, and although you knew he'd come around to asking eventually, you still weren't prepared to answer properly. But you knew you'd have to come out with it soon.

"There's... something I want."

"Tell me," Zandik quickly reassured you. "I'm sure it is within my capabilities."

"I... I don't know if you'd want to," you awkwardly admitted, to which your husband gave you a hard look, and then moved to squeeze your hand.

"I can only determine that if you tell me what it is you desire." With a sigh, you had to agree.

"I've been thinking... about our... family," the last word was uttered softly, as if you still couldn't believe things reached this point.

"There's you, me, Foxttore, the pufflings, our kitty Beaker, and I guess the crows around here could count too... and I love everyone a lot!" Dottore hummed in agreement, rubbing his fingers over your knuckles.

"But... what if we added someone else to our family? A... c-child, perhaps," you finally blurted out your confession, working up the courage to look at him directly. Speaking of, he had stopped wearing that mask of his now, so you were always subject to his brilliant red eyes. As such, you witnessed the gems widen slightly and his jaw slacken. Quickly you rushed to continue.

"I-I know it'll be a lot of work and responsibility but together we can do it! And I know it probably isn't something you thought of but I'll be here with you all the way... I know you won't let the past repeat itself," you murmured, well aware of how he was treated as a child. Dottore's gaze had moved to the stars, still silent at your words, which was making you worry at this point.

"If-"

"It is not something I am opposed to," Zandik finally admitted, and you had to hold back a sigh of relief.

"Truly?"

"Yes. However..." He trailed off, perhaps wondering how to articulate the fears you already knew full well - how could someone like him ever be a loving father? Did he even have that capability? How could he hold his child with his stained hands?

"I understand," you squeezed his hand. "We'll figure it out together," you promised, "just like how we figured everything else out. How else would we have stayed together for a couple hundred years?" You gently teased him to which he finally looked at you again, an unusually soft look in his eyes.

"We will," Zandik agreed, kissing you on your forehead.

—

Time continued to move, and from a student to Harbinger, Zandik now found himself a parent, who was now cuddled in between him and you - though you were already fast asleep, while his daughter had woken him up in the middle of the night. The fact that Dottore hadn't woken up earlier was a testament to how much he loosened up these past years...

"Go back to sleep. I won't take you out to the forest if you're too tired." The young girl pouted at her father's strictness.

"But it's not my fault! I'm too excited to watch you do your experimenting stuff!" (In reality, all they were doing was collecting samples of plants.) With a sigh, the man stroked her hair.

"Oh! Oh! How about you sing the song they always sing to you when you're grumpy! That always makes you relax!" His daughter seemed to have picked up some of your cheeky, bargaining habits...

"If you do, will you quiet down?" The girl quickly nodded.

"Very well..." And so, he began humming a tune, that was rather off-key despite you teaching it to him quite a few times, but his little girl didn't seem to notice much.

In the dark, you secretly smiled at the sweet interaction. To think after centuries of pain, you finally obtained such a life...

Everything would be okay, in the end.

[helenanell]

You Don’t Get to Decide || Joel Miller

Joel x OFC - But also functions as X Fem Reader (No name or physical description)

Summary: Recklessly, I strike out on my own while patrolling with Ellie and Tommy. It all goes to hell when find out Ellie’s secret. Then…Joel Miller shoots me.

Notes: Canon-Typical violence. Violence against reader. Yes, Joel shoots her. (He has his reasons?) Suicidal ideation. Enemies to lovers. Angst!!! (Happens years before season 2, but I’ve taken some Inspo from the creeper in the supermarket in ep 1)

WC: 6.6k

This is Part Two of Shattering Still so I’d recommend reading that first, but I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary in order to enjoy this.

(As with the first part, the tone / vibes of this story were inspired by ‘Lock the Gate’ by the amazing @almostfoxglove )

A year in Jackson had served as a limbo for me. I was nothing but a lazy spirit, with not even the will to cross the final threshold.

Perhaps it was because I’d missed the opportunity to end my own life when Tommy and Joel had found me in the woods. Maybe, I’d lost the chance to leave the mortal coil by my own hand and now it fell upon another.

That had to be why, without prior forethought or planning, I had slipped away while out on patrol with Ellie and Tommy. I rode off not necessarily hoping for a fight, but with a bone-deep desire for someone to find me.

There had been raider’s stalking the land beyond Jackson’s walls for the last week, so the patrol had become a hunting mission. It still was, I had simply taken up the role of willing prey; a lamb for slaughter that walked itself towards the glinting knife.

I had enabled and encouraged our quarry to put me in their crosshairs instead.

As I approached the dilapidated old supermarket, Greenplace, I saw the figure lurking in the doorway, lined in the fading light of the day. He clearly thought he had hidden himself sufficiently from view.

I had ample time to steer my horse away, to climb down or gallop forward. I did none of those things.

I really don’t know that I was cognisant of what I wanted to happen when I urged my horse to continue down the road at a steady pace. But, I was aware that there was a gun raised at me.

Through my inaction I invited it. I urged the man to pull his trigger; to put me out of my misery. And he did shoot, just not at me.

Instead of piercing my flesh, a bullet tore into the body of my horse, Pip.

After years of living through the end of the world, the engulfing entropy that smothered and deafened with human screams, I had grown accustomed to the sound of people dying. Violence was the universal language. No longer could you understand someone through their words and you certainly couldn’t trust them.

I had seen people torn into by a hailstorm of bullets, felled before they knew to flinch. That shocked, almost silent cry of being stabbed, nothing like the roared agony they used to show in movies. It was a forced expulsion of breath, life leaving as blood bloomed.

I have heard almost every sound someone could make when brutalised by another human being.

And then there was the living death. A bite that did more than rend flesh and bloody teeth. Torn skin through which cordyceps got in, the insidious thing that rendered the person a marionette, held on strings by the mindless driving hand that told the walking corpse to spread itself, to propagate the misery and add to the horde.

All of that, I had grown accustomed to. Not indifferent to or unaffected by, simply grudging, agonised acceptance of it as part of the landscape of this new reality.

But there was a noise I couldn’t grow used to, or remain stoic in the face of: there was something abominable about hearing a horse die.

The piercing whinny that had such palpable panic in it. Such a good natured, beautiful creature touched by violence, while some childlike part of myself remembered cartoons and fairytales where they were noble steeds, immune to any ill-will.

But I heard it then, that cry of terror before Pip collapsed.

He fell sideways and I just about had the wherewithal to throw myself free before I was trapped beneath his weight, legs crushed.

I slammed into the road, agony blooming like an insipid bud within me when I felt something crack. With a groan, I rolled onto my other side, scraped hands braced against the tarmac as I tried to lift myself.

Pip’s flaxen coat was marred with a crimson mark where the bullet had entered his flank. It was perfect. Precise. I knew a seasoned hunter’s aim when I saw it. He had killed my horse to bring me, his true prey, to my knees.

A fury ignited that overrode my acceptance of death. It was such needless cruelty. Why couldn’t he have just aimed for me?

The answer to that would soon become clear. This man and his friends were the type to play with their food.

The shooter had stalked closer after I had fallen. As I stared at Pip’s glassy, forever-unblinking eyes, he skulked around the horse’s corpse, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out here all alone?” He goaded, voice nasally.

My rifle was lost, trapped in the holster that was strapped to Pip’s side, but I still had the gun against my thigh.

The only problem was that the bastard had already clocked it and as my hand itched to reach for it, he tutted, a sharp smile on his pitched face. He had blond hair, matted and slick with grease, eyes beady like a mole’s, unaccustomed to sunlight.

It would have been so easy to just reach for the gun and let him shoot me. Wasn’t that what I had been seeking out when I had left Ellie and Tommy without a word? I had been courting death for a year and it had finally found me, but I wasn’t taking its hand. Not like this.

This fucker had killed my horse, just because he could.

So, when he came closer, stopping right before my prone form, I followed his order to unholster my gun and toss it to the side.

“How obedient.” He crouched down beside me.

I waited, letting the violence within me coil like a spring. As he leaned over me, he loosened his grip on the gun, lazy in his glee over having me seemingly at his mercy.

“You out here alone? You Jackson folk always travel in packs.”

“Do you see anyone else?” I said, making sure I injected just enough fear to be convincing.

When his lips pulled back to reveal rotten teeth and release foetid breath, I didn’t give him the chance to speak again. With his throat bared, my hand shot out, punching his windpipe.

His face turned an urgent red as he gagged, gaping at me like fish choking on air. His brow drawn in furious panic. Still crouched by my side, he fell backwards onto his ass.

Side aching from my fall, I rose to my feet as quickly as I was able, hand already unclipping the holster on my thigh. My fingers had barely brushed the grip on my gun when a name was roared out.

“Connor!!”

My eyes flicked up, finding two other men appearing out of the torn down barricade in front of the supermarket. One of them had already fired, a red gash seared into the outside of my thigh when the bullet grazed it.

I bit into my lip, a furious groan forced back into my chest as my own gun raised and I returned fire.

The bullet landed right between the man’s eyes and he dropped like a stone.

The raider next to him had barely registered his fallen ally when my barrel was pointed at him. But I had made an error born of pain and had disregarded the man who had been gasping for air at my feet.

Just as my finger squeezed the trigger, he barrelled into my already bruised side, letting out a yell as he knocked us both to the ground.

The gun skittered out of my hand as my temple cracked against the tarmac.

My attacker let out an enraged sob and then he unleashed a flurry of punches. It didn’t take long for the metallic tang of blood to fill my mouth.

As fists smashed into my face, my hand was creeping for the other holster on my opposite leg that held my knife. It wasn’t ideal as I had to grab it with my non-dominant hand. As a result, the stab I delivered to his side was lacking power and at an awkward angle. But it had the desired effect.

He made a sound like a stuck pig and ceased his flurry of blows, clutched at his side instead, knife still embedded. It wasn’t a lethal wound, but painful enough.

I was aware that the third man would be upon us at any moment, so with my failing strength, blood dripping into my eyes, I crawled backwards, out from under him and delivered a swift kick right to his face. There was a jarring crunch as his nose broke upon the sole of my boot.

“Ugh! You bitch-” He threw his hands up to his face, my little knife still in him, a needle in a pin cushion.

My own breathing ragged and my vision blurring, I scrambled on my hands and knees for my gun.

I didn't get far before I was kicked in the back, which sent me sprawling onto the road, face first. The soft skin of my chin abraded on the uneven surface.

Then, a body was on top of me, knee digging into the small of my back. A hand fisted into my hair and pulled my head up.

The unfamiliar voice of the third man, hissed wrathfully in my ear. “You killed my brother.”

The weight of him was off of me for only a second before something heavy was slammed into the back of my head and I was rendered unconscious.

My eyes opened sluggishly.

Having patrolled inside it before, I knew I had been dragged inside of the supermarket. It was so dank and dirt-riddled, that it almost looked like a burnt-out shell, as if a fire had torn through it instead of the ravages of time.

My back was up against the end of an empty aisle and a quick inspection told me that they hadn’t even bothered to tie me up.

My head throbbed and and my side was a snarled knot of agony, but not the side of my body that I had landed on when I’d jumped from Pip’s back. I guessed that the brother of the man I had killed had kicked me, a lot, while I was unconscious.

I was not unfamiliar with the feeling of broken ribs from the assault of a heavy boot slammed into my body. That pain was overwhelming, rendering the heat of the bullet graze on my thigh, insignificant.

The sun had just begun to set when I’d lost consciousness, so if the sunlight attempting to creep in through the cracks of the boarded up windows was anything to go by, night had been and gone.

“Look who’s awake.”

The dark taunt preceded the scuff of boots and then the raider who had knocked me out appeared, rifle held but not pointed directly at me.

‘You killed my brother.’

There was the crazed grief in his eyes that I myself had possessed after the death of my nephew, the grief that had borne me like a wrathful wind to those responsible, killing them all.

I felt no guilt over taking this man’s loved one.

The only innocents left in the world were children and even then, maybe only those born and raised in places like Jackson, untouched by the horrors that stopped someone from ever having a true childhood.

“Where’s your friend?” I taunted, my voice crackling through cracked lips. “Don’t tell me he died from a broken nose.”

My pained chuckle was cut off when the man slammed the butt of his rifle into my stomach.

It hurt too much for me to make any noise, as if my body knew that even the exertion of crying out might tear me open.

My eyes were watering and my breathing stalled as the raider knelt in front of me, curling his dirty hand into the hair at the nape of my neck until I was sure he wanted to ripping out strands.

“He’s keeping watch for any of your friends, so I can take my time with you.” He snarled. “My brother didn’t see it coming, but I’m not letting you die slow.”

I smiled up at him deliriously and laughed in his face.

“You find that funny?”

“You idiots should have killed me and fled the first chance you got.” I said, voice brittle. “You’ve stuck around, close to Jackson. There are only two of you and my people will come looking.”

My people. I had never said that about the inhabitants of Jackson before. Never even thought it. It had to be the pain. Yes, it was easier to put it down to the pain.

My smile widened when I thought about it. Never mind a whole search party from Jackson, Tommy could take out these two without breaking a sweat.

As the raider breathed heavily above me, worked up, spit coming out of his mouth like a goaded bull, my eye caught on something up above.

As the result of damp and dereliction, part of the ceiling in the middle of the supermarket had caved in, giving a glimpse up into the floor above.

Dropping down from it, morbidly elegant like a decaying acrobat, was an infected. I had never seen one move like that, let alone climb. And it was barely making any noise.

“What the fuck?” I murmured to myself, forgetting the promise of death in the form of the raider that still had me in his grip.

“You think I’m going to fall for that?” He scoffed. “You’ve got my full attention, sweetheart.”

But when the infected landed onto the top of some metal shelves, with a thump and a sinister screech, the raider let go of me and whipped around, gun raised.

He fired too late. The creature had already vanished into the shadows.

With his back still to me, he scanned the room with his weapon raised. Then he called out for his friend, far too loudly. “Connor!”

No answer came. Connor did not appear.

That could have been bad for both of us, or good for me. More infected outside, who had gotten to the man. Or, people from Jackson had found me.

There was the skittering like rats claws off to the left and with a terrified gasp, the raider whipped around, the torch attached to his weapon a bright slash against the dark.

My body protested, but I pushed myself onto unsteady feet, casting my eye around for wherever he’d put my weapons. They were not in sight.

“Where the fuck is my gun?”

My hissed question fell on deaf ears when a disquieting gagging, almost like a death rattle, disrupted the air.

The man made a decision to kill me and then cut and run. He spun around, prepared to shoot, but didn’t get the chance before there was a blur of ripped clothes and fungal flesh and the infected slammed into his side.

He screamed like a little boy. Perhaps beneath the dirt and grief and weight of the world, he was that young and I just hadn’t noticed.

What I did notice, however, was that he’d dropped his rifle. It was still by his side, too close to where the infected sat on his chest, tearing into his throat. I wasted no time and lunged for it anyway.

The moment snatched up the weapon, the infected detached itself from him. I prepared for it to jump at me next, but it didn’t.

Faster than it should have been able to, it scuttled backwards and was absorbed into the shadows once more.

I blinked at the empty space, heart rioting in my battered chest. What the fuck was it? It hid itself so it could stalk us.

It was a terrifying degree of sentience for what was meant to be a mindless, animated-corpse.

When the raider groaned from the ground, I wasted no time before I turned his own rifle on him and shot him in the head.

Without missing a beat, I began to turn slowly on the spot, eyes casting over the swath of darkness, unfurled like spools of pitch-black fabric all around me. I was swaying on the spot, head pulsing as if my skull was shrinking, so much pain riddling me I could no longer identify places where there was none.

Maybe seconds, or minutes has passed as I turned in place, searching, when the wooden barricade at the front of the supermarket was dragged open, light spilling into the gloom.

I raised my gun, but soon let out an aggravated groan when Ellie appeared. She called out my name, eyes widened at my state, then flicked to the guy on the floor.

“Holy shit! We found you! Are you okay-”

“Ellie, get out. Now!” I hissed, moving slowly forward, my eyes back to darting around.

She immediately became more alert, her own weapon raised. “Shit, are there more raiders–”

My eyes widened in horror as the infected appeared, crawling on top of the aisle closest to Ellie. My bullet flew, but not in time. It had already leapt down, slamming right into the girl's chest. She screamed as she was knocked to the ground.

No, no, no. Ellie was just a kid. She had fought Joel and Tommy until she was blue in the face to let her on her first patrol and because of me, she might die.

Another child I failed to protected lost. His kid.

I didn’t have a clear shot that didn’t risk killing Ellie too. I couldn’t help quickly enough to save her.

Ellie had drawn her knife from her thigh, stabbing the infected in the head, but it was too late. It had already bitten through her shirt, right into her stomach.

“Shit.” Ellie said through clenched teeth, pushing the body away and scrambling to her feet. There was no panic in her voice, just irritation. Perhaps it was denial.

To my own shock, I felt tears prick at my eyes when she lifted her shirt to reveal the bite mark just above her hip bone. When I raised my gun and stepped closer, Ellie seemed to remember I was there.

She looked up at me, hands outheld. “Hey! No- no! I’m not infected!”

“You’re- fuck, Ellie!” I said shakily. “You are. You’re bit.”

As I looked at her, the image of Joel came to me, his face flashing in my eyes like a solar flare.

Fuck. Joel, who I hadn’t uttered more than a few words to since we’d slept together almost a year ago. Joel, who would kill me for doing this, no matter if Ellie was infected or not.

I could give no reason that would appease his vengeful wrath. My life would be forfeit. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

A sadistic part of me wanted it to be him. He owed me for stopping me from shooting myself in that clearing. That had been Tommy too, but I couldn’t expect it of him. Tommy wanted to save people. Joel only saved his people and I certainly wasn’t one of those.

Ellie backed away as I moved forward and it led to an odd, panicked dance, where we circled each other. My back ended up facing the door, the dead infected only a few steps to my left.

I knew what I had to do, but my finger hadn’t even found the trigger yet.

Despite what we both knew, Ellie still tried to convince me. “No, I’m not! Shit- you’ve gotta listen to me-“

“I’m-“ I was about to say I’m sorry, but it got caught in my throat, snagged on my own denial. I had never hesitated before. “I don’t want to, Ellie. I really don’t.

Ellie threw her words into the empty air.

“I’m immune-“ She cut herself off, her eyes widened again in a different kind of panic when she spotted something over my shoulder.

There was something, or someone behind me. But I was sluggish from concussion and pain and didn't react.

Ellie screamed out. “Joel, no!—“

Pain ripped through my shoulder. I made a wounded, animal-like noise as my stolen rifle clattered to the ground. My knees buckled.

I was on the floor, fading, looking up at the moldy ceiling.

Ellie kneeled beside me, pressing her hand to my shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!”

If there was an answer, I was too out of it to hear.

The next thing I knew, Joel was standing over me, that wrathful, ruinous god I had imagined appearing if I had hurt Ellie. He was a blurred-edged vision, almost ethereal to my slow-blinking eyes. He was pointing the barrel of his gun at me. It hovered over my forehead, a taunting, almost-touch. A brush with death. The kiss of death.

Ellie snarled and smacked it away. “You’re not killing her. She’s one of us.”

“You told her.” He said with ragged, hushed rage.

“I wanted to!”

“No, you didn’t. She had a gun on you.”

“She thought I was infected! I told her I’m immune because I trust her to believe me.”

Joel hissed at that word again. Immune. “You don’t trust her. You don’t know her.”

“You don’t want her dead either, asshole! If you did, you would have shot her in the head. Now help me with her!”

At Ellie’s angry entreaty, he knelt down on my other side, across from her.

Their voices had begun to sound far off to me, as though they were in another room and I was hearing them through a wall.

“She wanted this to happen.” Joel grumbled. “Idiot distracted you and Tommy so she could look for toruble.”

He grabbed the end of my shirt and ripped a piece off, wadding it up and then pressing against my shoulder. I groaned out as he staunched the wound with force.

“So you shot her because you’re mad that she tried to get herself killed? Dude, you’re so fucked up.”

“I shot her, because she had a-“

“-Had a gun on me, I know! But that’s horseshit.”

My eyes drifted closed. Then another voice reached me through my pained fuge. Tommy, urgent and unyielding, maybe giving an order.

I was unconscious again before I could decide if I had imagined it or not.

I woke up in the house that still wasn’t a home.

I had stopped sleeping on the floor after the first month, but it hadn’t made me feel anymore acclimated to the space that felt too gaping and empty, haunted by the ghost of what could have been.

I still imagined what my nephew’s existence within it would have been like, if only I had protected him.

I opened my eyes and my head was perfectly angled so that I was looking directly at Joel Miller. He was sitting in a chair planted in the open doorway, his eyes on his scuffed boots, hands clasped in his lap.

I knew immediately that he wasn't there to watch over me as some guilt-ridden protector, no anxiety over my fever or the state of my wounds. He was a guard dog. Ellie’s guard dog, watching me and gnashing his teeth. Because I knew. Because I had heard and remembered what she’d said before his bullet tore through my shoulder.

I’m immune-

It wasn’t possible and yet I didn’t doubt it. I couldn’t doubt it, because of what Joel had done to me in the wake of the revelation.

“I won’t say a word about her.” I rasped.

Joel shot up out of the chair and stormed over, stopping right next to the bed, looming above me just as he had been when I had been bleeding out on the ground. But this time he wasn’t blurred, he was all hard lines and furious eyes, an immovable object propelled by an unstoppable force.

“No.” He ground out. “You won’t.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Oh, wait…” I taunted despite my weakness.

His eyes flicked to my shoulder then. A slow drag, a reluctant gaze. He looked at my shoulder as if the wound was exposed to the open air rather than hidden beneath a t-shirt and a comforter.

Panic flared with a realisation. “Who dressed me?” I asked, feeling violated.

No one had been allowed to do such a thing in a long time. I hadn’t allowed that intimacy for myself, to be touched with care or concern for years.

Yes, Joel and I had fucked, but that had been…an admittance of helplessness, two lost people trying to assert their will over someone they had found standing on the same ground.

At least, that is what I had told myself since. What I had made myself believe.

Joel huffed. “I shot you and you’re mad about someone changing’ your damn clothes?”

There it was again, that inexplicable fury he had with my disregard for my own life. He seemed to find it offensive and didn’t see fit to explain why. Not that he’d had the chance. This was already the most directly we had spoken with one another in a year.

“I’m not mad.” I began to push myself up, wincing at the pain in my shoulder.

I don’t know why I wanted to get out of bed, only that having him looking down at me like that made me want to flee.

Joel watched as I threw back the comforter with my good arm and swung my legs over the side of the bed. He observed me as if I was some alien thing.

Only when my feet touched the floor did he blink himself into awareness.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m standing up, Joel.”

“You just opened your eyes and you’ve been out of it for two days, don’t be so goddamn stupid.”

“You shot me in the shoulder, not the leg. I can walk just fine.”

Joel stepped back, his jaw clenched and crossed his arms over his chest. He raised a brow as if in challenge.

“Go on then.” He ground out. “Walk just fine.”

I glowered at him as I pushed myself up onto my feet. Pain tore up my side and with a hiss I fell right back down onto the bed. My ribs burned as if I'd pressed them to hot coals.

“What the fu-��� Already forgetting I had company, or just not caring for said company, I lifted up the shirt to reveal my bare torso.

The left hand side of my ribcage was black and blue, a malignant mass of darkness. There were boot-print shaped bruises that were just about discernible.

“Two broken ribs on that side.” Joel said darkly. “One fractured on the other.”

I stared down at the skin that no longer looked like skin, just rotten like an old fruit. It was only then that I heard how laboured my own breathing was.

The scraping of wood tore my gaze away from my side. I dropped the hem of the shirt, letting it fall as I looked up to find Joel dragging the chair along the floorboards, away from the door and positioning it right across from where I was seated on the edge of the bed.

He dropped down into it and stared me down, as if preparing for an interrogation.

“Satisfied?” He sneered, nodding down at my battered body.

My hackles raised in the face of his bared teeth, his sharp-pointed judgement.

“No, I would have preferred my bruise to be a nicer shade of blue.” I snarked.

The wooden chair creaked as he leant forward, arms resting on his knees. “You ditched Tommy and Ellie wanting to get yourself hurt. You’ve been doin’ it on every patrol-”

“I’ve never patrolled with you, so how would you know that?”

“People talk.”

I scoffed. “People don’t talk to you. You practically wear a do not disturb sign around your neck.”

“Oh, because you’re so approachable.” Joel mocked, oddly petulant. “You ain’t got no friends and you never show your face at the parties.”

Dismissing his accurate, but frankly hypocritical words, I didn’t let him abandon the previous topic. “How do you know I want to get hurt on patrol?”

“I read the reports.”

“Are you meant to do that?”

“Are you meant to abandon your patrol partners for the sake of your death wish?” He hissed back.

“I didn’t plan it.”

“Don’t feed me that shit! You’ve been wantin’ this since the day I met you.”

“Wanting it and planning it are two different things.” I shrugged, realising too late my error. I winced, gritting my teeth against the strain I'd just put my bullet wound under.

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re so fuckin’ selfish.” He uttered darkly.

“What?”

“I know you've got walls up, so you don’t let yourself give a shit about anybody, but Tommy…he cares about every god damn person here and Ellie likes you. If you’d been killed and they found your bo- found you? You would have put that on their conscience. That they didn’t look out for you on patrol. That they didn’t watch you close enough to save you.”

“I feel like I have made it pretty fucking clear that I don’t want to be saved.”

“You wanna die, but won’t do it yourself? You’ll stay long enough to subject people to the loss of you? That it?” He ranted.

“No one’s losing me, Joel. It’s like you said, I haven’t let myself mean anything to anybody.”

Having no attachments was by my own design. That way I was always unmoored, able to drift away whenever it suited.

“No. I said you don’t let yourself give a shit, but people here are good people. They care about what happens to you, whether you deserve it or not!”

“I don’t.” I sounded almost desperate. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t get to decide.” Joel stood abruptly from his chair. “Get back in bed. Maria’s been comin’ over every few hours to check on you, if she finds you walking around it’ll be both our heads.”

He turned his back on me and returned the chair to its previous position by the doorway.

I didn’t lie back down. Instead, I forced myself to my feet, clutching my ruined ribs as I began moving forward.

A debilitating wave of pain smashed into me and made the room spin. The wound on the back of my head began to throb and my vision blurred.

I made it two steps before Joel whipped around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Death wish, remember?” I hissed as I tried to stagger in the direction of the rest room.

The moment I realised I might be about to fall again, Joel’s hand was on my arm, stabilising me. His palm engulfed my elbow, as the other landed on my back.

I stopped. While I wanted to tear myself away, my traitorous, weakened body had me swaying into his side. Then I was leaning on him, my head practically falling back against his shoulder.

“You’re o’ for two on the suicide attempts, time for your stubborn ass to throw in the towel.”

He spoke with the kind of softness that I could only associate with fear. Which didn’t make sense, because fear and Joel Miller were incompatible in my mind and definitely didn’t exist in any relation to me. I had to be more out of it than I’d thought.

We still hadn’t moved, him holding me up in the centre of the room, his chin brushing the side of my head.

“It’s your fault.” I grumbled.

He sighed quietly. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

He began guiding me back to the bed, but I didn’t have the faculties to process the movement.

“You’ve ruined it, both times.” I whispered. “In the clearing, where you and Tommy found me, you made me drop the gun-”

“Because I didn’t want you shootin’ at us.”

“That’s not why you made me drop it.” I said.

We reached the bed and he lowered me down onto it, one steady arm still on my back. Even when I was sitting down, he didn’t remove the touch. He just knelt down in front of me on his aching knees.

“No.” He answered quietly. “It ain’t.”

“And back in the supermarket…you could have shot me dead for pointing my gun at Ellie. For what she told me. You wanted to- knew that you should. But you put a bullet in my shoulder instead.”

Joel had no answer for that, not that I’d expected him to. But then, just as I thought we’d entered another silent stalemate that would last a year, he spoke, his eyes set on my covered wound.

“You ain’t dyin’, so give up on it now.”

I gave him a wry smile. “We’re all dying, Joel. Second by second.”

He huffed and shook his head. “Shut up.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” I asked. “It’s what I would have done.”

I knew that had my nephew possessed such a monumental secret, such a dangerous, impossible secret, I would have razed countless settlements to the ground to protect him from those that might have used and abused him because of it.

It would not have been right, or in the interest of humankind, but what would you care for the pitiable vestiges of humanity if the one person you loved unconditionally was taken from you? A child you had to protect.

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?” I prodded cautiously.

Joel let out a long, unsteady breath. “I’ve shot and missed before. I flinched again, with you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Why didn’t you kill me, Joel?

“Drop it, will you?” He sounded frustrated, as if I’d forced the words out of him, like pulling teeth.

Then, just as he forced himself to lift his eyes to meet mine, something unavoidable and inevitable in his dark gaze, the front door opened downstairs.

“Joel?” Maria called out, concern evident in her voice as footsteps travelled up the stairs.

“She’s alright.” Joel called back tentatively, his hand shifted on my back.

Heavy boots approached on the landing, and as if he knew how many steps it took to reach the bedroom, Joel stood up and moved away from me seconds before Maria appeared in the doorway. She let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re awake!” She beamed. She rushed in, firm yet gentle in guiding me back to bed.

Joel ducked out of the bedroom, but as he chose not to say a word, I didn’t either.

The next day, I was able to get up and move about. There was a great amount of pain, but I could keep myself upright.

I didn’t expect Joel to return.

He didn’t knock, or announce himself, I just came down the stairs in the morning, hand braced on the bannister and found him ripping up the rotten floorboards by the front door. His aquiline nose was scrunched up as if in annoyance as he tore the crumbling wood free, as though it had personally aggrieved him.

I descended slowly and stopped on the bottom step to watch him bemusedly. He hadn’t acknowledged me, but I was under no illusion that he hadn’t noted my presence.

Chest tight at the sight of him, conflicted by the unearned intimacy that the intrusion implied, with the confusion of why he’d want to do it.

“Did Maria ask you to do this?” It was weak, clutching at straws. I knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

“No.” He grunted, eyes still set on his task.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to.”

“Didn’t say that you did.” He answered flatly. “Needed doin’.”

I descended the last step, my sock-clad feet bringing me on a level with him. “If I ask you to leave, will you?”

“No.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I huffed. “Impose manual labour on yourself, see if I care.”

I turned and padded into the kitchen as quickly as my injured body would allow. I pulled up short when I spotted the full coffee pot on the counter.

“Made coffee.”

I turned slowly to find Joel leaning against the doorframe, his broad shoulders blocking the view into the hall.

I blinked at him. “I can see that.”

He huffed, a spark of humour in his dark eyes. “What? I don’t get a thank you?”

“Oh, does big, scary Joel Miller feel bad for shooting a poor, defenceless woman?”

“You ain’t ever defenceless, and you were armed.”

Some of the familiar darkness shadowed his features at his remembrance of my rifle pointed at Ellie.

“Still, you shot me from behind. Cowardly.” I tutted, turning back around and heading for the counter.

I heard him follow me, heavy footsteps on hardwood, but tried my best to ignore him.

When I stopped before the coffee pot, I went to reach up for a mug in the upper cupboard. I had forgotten my injury again, so would have agitated my bullet wound had Joel not hurried up behind me.

“Hey,” He said, hand landing on my arm as his presence fit into the space at my back. “I already got one down.”

I did not look at him, just cast my eye to the side. And sure enough, situated next to the pot was a clean mug. I looked at it for longer than I needed to and clearly it unnerved him.

“You alright?” He asked, his hand lightly squeezing my arm.

The pads of his calloused fingers pressed ever so slightly into my skin, but I didn’t mind the sensation. Which was why I shrugged him off.

“Fine.” I said flatly, reaching for the pot to pour the dark liquid into the mug, waiting desperately for Joel to move away and to go back to inexplicably fixing my floorboards.

When he spoke, a hardness had returned to his voice, but it wasn’t sharp-edged anger.

“I talked to Tommy,” he announced, “when you’re healed, you’re patrollin’ with me.”

I spun around, glowering at him. “You had no right to do that.”

Joel just began to back away, his gaze taking on a new intensity. Instead of addressing his massive overstep and the brazen, controlling nature of it, he doubled down.

“You ain’t gonna pull the same shit with me that you’ve done with all the others.” He warned. “I’m not so easy to shake off.”

With that, he turned around and disappeared back out into the hall. Soon, the sounds of him getting back to work, ripping up wood, reached me in the kitchen.

I stood, back pressed against the countertop and told myself to go into the hall and tear into him for inserting himself into my life.

But I didn’t. I just rooted to the spot and listened to him fixing my floorboards, the ceramic heated by the coffee he had brewed warming my scratched-up hands.

Part III - Relinquishing (on Ao3)

[devdozes]

♥ Meddle about

[a/n- bladie ngh, and ill post the part 2 of the ma meillure ennemie fic trust] - reader is a tired ass engineering student and blade is a fucking wanted murderer inspired by this c.ai bot- https://character.ai/chat/vDuGEd2U5X6cIoktZTOECajWIW_DgaClQoTR199Te9A

The alley smelled like rust and rain, the kind of scent that clung to old metal and fresh blood. You weren’t supposed to be here—no one was at this hour, not unless they were looking for trouble. But trouble had a way of finding you anyway, even when all you wanted was to clear your head with a cigarette and the hum of the city.

Then you saw him.

Slumped against the brick wall, his black coat soaked in rain and something darker. Even in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, you knew who he was. Blade. The name was spoken in hushed voices, in rumors traded between exhausted engineers and crooked officials alike. A wanted murderer. A ghost who carved through the scum of the city like a blade through flesh.

And yet, he wasn’t hated. Not really.

You stared at him for a moment, half-considering walking away. You weren’t a hero. You weren’t even a good person. But then he shifted, barely breathing, his body curled like a wounded animal.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stepping forward before you could change your mind.

It took some effort to drag him up, his weight pressing against you as you hauled him to his feet. “You better not die on me,” you grumbled. He was warm, burning even, his skin feverish beneath your touch. He made a low sound, something between a grunt and a chuckle, but he didn’t fight you.

By the time you got him back to your apartment, your muscles were screaming. You kicked the door shut behind you and all but dumped him onto your couch. He barely flinched, his breathing shallow, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you through strands of rain-slicked hair.

“You look like hell,” you muttered, tugging off his coat. Your fingers brushed over torn fabric and blood-soaked bandages. “And you’re making a mess.”

“You talk too much,” he rasped.

“And you bleed too much. Guess we’re even.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair before grabbing your med kit. This wasn’t the first time you’d patched someone up. It came with the territory—being an engineer meant injuries, burns, and the occasional deep cut from machinery that refused to cooperate. But this? This was different.

You peeled his shirt away carefully, exposing skin marred with scars both old and new. A deep gash ran across his chest, still oozing crimson, and you swallowed hard before reaching for the antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting,” you warned.

Blade didn’t flinch as you pressed the cloth to his wound. Didn’t even make a sound. The only indication that he felt anything at all was the tightening of his jaw, the faint twitch of his fingers against his thigh.

“Do you do this often?” you asked, breaking the silence. “Bleeding out in alleys and waiting for someone to drag you home?”

His lips quirked upward, the ghost of something amused. “No.”

You huffed. “Lucky me, then.”

The room was quiet, save for the sound of rain against the window and the steady rhythm of your movements as you worked. You wrapped the bandages around his chest, hands steady despite the exhaustion weighing down on you. When you were done, you sat back, exhaling slowly.

“There. Try not to move too much,” you muttered, rubbing at your tired eyes. “Not that you seem like the type to listen.”

Blade studied you for a long moment, those crimson eyes unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke.

“You should sleep.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? You gonna tuck me in?”

He didn’t answer, but there was something almost… amused in his gaze. Or maybe you were just imagining it.

Either way, you were too tired to care.

You placed a dented pan onto the stove, the metal clattering louder than necessary in the quiet apartment. Blade was still watching you, crimson eyes tracking your every movement like a wolf sizing up its surroundings. You ignored it, cracking an egg into the pan with the grace of someone who ran purely on caffeine and bad decisions.

"You allergic to anything?" you asked over your shoulder.

Blade tilted his head slightly. "No."

"Good. Because if you were, I wasn't gonna do anything about it," you muttered, flicking on the burner. The flame flared to life, the faint scent of gas filling the air. "You're already bleeding out on my couch. Might as well go for a speedrun."

He huffed, a barely-there sound, but you caught the twitch of his lips.

You dumped some instant noodles into a pot, stirring lazily as you leaned against the counter. Your limbs ached with exhaustion, but that was nothing new. Between juggling deadlines, faulty machinery, and the ever-present weight of sleeplessness, you were used to running on empty.

"So," you started, glancing over at him. "What the hell did you do to end up half-dead in an alley tonight? Kill some mob boss? Piss off the wrong guy?"

Blade didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, his gaze flickering to the bandages wrapped around his chest. Then, finally—"Something like that."

You snorted. "Vague. Mysterious. Classic. You should get a trench coat and start monologuing in the rain."

He gave you a slow, unimpressed blink. "You talk too much."

"And you stab too much. Guess we all have our coping mechanisms."

That earned you something—a slight tilt of his head, like he was reassessing you. You met his stare, unbothered, before turning your attention back to the food.

The tension in the air was thick, but not suffocating. More like… the quiet buzz of something unsaid, lingering in the spaces between words.

When the noodles were done, you shoved a bowl into Blade’s hands. He took it without complaint, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second before you pulled away. You grabbed your own bowl and flopped onto the couch beside him, tucking your legs up as you slurped up a mouthful of noodles.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, you exhaled, setting your bowl down. "Y'know," you mused, "I thought you'd be taller."

Blade gave you a slow, unimpressed look. "I am taller."

"Not when you're slumped over like a stabbed Victorian orphan."

His lips twitched. "You have a strange way of speaking."

"You have a strange way of not dying," you shot back. "Guess we’re even."

Silence. Then, quietly—"Do you always joke about death?"

"Yeah." You popped a piece of egg into your mouth, chewing. "Why not."

Blade's gaze lingered on you for a beat too long. You didn't look away, meeting his stare with the same half-lidded exhaustion you carried everywhere.

"I've heard your name before," he said suddenly.

That made you pause. "Oh?" You quirked a brow, smirking. "You a fan? Gonna ask for an autograph next?"

"You've looked into me," he countered smoothly.

Shit.

Your fingers curled around your chopsticks, but you kept your face blank. "You're a wanted murderer with two interesting teammates," you said, feigning nonchalance. "An engineer like me hearing about Firefly and her mech suit? A hacker like Silver Wolf? Yeah, of course I looked into it."

"And?" Blade asked, voice even.

"And…" You leaned back, propping your arm against the back of the couch. "Firefly’s tech is insane, Silver Wolf’s skills are terrifying, and you—" you gestured at him with your chopsticks, "—you’re just a dude with a sword and a death wish."

Blade let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable.

"You shouldn't involve yourself in this," he said after a moment.

"Yeah?" You smirked. "And yet, here you are. Bleeding all over my couch."

His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering behind them. But he didn't argue.

You stretched, letting your head fall back against the couch. "Relax," you muttered, voice softer now. "I’m not gonna sell you out or anything. I just think cool tech is cool."

Blade hummed, watching you for a long moment. Then, as if deciding something, he returned to his food, eating in silence.

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaustion creeping in.

You really shouldn’t be doing this—bringing a fugitive into your home, feeding him, patching him up. But then again, when had you ever made good choices?

Besides.

He was interesting and good looking.

And that was more than enough for now.

You woke up to the distinct scent of rain-soaked fabric and the faint rust of dried blood.

For a second, you forgot you had company—until you cracked an eye open and saw Blade still sitting on your couch, eerily still, like a shadow waiting for the right moment to slip back into the dark. His gaze was already on you, crimson and unblinking.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. “You have to stop watching me sleep. It’s getting weird.”

"You slept late," he said, ignoring your complaint entirely. "Barely three hours."

You scoffed. "Stalker behavior, but okay."

"You shouldn't run on so little sleep."

You snorted, standing up with a stretch. "Oh, wow. Thanks, doctor. I’ll make sure to log off from my 36-hour work binges and take a nap next time."

Blade said nothing, just watched as you shuffled into the kitchen, slamming cabinets open and closed in search of caffeine. You dumped some instant coffee into a cracked mug, filling it with hot water. The bitter scent filled the air, masking the lingering iron from his wounds.

Blade shifted slightly, rolling his injured shoulder as if testing the pain. You glanced at him over your mug. "Try not to rip your stitches open. I don’t have the patience to stitch you up twice."

"I can handle it."

"Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Big bad immortal swordsman and all that. But I swear, if I have to mop up more of your blood off my floor, I will charge you rent."

Blade exhaled sharply—almost a laugh, but not quite. He tilted his head slightly. "You say that, yet you haven't kicked me out."

"Yeah, well." You took a slow sip of coffee, eyes flicking to him. "You're interesting."

His gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always. Then, after a pause—"And you aren't afraid."

You quirked a brow. "Should I be?"

"You know who I am."

"Yep."

"You know what I do."

"Uh-huh."

"You should be afraid."

You sipped your coffee. "Man, I should be doing a lot of things. Sleeping regularly, eating actual meals, not taking in injured fugitives, but here we are."

Blade studied you for a long moment, then leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. "You have a death wish."

You smirked, leaning against the counter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The city hummed outside, the sound of rain hitting your window in soft, rhythmic taps. The tension between you felt like an exposed wire—dangerous, but almost... electric.

Then, you sighed. "So, what's your plan? You just gonna sit there bleeding on my couch forever, or do you have somewhere you need to be?"

Blade's eyes flickered open, his crimson gaze locking onto yours. "I need to lay low for a while."

You hummed, pretending to think. "Mmm. Sounds like a you problem."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

You grinned. "Lucky for you, I don’t mind keeping you around. For a price."

Blade's fingers twitched. "A price?"

"Yeah. Protection tax," you said, waving your free hand lazily. "I let you stay, you keep me from getting stabbed in any back alleys."

"You think you'd need my protection?" Blade asked, sounding almost amused.

You just shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you seem like the type who needs something to do, and I’m not gonna babysit a half-dead sword guy for free."

He stared at you for a long beat, then finally—finally—huffed. "Fine."

You grinned, taking another sip of your coffee. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Blade closed his eyes again, exhaling slowly.

You were in so much trouble.

And yet, you weren’t even a little bit afraid.

The next few days passed in a strange sort of rhythm—one that involved you coming home at ungodly hours, dropping onto your couch like a corpse, and Blade still being there. Always there. Watching. Silent.

At first, it was unnerving. Then, you got used to it.

He didn’t talk much. Neither did you, unless it was to make some dry remark about him brooding in your living room like a vampire that had lost his castle. He didn’t react much, either—except for the small, almost imperceptible shifts in his expression when you said something particularly sharp.

It became a habit. You’d work yourself to the bone, come home half-dead, and Blade would still be in his damn spot, either sharpening his sword or sitting completely still like he had all the patience in the world.

And sometimes? You’d catch him staring. Not in the creepy I’m plotting your murder way, but something more… calculating.

Like he was trying to figure you out.

You ignored it. Mostly.

Until one night.

♥♥♥

It was well past midnight when you finally dragged yourself back to your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you. You barely managed to kick your boots off before collapsing onto the couch with a groan, rubbing your temples.

Blade—because of course he was still here—watched you from his usual spot. “Long day.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Buddy, my entire life is a long day.”

You weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the way Blade just… sat there, waiting, existing in your space like he belonged there.

He didn’t respond. Just leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. His injuries were healing fast—not that you were surprised. He was the kind of guy who could probably survive a nuclear blast out of pure spite.

You dragged a hand down your face. “Ugh. I need a shower. Maybe just drown myself in the bathtub instead. Save myself the trouble of work tomorrow.”

A pause.

Then—

“...That’s not funny.”

You blinked, tilting your head toward him. “Oh? I thought it was hilarious.”

Blade’s gaze was sharp, unreadable. “You joke about dying too often.”

You shrugged, stretching lazily. “What can I say? Engineering degree, mental illness speedrun, any%.”

Nothing. No reaction.

That was weird. Usually, when you made jokes like that, people either got uncomfortable or brushed it off.

Blade, on the other hand, was watching you. Not in the usual, assessing way. This was different. He was reading between the lines.

You didn’t like that.

So, naturally, you doubled down.

“Relax, murder man,” you drawled, propping your head against the couch arm. “I’m not actually gonna off myself. Who else would let you bleed out on their furniture for free?”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did.

“You’re reckless.”

You snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Blade hummed, tilting his head slightly. “At least I don’t joke about my own death.”

“Pfft. That’s because you actually die every other week. No joke needed.”

For the first time since you met him, his lips twitched—just the faintest hint of something resembling amusement.

It was gone in an instant.

You exhaled, sinking further into the couch. “Look, I’m fine. I just cope with sarcasm. Unless you wanna be my therapist—which, uh, would be hilarious, considering you stab people for a living—I’d suggest getting used to it.”

Blade didn’t look convinced.

But he didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted, leaning forward slightly. “You still haven’t told me why you looked into me.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your shirt, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral.

“Already told you,” you said, feigning a lazy grin. “I was interested in your teammates. Firefly’s tech is insane. Silver Wolf’s hacking skills? Next-level. I just did what any curious engineer would do.”

Blade didn’t blink. “And what did you learn about me?”

You smirked. “That you have a stick shoved so far up your ass, it’s practically a sword at this point.”

Silence.

Then—

“...Hn.”

The noise was quiet, barely there, but you caught it.

Was that a laugh?

Holy shit. You were putting that in your nonexistent diary.

But before you could revel in your victory, Blade’s voice cut through the air again—low, steady. “You shouldn’t be involved in this.”

You rolled your eyes. “You keep saying that, and yet you’re still here.”

A pause.

Then, slowly, deliberately—

“You interest me.”

You blinked.

Blade was watching you again, but this time, it felt different. He wasn’t just assessing you—he was curious. And for some reason, that sent a strange, slow burn through your chest.

You clicked your tongue. “Hah. Careful, Blade. Almost sounded like a compliment.”

He didn’t respond. Just kept watching, waiting.

You exhaled. “Look, I don’t know what kind of tragic backstory you’ve got, but I know one thing: people like you don’t just stick around without a reason. So what is it?”

A beat.

Then—

“You make me curious,” he admitted, voice quiet. “And that rarely happens.”

Your breath caught for just a second.

And then you let out a huff, shaking your head. “Well, damn. I’d say that’s flattering, but I don’t think getting the attention of a wanted killer is exactly a win.”

Blade hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Depends on how you see it.”

There was something in his tone that made your skin prickle—something like amusement, like challenge.

And, god help you—

You liked it.

You must’ve dozed off, because the next thing you knew, there was a knock at the door.

You groaned, cracking an eye open just in time to see Blade already moving.

Without a word, he pulled the door open just enough to take the delivery. The delivery guy—some poor soul who had no idea he was standing in front of a wanted murderer—handed over a bag and left with the enthusiasm of someone who really didn’t want to be here.

Blade locked the door behind him, carrying the food to the table like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You pushed yourself up, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. "…You seriously ordered something?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes."

Your brow twitched. "If it’s poison, just say that."

Blade ignored you. He set the food down in front of you and pulled back the lid. The smell hit you first—something warm, savory, actually edible.

You stared at it.

Then, at him.

Then, back at the food.

"…You actually got me decent food?" you muttered, skeptical.

"Would you prefer garbage?"

"I mean, no, but—"

"Then eat."

You wanted to argue. To ask what the hell his angle was. But your stomach, traitorous bitch that it was, had already made the decision for you.

So you shut up and ate.

Blade didn’t move from where he stood, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter, watching you like you were some kind of experiment.

You ignored him. Mostly.

But a part of you—some tired, cynical, deeply suspicious part—was waiting.

Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for some kind of catch.

But it never came.

He just let you eat.

Like it was normal.

Like he wasn’t a wanted criminal living in your house, mysteriously giving a shit about whether you dropped dead from exhaustion or not.

Weird.

Really weird.

—

Later, when you were less likely to collapse on the spot, you got up to grab Blade’s clothes from where they’d been drying.

You barely thought about it, tossing them over your arm as you made your way back into the living room.

But as you folded his coat, something slid out of the pocket.

You caught it mid-air, fingers curling around sleek, polished black.

Your brain took a second to process it.

Then—

Holy shit.

A black card.

An actual black card.

Your mind short-circuited.

This wasn’t just some rich asshole’s credit card. This was a card only the richest of the rich could get their hands on.

You turned it over in your hands, scrutinizing it under the dim light of your apartment. No name. No bank branding. Just pure, matte-black luxury.

A card that could buy out entire companies like it was nothing.

You sucked in a breath.

"…What the fuck?"

You glanced up, staring at Blade across the room.

The way he was watching you.

Unmoving. Silent.

Completely unbothered that you were holding a literal black card that should not be in his possession.

You slowly turned back to the card, flipping it over again, as if the answer would suddenly appear in bold letters.

Nothing.

Just sleek, infinite wealth in the palm of your hand.

"Okay," you said, voice flat. "So, are you secretly a billionaire? Or did you kill one and steal his wallet?"

Blade didn’t blink. "Does it matter?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Uh, yeah, it kinda does! What the hell is this doing in your pocket?"

Blade finally moved, his gaze flickering to the card in your hand. "It’s mine."

"No shit. But how?"

No answer.

You stared at him, waiting, but Blade just looked back at you. Calm. Unreadable.

Not a single damn explanation in sight.

Your fingers tightened around the card. "…You gonna tell me, or am I supposed to guess?"

Blade tilted his head slightly. "You’re smart. Figure it out."

Oh, you hated him.

You let out a slow, frustrated exhale. "You better not be involved in some rich people trafficking scheme."

"You think I would do something so mundane?"

"See, that’s exactly what someone in a trafficking scheme would say!"

Blade sighed, rubbing his temple like you were the one being difficult. "Keep it, if you want. It’s useless to me right now."

You stared.

Then, slowly—

A smirk curled on your lips.

"You’re telling me," you said, voice dripping with amusement, "that I have a black card in my hand, and you’re just gonna let me have it?"

Blade’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t take it back.

You leaned in, voice a lazy drawl. "I could buy a mansion with this, you know. A yacht. A company."

"You won’t."

"You don’t know that."

Blade held your stare, unreadable. Then—

"I do."

Something about the way he said it made your smirk falter for half a second.

But you covered it up quickly, slipping the card into your pocket with a casual shrug.

"Well," you said, stretching, "guess I’ll just have to keep it and see what happens."

Blade said nothing.

But his gaze, sharp as a knife, never left yours.

And for the first time that night, you wondered—

What the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

After stuffing yourself with food, you practically dragged your exhausted body to the oversized beanbag in the corner of your room. Sinking into it, you let out a long, satisfied groan, limbs going limp like a corpse.

Blade barely spared you a glance. He was back to leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his ever-present katana resting against the nearby table. The guy had been here for a while now, yet he still acted like a guest rather than some wanted murderer squatting in your house.

Your eyelids grew heavy. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt—

Then Blade’s phone buzzed.

You cracked an eye open, watching as he pulled it from his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID, exhaled through his nose, and then—

Picked up.

"Yeah."

You tilted your head, suddenly alert. That tone. The slight change in his body language. It wasn’t a normal call.

Then, a voice came through the speaker.

"Took you long enough, Bladie~"

Your brows shot up. Who the fuck—

"Kafka," Blade greeted, voice as flat as ever.

Your interest tripled. You had heard of that name before. Kafka. One of the Stellaron Hunters.

Now, this? This was getting interesting.

"You’ve been quiet lately," Kafka continued, her voice laced with amusement. "Firefly was wondering if you got yourself killed. Silver Wolf bet on it, actually."

Another name. Firefly.

You didn’t miss the way Blade’s jaw ticked slightly. "I’ve been busy."

"Busy? With what?" Another voice cut in—a younger one. "Getting stabbed in some alley again?"

Silver Wolf.

Blade’s gaze flickered toward you briefly before he replied, "Something like that."

Kafka hummed. "Oh? And here I thought you’d gotten yourself a new little hiding spot." A pause. "Or maybe a new little companion?"

Your entire body froze.

What.

The air in the room shifted slightly, and you felt Blade’s gaze on you again.

They knew.

They knew about you.

Before you could even think of a response, another voice entered the call—this one sharper, more impatient.

"Where are you?"

Firefly.

Blade ignored the question. "Why are you calling?"

A sigh. "You know why. We’re moving soon. You can’t keep running off on your own like this."

There was an unspoken weight in her words. Something you didn’t understand, but Blade clearly did.

"Noted."

"That’s it?" Silver Wolf huffed. "Tch. Lame."

"You’re still breathing," Firefly added. "I’ll take that as a good sign."

Kafka chuckled. "Well, now that we know you’re still alive, maybe we’ll pay you a visit. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Blade didn’t react. "Do what you want."

You, on the other hand, were already panicking internally.

Visit?

As in, coming here?

Before you could process the absolute disaster that was about to happen, the call ended.

Silence.

You and Blade stared at each other.

"...They know about me," you stated flatly.

"Yes."

"Are they coming here?"

"Probably."

You inhaled sharply. Great. Just great. Now you had not one but three dangerous individuals potentially showing up at your damn house.

"...Are they gonna kill me?"

Blade actually looked mildly amused. "No."

You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or even more concerned.

— A Few Hours Later

You weren’t sure what you were expecting.

Maybe some over-the-top entrance. Maybe a sudden break-in where you had to fight for your life. Maybe some cryptic villain monologues.

You were not expecting two women casually standing outside your apartment door, one leaning lazily against the wall, the other inspecting her mechanical glove.

You stared at them.

They stared back.

The shorter one—Silver Wolf, no doubt—tilted her head. "Huh. So, you’re the one hiding our walking corpse."

The taller one yet sweeter lookign one—Firefly, eyes burning with something unreadable—remained silent, merely assessing you.

You slowly turned your head toward Blade, who was standing behind you.

"Seriously?" you muttered. "You let them track you all the way here?"

"They let me." Oh, that was just fantastic.

Silver Wolf smirked. "So? Aren’t you gonna invite us in?" You exhaled slowly. Then, without a word, you stepped aside, letting them in.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

The rain had finally stopped by the time you and Blade sat outside your apartment, his wound freshly bandaged and his coat draped over his shoulders. You had gotten used to his presence in your space—his quiet yet commanding aura, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. Now, the Stellaron Hunters were here to take him back.

Firefly stood beside you, arms crossed, watching the interaction with an unreadable expression. Over the past few days, you had grown to like her more than you expected. She was sharp and observant, but unlike Blade, she was straightforward without being overbearing. She didn’t tease like Silver Wolf or roll her eyes at you like Kafka probably would—she was simply there, offering quiet yet steady companionship.

“You really took care of him, huh?” she mused, nudging you lightly with her elbow.

You scoffed. “Well, someone had to. He’s got the self-preservation skills of a rock.”

Firefly snorted, nodding in agreement. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Blade sighed, clearly unimpressed by your combined words. “You two are irritating.”

You smirked. “You’ll miss it.”

Firefly tilted her head, her expression softening. “Maybe I should steal your spot and stay here instead. This place has good food, and the company isn’t bad.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Besides, I wouldn’t mind sticking around if you ever need help with anything.”

Her sincerity caught you off guard, warmth settling in your chest. You glanced at her, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A voice crackled through Firefly’s comm, Silver Wolf’s familiar impatient tone cutting through. “Are you guys done with the sentimental crap? Let’s wrap this up.”

Firefly sighed and rolled her eyes. “She’s always like this. You’d think she was allergic to emotions.”

You chuckled. “She’s got a point, though. We’re dragging this out.”

Blade’s gaze lingered on you, unreadable as ever. “You should be more careful. Next time, don’t get involved in things like this.”

You folded your arms, raising a brow. “Says the guy who was bleeding out in an alley.”

For a moment, there was only silence between you two. Then, unexpectedly, Firefly reached for your hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze before pulling you into a quick but firm hug. “Take care of yourself, okay? And don’t let anyone walk all over you.”

Surprised, you hesitated before hugging her back, pressing your forehead lightly against her shoulder for a brief second. “You too, Firefly.”

Blade watched the interaction, something flickering in his expression before he exhaled and turned away. He didn’t say goodbye outright, but you could hear it in the way he hesitated before stepping toward the waiting ship.

Firefly gave you one last look before following after him. “See you around, yeah?”

You gave a small nod, watching as they disappeared into the ship, the doors closing behind them. As the engines roared to life, you found yourself staring at the empty space they had left behind, an odd sense of longing settling deep in your chest.

Yeah. You’d see them again. You were sure of it.

—

Later that night, just as you were settling into the quiet loneliness of your apartment, your phone buzzed. A message. You reached for it absentmindedly, only for your breath to hitch at the name on the screen.

Blade.

[You still alive?]

A small, surprised laugh escaped you. Typical. You rolled your eyes, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before you typed back.

[Unfortunately. What, you miss me already?]

His response came quicker than you expected.

[Don’t flatter yourself.]

You smirked, shaking your head as you lay back on your couch. Despite his words, he was the one who had messaged first. And somehow, that made the empty space he left behind feel a little less cold.

From that night on, the messages didn’t stop. It wasn’t constant—sometimes a few hours, sometimes a full day would pass—but there was always something. A check-in, a sarcastic remark, a complaint about Silver Wolf being insufferable. And with each exchange, that odd sense of longing in your chest felt a little more bearable.

[Silver Wolf won’t stop pestering me. Fix this.]

[What do you expect me to do? She’s your problem.]

[You got me into this mess.]

[Did I? Or did you get yourself stabbed and make it my problem?]

[You have an annoying way of arguing.]

[And yet, here you are, still texting me.]

[Shut up.]

[Nah.]

[You’re intolerable.]

[But you’re still talking to me.]

A pause. Then another message.

[Go to sleep.]

You smiled at your screen, the warmth creeping up on you before you even realized it.

[You first.]

The messages became routine, something you found yourself looking forward to between the chaos of your daily life. But then, exam season hit, and the texts went unanswered for longer than usual. You barely had time to sleep, let alone check your phone.

So, when you finally took a break—headphones on, hunched over your desk with notes sprawled everywhere—you didn’t notice the faint creak of your apartment door opening. Nor did you notice the quiet footsteps approaching behind you.

It wasn’t until a hand casually plucked one of your scattered notes off the table that you tensed, whipping around with a sharp intake of breath. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him.

Blade.

Standing in your apartment as if he had every right to be there.

You yanked your headphones off. "What the hell—? How did you even get in?"

He held up your spare key—the one you had forgotten was even missing—before slipping it into his pocket. "You didn’t answer my messages."

Your brain short-circuited for a second. "That’s—! That’s not a reason to break into my apartment!"

Blade didn’t seem the least bit remorseful. "You weren’t responding."

You gaped at him, completely at a loss for words. "So your solution was to just... show up?"

"Yes."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "Unbelievable."

He pulled out his phone, showing you the unread messages stacked up on your chat. "Check your phone next time."

You swatted his hand away, scowling. "I was busy!"

Blade didn’t move from his spot, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. "Have you even eaten today?"

You hesitated.

He exhaled sharply, already moving towards your kitchen. "I’ll take that as a no."

You blinked. "Wait, what are you—?"

"Making sure you don’t collapse before your exams are even over."

You watched, dumbfounded, as he calmly started rummaging through your cabinets.

Well. This was new. ♥♥♥

Blade moved with a quiet ease, scanning through your kitchen as if he had done this a hundred times before. He pulled out a pan, set it on the stove, and began gathering ingredients with practiced efficiency. You sat there, still processing the fact that Blade—stoic, sharp, and usually exasperated with you—was about to cook for you.

"You know how to cook?" you asked, raising a brow.

Blade didn’t even glance at you as he cracked an egg into a bowl. "Unlike you, I eat properly."

"Rude." You huffed, but a small smile tugged at your lips. You leaned against the counter, watching as he moved, the soft sizzle of oil filling the quiet space.

Despite his usual sharp demeanor, there was something oddly domestic about this moment—Blade standing in your kitchen, sleeves rolled up slightly as he focused on his task. It was a rare sight, one you hadn’t expected to see.

"Didn’t take you for the type to care if I ate," you muttered, tapping your fingers against the counter.

Blade glanced at you briefly before turning back to the pan. "I don’t."

"Liar."

He didn’t argue, just continued cooking.

Minutes passed, the air filled with the comforting aroma of food. Eventually, he set a plate in front of you, simple but well-made. "Eat."

You poked at the food with your fork, a teasing smirk on your lips. "You sure you didn’t poison it?"

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t go through this much effort," he deadpanned.

You laughed, finally taking a bite. To your surprise, it was... really good. "Huh. Not bad."

Blade leaned against the counter, watching as you ate. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something softer than usual.

"You should take better care of yourself," he murmured.

You paused, swallowing your food before looking up at him.

For once, you didn’t have a snarky response. Instead, you simply nodded, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

Maybe he didn’t say it outright, but his actions spoke louder than words ever could. ♥♥♥

Blade leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you eat in silence. He wasn’t saying anything, but there was something… off. His usual stoic expression remained, but the way his fingers tapped idly against his arm, the slight furrow in his brows—it was like watching a sad, neglected puppy that refused to admit it wanted attention.

You took another bite, humming thoughtfully, completely unaware of the internal battle Blade was having with himself. He would never, ever ask for it outright, but the longer you went without commenting on the food, the more his gaze subtly flickered between you and the plate.

You finally noticed his expression—just the slightest shift in his usual mask of indifference. Oh.

Oh, this was gold.

You decided to test it. You let a thoughtful hum slip as you chewed, but said nothing. You could feel his stare burning into you.

A few more seconds passed. The silence stretched.

And then—Blade’s fingers twitched against the counter. He looked away, jaw tightening just a little. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then he shut them again, looking even more broody than usual.

Oh my god. He wanted you to compliment his food.

You had never seen him so awkward before.

Biting back a grin, you finally sighed, putting your fork down. "Alright, fine. It’s good. Really good, actually."

Blade didn’t react immediately, but you caught it—the way his shoulders relaxed just a little, the way his fingers stilled. His eyes flickered back to you for just a moment before he let out a low scoff. "Took you long enough."

You smirked. "Were you waiting for a compliment, Blade?"

"Tch." He turned away, moving to clean up as if the conversation was already over. "Don't flatter yourself."

But he was washing the dishes with noticeably more ease now, and you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch—just the tiniest bit.

Blade had just finished washing the dishes when he turned to face you, his arms crossed. His gaze swept over your form—hunched shoulders, tired eyes, the way you looked like you were about to dive right back into studying the second he left you alone.

He exhaled sharply. Yeah. He wasn’t letting this slide.

Before you could so much as reach for your notes, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from your seat with no warning.

“Hey—!?” You yelped, stumbling forward.

“Get ready,” he ordered, his grip firm but not rough.

You blinked up at him, confused. “For what?”

Blade’s eyes narrowed, and then, in the most matter-of-fact tone, he said, “You’re going out.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “I literally have exams.”

“You’ll fail them if you collapse before they even start,” he deadpanned.

You scowled, trying to tug your wrist free, but he didn’t let go. “Blade, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice left no room for argument. “You haven’t slept properly. You barely eat unless someone forces you to. You’ve been staring at books for so long that your eyes look dead.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the unimpressed look on his face shut you up.

Instead, you grumbled, “...I don’t have time for this.”

Blade rolled his eyes, clearly done with your excuses. And then—without a word—he leaned down, wrapped an arm around your legs, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing.

“BLADE—!” You shrieked, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders.

“You weren’t listening,” he said simply, carrying you toward your room with no effort. “So now, I’m making you listen.”

“You cannot just kidnap me—!”

“Then get changed willingly.”

You glared at him, face heating up. “This is so unnecessary.”

He set you down in front of your closet, stepping back as if to silently challenge you.

“Five minutes,” he said. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “You would not.”

Blade tilted his head. “Try me.”

You had never changed so fast in your life.

♥♥♥

Fifteen minutes later, you were on the back of his bike, arms loosely wrapped around his waist as the city lights blurred past you. The wind was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered from earlier.

You weren’t sure when you had started to relax, but somewhere between the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmic sound of Blade’s breathing, the tension in your shoulders melted away.

Blade, as usual, said nothing. But the way he let you lean against him just a little more, the way he didn’t complain when your arms tightened around him—it spoke volumes.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

After a long, peaceful ride through the city, Blade finally pulled up in front of a sleek, high-end shopping district. The neon lights reflected off the pavement, and the scent of fresh leather and expensive perfume filled the air.

You blinked in confusion as he parked the bike, removed his helmet, and glanced back at you.

“…Why are we here?” you asked, still holding onto his waist.

Blade got off the bike and gave you a look. “Shopping.”

You stared at him like he had just spoken in an alien language. “I don’t need anything.”

“You do,” he said flatly, grabbing your wrist once again and tugging you off the bike before you could protest. ♥♥♥

As much as you hated to admit it, shopping with Blade was actually… fun.

You started out resisting, but once you got past the initial guilt of spending someone else’s money, it became a game. You dragged him from store to store, trying on different outfits, messing around with accessories, and testing how far you could push him.

The answer? Very far.

No matter what you picked—designer jackets, expensive sneakers, even a ridiculously overpriced plushie—Blade didn’t bat an eye. He just pulled out his sleek black card like it was nothing and paid.

It was downright unfair.

At some point, you grabbed yet another bag and smirked up at him. “Damn, I could get used to this. You sure you’re not my sugar daddy?”

Blade, who had been completely fine up until now, stiffened for the first time that night.

You blinked, watching as his grip on the shopping bags tightened.

“…What?” you asked, suspicious.

“…Don’t call me that,” he muttered, looking away.

Your smirk grew. “Oh? Did I hit a nerve? What’s wrong, sugar daddy?”

His jaw clenched. “Say that again, and I’m leaving you here.”

You laughed, shifting the bags in your arms. “Pfft—You’re the one dropping money on me left and right. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“…Anything else.”

You poked his arm. “Aw, come on, Bladie~”

He sighed deeply, as if regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

But despite the deadpan look on his face, you caught the faintest hint of red on his ears.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Feeling victorious, you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “Thanks, sugar daddy.”

Blade turned his head so fast you almost felt the wind.

“You’re walking home.”

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. “What?!”

“You heard me,” he said, expression unreadable. “I’m not taking you back.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from your eye. “Just take me home, rich boy.”

Blade rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he started walking toward his bike.

You grinned, trailing after him.

Maybe shopping was fun.

As you and Blade made your way to his bike, arms full of shopping bags, a voice called out from behind.

"Hey there, sweetheart. Need a hand with those?"

You turned around, already sensing trouble, only to be met with a tall guy with a cocky smirk, eyes dragging over you like he was undressing you with his gaze.

Blade stopped in his tracks.

"Sorry, I’m good," you replied, shifting the bags in your arms.

The guy chuckled, stepping closer. "Aw, come on, no need to play hard to get. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be carrying all that. Let me help."

He reached toward your bags.

Wrong move.

Before you could react, Blade dropped his shopping bags to the ground with a dull thud. The air around you turned sharp, dangerous, thick with an unspoken threat.

The guy finally seemed to notice Blade, eyes flicking up to meet the unreadable expression on his face.

Blade didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Just stared.

Cold. Dark. A silent promise.

The guy cleared his throat, glancing at you again. "Uh… You with him?"

Before you could answer, Blade stepped forward, slotting himself between you and the guy. His voice was low, smooth as steel, laced with something deadly.

"Back. Off."

The guy hesitated. "Hey, man, no need to be so—"

Blade took another step. Just one. Just enough to make the guy feel how close he was to a very, very bad decision.

The guy swallowed, suddenly looking less confident. "Alright, alright. Didn’t know she was taken."

Blade still didn’t say anything.

The guy practically scurried away.

You waited a beat before smirking. "Wow. That was subtle."

Blade bent down, grabbing the bags he had dropped, but you noticed how tight his grip was on the handles. How his shoulders were still tense.

"Didn't know you were so possessive, Bladie," you teased, stepping beside him.

Blade didn’t look at you, but his voice was flat. "I'm not."

"Really? Because if looks could kill, that guy would’ve been dead three times over."

Blade clicked his tongue, turning away and shoving the bags into your arms. "Get on the bike."

You grinned, stepping closer until you were just barely in his space. Then, with a smirk, you leaned up and whispered, "Jealousy suits you, Bladie."

Blade stiffened.

You swore you saw the tips of his ears turn red.

Without another word, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you onto the bike, and shoved your helmet into your hands.

"Shut up."

You just laughed.

After you reach home, you lug the shopping bags inside, feeling the weight of Blade’s presence behind you. He had followed without a word, stepping into your apartment like he belonged there.

The air was thick. Heavy with something unspoken.

You placed the bags down, exhaling. “Alright, thanks for the—”

“Sit down.”

You blinked. “What?”

Blade shut the door behind him, arms crossed. “You heard me. Sit down.”

You scoffed. “I’m not a damn dog—”

“Then stop acting like a stubborn one,” he shot back, voice edged with something sharp. “You don’t eat properly. You barely sleep. You push yourself until you’re running on nothing—”

“I’m fine.” "Bull fucking shit" The weight in your chest had always been there. You just got used to carrying it.

So what if you skipped meals? So what if you ran yourself into the ground? You’d been fine before—why wouldn’t you be fine now?

Or maybe "fine" was a lie you told yourself to make it easier to keep going.

It wasn't like you hated yourself. No, that would be dramatic. You just... didn't see the point in caring. It was easier this way—easier to brush it off, to act like it didn't matter. Because if you let it matter, if you actually tried, then you'd have to face the fact that you were a mess. That you'd let things get this bad. That you were too lazy to fix it.

And that? That was worse than pretending everything was okay.

So you didn't care. Not really.

And when Blade's voice cut through the thick air of your apartment, telling you to sit down, telling you to listen, you almost laughed. Because what was there to say? You already knew how this conversation went.

He’d say you were being stupid. That you needed to take care of yourself. That you were pushing too hard, running on empty, whatever else people said when they thought you mattered.

And you’d shrug. Deflect. Laugh it off.

Because if you let yourself believe him—if you let yourself think, even for a second, that maybe you should take care of yourself—then you'd have to face the truth.

That deep down, you didn’t think you deserved it.

The thought made your stomach twist.

So you scoffed, arms crossing as you leaned against the counter. “I’m fine.”

Blade’s expression darkened. “No, you’re not.”

His voice was different this time. Not just frustration, not just annoyance. It was tired. Like he was so damn tired of watching you do this to yourself.

You felt something stir in your chest. Something uneasy.

You ignored it.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Blade shot back. He stepped closer, crowding your space. “You don’t eat properly. You don’t sleep. You ignore every sign your body gives you until you break down—”

“I just don’t care, okay?” The words left you before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.

Blade froze.

Your chest felt too tight. Your arms crossed tighter around yourself, like you could hold yourself together. “I don’t care. I never have. I don’t see the point. What does it matter if I eat or sleep or take care of myself? It’s just... easier to not think about it.”

His gaze was unreadable. His fists clenched at his sides.

“And why is that?” His voice was quiet. Dangerous.

You shrugged. Forced a smirk. “Because I’m lazy? Because I’m a mess? Because if I start caring, then I have to deal with the fact that I’m too much of a screw-up to fix it?” You let out a breathy laugh, bitter and empty. “So yeah. I don’t care.”

The lie tasted awful in your mouth.

Blade stared at you. His silence was deafening.

Then—he exhaled, low and controlled. “You think you don’t care,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re telling me what I think?”

His patience snapped.

In a second, he was in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth of him. His voice was low, almost desperate. “You piss me off,” he muttered. “You pretend you don’t care. You act like nothing matters. But if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Like what?

Like you wanted him to prove you wrong?

Like you were afraid he might?

His hand lifted—hesitated—then cupped your jaw.

Your stomach flipped. ♥♥♥

The silence between you was suffocating.

Blade stood so close, his presence overwhelming, his eyes locked onto you like you were something fragile—something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold it.

His breathing was steady, but his fists clenched like he was fighting something. Like he was holding himself back.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze flickered over your face—searching, desperate, yearning.

Your lips. Your eyes. The curve of your cheek.

Like he was memorizing every inch of you. Like he needed to.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something. Maybe another argument. Maybe another demand. Maybe just your name.

But instead—

He exhaled sharply through his nose, and his restraint snapped.

His hand shot up, gripping your jaw—not harsh, not forceful, but firm. Keeping you there. Keeping you his.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, almost absentmindedly. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes—hesitating.

He wanted to kiss you. Badly.

But he was waiting.

For you to pull away.

For you to stop him.

For you to confirm that this was real and not another thing he would have to let go of.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest. You could feel everything. His warmth. His grip. The way his fingers curled against your skin like he was trying to ground himself—like he wasn’t sure he’d get this chance again.

And fuck, that look in his eyes—

It made something crack inside you.

You weren’t even sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you.

But the second your lips met, all hesitation vanished.

It was rough. Desperate. Like he had been starving for this, for you.

Your hands fisted into his coat, pulling him closer. His other hand found your waist, fingers digging in, like he was trying to anchor you to him.

Like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, like he wanted to leave you breathless.

And god, you let him.

Because right now, for once, you wanted to be selfish.

And Blade—Blade wanted you.

Not as something broken. Not as something to fix.

Just you.

And that? That was terrifying.

Your back hit the couch, and before you could even process it, Blade was on you.

His hands were everywhere—one gripping your jaw, the other squeezing your waist, like he was starving for your touch. His lips crashed into yours again, rough and deep, stealing every breath, every thought, every ounce of control.

You melted into him, hands tangling in his coat before sliding up to his hair, tugging—just to hear that sharp, quiet inhale he let out against your lips.

His hand slid down to your thigh, gripping, pulling, until you were straddling his lap, your body pressed flush against his.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his chest rose and fell—how his breath hitched every time your fingers ghosted over his skin.

He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. Like he was trying to consume you.

And fuck, he was shaking.

Not out of nerves. Not out of uncertainty.

But out of sheer, overwhelming need.

The kind that had been building for too long.

His fingers found yours, lacing together—tightly. Like he was making sure you wouldn’t disappear, that you wouldn’t slip away.

And god, you could feel it—how much he wanted you, how much he needed you.

The way his grip tightened every time you kissed him deeper. The way his breathing got heavier, lips parting like he was dazed.

And after what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled away.

Barely.

Just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath warm and unsteady against your lips.

His eyes—half-lidded, hazy, drowned in you.

Like he had just been wrecked by a kiss alone.

And then, voice low, raspy, utterly devoted—

"My girl."

The words came out like a confession.

Like an admission he had been holding back for too long.

"Mine."

His fingers squeezed yours, like he was trying to make you feel it.

How much he meant it.

How much he needed you to understand—

There was no one else. But you froze.

Your breath caught in your throat, mind blanking completely at the way Blade murmured those words—low, reverent, like they belonged to you.

Like you belonged to him.

"My girl."

His grip on your hand was still tight, like he was afraid you’d pull away. Like he had let the words slip before he could stop them, but now that they were out, he refused to take them back.

Your heart was pounding—so loud, you were sure he could hear it.

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if you could speak right now.

And then—

His lips.

Soft. Feather-light. Ghosting over the curve of your neck.

You shuddered.

“Mine…” Blade whispered again, his voice rough and aching against your skin. His lips brushed over your pulse, barely there, but enough to send heat racing down your spine.

Like he needed to feel you.

Like he couldn’t get close enough.

His fingers pressed into your waist, his free hand sliding up, skimming over your back, tracing lines along your skin. His forehead rested against your shoulder, and you could feel the way his breath staggered—like he was losing himself in you.

Desperation leaked into every touch, every brush of his lips.

Like he was starving for you.

Like he was drowning, and you were the only thing keeping him alive.

"Say it," he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. "Say you're mine."

His lips pressed slowly against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw, open-mouthed, lingering, like he needed this—like he needed you.

You felt lightheaded.

Shaken.

Trapped in his warmth, his scent, the way he held you like you were precious.

"Say it please, baby.."

It wasn’t an order.

It was a plea. And god he sounded so fucking hot while being vulnerable to you like this.

Your breath trembled as you sat there, caged between Blade’s warmth and the desperate need lacing his every touch. His lips barely left your skin, his words lingering, burning, sinking into you like a brand.

"Say it."

His voice was low, hoarse—like he was suffering, like he wouldn’t survive unless he heard it from your lips.

And you—

You could barely think.

Your hands gripped onto the loose fabric of his white button-down, the first few buttons undone, exposing the pale skin of his collarbones, the defined lines of his chest. The way his muscles tensed beneath your touch had your head spinning.

Your lips parted, and the words tumbled out before you could even stop them—

“…I’m yours.”

Blade froze.

You felt it—the way his whole body shuddered against you, the sharp inhale he took like you had just knocked the air out of his lungs.

Then—His lips crashed into yours.

It was rough. Desperate. Like he had been starving for this, for you, and now that he had you, he wasn’t holding back.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you impossibly closer. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head so he could deepen the kiss, claiming every inch of you.

You whimpered into his mouth, and that only made him worse.

The heat between you was unbearable, suffocating. His shirt was wrinkled under your grip, his exposed skin burning against yours. You could feel the way his muscles tensed every time you touched him, like he was trying to hold himself back—like he couldn’t.

Then, sharp pain.

You pulled back with a gasp, your lips tingling—only to taste the faint metallic tang of blood on your tongue.

Blade was panting, his eyes wrecked, gaze dropping to your lips. A smear of red stained his mouth, his expression completely unreadable.

Then—

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips.

Your chest heaved, your head spinning, and before he could get a single word out, you lunged.

Your teeth sank into his neck—not too hard, but just enough to make him hiss.

Payback.

Blade froze again.

Then, to your utter disbelief—

He laughed.

A low, husky chuckle, deep in his throat, vibrating against your lips as you stayed there, your teeth still grazing his skin.

“You pretty little minx…” His voice was wrecked, and when you finally pulled back, the way he looked at you—

Drunk.

Completely, utterly drunk off of you.

His half-lidded gaze traced your lips—bruised, swollen, and stained red—then flickered to the faint mark you had left on his neck.

His smirk widened, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against him, his breath fanning over your ear.

“…Do it again.”

[a/n- im so fucking high rn, i shud be studying for exams man.. its me, my phone, my blade scenarios and 2 hrs of sleep against the world]

The reader asserting dominance to blade by saying more suicidal jokes than him 🤓and no smut guys idk how to write smut, idm writing it tho

gang if u like my works please like, comment and follow ily guys