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mermaidgirl30 · 8 months

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✨Tear You Apart Part 1: You’re Mine✨

Series Masterlist

My first dark! Joel fic and I think I’m obsessed. I plunged into this head on and got major inspiration from the vampire scene in Saltburn and Little Red Riding Hood. This is filthy and I absolutely love it! There might be a part 2 for this! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts 🖤

“The wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all.” - Kahlil Gibran

- Summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you in the forest?

- Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

- Word Count: 9,718

- Tags: Dark themes, Little red riding hood references, dark! Joel, Joel is a menace, oral, fingering, choking, unprotected P in V, cream pie, filthy smut, degrading actions, not really violent but lots of dark themes, manipulation, rough sex, dirty talk, Joel calls reader little lamb, possessive Joel, feral! Joel, post outbreak! Joel, controlling Joel, dom! Joel, submissive reader, Joel x fem! reader, Joel is in his late 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Songs: “Change” and “Rosemary” by Deftones

The wind tears through the frigid night of Jackson, banging its haunted whispers against the side of the little wooden house. It screams in warning beware, beware. He’s coming. A glaring caution sign from the ghosts of the forest. They scream your name, shrieking and bellowing from the soil below as they make their way above the cold, vacant dirt, floating their way to your doorstep. Clawing, knocking, warning you that he’s close. Get out, leave. He’s near, he’s near. Run.

You want to run, want to sprint out of bed and run as far as you can, but you can’t. He’ll find you, stalk you till he hunts down your scent and discovers you hiding. You pray that he won’t, but he will. He always finds you. And when he does he takes and takes until you have nothing left, feeding his anger and bitter soul, using your body to escape whatever hell he had been through in the past.

You know he’s lost something special, something close to him. You can see it in the wrinkles that encase his forehead. See it in the dark brown flecks of his tired eyes. See it in the way he carries himself, worn and tattered like the old leather boots on his feet. Can feel it when he crowds your body as he lays over you in the middle of the night. Can feel it on his calloused fingers as he bleeds you dry from the inside, hollowing you out and sucking your lifeless soul and taking it as his own.

You never know what he’s lost, can never figure out what it was that was stolen from him. He doesn’t talk about it, will never let you in even though you beg him to. But you can feel the pain, the absolute agony that holds close to his cold heart. It’s whatever he’s lost that drives his rage, his desire for retribution. And it’s that loss that feeds his desire to take, destroy everything in his winding path. That’s why he comes, always at night, always at the dead blackness of night. He comes crawling to you, needing a way to soothe his scorching temper, needing a way to bury the agony of it all.

He’s broken, just like the shattered black military watch he wears on his left wrist. You try to ask him about it, try to graze your fingers over the broken glass, but he growls at you. Gnashing his sharp teeth as he releases the caged up wolf inside him. You know better, but you push back. Let me in, let me in, you scream. But he never does. That just pushes him further, bringing out the beast from within.

He’s coming closer. Almost here, almost here, the ghosts whisper in warning. You can feel him, as if he was already there at your doorstep, as if he was already clawing his fingers into your fragile skin. Tearing you apart piece by piece just the way he likes it.

Your body starts sweating, you toss and turn against the cold sheets that cling to your damp skin. He’s coming, they call. And it’s then that you can feel him as if he’s standing right outside. You can feel the weight of his steps on the cold, snowy ground. You can hear his shaky, quivering breaths as he trudges through the patches of white snow, can feel the warm breath as he blows it out, can reach your shaky fingers out as his breath kisses the sky. You can feel it, can almost taste it as it whips through the wind, landing up against your fogged up bedroom window.

Run. Hide. He’s here, he’s here, the voices warn. But you don’t listen, can’t listen. Joel’s deep voice washes the voices out, makes them flee from your mind. Mine, mine, he screams in your head as he claims you over and over again with his hands. Those big, rough hands that you so desperately want wrapped around you.

You shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t desire it, but you crave him like you’ve never craved anything in your life. He’s like a disease. Festering and invading your body, making you sick with want, with need. Pulling at your insides so much that you can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore the deep ache in between your thighs as you yearn for his touch, for his entire being. And you’re certain that you’re just as fucked in the head as him now.

He makes you sick. Sick with need, with desire. You shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t want this. Most days he’s unkind, barely speaking, barely able to tolerate his own self. But he gives as much as he takes, and you crave the way he gives. And now you’re just as bad as him, just as selfish and needing as him. Mine, mine, you call in your mind. He’s yours just as much as you are his.

Your eyes open wide as you look at the small clock that hangs on the wall, the hand ticking and ticking as it reaches 1:00am, the time he usually comes after his late night watch shift. Your body quakes from the anticipation of him. You can hear him now. He’s here.

You feel the weight of his heavy feet against the wooden floorboards as he opens the front door, hearing it shriek as it closes behind him with a soft shutter as it knocks against the glass window. He’s coming, he’s coming.

You hear the narrow stairs creak as he climbs up the steep steps. He’s coming for you, coming to claim you, to devour you. He’s like a wolf in the night as he stalks his prey. His dark eyes search for you, your scent hanging in the air as he comes for it, chases it, wanting to taste it. Wanting to rip you to shreds under the weight of his body as he claws and pounces on you. Claiming you as his one and only as he dominates you. But you fully oblige, always surrendering yourself to him completely.

You’re little red riding hood, and he’s the big bad wolf that wants to eat you alive as you spill yourself for him, letting him mark his paws all over you until you can only see the blacks of his eyes as he claims you. My, what large eyes you have. But he’s talking to you as he’s in between your legs, lapping up your flavor as he looks up at you with those dark pits and smiles with his sharp canines glistening in the night. And God, you’re already wet thinking about it, already trembling in the sheets as you wait for him, waiting for him to completely ravage you and destroy you until you’re no more.

You want to touch yourself, want to put an end to that aching throb in your center as slick pools inside you, fighting hard to hold back the urge. He’ll be mad if you don’t wait for him. If he sees you fingering yourself before he gets to you, he’ll be furious. He’s selfish, always so fucking selfish with you. He wants to be the one that makes you feel good, under his conditions. He’s dominating, controlling, wanting your orgasms to come from him and him alone. He’s greedy, but he always gives, feeding into your sweet desires as he revels in your body, in your arousal, in your taste.

You hear the rusty doorknob twist and turn under his grasp, hear the door start to creak open as his dark form clouds against the darkness of the hallway. Take me, take me, you beg in your mind. And you swear he can hear you as he stalks towards you with his massive form.

He’s tired, you can see it in his weathered stare as his dark eyes search for you under the silky sheets. He throws off his tan, heavy coat and tosses it to the side of the room. As he makes his way to you, he pushes up his plaid, green sleeves slowly, exposing thick veins that spiral down his arms, ending in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight, taking in the way his arms flex against his sleeves. They pull and tug so tight that they’re bound to rip at any moment as his bulging muscles encase your nimble body.

He stops at the end of the bed, pulling back the clean sheets as he takes in the sheer nightgown you’re in. His eyes trail over your body as his deep scowl turns into something primal, dominant. “Get up,” he demands as he yanks you up by the wrist and pulls you to a standing position. There’s never such a thing as a hello or hi, beautiful. Only ever demands and commands as he comes for one thing, your body.

He pulls up the wooden chair that sits in the corner of the dark room and places it in the middle of the floor. He looks up at you with the darks of his eyes and curls his index finger, coaxing you to sit in the chair. Your body is hypnotized as you dance your way over to him under a waning spell that puts you at ease.

“Sit,” he says firmly as he pushes you down gently, your back hitting the hard wood as you sit up straighter, preparing yourself to give yourself to him. Your hands fall flat against your thighs as the sheer nightgown barely reaches the tips of your knees. You can feel the cold wind as it blows hard outside your window, can almost taste the white snowflakes that linger on his leather boots.

Your breathing goes ragged as he circles the chair. Circling and circling as he trails a calloused finger over your bare shoulders as he takes you in with his chocolate eyes, inspecting you as he drinks in your features. Your throat goes dry as you watch him stalk around you. He’s a hungry wolf and he’s starving for you.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl today?” His words drag against his teeth as he snarls the words out. He continues to circle, making you audibly gulp at the words that leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, your nails digging into the flesh of your aching skin.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks as he circles you again, peeling his hands over your arm as you shiver from his rough fingers.

“N-no,” you stutter out, falling over your words. Except you had. You did earlier in the shower, thinking of Joel’s hands, pretending his fingers were yours as you made yourself feel good, spilling yourself all over the tiled floor as you called his name. Joel, Joel.

“You filthy little liar. I know you did. I can smell your arousal all over your fingers.” He grabs your hand tight and pulls it up to his nose as he inhales deeply, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. When he opens his eyes up, he takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks slowly, watching you with cold, heavy eyes. Your eyes go wide as you watch him slurp your taste up. A wave of slick runs down the seam of your lacy underwear, and you have to squeeze your legs shut at the growing throb that’s now aching to be touched.

He releases your fingers slowly as you watch him pool his saliva all over you, watching it slide over your hand as he drops it back to your knees with a slapping sound that echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He makes a slow, steady circle around you as he halts right next to you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as he bends and places his hands on his knees, slowly curving his spine as he eyes you with a hard line strewn across his lips. You gulp and sit up straight. You’re in trouble, you know it too.

“I, I didn’t mean to…” you squeak out carefully.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he growls. You automatically go quiet, afraid to interrupt him again. “The next time I find out you pleasured yourself without me, I’m gonna make you fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch, you got that?” he hisses.

Your mouth drops open at the mention of you fucking his fingers yourself, and you have to gulp down a moan at the thought of it. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Repeat it!” he yells, anger seething up in him.

“Yes, I understand,” you say with your eyes low, looking down at your shaking hands.

“Good.”

He skates around and stops in front of you, bending down as he places his rough hands on your knees. “Now, what are we gonna do with you, huh? You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks as he moves your hands away and places his own on the end of your sheer nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky as he inches your nightgown higher, grazing his calloused fingers over your thighs, feeling that low tingling sensation start in the back of your spine.

“Good. That’s good,” he groans as he pushes your nightgown up higher and higher, climbing up your thighs until no more material is touching your legs. The only thing left is your white lacy underwear that are ruined from how drenched you are.

“Now, tell me. What were ya thinkin’ about in the shower?” he asks as he slowly pushes your thighs apart, trailing his fingers up nice and slow as he teases you, getting you all worked up for him.

“You, I was thinking about you,” you gasp as he pushes your legs even further, causing more slick to build up from the action of his rugged hands.

“Were ya thinkin’ of these fingers curling up inside you as I make you cum? Or maybe my tongue swirling around that pretty pink clit of yours?” he purrs as he glides his fingers against the edges of your lace, almost touching you where you need him as he ghosts over your center.

“Y-yes, both. Please, Joel,” you beg as he teases you again, ghosting over you without so much as a light touch to your aching center.

“Please what?” he asks with his brown eyes growing darker, the edges of his pupils expanding into dark coal.

“Touch me, please,” you beg, licking your lower lip in anticipation. He sees you slide your tongue over your lip and you see his eyes grow sharper, arousal swirling all around his black pupils.

“Well, since you asked nicely.” He glides his fingers through your clothed folds, and you gasp at the feeling of your budding arousal. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he groans as his chest rises and falls in waves, pulling his fingers away again as you huff in frustration.

He loves to tease you, loves to torture you as he builds you up and then makes you beg for it. He wants to hear it, wants you down on your knees as you plead and moan for him, calling his name as you beg again and again. Touch me, taste me, fuck me.

“Joelllll,” you beg again, dragging the last syllable out as you call his name, needing his fingers on you, needing his tongue, his cock, his everything.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teases, trailing his fingers over your seams again as he slowly unhooks the material from your hips. He slides the wet material down your legs and disposes of them on the ground, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

He pushes your thighs apart and smooths a thumb over your center as he slides it all the way up, collecting slick as he goes along. You shudder under him as you feel yourself drip on the wooden chair, so turned on that you feel like you could orgasm right at this moment. “Goddamn, you're drenched,” he groans as he takes his thumb in his mouth, sucking all the slick off as he stares into your eyes intensely. And fuck, it’s hot.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and show me exactly what you were doing in the shower. Go on,” he nods at you. “Show me how you touched yourself.” He stands back against the wall and leans on it, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, watching as his flexed muscles pull at his plaid shirt. “Any day now,” he says sternly. “Touch yourself. Now,” he growls. You automatically obey and nod up at him.

You gulp saliva down your throat and slowly bring your right hand over your center, gently pressing your fingers to your throbbing clit as you circle yourself, leaning back into the chair as a quiet moan escapes your mouth as you feel the pressure building fast. You’re so close, already so close.

“Eyes on me,” he commands as the low, guttural sound emits around the room.

You pull your head up and lock eyes with him as you focus on your breathy moans, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. You hear the pulsing blood rush through your ears, feel your body tense as you close in on your orgasm. Almost there, almost.

“Place a finger inside you,” he commands, his voice vibrating through your bones. You obey and slide your middle finger inside as you feel the drenched, tight walls cave around your finger. “Another,” he demands as his eyes go pitch black watching you play with yourself. You slide a second one in and curl them up, hitting the spongy walls that threaten to make you cum.

You let out a loud, aching moan as you curl your fingers again and again while your thumb circles your clit in meticulous circles. Your mouth shapes into an O position as you feel your walls clench around you. You pull out a deep rising orgasm that starts low in your spine and spreads over your heated cunt as you climb higher and higher into bliss.

“Good girl,” he growls as he watches your orgasm wash over you. White, hot heat spreading through your entire body as you ride out your first orgasm, throwing your head back as your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling the wooden chair become soaked with your slick.

You take a moment to come back down to earth, back to where you can breathe again. Feeling your ragged breaths become even as you open your eyes and focus on Joel as he stands in the corner brooding and revelling in your pleasure. He’s breathing fast as his broad chest moves up and down, can practically hear him as his breaths come out choked and fast. He’s turned on, you can see the bulge in the outline of his dark jeans as he takes you in with his eyes, trailing over your center again.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a deep voice rasping in the back of his throat.

“Yes, so good,” you breath out tensely. “Want you to make me feel good though,” you beg as you open up your legs for him, feeling his eyes scrape over your soaked outline.

“Oh? Think you learned your lesson?” he asks curiously with a raised brow.

“Yes, promise,” you confirm, already biting your lip at the anticipation of his fingers on you.

“Mmm, alright. Since you did what I asked, I guess you earned a reward.” He stalks toward you, bending down before you as he gets on his knees and brings your legs up over his shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers up your inner thighs as he works you up again, getting you ready for your second orgasm.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soppin’ and drippin’ for me. Want me to make you wetter? Want me to make you see stars?” he purrs as he blows on your center, making you buck your hips up at the breezy feeling as it tickles your most sensitive areas.

“Fuck, yes,” you squirm, begging for his touch.

“Mmm patience, little lamb. Gonna take ya nice and slow. You gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?” he groans as a deep growl escapes his chest.

“Yes, fuck. I’ll be the best girl, your best girl,” you whine out.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” he praises. Before you can respond, he licks a long, slow stripe up your center as you moan out his name.

“What’s that, little lamb? Couldn’t hear you over your moans,” he teases.

He pulls you lower in the chair as the wood scrapes along your back, feeling his rough hands wrap around your thighs tight. He inhales deeply and then spits on your cunt in a degrading, ravishing way. He takes his thumb and spreads the warm spit over your folds as you writhe under his touch.

“Hold still,” he warns as he presses his other hand on your thigh. You nod up at him and let him continue stroking his thumb up and down you, spreading your wet folds as he gently presses slow circles around your bundle of nerves. You let out a low, drawn out moan as he slips two fingers inside you and flicks his tongue back and forth in slow, lapping circles, so close to bringing you to the heavens again, so close to orgasm already.

One more thrust inside of you and then he’s pulling his fingers out, leaving your clit as he takes his mouth off you and backs up, dropping your legs from his shoulders as he stays straddling in between your legs. Why did he stop? Why did he fucking stop?

“Joel, I need to…I need to…” you whine out. He hushes you with the swipe of his finger to your lips, and you quietly pout as your eyebrows furrow together. Need to cum, need to cum.

“Think you deserve it?” he asks as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, building you up even more as you beg to cum.

“Yes,” you cry out, your clit throbbing with need, your body sick with desperation to let go.

He chuckles a low laugh and smirks up at you, his dark eyes honing in as the black pits expand around him. He’s cruel, wicked, a devil in disguise as he torments you. He knows what he’s doing, he knows.

Filthy trickster, vicious teaser. Cruel, cruel, cruel, the voices whisper in your mind, filling you with regret and longing as you dig your nails into the wooden chair, feeling your body screaming at you. Let go, let go. Need to cum, need to cum. Joel sees the torment in your needing eyes, sees the way you’re scraping your nails into the wood as you beg him to release you with your watering eyes.

“You know, the female orgasm is a complex thing. I can feel you screaming inside to let go, can see the way you ache for release.” He grunts as he pushes a wet, hot finger inside your mouth, slowly pushing a second in as he slides his fingers further up, feeling your saliva cake around him.

“Suck,” he commands. You do as he says and suck his fingers, feeling your sweet arousal slide down the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he praises, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers inside your panting mouth.

“It’s just so hot to watch you suck my fingers with your dripping slick all over them,” he says as he bites his lip, sending his fingers further down your throat as you gag and choke on them, seeing his eyes become full black pits as he watches with pleasure. “Such a good girl, choking on my fingers. Wanna see you choke on something else,” he growls as his sharp incisors beam up at you in a smirk as he slowly releases his fingers from your mouth, pulling saliva with him.

You groan at the sight of his disheveled, tousled curls, at the grey patchy beard that encases his face, at the smoldering stare he’s giving you, at that devilish smirk that’s taunting and teasing you in the most torturous way.

“Your mouth. God, your mouth looks so inviting, and your teeth. They’d feel so good closed around my neck,” you whine as you beg him to finish you off, let you cum in peace.

“Mhmm. The better to eat you with, my dear,” he smirks. The little red riding hood quote takes you for a ride as you feel your cunt clench up around nothing, needing a release.

He smirks up at you once more and winks before he dives back into you, his fingers curling up inside as they jab up into your spongy spot, his mouth pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the bubbling sensation, feel the waves crashing around you as they pull you under, drowning you in a wave of bliss and white heat as it explodes around you. You scream his name loud and desperate as you feel yourself let go. You clench around his fingers and then release, spilling your slick all over him. But what takes you by surprise is that’s not all.

You feel another orgasm take over as your body crumbles underneath him as he continues licking up your slick, working his fingers up and down you as he draws out more, spilling all of you, taking all of you for himself. Selfish, so selfish. But he builds you up so good that this is the best release you’ve ever experienced, like you’re walking on cloud nine as you feel a squirting sensation take over. Feeling yourself inject him with your slick as it sprays all over the front of his plaid shirt.

“Goddamn!” he yells as he pumps his fingers inside you, slowing his rhythm as he works it all out of you. You feel your legs shake and shutter around him as he holds your thighs open, not letting you close until he’s gotten every last drop out of you. After a few seconds of total bliss, you feel your body relax as there’s no more. That was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you wanted more. Needed him to continue to do that for however long this would go on.

“See what happens when I make you wait, when I tease you,” he smirks. “Makes you feel that much better,” he smiles, a devilish grin taking form on his face.

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller,” you respond out of breath, your eyes glazed over as you look over his aroused face.

“A menace, huh? Is that what I am?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns, slowly sliding his hands over your pale skin as he drags over your thighs, ending at your knees.

“What if I don’t?” you mock, wanting to test the waters, wanting to feed his anger. Keep quiet, keep quiet, the voices whisper. But you don’t listen. You never listen, always pushing them aside.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you see his features turning from day to night. He’s furious, his anger fuming inside him as you challenge him. Back down, back down, run, the ghosts scream. But you don’t. You stand your ground, let him rip into you as he takes control. You want him to, you need him to. He’s ruined you like the dead soil that lies in the snowed over dirt outside. He fucking ruined you.

You watch as his eyes turn frigid, his blood running cold as his eyebrows furrow up, his rage conforming to every bone in his hollow body. He’s on you in the next second, his hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes just slightly, not enough to hurt you. He’s warning you, declaring his dominance over you. Telling you that he owns you, controls you.

He hovers in front of your face as his hot breath blows over you, smelling a hint of coffee and whiskey as it surrounds you like a cloud. You could get drunk off his scent, drunk off him. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, little lamb. You know what happens when you open that pretty fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He narrows his eyes as they stare into you like sharp daggers.

He squeezes your neck tighter and you try to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not to the point of pain. He never goes too far, only gets you close. It feels good, so good the way he’s squeezing, the veins in your neck begging him to put more pressure into it. You’re sick, infected with his poison with the way he mind fucks you into doing anything he says. You're a puppet, and he’s pulling all the strings.

Get out, get out, they scream. He comes to take, he comes to destroy, they warn. But you don’t care. Let him destroy. You want him to, need him to destroy your body. You let him take, let him consume you as he throws you to the wolves. Except he is the wolf, and he is the one that tears you apart piece by fucking piece. A lamb to a wolf’s slaughter.

He ghosts his lips against your ear, slowly biting down on your earlobe as he pulls down sharply. You wince and he lets go slowly. His rough tongue glides up your jawline as he squeezes lightly around your throat, building that sweet pool of arousal up again as he twists your emotions. You can barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. He’s been so rough with you, has done so many demoralizing things as he takes and takes from you, feeding his hatred and anger from the ghosts of his past. But he makes you feel so good, so fucking good. You can never deny him, can never run from him. You want it, you want it. So you’ll have it, you’ll have him.

“I could just eat you right up,” he purrs as he bites at your lower lip, pulling it back and releasing as it slaps back into place. You feel the sting of his teeth mark your throbbing lip, but it feels so good. So good.

“So do it. Take me,” you beg, choking out the words with his strong hand wrapped around you.

His eyes go black as he smirks up at you, his eyes smoldering into yours. “You asked for it, little lamb. Now c’mere.” He growls as he releases his death grip on your neck and yanks you out of the chair, slamming you into the white wall as he pins your arms above you and shoves the sheer nightgown up your body. He rips it over your head and tosses it to the floor in a heap.

You feel the cold air across your bare skin as his body crowds you, his lips sinking deep into your neck as he bites at the thin flesh. He pulls and tugs and sucks in a needy, aggressive way. You release breathy moans as the pain turns to pleasure, as you fall deep into the wolf’s trap as he claws at you. Taking, taking, taking. He’s rough, insensitive, always taking what he wants, what he craves. But you let him, you always let him.

He rolls your nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs, gathering your breasts as he kneads them together, making you pebble underneath him as he bites at them, leaving marks all over you. He claims, he takes with no regard for you. It’s what he needs, but you need it just as bad now. He’s brought you to ruin again and again, and he’ll continue to take advantage. You’ll let him, you’ll let him.

He glides his tongue back up to the crook of your neck and bites hard as you scream in both pleasure and pain. It’s too much, too much. But you take it, allowing him to have his way with you. He needs it, he needs it.

You feel the edge of his bulge against your leg as his hips dig into you, feel the shape as your body shakes around you. You want it, you need his cock. Your hands are still held against your will above you, so you lift your leg up slowly, skimming the base of him as you feel his large length through his denim. He grabs your leg fast and shoves it down as he grabs your chin and brings your eyes to his level.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” he snarls as his jagged teeth shine in the moonlight.

“No…” you whisper scarcely.

“No is right,” he snarls with bared teeth. “You do as I say when I say it. Got it?” he asks as he shoves you up against the wall, keeping his hand planted firmly against your jaw.

“Yes, sir,” you respond with a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he smirks. “Now, let me teach you a little lesson on how to fucking do as you’re told,” he growls. “Stay,” he commands as he leaves you clinging to the thin wall. He saunters over to the wooden chair and takes a seat as he spreads his legs, palming himself slowly as one hand unlatches his leather belt and drops it to the floor with a clank.

“Get on all fours, now,” he commands as he swiftly unzips his jeans, slowly yanking them to the ground as he kicks off his leather boots and pushes the jeans to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. You gawk at the size of him, of that massive twitching erection as it plants firmly against his tight stomach, a bead of precum glistening on the swollen tip of him. He’s so fucking pretty sitting there, about to palm himself as he watches you. Something about that brings out the sultry, unruly side of you. You want to taste him, need to feel him inside you.

You’re on all fours, waiting for his commanding call as he allows you to come to him. You need to feel him, need to taste him, need to smell him as his hot arousal encases the air, taking over every logical sense of your brain as he calls to you in your mind. Come out, come out wherever you are, little lamb. Time to come play with the big, bad wolf.

“Crawl,” he growls from the middle of the room, glaring his dark black pits into your soul. You generously oblige as you scrape your nails over the wooden floor, feeling your knees drag behind you as you make your way to him slowly and steadily. You feel your eyes gloss over with pure lust as you stare up at him, watching him pump his hand up and down his large cock, spreading precum all over himself. You gulp at the sight, at the massive length he has on him.

God, he’s so big. So big that when he takes you, he stretches you to your limits. Splitting you in two as he drives into you over and over again. It’s never vanilla, it’s always rough. So very rough. But you like it. Like the way he feels inside you as he claims you, dominates you. You’re mine, all mine, he grits through his teeth as he takes you, digging his nails into your skin as he rips at you, shredding you to pieces.

Take me, take me, you beg through your mind. And you swear he hears you by the way he sits up straighter at full attention and smirks down at you with eyes full of pure lust. And he’s telling you now with his smirk, with his eyes. You’re mine, he growls. And you know it, you know it. His to take.

You grovel over to him, batting your long eyelashes up at him as if that’ll stir the desire in him. You bite your lower lip and flick your tongue across the edge seductively as you smolder for him. Take me, take me, you scream.

The anger builds in him as he snarls down at you and hisses as he continues to pump his large length. The thick veins cascade around his thick cock as shots of precum drip down around him, ending in his coarse, wiry hair. You want to taste him, need to taste him. You’ve never craved anyone like this in your entire life.

He wrapped his twisting vines around your wrists and pulled until he had a forceful hold on you. He dragged you through the pitch black forest and devoured your body, claiming you as his own in the first week he met you. And you were hooked ever since, never being able to say no to him. You could even hear the forest shrieking its warning calls. Run away, leave, get away from the wolf with dark eyes. But you didn’t listen, only hypnotized by the dark, dominant beast of the night.

When you finally reach him and work your way in between his legs, he grabs your jaw with his rough hand and forces you to open as he squeezes you tight. “Tongue out,” he presses and you fully oblige.

You stick your wet tongue out, and he brings the tip of his cock to you as you slowly lap at the end with your tongue. “Fuck,” he groans from deep in his chest as he stares down at you with a snarl. You slowly draw sensual circles with your tongue along his most sensitive spots and lap up precum into your mouth as you generously swallow the salty flavor of him. You smirk up at him as you lap at his tip, giving him your best smoldering eyes that you can.

You watch his eyes turn coal black as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your eyes up to his. You wince at the pain simmering through your skull as he holds you tight, unable to move an inch from him. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me,” he growls as his piercing eyes sear through you like a knife. He pulls your hair tighter and you cry out in pain. “You gonna be a good girl and behave?” he asks with a twinge of anger in his deep voice.

“Mhm,” you nod as he stares his hard eyes into you.

“Better be.” He bares his teeth as he lets his grip drop from you, and you catch yourself on his knees. “Now be a good little lamb and show me how good your mouth fucks,” he growls as he sits back in the wooden chair and scoots his hips up, waiting to be pleasured by you.

You’re quick to appease him. You wrap a hand around his thick cock and slide your hand up and down, spreading precum all around his length, and then you take him in your mouth. You work him nice and slow as you bob up and down, up and down, gathering spit all over his cock. He moans a deep, sated sound out of his throat as he watches you with hollowed out black eyes.

You continue flicking your tongue and sucking his thick, substantial length as you work up and down to please him. You can tell he’s right on the edge of release by the way he’s clenching his jaw and breathing out ragged, concentrated moans. But he won’t end there, not tonight. He’ll push your boundaries, he always does.

As you pull back to his tip, he reaches down and grabs your hair hard and thrusts up into your mouth. He brings your head forward and forces you down as his large length hits the back of your throat, making your eyes start to water from the action. He doesn’t let up, he just keeps thrusting harder and faster as he mouth fucks you forcefully.

You choke and gag on him as he hits the back of your throat over and over again. Your mouth is a swimming pool of saliva as it drips down your chin, caking his cock with slick drool. You feel like you're drowning and can’t breathe underneath him, but he keeps going. He’s almost there, almost there. Need to breathe, need to breathe. Your eyes water as tears spill down your crimson cheeks and fall to the cold floor. He’s pushing you, always pushing you to your limits as he pushes past them. He loves when you choke on him, loves to hear the gargled, gagging sounds as your throat constricts around him. And when you look into his black eyes and see the way he bares his sharp teeth down at you, you know you made him feel good.

“You look so goddamn pretty choking on me, little lamb. Feels so fucking good when you deep throat me, when I fuck your mouth with my cock,” he moans as he pushes you deeper, nearly suffocating you under the weight of his massive cock that’s coated in drool. “Now you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow for me,” he commands as he thrusts inside you.

You can’t take much more. You’re out of breath and you’re digging into his thighs as you continue to take him, barely able to hold on anymore. You see him clench his jaw again, his breath speeding up as he groans curses out of his mouth. He’s there, he’s there. His dark eyes roll back as he holds your head in place and releases his load all through the back of your throat. You feel the white, hot liquid slide down your throat as you swallow the salty taste of him.

“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes releasing himself in you. You watch his body go slack against the back of the chair as he breathes hot, whimpered moans from deep within his chest. He drops his hand from the back of your head, and you pull back, finally able to breathe again. You catch your breath and cough as you choke on more saliva and cum. You brace your hands on the cool floor and sink your nails into the wood, getting a grip on reality again as your body comes back to earth. Your voice is so shaky, so raspy as you wipe the drool from your chin and swipe the tears from your eyes.

He takes, he takes, the voices whisper. But you let him take, you let him ravage you as much as he wants. Don’t give in, don’t listen to the beast. But you do, you always do. The beast has claimed you as his, and little lambs always listen to their master.

The shrieking wind blows against your window, warning you of the beast that lies inside. Warning you that there’s danger near, and it’s lurking. That danger sits in your wooden chair, revitalizing himself before he crowds your body over the bed. He’s not done with you just yet. He needs to feed, needs to devour the entirety of you. He needs to destroy every last part of you as he claims you for himself over and over again.

He slowly pushes himself out of the wooden chair and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the cold floor as he grasps you tight. “On the bed,” he commands as he bares his teeth and pulls you over to the queen sized bed. He pushes you down as you fall on your back into the cool, satiny sheets.

He slowly unbuttons his plaid shirt as he stalks toward you with dark eyes that look like they want to devour you whole. When he gets to the last button, he pulls off the shirt and drops it to the floor, leaving him completely bare. He’s so goddamn handsome that it hurts to even stare for too long.

His broad shoulders and thick arms make it hard to breathe. His bulging veins that spider down his arms and cover his massive hands makes you want to whine in need. His tousled curls and brown flecked eyes make you want to come undone just from one look. They’re hypnotizing, spellbinding. And if you look close enough, you swear you can see the flash of yellow in his eyes as he stalks toward you, ready to pounce as he comes in for the kill.

Run, go now before it’s too late, the voices warn. The wolf comes to steal, the wolf comes to kill, they shriek. Let him, you whisper to the voices. You’re his to take. You want him to take. Take me, take me, you beg. And he will, he always does.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as he drags his body over the edge of the bed, slowly crawling on top of you as his massive form hangs over you. His eyes are black pits as they stare at you, tempting you to come into the darkness as he drags you down again and again. Your eyes go wide and your pulse races in your neck as you stare up at the man made of nightmares.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Scared of the big bad wolf?” he asks as he smirks down at you, his eyes pooled with darkness.

“No, I’m not scared,” you whisper out as you gulp down your fears.

“Then why can I smell the fear on you?” he smiles, his teeth like white, jagged razors.

“I’m not scared of you. No. I’m scared you’ll run off into the night and never come back.” Your voice comes out meek, breathy. Why the fuck did you just say that? His smile drops from his face and his eyebrows knit together. You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t tell what he’ll do. Don’t go, don’t go, you whisper. You need him. You need him.

His jaw flexes and relaxes as you see his waning features in the moonlight. He grazes his calloused fingers over your jaw slowly and comes to cup your chin as he pulls your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, little lamb. Even if I run, I always come back. You’re mine and mine alone. Tell me who you belong to,” he growls possessively, making you desperate for his touch. You need him, you need him.

“You. I belong to you. I’m yours,” you gasp out, not able to hold on much longer. Touch me, taste me, devour me.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

Before you can comprehend what happens, he crashes his lips down to yours and devours you. Sucking, biting, kissing your throbbing lips as he shoves his tongue in your mouth and glides his rough tongue against yours. He swirls and swirls, filling up your senses with the taste of him. He tastes so fucking good, you could get lost in his whiskey taste, needing to drown in it until it fills up your lungs completely.

When he releases from your mouth, he cages his arms around your shoulders and crowds your body with his. “Little lamb, little lamb. What pretty eyes you have,” he purrs as he slowly pushes your legs apart with his knees, spreading you wide open for him to take. You bite your lip at the gentle praise and feel yourself become wet with arousal at the sight of him spreading you.

He lowers his head to your neck and licks a stripe up the side, right in the sensitive crevice of your neck. “And you taste so fucking good, I just love eating you up,” he groans as he bites down on your most sensitive nerve ending in your neck. You moan at the sharp, hot sensation as a wave of slick runs down your inner thigh.

He trails his hand slowly down your center, starting at your chin, gliding down your sternum, sliding over your abdomen, and ending at your wet, hot center. He spreads your soft folds and draws tight, slow circles around your clit as you hear the sloshing noises from your arousal.

“Joel,” you moan out, whining as it takes you under a sea of hypnotic pleasure. “Take me. Please, take me,” you beg.

“That’s right, little lamb. Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” he praises through your thick cloud of pleasure. “Gonna fuck you now, little lamb. Gonna show you how good I can make you feel,” he says with bared teeth.

“Please,” you beg as he takes his thumb off your clit and pulls you down further in the bed, angling your hips up as he wraps your legs tight around his back.

“You’re mine, little lamb. Mine,” he growls as he plunges his thick cock in you, spreading you wide and splitting you in two as you moan out in pleasure.

He keeps his strides steady and slow, quickly picking up the pace as he fucks up into you over and over again. Driving your moans out of you as he bottoms out inside you, pounding over and over again against your tight walls. He throws your legs over his shoulders and digs his nails into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, repeatedly hitting the soft, spongy area inside you over and over again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. You whine out as you moan his name over and over again. So good, it feels so good. You can feel the pressure building, feel your orgasm about to take form as your walls flutter against his cock.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, little lamb. Feels so fuckin’ good. Let go for me, want you to come for me. Tell me who fuckin’ makes you feel good. Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to,” he growls as he fucks inside you harder, pressing the pad of his calloused thumb against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he circles and circles, drawing that sweet orgasm out of you.

You feel the tingling sensation wash over your head, down your spine, and ending at your aching cunt as your toes curl around him. You keep your eyes trained on him as you’re barely able to keep them open. You feel your mouth drop open wide as you let out a loud moan that’s meant for Joel.

“You. I belong to you, Joel.” You scream out his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling your walls clench up around him and then release white slick all over his cock as he continues to thrust up inside you, as he continues to circle your pulsing clit. White, hot heat spills through you as you completely lose yourself to him. Your body feels staticky as your mind goes fuzzy and your brain fogs over, only thinking of the man with dark eyes that takes you over completely.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls as he leans over your body and hovers over you, driving his thick cock in and out, in and out. Bottoming out so many times that you see stars. He’s there, he’s almost there, he’s about to cum. Four more thrusts and his body tenses up, his black pupils expanding as he throws his head back and clenches his jaw. He spills his seed inside of you as you feel the sticky cum coat your walls. He claims you, he claims you, and you love it, can never get enough. Mine, mine, mine, he growls possessively. And you’re his, you’re all his.

He slowly pulls out of you as you feel his seed drip down your inner thighs. “Did so good for me, little lamb. So good,” he praises as he cleans the mess from your thighs, wiping away the evidence that he had been there. He collapses next to you in bed and pulls you to him as he wraps his strong arms around you, crushing you to his chest. It feels good, this feels good.

He always leaves right after he finishes, never stays to comfort or hold you. He’s selfish, mean, but tonight he holds you. He holds you. He stays. You don’t say anything about it, don’t ask him why he stays because he’ll just get up and leave, leaving you empty and alone.

You feel the heavy weight he holds close to him, feel the heartbreak he carries with him day after day, can feel the cold glass of the broken watch grazing against your back. But you don’t ask, don’t chance it. You feel the loss cover him, feel his anger seething somewhere underneath his calm demeanor. It’s there just waiting to pounce, waiting to lash out at whatever stands in front of him.

He’s the wolf that stalks Jackson, the wolf that terrorizes the forest, the wolf that haunts the whispering ghosts that lie buried in the cold, dead ground. He goes around destroying, rampaging, slaughtering in the thick of the night. He’s a menace that looks for anything he can sink his teeth into and bleed dry. He’s a looming threat over every area he enters, threatening to destroy and kill. He takes, he takes. Again and again. But that’s what wolves do. They hunt and they take and they dominate while their prey cower before them, just waiting for the kill.

Joel is a wolf. A reckless, vengeful, powerful wolf. He loves to devour, loves to control, loves to dominate you. But he also gives, never letting you go starving for his touch. He always comes at the dead of night, always pulls you from your deep sleep to tumble around with the wolf in the sheets.

He’s like a melodic, captivating melody that hypnotizes you, calling you into the forest night after night with his deep howl. You always go, never ignoring the call that’s meant for you and you alone. And when you go, the ghosts reach for you from under the dirt and try to pull you away, warning you of what you’re about to face. But you ignore them, stepping over their graves as if they were never there. You go, you always go. Never betraying the lonely wolf with the sad, dark eyes.

It’s now while he holds you tight in his arms that you realize maybe you were meant to find him. He’s broken, a lone wolf that walks the hollow streets of Jackson just trying to find a purpose to keep going, to keep fighting. And when you showed up a few months ago, it's like a little light turned on inside him when it was all around black before you came.

You see him now for what he really is. He’s not all bad, not all teeth and claws. He yearns to break free from his wolf form, begging to run free with the rest of the pack instead of being cast out like he is. You see it in his wrinkled forehead, in his jaw that repeatedly clenches and relaxes, in his dark brown eyes that hollow out when you stare into them.

He’s so close, so close that you smell his mahogany forest scent that clings to him as it pulls you in, intoxicating you into a relaxed state. He stares at you with those dark eyes, his chest breathing in and out in shallow waves. You try something new, feeling brave all of a sudden. You slowly reach out your hand and brush it through his tousled curls, gently moving away a dark piece that falls against the side of his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lash out at you like a wild animal. He stays calm, just staring at you with a soft expression. His eyes change to a chocolate brown instead of the deep black pits he usually has. And then he surprises you by reaching his hand up slowly to your face, hesitating at the gentleness of himself. He trails his calloused fingers over your cheek, as light as a feather as he takes in your tranquil features.

He changes, he changes, the voices call. No more teeth, no more slaughter, they chant louder. A quiet victory to the ghosts that haunt the forest.

And just like that, you have tamed the wolf, controlling all his pent up rage, giving him the restitution he needed all along. You can see it in his big brown eyes, how he looks at you as if you saw him for the first time when no one else did. When no one else could give him what he needed. He needed someone that could understand all the hurt and loss he had been through. You’ve lost, you’ve died a thousand times through grief, but you found your way again through him. The hungry wolf that you were searching for all along.

And so the lost, scared lamb found herself in the face of the big, bad wolf. He came to destroy, to take, and to use. But you found a way to tame the claws, to tame the gnashing teeth. Somehow you controlled the beast, showing him that he truly wasn’t alone. Never leave, never leave, you call to him in your mind. And it’s like he can hear your thoughts because he drags his thumb lightly down your jawline and responds.

“I’ll stay, little lamb. I’ll stay,” he whispers. And he does, he does.

Maybe not all wolves are out to steal, kill, and destroy. Maybe there are wolves that are just lonely, broken, needing to know that someone understands them. Needing to know that they’re truly not alone. Joel is that wolf. He just needed to find you. He needed to find the lamb that wouldn’t run and cower in his presence. He needed a lamb that would stay by his side, that would show him the way out of the dark and into the light. He needed restitution. He needed you. He needed you.

And so he stays, he stays. The lonely, bleeding, broken wolf finding resolve and contentment with the quiet, gentle lamb. He stays.

Tags: @janaispunk @amyispxnk @iamasaddie @ashleymsnodgrass @tuquoquebrute @whxtedreams @fanfictilltheend @burntheedges @cinnamongorll @studioghibelli @pedrostories @blueseastorm @trea-bae

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distractedducky · 4 months

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Ok, so I had an idea for a teen wolf fic I have neither the talent nor the time to write - so I’m putting it out into the world for those much more talented and motivated then me.

It’s kinda a 5+1 sounding idea about the fact that the wolves think stiles is weaker then he is. Not in a bad way, but in the way where they no longer know how to gage human strength and even though stiles looks like this

They forget that he is probably in better shape then almost any human around (not to mention in an fbi training programming).

So the basic idea is either stiles will be doing something that requires strength- like lifting bags of cement or fertilizer- moving/opening something- etc and a pack member will either come in and “help” him by assuming he was struggling. Or stiles pretends to struggle and then a pack member helps them only for when they leave for him to just effortlessly handle the rest.

I picture it either ending with stiles having to do something when the wolves are incapacitated- either funny like they lost their powers and stiles has to do a bunch of stuff they used to. Or serious like they are all in danger and stiles moves a thing previously thought to be too much for him.

Mostly I have this scene in my head of stiles moving into a new apt or something with someone from quantico and Derek or Scott won’t let him lift anything heavy . And while there doing that the other person who is human and knows stiles is strong just goes “ they do know you can bench press my body weight right” and stiles just grins.

Anyway, someone can do whatever with this. It can be any time line with any pack members, ships or no ships. Let it infect your brain like it has mine.

My only ask, is if this does inspire you to write something please tag me.

Have a great day

#teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf fic idea #teen wolf fic #stiles stilinski #the hale pack #scott mccall #derek hale #werewolves #please do something #i can’t stop thinking about it

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apomaro-mellow · 9 months

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Every Baby Needs a Daddy 6

Part 5

Come for the sugar daddy fantasy stay for my everybody-loves-steve agenda

Eddie insisted on helping Steve with his suit the night of the soiree. Steve allowed him into his apartment for the first time, after some extensive cleaning. Eddie was already dressed in his suit, red, no shirt underneath. He took the garment bag from Eddie, kissed his lips, and then went to his bedroom. Eddie got a glimpse of his nest before the door was shut.

"Uhh? Baby?"

"No peeking", Steve said from behind the door.

"Babyyyy", Eddie whined, pressing his face to the wood.

Steve grinned to himself as he listened, getting dressed on his own anyway. "I don't want to be late. And if I let you 'help' that's exactly what will happen."

It wasn't just what Eddie would do. It was what Steve would let him get away with. It would be very easy to let Eddie in and then tumble in his nest. The thought of letting Eddie's scent mix in... Steve wondered if he could get away with sneaking a piece of his clothing away. But Eddie had promised him a fun night out and said he'd be meeting his bandmates as well.

He finished getting dressed and came out. Eddie stumbled, being nearly glued to the door. Steve almost made a joke about falling for him.

"You gonna be this attached to me all night?", he asked instead.

Eddie righted himself and stood up straight. "If I let you out of my sight, the wolves will descend on you Lil Red."

Steve put his hands on Eddie's chest and leaned in. "Good thing I've got a big, strong woodsman to keep me safe~"

Since it was a band event, Eddie had a personal driver this time. That meant he could sit in the backseat and play with Steve the whole way. Eddie's hand was firm on Steve's thigh while the other held his hip. He'd wanted to bury them in Steve's tresses but one firm tap and reprimand 'don't touch the hair' and here they were.

Eddie was nibbling on Steve's neck, wishing he could put something more permanent on him. Let others know who he belonged to. When they arrived, Steve took a moment to get himself together. Eddie thought he looked just as radiant now as he did with sex-tousled hair but he liked seeing his baby primp too.

Eddie led him, arm in arm, into a nightclub. The music was energetic but didn't really seem to fit with Eddie's usual metal scene. Steve had done some research on the band, listened to a few songs, learned the other members names too. So even through the blaring music, he was able to understand when Eddie brought them over to a reserved table where the rest of them awaited.

"So this is the guy?", Jeff asked.

"This must be the guy", Gareth nodded.

"Can't be anyone else but the guy", Grant raised his glass to Steve.

Steve smiled at Eddie. "You've been telling them about me?"

"You're a secret I don't wanna keep, babydoll", Eddie smiled back.

"DJ here is mixing a set around one of our albums", Jeff said. "Kind of a little promotion for us. And when we share the video, he'll get a bump too."

"I thought this was a little out of the box for your sound", Steve said.

"You listen to our music?", Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged, playing it off. "I've dabbled." He leaned into Eddie's space to take a sip from the drink in his hand. "What about you? Do you dabble in this?"

"Not quite my scene, no. I'm an appreciator of most genres though."

"Can we finally break the silence on Eddie's jazz phase?", Gareth said.

"What's wrong with jazz?", Steve asked.

"Music was fine", Grant clarified, "He just got super pretentious about the different subgenres."

"He was insufferable", Gareth added.

"What about you guys, then?", Steve pointed the question to them. "Are you into this kind of music?"

"It's something to dance to", Jeff replied.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Care to dance?", Steve asked.

Jeff gave a look to Eddie, asking permission. Amused, Steve also looked to Eddie for his response. Eddie's arm had been wrapped rather possessively around him for most of the night, so he could feel how antsy Steve was getting. Eddie gave his hip a pat.

"Go have fun."

Steve kissed his cheek and then went down to the dance floor with Jeff. He loved to move and he'd been itching to dance all night, but Eddie didn't seem like a dancer, at least not to this kind of music. And he wasn't about to just go out and dance with someone random in the club. Jeff was the perfect partner, knowing when to be close and when to give him space.

He felt a finger tap his shoulder and when he turned, Grant was there. Following the beat of the music, Steve gave him his attention. He was able to catch Eddie's eyes just once and saw the hunger in his eyes. When Gareth came to dance, he was a little more hesitant to touch Steve until Steve himself pulled Gareth's hands to him.

The way they all touched him was polite but there was an underlying desire. They were showing appreciation, but they weren't going to challenge the pseudo-claim Eddie had on him. He caught Eddie's gaze again and it was darker this time. He began to walk off the dance floor, ignoring a few calls from voices he didn't recognize.

Steve returned to Eddie and straddled his lap. "Sure I can't tempt you to dance?"

"There's not a thing you can't tempt me into, sweetheart. But you'll have to give me something dance-able. Liked seein' you have fun though. My boys take care of you?"

"Mhm, they were very gentlemanly." Steve's hand dipped under Eddie's suit jacket, needing skin to skin contact.

"Music to my ears", Eddie said against Steve's lips before meeting them. He growled against his mouth as he was able to detect the scents of his friends on him. Steve was pack. Steve was his.

Eddie practically dragged him out of the club and back into the car. The door was barely closed before Steve was in his lap again. He was writhing, probably very close to ruining the nice suit pants.

"Come with me", Eddie breathed.

"Yes, Daddy", Steve moaned into his ear.

"No I mean, on tour. Come with me on tour baby."

Steve paused in his humping to look in Eddie's eyes. "You want me along for the ride?"

Eddie nodded, eyes wide and big as if there was ever a chance that Steve would say no. But he also couldn't just say yes.

"For how long?"

Eddie licked his lips. "Two months."

"My job..."

"I'll take care of anything you need", Eddie said quickly.

"My apartment-"

"I'll handle it, baby. Just please say you'll come."

Steve's head tilted to the side. Robin's words echoed in his head. Wasn't this the scenario he'd been running from? An alpha having control over his life? If for even a moment, Eddie changed his mind about him, he'd be out a job and a home. Steve looked back down at him and that was his undoing.

"I'll need a new suitcase, and wardrobe, and-"

"Done, done, and whatever else you can think of, it's done." Eddie kissed him in elation, much sweeter than anything else they'd done all night.

-------------------------

Steve at least tried to sell the whole 'can I bounce for two months and come back later' at his job but obviously that didn't fly. It was fine. It wasn't really the work or even the miniscule paycheck he was attached to. It was simply the comfort of doing the same thing in the same place every day. He could fill out applications on the road and get the same job anywhere.

True to his word, Eddie took him out shopping just a couple of days later.

"I meant to tell you", Eddie said as they walked through the mall. He was dressed very casually in jeans and a t-shirt under a vest with the band's logo on the back. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he kept his shades on inside. "That lunch meeting with sushi? Went pretty good. Your advice worked."

"You sound surprised", Steve teased. He was wearing a green sweater and light jeans.

"Not surprised, beautiful. Just in awe." Eddie put an arm around him as he led him into the first store.

Just like at the tailor's Eddie let Steve loose, letting him pick and choose what he wanted. After the third store, Steve was looking at him hesitantly.

"You're really going to spoil me. Going to turn me into a brat and anything."

"What? You? My sweet angel babydoll? Never", Eddie smirked. "You're acting like no one's ever lavished you like this."

Steve shrugged. "Well, not like this but-", then he thought better of it. "Never mind."

"I don't think so, baby. I think I deserve at least one story of past-Steve. You got to google search my life story."

"How do you know I didn't ask Jeeves?"

Eddie put a hand to his heart, then took his hat off like a sign of respect. "RIP to a real one. But you're not gonna distract me, Stevie. I feel like you've been keeping something from me. Not something big, just something you don't think I should know."

Breaking his gaze from Eddie's, Steve spied a restaurant inside the mall. "Let's eat."

Eddie had them get a booth in the back, figuring Steve would want some modicum of privacy for this. He wasn't expecting a bombshell, but he figured it must mean something to Steve.

"So, when you met me, you probably thought I was this... downtrodden, poor omega with nowhere to go." That rainy night seemed so long ago.

"That's not what I thought at all", Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Honestly thought you were waiting for someone. Made no sense to me that you were all alone."

Steve smiled. "Well, I wasn't always alone. Not physically, at least. My parents are Layton and Margaret Harrington. They've got a hand in a lot of things but most of our money comes from apple orchards of all things."

"So you're the heir to a vast apple fortune", Eddie surmised.

"Was the heir to a vast fortune."

"Is there a story behind that?", Eddie asked, watching Steve pick at his food.

"Not an original one", Steve said with a chuckle. "They paraded the alpha sons of their associates. I was also paraded. I was offered a life where all I had to do was look nice and speak little and eventually bring up the next generation of whatever old money family my parents chose for me... It was suffocating."

Eddie's leg stuck out from under the table and rubbed against his. "You got your own place. And your own job. You got out. Why would you keep this from me though? Doesn't sound particularly scandalous."

"I don't know", Steve shook his head. "Maybe I didn't want you to think I was a gold digger, or maybe I didn't want you to think I had super high expectations, or-it just felt like I shouldn't tell you. I'm tired of carrying my parents around."

"They're really that loaded?"

"Didn't you hear me say 'old money'?"

"Is there some scorned ex-fiance I should be worried about?"

"Hmmmnope."

"You sure about that, sweetness?"

"I'm sure. None of them are looking for me. And none of them hold a candle to you."

Eddie could understand wanting to leave the past in the past. After eating, they continued their shopping spree. Eddie paused at a costume shop that showed a few of the outfits on mannequins in the window. Steve followed his line of sight and grinned.

"Gimme your card."

"Sure, what for?", Eddie asked as he handed it over to Steve.

"For a surprise. Go get a pretzel. I'll text you when I'm ready." He kissed Eddie's cheek and then went into the costume shop.

Whipped like cream, Eddie did in fact go get a pretzel, fantasizing about all the little outfits Steve could be buying right now. When they met up, he wasn't allowed to peek. So while he knew there must be a costume of some kind in Steve's wardrobe now, he was oblivious to the lingerie he'd bought as well.

Part 7

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @marklee-blackmore

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o #corroded coffin #everybody loves steve

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mothduchess · 2 months

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Kitsune HRT Part 1

There was a light shower accompanied by the gentle pitter patter of daylight, the sky untarnished by any cloud or dreariness. The earth was laid bare to a dance of shadows and puddles as light fluttered about the scene, parading through the golden leaves and across the white bark that rivulets of water meandered down. The forest was quiet; no bird song or noise pollution, not a rustle or even a buzzing. Yet the wind was there. The scent of roses that drifted with its whispers was carried through the towering woods that seemed to stretch forever. But in these woods there would be a grotto of tall grass and the most lovely of flowers, roses of such amazing hues that the petals did rise in celebration. In the middle of the grotto there was a stump whose rings numbered in the hundreds and branches curled up high like eager hands. The light wreathed the field in shining gold. And sitting upon this stump atop a nest of pristine cloth bedding was a creature of fur with reddened fur and black. Her tails curled around her graceful legs all draped in shining white and colorful silks. Her fur rustled with the breeze, speckled with crumbs from flaky pastries. Other creatures sat around her enjoying tea and cakes aplenty. Dainty fingers were stained with strawberries and peaches as petals lightly fell around the party. The bears and the wolves were cloaked in mantles of cloud and a frog drank gold from a saucer. Wordless chatter curled throughout the party. The vixen sat prominently with legs curled under her and eyes squeezed upwards. With grace, onto her snout curled a silver smile that broke with heavenly laughter. Laughter and Smiles. Echoing, and curling, off into a grey distance. Sleep fell off ungracefully thudding onto the hardwood as only a boulder could. I groaned with my eyes screwed shut. I peeled from the sheets and rubbed the crustings from my eyes. Those pale blue eyes and the blunted nails with chipping nail polish. Pale grey light oozed through the broken blinds as morning made itself known. But as I laid half swaddled in sheets, surrounded by plush toys, my only thoughts could go to her smile. Her laughter. All I could muster was a frown as I conjured forth my energy to rise from the bed as cotton foxes and other creatures watched. "...That was a nice dream." My nails dragged across the flesh of my arms leaving red marks that sat across older such markings. I yawned and stretched, sliding my phone into my hands from the place it fell the previous night. I turned on videos as wakefulness slowly drew itself together. "That was the fifth time this month already. They've been getting worse," I thought. A sigh escaped my lips as I dead scrolled through social media. "How can anyone focus like this?" At that moment I saw posts come into view. Over the past year or so, a new kind of medicine had hit the stage, but all of the new drugs were filed under a singular umbrella: "Humanity Removal Therapy". Pictures of people showing scales and growing to a gigantic heights, tails, claws, horns, all kinds of new body parts. I even saw people become human or things stranger than any typical animal. I was slackjawed. I had heard of the medicine, surely. But to see so many people more get onto it, I couldn't do anything but stare at the screen with legs pulled into my torso. Cows. Dragons. Fish. "It's that effective?" I begun to get dressed. It wasn't as if I'd never taken such a leap before. Estrogen was what gave me my chest and lower proportions. It didn't do everything I could have hoped for, of course not, but it was something! I was happier. It was... "Something like from a dream." I sat there upon my knees for minutes. The phantom sensations of a bundle of tails drifted behind me, the ethereal fur almost taunting me. At first I wondered if I was allowed to have it. Then, thoughts of money. I had so little, could I afford the many months? But the idea of those dreams haunting me for years and years on wrenched my gut into a spiral. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't.

When I sat at my computer, I pulled up a tab to begin researching. After a moment's hesitation, I pulled open another window. "Kitsune Transition: Week 1."

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thank you so much for reading! And huge shout out to @ ayviedoesthings and all of the other people who have made Animal HRT art. It helped us figure out that we were therian, and we're making that to express the feelings we've had in our head. Will be posting more over time!

FIRST NEXT>

#kitsune #otherkin hrt #therian #animal hrt #fox #short story #transformation #transgender #kitsune hrt

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b00kdiary · 10 months

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Euphoria | Ithan Holstrom

Ithan Holstrom x Plus Size Reader

Where Y/N finds herself needing to be reminded just how desirable she is, and Ithan Holstrom is more than willing to show her. Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some SJM men love too xo

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and the Ithan being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady.

MASTERLIST

I stared, unblinking, as Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae, kissed his way down the neck of a gorgeous and dark-skinned Faun. I trailed my gaze along as he sucked and bit gently against her soft skin and perfect bone structure, the Faun's eyes closed, her face a mirror of lust and bliss.

The grip I had on my glass tightened and I willed myself not the shatter it, to not draw attention to myself, to how jealous and seething I was.

The fluorescent lights inside the White Raven danced over the two of them, highlighting their ungodly beauty as they danced and rocked against each other to the beat of music. My chest tightened at the way Ruhn's arms wrapped so effortlessly around her slim waist, resting against the perfectly flat length of her stomach, revealed by her cropped bralette.

She was lovely by most standards and typical of the kind of females Ruhn was seen with- tall with small breasts and a small, yet nice ass and petite enough that there wasn't a single place that sat out or rubbed or curved too much.

Unlike me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, taking a long indulgent sip of my drink to drive away the dryness and the sorrow. It was hard not to trail my mind into those uncharted, dark waters, the kind of scary, hollow place of insecurity where I could pick myself apart and rip any sense of security I had to pieces.

Because unlike that Faun, who had turned now, her toned back facing me as Ruhn kissed her, kissed her with so much passion and need that it made me feel sick. Unlike her, I was not petite or skinny and I did not look like the kind of girl that Ruhn Danaan desired.

"You're glaring, Y/N." A deep voice interrupted my pity party and snapped me back into this room, away from all the meanest, cruellest thoughts I had of myself.

I turned, levelling out my eyes and surprise-filled me when I met with honey-brown eyes and a smile that could melt a girl's heart and drop her panties.

My lip kicked up as I took in the golden-brown soft waves of hair and tan sun-kissed skin, my gaze moved down, over the acres of strong, corded muscle that was further accentuated by the form-fitting t-shirt he wore.

"Ithan Holstrom," I mused, cocking my head at him, and seeing his lip tilt into a lazy smile "You're the last person I expected to see here, I didn't think this was your kind of scene."

"It's not, not really but," He shrugged, glancing over his broad shoulder to where a few wolves sat gathered around a table "But the pack forced me."

"You don't strike me as the type of guy who can be forced to do anything," I raised a brow, tossing a long strand of hair over my shoulder and felt Ithan's eyes track each movement. "Don't try and hide it, you came here for a good time, a good fuck maybe?"

He chuckled at my playful words, the sound rough and heady, running over me and prickling my skin. I forced myself to breathe as he stepped closer, close enough that his hard chest brushed against my breasts, and I felt the warmth and scent of him.

"Is that what you came for?" He asked, though his words weren't a question, not as he looked over my head, his stare pointed, straight to where Ruhn and that Faun stood "Or were you planning to glare at Ruhn Danaan all night, hoping he'd notice you?"

"Don't be a prick," I scowled, my lip curling and I pushed at his chest, hearing a rough bark of laughter escape him as he saw the fire burning in my eyes " I might be pining after Ruhn, but it's no different to how you trailed after Bryce like a lost puppy all these years, Holstrom."

His eyes darkened at that- those honeyed pupils shadowing into a starless night sky. Bryce was a sore topic still, even after two years and I felt guilt gnaw at me, hating myself for mentioning her, for the way that smile tilted down now.

"Bryce didn't want me, I knew she didn't," Ithan gritted back, his jaw locked and his eyes hard "Ruhn might want you, he could want you as badly as you want him, you're just too scared to find out."

"I'm not scared," I said defensively, crossing my arms over my chest, and yet again, I didn't miss how his steely gaze fell, something sparking in them as my top lowered and revealed my ample cleavage. I clear my throat, ignoring the twist in my gut "I'm just realistic, I know Ruhn's type, I've seen his type and I know I'm not it."

"His type?" Ithan mused, raising a dark, thick brow at me "What? Gorgeous? Desirable? No, you're definitely not his type." It was sarcastically drawled, accompanied by a sassy eye roll and it was the least serious I had seen Ithan in years- since Connor died.

"Try petite, skinny and perfect," I snort, but my voice isn't as joking as I would like, it's heavier, weighed down by the reality of the words.

"Bullshit, Y/N," Ithan scowls, and the way his eyes glared out in protest, in defence, it was as if he was furious at me for even saying what I did. "If Ruhn fucking Danaan thinks you're not perfect then he's a bigger asshole than I already thought he was."

I felt my face heat, my body turning hot and needy at his words, at the honesty and conviction behind them. He stepped closer, close enough that I smelt the mint and alcohol on his warm breath, and a fire sparked in my core- and I didn't step back.

"You think I'm perfect?" I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaking slightly. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes, couldn't stop watching the lust roil in them, darkening them by each second, we inched closer, drawn together like magnets. "Don't fuck with me Ithan, I mean it."

"Y/N, while you were busy glaring down Danaan and the Faun," Ithan said, his voice slipping into a low timbre, the gruffness clawing over my nerves and making me breathless "I was staring at you."

"You were?" My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, but my defences were wearing down. I had always found Ithan attractive, always wondered what he would be like as more than a friend. And as his hand snaked around my waist, large, veined, and ringed, and slowly dragged me to him, I knew that those feelings hadn't faded with time.

"You might not believe me, but I was staring at you, alongside damn near every other male in this room, Y/N," Ithan muttered, his face inches from mine and when his nose brushed against my cheek, my eyes fluttered. "If you had just looked around you, you would have seen how many wanted you- and how could they not?"

I felt his hand trail down my back and sides, over the rolls and curves of flesh, and I felt nauseous, hating that he could feel it. But he growled, a purely animal sound, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he was holding himself back as if touching me brought him to the edge of his control.

"Ithan," I swallowed, steeling my spine, and forcing back the fierceness and power I was used to wielding with men, "I'm not Bryce Quinlan."

"And I'm not Ruhn Danaan," He shot back immediately, his lip quirking "But that doesn't change the fact that I fucking want you, and I know you want me too."

I inhaled a shaky, long breath, my throat drying out at his words and at all the sinful, dirty images that flashed through my mind, filthy enough that I had to clench my thighs shut.

"Let's walk to yours, no cab," I say hoarsely, ignoring the way he grinned as I grabbed his hand and began dragging him to the exit. He followed dutifully, his fingers interlocking with mine, his thumb brushing soothing, soft strokes against my palm.

"Why?" He laughed, his brow raising at me as I glanced over my shoulder and I didn't miss the way my body ignited, striking, and burning as his gaze trailed over my skin.

"Because I can't promise I won't ride you in the back seat," I said honestly, gnawing on my lip as my eyes met his over my shoulder "And I don't want the night to end before it's even begun."

"Fuck," Ithan swore, low and dirty, and I could smell his arousal.

Just like I knew he could smell mine.

***

We walked through The Wolves Den with ease, silent and quick-paced as we waded through each corridor and climbed floor after floor.

Ithan had wanted to take the lift straight to his floor and had been so on edge that he looked as if he might have taken me against the wall in the goddamn lobby if I had given him the say-so. But I wanted him at breaking point, wanted that wolf inside him to come out clawing, biting and roaring.

So instead, we walked, each second that passed and the silence that stretched drawing the tension tauter and tauter, and I could feel my blood thrum in anticipation. Ithan looked over at me as we walked down the final corridor- and the smirk he wore, the knowing gleam in his eyes, told me everything he wanted to do.

"You have got to be kidding me, Ithan," A voice declared, female and high-pitched, loud enough that it grated against my senses and had both of us coming to a reluctant halt. I eyed the fifth door, which happened to be Ithan's room, with need. "Bringing the trash home?"

"Watch it, Amelie," Ithan growled, his eyes tapering in warning as he turned to glare at the dark-haired, golden-eyed female before him. His pack member- and a total hateful bitch.

"Why? Scared I'll scare away your whore for the night?" She snorted, her arms folding over her chest as she looked at me, amusement and cruelty gleaming in her eyes. I saw her stare trail between us, taking in our interlocked hands, the way our arousals wafted in the air, and she scowled.

Jealous, that much was obvious.

"Hey, Ithan?" I mused, glancing sideways at him, and smiling sweetly. He rose a brow at me, confused and half-amused. "Are the walls here thin?" I stared pointedly, past Amelie, to the open door at her side, number four- right next to Ithan's.

Ithan seemed to catch onto my thought trail and chuckled lowly, nodding his head "Very thin."

"Amelie," I smirked, my hand trailing up Ithan's muscled chest as he punched in the code and pushed open his room door, "When you touch yourself tonight, imagining that Ithan's fucking you and not me, don't be too loud- Ithan might hear it and go limp."

"You fucking-" Her eyes burned, and so did her cheeks, outrage and embarrassment filling her as she stepped toward me.

"Have a good night, I know I will." I winked and Ithan's laughter flittered over to me, caressing my skin like a phantom touch. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly, Amelie was gone, and it was just me and him, in his room, together, and alone.

"I don't think I've ever seen Amelie that red before, she's not used to being put in her place like that," Ithan noted, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned against the back of his sofa "She's not going to let that go, you know?"

"Amelie's a neurotic, insecure bitch," I scowl, walking a few tentative steps further into his room, "She can get fucked, I couldn't care less."

Ithan doesn't say anything else, remaining silent as my gaze lifts and washes over his room. I take in the four bare walls and the simple brown sofa, glass table and TV, a large double bed at the furthest wall and a chest of drawers and a matching wardrobe at its side.

"Not what you were expecting?" Ithan asked, cocking his head to the side as he observed my expression. I pursed my lips, looking over his folded arms, the way the muscles bulged, and I swallowed.

"I'm not sure what I expected," I say honestly, my voice quiet and when I slowly began to walk over to Ithan, I felt the tension in the air go taut. I paused, standing just before where he sat on the sofa's back, looking at me with a wry smile. "Were you being honest when you said that the walls are thin?"

"I was," He chuckled, revealing two sharp canines on either side of his upper teeth and I shivered at the sight of them. I imagined them against my skin, teasing, scrapping, and biting and I clenched my hands. "Were you being honest when you said you would be having a good night?"

I smiled at the heat in his eyes, at the way we were so close, yet we didn't touch not in one single place, and I knew he was holding out, restraining himself from grabbing on to me, just as I was.

"I plan to have a good night," I say, cocking my head in challenge "But really, it's up to you how good of a night for me it is."

One second, I'm standing before Ithan, smirking, cocky as I watch the lust burning in his eyes, and then the next, his fingers are wrapping around my throat, his ring digging into my jugular as he pulls me to him.

I groan as his mouth collides with mine and my body shakes at the heady, desperate way his lips move against me, tasting me, devouring me, taking me like it's his last night on Midgard. I melted into the strength and solidity of him, his hand at my throat, the firm pressure there, making my body turn weak.

Ithan's lips move against me, deep, languished strokes that fan the embers sparking in my stomach and I dig my nails into his chest, curling my fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt, needing to tether myself to him, to keep myself upright.

I whimper at the feeling of his left hand descending my body, his fingers gripping against every bit of flesh and curve with need, all the way from the top of my spine to the curve of my ass, and he groans as he cups me, the flesh spilling out and soft against his palm.

“Bed, now,” I pull back, my faces only inches from his and we’re both panting wildly, lust and need dancing in our gazes, like a mirror.

“Hm, not sure I’m a fan of being told what to do in my own place, sweetheart,” Ithan smirks, and my eyes flutter as he draws me closer, biting and suckling against my neck, the feeling of his canines against my skin driving me crazy. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Stop trying to be an alpha male, Ithan,” I manage to grit out, desperately trying to force down the moans that threaten to slip past my lips, but his mouth and tongue against my hot skin make it so hard. “We both know you’re really just a puppy- ah-“

A squeal escapes me as both of Ithan’s arms wrap around me, hooking under my ass and there’s a whoosh of air as he yanks me up into his arms, so fast my heart lurches and I’m locking my legs around his waist and holding onto his t-shirt so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t tear.

“You’re far too coherent right now,” Ithan grumbles and fuck if the sound of it doesn’t go straight between my legs. I hold onto him tighter as he begins to carry me over to bed, looking as if my weight is less than nothing to him right now. “I’m going to need to fix that.”

“Please do,” I whisper, tossing my hair from my face and bringing my lips back against his, slower, deeper, the hardness and ridges of his body brushing against my breasts feeling so good and the long, thick length rubbing against my thigh feels even better.

Ithan smirks against my lips as we thump against the bed and true to his word, Ithan drops me on the bed, so hard and fast I grunt at the impact, my body and tits bouncing as I land on my ass. The sight makes him smile, and the way he towers over me, looking like some kind of God has every nerve in my burning.

“You’re fucking incredible,” He mutters, and the honey in his eyes is gone, melted into the darkest chocolate, the kind that told me every filthy, heady, dirty thing he wanted to do to me. I leaned back on my palms as he rested a knee on the mattress, lowering his pleased face down to mine. “But I bet you’d look even better without all the clothes.”

His hand snakes around to the zip at the back of my top and fuck, fuck, fuck- I freeze.

“Or not?” He mutters, a crease forming between his brows at the way my body physically locks up and his hand immediately stops, resting flat against my back, his thumb rubbing softly to soothe me. “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want-“

“No, no-“ I shake my head, clearing my throat as I bring a hand to cup his jaw, loving the way he melts into the touch, “It was just a habit, a muscle memory reaction- No, trust me, I want to, I want you, Ithan.”

“Good, because I want you too, Y/N,” He mutters, smiling as he brings his mouth down, but he doesn’t pull at the zipper, instead he kisses me, tastes me, and enjoys me, and my hands curl into the root of his hair, glad for that moment of reprieve.

I can tell he’s being sweet because he is sweet, and now that he knows I’m hesitating, he won’t make the next move until he’s sure I’m ready- and I am, I am so fucking ready.

I pull back from him, my eyes locking with his and the room is so silent, deadly silent, as I draw my hand back and ever so slowly tug down the zipper to my top. The sound is almost sensual, making Ithan’s face darken, in anticipation, in feral lust.

I gnaw on my lip as the zipper pulls free and still keeping my eyes on his, I draw the top forward, down my arms, every movement deliberate until the fabric is discarded on the floor beside us. Ithan says nothing as he stares down at me, as he stares down at my bare chest, my breasts heavy and aching and I’ve never been gladder that I chose not to wear a bra.

His Adam’s apple bobs and the breath seizes in my lungs as his cold hand traces across my back, around to my chest and he groans, low and deep, the second his hand cups around my breast. I gasp as he kneads the flesh, his fingers slowly and deliberately tugging on my pebbled nipple.

“Ithan,” I growl, I can’t help it, he’s staring at me, looking like he wants to devour me, but he hasn’t bloody moved. “Do something, for Cthona’s sake.”

“So needy,” He croons, and I nearly sigh when he leans forward again and pushes me back to lay flat against the mattress. My body shivered as he climbed onto the bed, his large figure moving to hover over me, and I felt almost small in comparison to him, a feeling that was unfamiliar to me.

He kissed lower down my neck, his mouth inching closer as his hand kneaded my breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers and tugging gently igniting so many sparks that I couldn't even speak, merely moaning breathlessly with each sure touch.

I gasped when his head ducked, his eyes shielded by the strands of hair that fell forward as he plucked one nipple into his mouth. My back arched and my fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to hurt as the raw feeling of his tongue and teeth teased me.

“Ithan,” I moaned when he began biting against my nipple, not too hard, but firm enough that I felt the shock go through every nerve ending, sparking, burning, and throbbing, so hard I felt it in my core.

My head spins as Ithan begins shifting lower, and I cringe when he begins trailing his hands down my stomach, instantly thinking over every roll and stretch mark and flesh that was there- not that he seemed to mind. No, he kissed against the skin, trailing his tongue languidly down, just as infatuated as he had been before.

The tension in the air is thick as Ithan runs his calloused hands down the side of my thick thighs, kneading the flesh and teasing the material of my skirt, his intentions obvious. And with the ache beginning to become unbearable between my legs, I don’t hesitate to lift my hips, glad when he immediately hooks his fingers into the top of my skirt- pulling it and my underwear down in one go.

It’s almost amusing how quickly he discards the excess material over his shoulder, so transfixed on the sight of my naked body before him, sprawled out and burning from the intensity of his gaze.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” He groans, his voice hoarse and the tightness coiling in my chest eases as he runs his hand up my thighs, feeling the cellulite and stretch marks and grins as he spread my legs apart for him to come between.

My heart races in anticipation as he sinks down below my parted thighs, his eyes burning with satisfaction as he comes level to my core, and the urge to clamp my legs shut fills me- which he seems to sense, if his strong grip on either side of my thigh, keeping spread wide apart is any indication.

I feel his hot breath against my most sensitive part and just when I feel like the seconds are dragging into minutes, making me fidgety and restless, I gasp at the feeling of his tongue flicking against my clit, soft and probing, coaxing out quiet moans from me.

“That’s it,” Ithan purrs and the sound vibrates against my core, making me clench my fingers into the duvet under me for purchase. Ithan seems encouraged by my moans, his tongue lapping against my clit in long languish strokes that draw pleasure from me in waves. “Taste so fucking good.”

He grins against me, cocky, sure, and under any other circumstances I’d hate it, but right now, I can’t find it in me. Instead, I reach down, lacing my fingers through his soft hair, tugging, yanking, and scratching, coaxing Ithan to give me more- which he happily does.

“Fuck, oh my-“ Two fingers prod my wet entrance, and the sound is so lewd as he quickly stuffs the two digits inside me, stretching me in the most perfect yet painful way, especially when he curls those two digits, hitting a spot that has me seeing stars.

“There we go,” Ithan coaxes softly, feeling my body start to vibrate and writhe, that pool of pleasure building and building within me, plummeting fast and harder as he fucks his fingers in and out steadily, in tandem with the smooth agile movement of his tongue against my clit. “There we go, such a good girl.”

I cry out, trembling and moaning as a white-hot blaze burns through me, starting at my core and running into my thighs and stomach, all the way down to my toes. I pant, my head fogging with the overwhelming blanket of pleasure that Ithan’s smothered me with.

Ithan groans, his teeth tugging at my sore clit before he eventually lets go, his fingers slipping out of me with ease. I exhale harshly at the loss of contact, sagging back as the euphoria dies down and my body settles into calm again.

Ithan ascends my body, a shit-eating grin on his wet lips and I don’t have time to even speak before he captures my mouth in his, pushing his tongue deep into me, letting me taste myself.

“How’s that for a puppy, sweetheart?” He mutters, biting my bottom lip and I roll my eyes at the sheer masculine satisfaction in his voice, in those bright eyes as he stares at me.

“Don’t be an arrogant prick,” I snipe back, ignoring Ithan’s laughter as I place either hand on his shoulder and the surprise that lights his face as I yank him down onto the bed beside me, flipping us so that I’m straddling him, makes me grin. “I’m still in charge, Ithan.”

“If this is you being in charge, I’m not fucking complaining,” He smirks lazily, his voice heavy with lust as he leans back, his eyes oh so slowly trailing across my body atop his, looking like the cat that got the cream as he enjoys every inch of me.

I smile, soft, as I run my hands against the seam of his t-shirt, my thumbs hooking under the material and slowly dragging it up- revealing inch after inch of tan, smooth skin, so much corded muscle it makes me hot. Ithan easily helps, and it’s not long before the material is over his head and thrown to the ever-growing pile of clothes on his floor.

I drag my core against the front seam of Ithan’s jeans, and our groans mix in the air at the feeling of his hard length brushing against me. I don’t waste any time, Ithan’s eyes never leaving me as I move my hands to the front of his jeans, my fingers fumbling against the button and zipper, almost desperate as I open them, tugging the materials down just a little.

“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes widening as Ithan’s hard cock slips out, breaking free and slapping back against his stomach. Ithan snorts at my reaction, at the sheer surprise on my face at the size of him, and my cheeks heat in embarrassment as he smiles at me. “Shut up.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” His eyes flutter as I grip my hand around his hard length, my fingers struggling to find purchase as I palm up and down, every moan and gasp that escapes him egging me on. “You’re fucking killing me here, sweetheart.”

“Poor puppy,” I tease, smirking and Ithan’s canines expose in warning, his hands coming to either side of my hips, and when he slowly lifts me up, dragging me closer to him, I prepare myself for the feeling of him inside me.

“Shit, shit,” I moan as Ithan’s cock brushes my entrance and I ever so slowly sink down, down, down, until he’s stretching me like he’s going to break me in two, until his tip brushes something far and deep inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Ithan swears, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips and thighs so tightly, I can feel the cut of his nails.

I flutter my eyes as the burn soon seeps into pleasure and we both suck in a gasp of air when I drag up, so deliberate and slow, all the way to the tip, before slamming back down, hard and fast. Ithan swears, his chest rising and falling so fast as I do it again and again, his cock slipping against my wet core like it was made for me.

“Ithan, oh-“ I whimper as I ride up and down his cock, alternating between fast, hard strokes and long, slow ones, Ithan’s hands at my hips guiding me along, helping me chase after the relief, and I know I won’t last long, not with the cord within me tightening so perfectly.

“Look at you riding my cock so well,” Ithan praises roughly, his teeth gritted as he pants and moans every time he sinks into me, and when my eyes lock with his, I’ve never felt more seen, more desired in my life. “Look at those tits bouncing, fuck, taking me so good Y/N.”

He ruts his hips up to meet me, the sound of him fucking in and out of me, so wild and demanding, is like music in the room, mixing with our moans, our low curses, and the way our hands wander over each other, unable to get enough.

My fingers scratch against Ithan’s chest and abs, my body starting to shake and weaken at how good it feels, how he’s hitting against a spot that makes my insides turn to mush, again and again. Ithan must sense my fatigue, sense my head spinning, because he grabs me, and within seconds, we’ve flipped over and he’s on top of me now.

His hand guides my thighs around his hips and my eyes roll, my back arches, as he sinks in even deeper and I whimper into his lips, into his mouth at the brutal pace he sets, slamming into me again and again, unrelenting, and merciless, so fucking good I can’t catch my breath.

My eyes flutter open as Ithan’s hand wraps around my throat, pressing firmly on either side of my neck and when my eyes meet his when I see the burning, commanding, domineering power behind them, it’s like something in me rips in two.

He hits a spot, some magic, fathomless spot inside me and it all shatters to pieces like glass.

“Ithan, I’m-“ I cry out, black dots blurring my vision and my body bucking and writhing against his hard muscles as release ripples over me like a tidal wave. Ithan grunts as I clench around him, suffocating his cock inside me, the orgasm hitting me and lasting longer than I’ve ever had.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it,” Ithan whispers, panting against my lips, and I feel his movements become sloppier, more erratic, more careless, driven to the edge by me coming around him. “Everyone in the whole fucking Dens gonna know whose making you feel this good.”

I whimper at the filthy words he grunts into my ear, my body trembling with the aftermath of my orgasm, edged on by the way Ithan still fucked in and out of me, chasing his own high and when his forehead rests against mine and he groans, guttural and heady and low, I know he’s found it.

The sound he makes, the growl that escapes him, reverberates through the whole damn room and my body is aching as he comes to a gradual stop inside me, our sweaty, panting bodies, melting into each other as we climb down from our peaks.

Ithan groans as he slowly slips out of me, the feeling of his warm cum leaking from me and dripping down my skin making me blush, and the small smirk that lines his lips as he inches back to look at me tells me he finds it both amusing and adorable.

“I can feel your cum leaking down my thigh,” I breathe and Ithan's eyes flutter, rolling as he laughs, burying his face into my neck dramatically, as if I were completely ruining him.

“Keep saying shit like that, Y/N and I might just have to chain you to this bed,” Ithan mutters against my skin, kissing and nibbling across my neck and jaw before he meets my lips again, kissing me sweetly as if memorising the taste and feel of me.

“After that, I’m tempted to let you, Ithan,” I grin, sighing as he rests his weight on top of me, his arms on either side making sure not to crush me, but the warmth and touch is welcome.

“Are you still thinking about Ruhn Danaan?” He muses, cocking his head, and the honey has returned back to his eyes, that smile turning boyish and soft again as he stares down at me.

“No,” I say simply, honestly, dragging my hand up his chest and neck, before settling against his jaw, my thumb drawing lines across the hard ridge there. “Are you still thinking about Bryce Quinlan?”

“Definitely not,” He smiles, earnest and firm and the sight makes my entire body heat again.

“Good,” I let my eyes darken, letting him see just what I was thinking as I wrap a leg around his hip, drawing his hardening cock back down against me- and he grins with feral delight at the action. “Because I haven’t quite gotten you out of my system yet, Puppy.”

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@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

#sarah j maas #sjm books #crescent city #crescent city smut #ithan holstrom #ithan holstrom x reader #ithan holstrom smut #ithan holstrom x plus size reader #smut #plus size reader #plus size smut #plus size y/n #acotar #tog fanfic

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mtkay13 · 1 year

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Two illustrations of the "are you sincere?" scene, TYK, chapter 65.

More words below! VERY VERY LONG POST AHEAD

It's probably one of the most famous scenes of the book, considering it's the closest to an actual, outspoken declaration of feelings. Funnily enough, my first reaction to the scene was that of frustration, since WenZhou get once again interrupted, and the running gag + horniness distracted me from everything else that was going on in that scene which I now consider to be truly incredible, imo.

Those two illustrations, but mainly the second one, mainly take from one small paragraph in particular, but I will elaborate a little bit on other parts as well. First, though, a translation of the scene:

[...] Wen Kexing raised his head, looked at him. The lamp's light softening Zhou Zishu's chiselled features shone through his eyes, and Wen Kexing was lost in thoughts— He felt like he and this man had known each other for such a long time. From the moment he'd noticed his shoulderblades, felt this rush of excitement, to when he'd started liking who Zhou Zishu was, when he'd thought——so this is the Commander of Tian Chuang. Suddenly, he'd felt as if he'd met his other self. Both of them, lone wolves caught in a hunter's trap, struggling for freedom to no avail, until they had resolved to coldly gnawing off their own legs in the end. He'd felt compelled to follow him around, watched him, until he suddenly realised—if Zhou Zishu could live like this, then surely, so could he? He thought, and thought, until he fell, fell deep until he couldn't climb out anymore. Wen Kexing absent-mindedly reached out to gently caress Zhou Zishu's face, only brushing him with his fingertips. He felt a slight chill from contact of Zhou Zishu's rough skin against his own palm littered with scars and callouses. All of a sudden, he blurted: "Don't die. Should you die and leave me behind, I would be so lonely..." Zhou Zishu grasped his wrist, but didn't shake him off. He smiled: "As long as there is the slightest chance for me to live, I won't die. My life is mine, my gong-fu is mine. The Heavens granted me this fate, and taking it back from me won't be that easy." Zhou Zishu's breath brushed against Wen Kexing's fingers. He squinted, then said, seemingly deep in thoughts: "Once upon a time, an owl knocked over the bowl of red water carried by a villager..." Zhou Zishu looked at him and, his expression unchanged, he gently asked the question he'd already asked before: "Why was the villager carrying a bowl of red water?" Wen Kexing's lips slowly stretched into a smile, and he answered: "Water is colourless, but should blood trickle into it, wouldn't it turn red?" Zhou Zishu still looked at him but remained quiet. As if Wen Kexing's spirits had suddenly returned to him, his faraway gaze coming back into focus.

"Ah-Xu, you should sleep with me once," Wen Kexing said, his eyes smiling up into crescent moons. "This way, we'll have each other in our hearts; so you won't die so easily, and neither will I. How does that sound?" His tone was playful, but Zhou Zishu didn't banter back; he merely watched Wen Kexing with an odd glint in his eyes, and after a moment, he asked: "Are you sincere?" Wen Kexing chuckled, leaned forward so that his breath was brushing against Zhou Zishu's lips: "Can't you tell, if I'm sincere or not?" Zhou Zishu faintly startled, before he replied in a low voice: "I... I really can't. I haven't seen much sincerity in my life, and can hardly discern it. So, are you?" Wen Kexing's fingers climbed up along the curve of Zhou Zishu's shoulder, and he tugged his bun loose. His black, silky hair cascaded down, at once making the hardened man appear a few shades more fragile. Wen Kexing's playful smile faded, and in a soft, yet deeply grounded voice, he said: "I am." He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to Zhou Zishu's, finally lifting the heavy turmoil from his heart. Zhou Zishu slowly reached up, a long moment passing before he rested his hand upon Wen Kexing's shoulder, gripping his robes with his fingers. [...]

Phew that was a bit long but it felt necessary! TL by me.

Obviously, the second illustration is based on this passage:

"Wen Kexing's fingers climbed up along the curve of Zhou Zishu's shoulder, and he tugged his bun loose. His black, silky hair cascaded down, at once making the hardened man appear a few shades more fragile," which I have lost my mind about too many times to count. I feel like the contrast between this and the mention of Zhou Zishu's rough skin, and his assured words above, is very cool.

About the scene itself, while I guess it's mostly self-explanatory, I feel like mentioning what particularly touches me here:

I think that Wen Kexing's impression of Zhou Zishu, his freedom, "the way he lives", is really the core of what moved Wen Kexing in the first place. It is also echoing that scene, back in Dongting, when Wen Kexing watches Zhou Zishu lazily sitting in a restaurant, feeling what could be interpreted as resentment or envy when he sees how free he looks.

Wen Kexing unconsciously halted his steps. He stared at Zhou Zishu’s relaxed silhouette for a while, with no trace of an expression in his face or eyes. His heart swelled with some strange feeling—strange, in that it was no feeling at all. He felt as though this man was mocking him with this wordless posture; he who rushed around for one thing or another, who was burdened with so many cares, yet obstinately put on a devil-may-care persona. Zhou Xu—as carefree as duckweed, he thought, with a body like willow catkins. In all the world, with its boundless perspectives, where could you find someone who walked their path alone and never allowed anything to trouble them?

(TL by Lianzi)

Wen Kexing longs for him, to be like him, to be free like him; they both came to having to hurt themselves to be free of their shackles, but Zhou Zishu kept living freely afterwards.

By evoking the red water, the past he could never tell straightforwardly, I think that Wen Kexing is expressing how this past of him has been his shackles and how now, he wishes to follow along, to follow Zhou Zishu in his freedom.

And then, Zhou Zishu's words—they almost feel like his own confession, to me. Later, by the tree as well, his words refer to life, the will to live, and not being really direct, it sounds like his way of telling Wen Kexing, "I am serious about you." Wen Kexing was the first one to hold onto his life, to want for Zishu to live, and now Zishu follows along.

His words feel so powerful, and said so straightforwardly, baring himself to Wen Kexing like that, it makes so much sense for me to expect, finally, a proper confession from him as well, considering how each and every one of Wen Kexing's declarations have so far been over the top, jokey or deflected one way or another. Of course, I also think that Zishu does feel some form of insecurity, does need reassurance, and is gambling a lot here, but I guess... he's essentially worked to bare himself and expects the same in return.

ANYWAY. I think this is a gorgeous scene. I DO think, for balance, that the ending is a bit abrupt and that they would have deserved for Priest not to undermine the emotions right away—for that does take away from it a bit and distracts (calling back, once again, to the tired running gag of "oops they're interrupted). Not that the joke shouldn't have come up, but it could have waited a bit more.

But yeah! Thanks for reading!

#tian ya ke #zhou zishu #wen kexing #wenzhou #tyk #wkx #zzs #meta

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thedinanshiral · 1 month

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Inside you there are two wolves..

I recently made a tweet simply sharing a fraction of my thoughts on the Solavellan motif of wolf&halla. I decided to expand on it here.

I never adhered to the whole wolf/halla Solavellan thing. That dynamic is simply not for me, not with them. I think Solas is more likely to fall for an equal; even if Lavellan technically isn't, she's definitely the closest he's met in a thousand years. She's the white wolf [in his romanced tarot card] Adding to this, he respects her opinion and counsel, she inadvertently may help him make up his mind about what he'll do next (woops) aka giving him purpose, and she can also vow to save him from himself. She's both his guide and guardian. This is his romanced card for a reason.

I can understand why many people may like to frame Solavellan in the wolf&halla motif. He's an ancient elvhen, she's literally thousands of years younger than him. He's wise beyond her imagination and she knows by comparison basically nothing of their own history. He's the deciever and she's the deceived. The predator/prey dynamic is right there, at first.

Solas is a proud man, one may argue even arrogant, but he's also a serious man, focused, disciplined, he wouldn't fall for just anyone, he wouldn't open his heart to someone he may consider lesser even in the slightest. While he refused to acknowledge present elves as people and maybe thought of them as little else than a bad dream he had to wake up from at any cost, Lavellan earned his trust, his respect and admiration, through her actions, her own "indomitable focus", and by showing him the respect and admiration other Dalish denied him on sight. She gave him hope for the future of his people and that must have been priceless, she literally changed his whole world.

At that point there was no hunting, no preying, no seeing Lavellan as another chesspiece on the board, even if she couldn't be allowed to be anything else. She defied all his preconceptions and rendered him vulnerable. Their relationship is consensual, up to a certain point it ends when Lavellan says it ends, he doesn't pursue further if rejected. Actually, it's Lavellan who pursues him most of the time, why isn't Solas the halla here? He's the one being chased!

Lavellan is a wolf too, the white wolf.

The Exalted Plains has shrines to Fen'harel, one in particular is flanked by two wolf figures, one white and the other black. His dual nature is always present; in Dalish lore he's despised as the betrayer but also revered and his favour still sought after. As the Dreadwolf he was both friend and enemy to the people, depending on which side they were on. He's prideful but can also be crushingly selfless.

I really like this shrine because of these statues

The white and black wolves also appear in his tarot cards.

When he falls for Lavellan, he's locked in for good; even as he ends the relationship before even giving it a name, his card changes to his romanced one, and there's no going back. Lavellan can't undo it, he won't even though he's the one insisting their love can not be. But it is, and it is for life. Wolves mate for life. This immediately tells me Lavellan is also a wolf, and she's represented in his romanced card as the white one.

At the forefront, walking next to him, watching, guarding him. Colours are light, golden, the scene is calm, serene.

If he's never romanced then the other card of his give us a very different image:

His shadow becomes a giant black wolf that towers over him, right behind him, leaning forward almost as if about to engluf him, consume him. This is possibly a representation of his Dinan'shiral, and more clearly of his Dreadwolf aspect. He's set himself on a journey he can not stop and from which he can not return.

Interestingly enough there's an alternative version of this card that was discarded:

In it his head isn't covered by a hood, he carries no staff and there is no moon. The menacing wolf haunting him remains the same.

While the black wolf walks behind him, the white wolf walks beside him. He considers Lavellan his equal, even in all their differences. While the black wolf seems about to consume him, the white wolf is guarding him, staring at the viewer as if asying "Do not dare disturb his peace". He knows she'd do anything to protect him out of love even as he's decided to destroy himself out of love for his people (and tons upon tons of guilt).

Lavellan made him vulnerable in a way he had not foreseen and so he had no defenses against that love. I strongly believe only a romanced Lavellan can change his mind, at the very least make him doubt at the last moment. As much as he respects and appreciates a friend Inquisitor, it simply isnt' the same. Lavellan is to him a light so bright he had to force himself to look away lest he became blind and lost in it.

I remember people were puzzled at first, why if his romanced card is The Hierophant it had almost all elements of The Fool? There's two simple reasons i can think of. First of all, he's a fool in love. Falling in love with Lavellan is probably the stupidest thing he's done since he woke up, considering he's on a suicide mission to end her world. But that he did speaks of trust, opened up possibilities he hadn't imagined, Lavellan's innocence was contagious and powerful enough that he really had to struggle to turn away from her.

At the same time, the Hierophant is a teacher of tradition, which really had been his role all throughout Inquisition, and the last thing he does before cutting the romance was share more of that lost knowledge to Lavellan, the truth of the vallaslin.

Solas' romanced card is two cards combined referencing multiple aspects of their character and relationship, and we could also consider the Fool to be Lavellan, because the defining element in the card design that can make people wonder which card is it is the white wolf. She's the fool mortal that fell for a god, she's the Keeper who fell for Fen'harel, and she didn't know it until it was too late.

As for his final card, The Tower, it doesn't necessarily have to be so terrible. Much like Death, The Tower is about change. The end of the old to allow for the new, and changes can be positive or negative, they can be gentle or earth-shattering. In Solas' case we know he's aiming for the resurgence of the world he knew by destroying the one he inadvertently created when he put up the Veil, but this card may also symbolize the destruction of all his preconceptions and ideas, the realization that the world he knew was gone and another strange one he couldn't accept had taken its place, the symbolic death of a part of himself as he changed in his time with the Inquisition.

I imagine the white wolf represents his soul, in a way, the thing by which he may be redeemed. And that is Lavellan. No halla, but a wolf that's been tracking him for years, hunting him down to stop him because she and she alone has the power to do so. And he's been running away from her for as many years because he knows this even better than she does, he knows she's his last remaning weakness, the one that makes him vulnerable enough to break his resolve because in the end hers is stronger.

I really don't think he'd be capable of harming Lavellan, and if he does i feel it would drive him mad and cause him to lose whatever control he'd have left. He'd lose his light, his soul, his heart, leaving behind only the shadows. He chose to leave rather than take Lavellan out of the equation here and that tells me he can't bring himself to do it, it's too late now, he feels too much for her.

Now I'm extra curious and anxious to see what role the Inquisitor will play in The Veilguard, if they'll meet Solas again, what effect that would have on both of them.

And I hope neither tries to do something stupid..

#solas #lavellan #solavellan #DAI tarot #dragon age

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multi-fandom-simp · 2 years

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Forever and always.. or maybe never.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Hanahaki Disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you cannot die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity.

❗️TW❗️: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints to infidelity, mild mature scene, violence, character death, angst

(A/N: Hello, this is my own take on Hanahaki's disease with Aemond! Feel free to comment your thoughts, I am always open to criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father.

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her.

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything.

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond.

“ You dar-”

“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time.

It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were.

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love.

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder.

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench.

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind.

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book.

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck.

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!”

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught.

" Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually.

The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love.

The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now.

“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door.

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it.

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck.

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you, my love. I always will.” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did.

You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood.

Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine.

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you.

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you.

“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them.

“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?

Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently.

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner.

“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat.

“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat.

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.”

“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?

Unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how it was going to be. Everyone else around you had begun to notice the shift in your behavior. The fatigue, the paleness, and the emotions. Alicent first noticed it when she sat in the nursery with you, Helaena, and the children just after supper. She saw the way your eyes refused to leave Aemys as if it would be your last look. The way you held him was the same way she held Aemond when he lost his eye.

“ He’s a clever boy.” Alicent smiled as Aemys recited a word back to one of his cousins.

“ That he is.” You agreed, melancholy ghosting your lips. It hurt the queen to see you this way. You were a part of her almost as much as her children. You came to her as a child she was not forced to love nor conceive. Yet you wormed your way into her heart as if she had carried you. The sight of you so sickly and sad tugged at Alicent’s heart.

“ You’re sick, are you not?” Alicent proclaimed in observation rather than a question.

“ Mhm, In a way I suppose I am.” You hummed out softly. It had gotten to the point where it was hard to speak most days. The petals had begun to come up in thick, dry heaves, with occasional thorns that tore at your throat.

“ Have you told Aemond?” The queen inquired.

“ Aemond is the reason I’m sick in the first place.” You grumbled before sighing in defeat, “ Or I suppose it’s more of my fault. I was foolish to think he would ever actually love me.”

“ You don’t mean-” Alicent’s soft words trailed off abruptly. Alicent Hightower was no stranger to the hanahaki disease. She too had suffered through it once. Except she learned how to get around it.

“ I do.” You answered simply, with no trace of sadness or indifference.

“ There are ways around it my d-”

“ Such as forgoing my love for Aemond, I know. I could live a long life if I cast aside every loving memory I hold of him, but alas it is not that easy. I have tried, if that brings you any comfort. In the midst of the night when my eyes are swollen from tears and the blood in my throat is so thick I cannot breathe, I have tried, and I have failed.” Alicent’s eyes well with tears as you speak, almost as if she’s dared to imagine you in such dismay. You reach out to soothe her hands comfortingly, but she grips onto yours tightly instead.

“ It is not easy, but you must keep trying.” Alicent urges, a wobble to her voice.

“ There is no reason for me to put myself through the agony of erasing my happiness when I am already in physical torment. The sight of Aemond is the very reason I wake up every morning. Hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his warmth are all things that have kept me going. Forgetting those would be forgetting myself.” You reason, a wisp of remembrance in your eyes.

“ If not for yourself, then for Aemys” Alicent argues.

“ Aemys is one of the reasons I have chosen to give up. Every time I look at him I see Aemond. They are alike in everything but the eyes. The mere sight of that boy reminds me of the night he was made, of the love and passion Aemond had for me. Yet he no longer holds in regards to me. I would rather Aemys hear stories of his parent’s love than grow up with two plain parents.” The child in topic bursts into giggles a few inches away, stealing your attention from the queen. Your eyes crinkle with happiness and you move to turn towards him, but Alicent holds firm.

“ Aemys needs his mother.” She argues once more.

“ He does not. Aemys will have a loving father and grandmother by his side. Alongside his aunt Helaena, Uncle Daeron, and three beautiful cousins. Even Aegon cares for the little rascals’ life.” You chuckled.

“ That is n-”

“ Please, I have made my choice. I appreciate your council, but it is too late. I fear after I lay my son to sleep, it will be my last night alive. I thank you for all the love and comfort you have given me in my lifetime. I love you, mother.” You pressed the meat of your cheek against Alicent’s hand in farewell before standing.

“ If you’ll excuse me-” As you stood to retrieve your son, Alicent excused herself from the room hastily. Never did she think she would find herself running through the castle’s corridors, but yet here she is. Alicent’s heels had been long forgotten and the emerald hem of her dress dragged upon the stone as she made haste to the library, where Aemond would be.

“ Aemond! Ae-” The frantic shrill of the queen mother’s voice echoes throughout the shelves.

“ Mother?” Aemond calls out, emerging from a row with a disheveled Alys in tow, “ Is something wrong?”

“ You hide away fondling a wet nurse while your wife withers away! Have I truly raised you this way?” The despair in Alicent’s voice takes Aemond by surprise. He reaches out to hold her arms, but she pulls away.

“ She is not withering away, mother. She has assured me that it is just a small cold.” Aemond speaks calmly, in hopes to ease his mother’s franticness.

“ A small cold!? She has every sign of hanahaki disease and you have not suspected a thing?” Alicent refuted.

“ Because it is not possible! I love her!” Aemond snaps.

“ Not enough!” Alicent sighs, “ In no world should I have had to be afraid of letting her go in fear that I would not see her again. She has accepted her death, Aemond. How far out of love have you fallen with her to the point where your wife greets death openly?”

Aemond doesn’t bother with a reply because he’s already on his way out of the door. His pounding steps reverberate through the empty halls and the tremble of panicked breathing surrounds him. Fear nearly eats him alive as he reaches the door to your marital chambers. Never has he been terrified to open those doors to the sight of you. He had never once feared finding you dead, but now he has. Slowly but surely, Aemond pushes the giant oak open. He spots you knelt on the balcony in your nightdress, looking up at the stars. Lark lay whining at your side until she hears Aemond shuffle forward. Much to Aemond's surprise, the hefty beast that once worshiped him as you did, bared its teeth to him.

"Please.." Aemond wasn't sure if he was pleading to Lark to let him pass or to the gods for your life. Either way, the Hyena was the first to answer him. Lark moved aside slowly so that Aemond may pass, but still kept defense from a ways away.

“I-” Before a word can even escape his lips, you’re lurching forward. Aemond rushes forward and sinks to his knees to hold you. The convulsions of your stomach can be felt as he circles your waist.

“ I’m so sorry, my love, please.” The cold wash of fear grips his spine as blood and flowers paint the floor. He has no idea what to do. You’re not saying anything or doing anything to cease the onslaught of terror, yet you’re not pushing him away either. On the contrary, you’ve tangled your fingers with the hand he has over your stomach.

“ I love you. I’ll always love you.” Aemond croaks helplessly into your hair as you lean back against him. It’s too late, you had once said. It seems that the universe had agreed. Your breathing rattled to a stop and the grip of your hands weakened. “ I love you. Forever and Always. I promise.” Aemond whispered, pressing a salt-soaked kiss to your temple as he felt your heart slow. The thump that once echoed through your back onto his own heart stuttered to a stop, and with it so did Aemond’s world.

Part 2

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon angst #aemond targaryen angst #angst

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theghostofpyke · 11 days

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A week of Theon: Truth or Lies

As an frequent reader of Theon escape & recovery fic, I'm aware that a recurring fantasy in fandom and fanfic goes something like this: Robb, Jon, "the Starks", or another main character knew that Theon 'vanished', maybe even that he's held captive by Bolton. They are very angry at Theon for what he did, but when they find out about the torture, they are horrified. Maybe they are spurred into action to help or protect Theon.

I much understand the id-appeal of these types of stories. However, this is, of course, not the story we are told in the books. Personally, the story in the books makes me even more emotional. So for the prompt: "True and Lies" let's look at the truth of who knew about Theon's torture, and what it meant to them:

🐺 Jon 🔥

Jon has been in the know that Theon is being tortured by Ramsay Bolton, specifically flayed, since A Storm Of Swords:

“Jon,” said Maester Aemon, “much and more happened while you were away, and little of it good. Balon Greyjoy has crowned himself again and sent his longships against the north. Kings sprout like weeds at every hand and we have sent appeals to all of them, yet none will come. They have more pressing uses for their swords, and we are far off and forgotten. And Winterfell . . . Jon, be strong . . . Winterfell is no more . . .” “No more?” Jon stared at Aemon’s white eyes and wrinkled face. “My brothers are at Winterfell. Bran and Rickon . . .” The maester touched his brow. “I am so very sorry, Jon. Your brothers died at the command of Theon Greyjoy, after he took Winterfell in his father’s name. When your father’s bannermen threatened to retake it, he put the castle to the torch.” “Your brothers were avenged,” Grenn said. “Bolton’s son killed all the ironmen, and it’s said he’s flaying Theon Greyjoy inch by inch for what he did.” “I’m sorry, Jon.” Pyp squeezed his shoulder. “We are all.” Jon had never liked Theon Greyjoy, but he had been their father’s ward. Another spasm of pain twisted up his leg, and the next he knew he was flat on his back again. “There’s some mistake,” he insisted. “At Queenscrown I saw a direwolf, a grey direwolf . . . grey . . . it knew me.” If Bran was dead, could some part of him live on in his wolf, as Orell lived within his eagle? “Drink this.” Grenn held a cup to his lips. Jon drank. His head was full of wolves and eagles, the sound of his brothers’ laughter. The faces above him began to blur and fade. They can’t be dead. Theon would never do that. And Winterfell . . . grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones . . . how could Winterfell be gone?

In this scene, injured, freshly back from his quite traumatising mission beyond the wall, Jon is quickly filled in by his comrades about what he missed: The fall of Winterfell, Bran and Rickon's murder, Theon's torture.

It's a lot to take in, and Jon reacts with doubt: His warg abilities make him suspect that Bran is still alive, his character judgement make him doubt that Theon would do such a thing. He's right on both counts, but in between everything else going on in his life he doesn't particularly find the time to reflect on it further.

Jon will briefly think of Theon in subsequent chapters: Channels the memory of Theon when using a bow. Mentions Theon when remembering Winterfell. In fact, nearly all of Jon's - few - thoughts about Theon will be in context of Winterfell's loss: Winterfell…. but it was torched by Theon, so it is no more :( Ser Rodrik….. but he was slain by Theon Turncloak. All my memories are poisoned :(

Theon's torture is not on his mind. Grenn told Jon of Theon's torture with the aim to comfort him: Your brothers were slain but they are being avenged! Jon is not particularly comforted, but nor is he disturbed. Jon has one and half books of thinking about what Winterfell means to him and about Bolton in the context of Arya (whom he thinks a lot about) to consider how Theon is faring and if this particular rumor is true; he doesn't. Theon's torture is a minor detail.

🐟 Catelyn 🐺

“Did Ramsay mention Theon Greyjoy?” Robb demanded. “Was he slain as well, or did he flee?” Roose Bolton removed a ragged strip of leather from the pouch at his belt. “My son sent this with his letter.” Ser Wendel turned his fat face away. Robin Flint and Smalljon Umber exchanged a look, and the Greatjon snorted like a bull. “Is that . . . skin?” said Robb. “The skin from the little finger of Theon Greyjoy’s left hand. My son is cruel, I confess it. And yet . . . what is a little skin, against the lives of two young princes? You were their mother, my lady. May I offer you this . . . small token of revenge?” Part of Catelyn wanted to clutch the grisly trophy to her heart, but she made herself resist. “Put it away. Please.” “Flaying Theon will not bring my brothers back,” Robb said. “I want his head, not his skin.” “He is Balon Greyjoy’s only living son,” Lord Bolton said softly, as if they had forgotten, “and now rightful King of the Iron Islands. A captive king has great value as a hostage.” “Hostage?” The word raised Catelyn’s hackles. Hostages were oft exchanged. “Lord Bolton, I hope you are not suggesting that we free the man who killed my sons.” “Whoever wins the Seastone Chair will want Theon Greyjoy dead,” Bolton pointed out. “Even in chains, he has a better claim than any of his uncles. Hold him, I say, and demand concessions from the ironborn as the price of his execution.” Robb considered that reluctantly, but in the end he nodded. “Yes. Very well. Keep him alive, then. For the present. Hold him secure at the Dreadfort till we’ve retaken the north.”

At the Twins, Roose tells all present - Catelyn, Robb, Wendel Manderly, Robin Flint, Smalljon Umber - of Theon's torture, bringing grisly proof: A piece of Theon's skin.

As Grenn did with Jon, the knowledge that Theon is being tortured is offered as comfort. Catelyn is comforted.

“Your first duty is to defend your own people, win back Winterfell, and hang Theon in a crow’s cage to die slowly. Or else put off that crown for good, Robb, for men will know that you are no true king at all.”

(Catelyn speaking to Robb)

When she said that, it felt as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest. “I want them all dead, Brienne. Theon Greyjoy first, then Jaime Lannister and Cersei and the Imp, every one, every one. But my girls . . . my girls will . . .”

(Catelyn speaking to Brienne)

Catelyn, who has been openly fantasising and demanding Theon's death and Theon's torture from the young warriors at her side (Brienne, Robb) in prior chapters, is actively opposed to Theon being helped, freed or rescued. The thought of Theon getting freed from Bolton's clutches is upsetting to her.

🐺 Robb ⚔️

In the same conversation, Robb learns of Theon's torture. He disapproves: Flaying Theon will not bring my brothers back. I want his head, not his skin.

He, however, also doesn't oppose it. He doesn't forbid it. He doesn't punch Roose in the face. He doesn't gather his men to hurriedly ride to the Dreadfort. He doesn't demand Ramsay's head. (I list a few fanfic scenarios, here).

When faced with sound tactical reasoning, Robb explicitly allows Theon's ongoing captivity at the hands of Ramsay. Even while knowing Ramsay is torturing Theon. Even with the information that Ramsay is in charge and Ramsay is "cruel" as per Roose's words.

Notably, Robb doesn't qualify his approval of Theon's ongoing captivity with something like: Very well, keep him alive and treat him well / stop torturing him / don't cut any more piece off him. It's just: Very well, keep him alive, for the present." Robb allows Theon's captivity to go on as is.

🪝 White Harbor🧜

Davos thought back on the tales they’d heard. “Winterfell was captured by Theon Greyjoy, who had once been Lord Stark’s ward. He had Stark’s two young sons put to death and mounted their heads above the castle walls. When the northmen came to oust him, he put the entire castle to sword, down to the last child, before he himself was slain by Lord Bolton’s bastard.” “Not slain,” said Glover. “Captured, and carried back to the Dreadfort. The Bastard has been flaying him.” Lord Wyman nodded. “The tale you tell is one we all have heard, as full of lies as a pudding’s full of raisins."

Just another example of how well-known the tale of Theon's captivity and torture is. Davos, Robett Glover and Manderly have been at different places at different times, but all of them have heard the same tale of Theon's flaying.

🦑 Asha 🪓

Asha Greyjoy was seated in Galbart Glover’s longhall drinking Galbart Glover’s wine when Galbart Glover’s maester brought the letter to her. “My lady.” The maester’s voice was anxious, as it always was when he spoke to her. “A bird from Barrowton.” He thrust the parchment at her as if he could not wait to be rid of it. It was tightly rolled and sealed with a button of hard pink wax. Barrowton. Asha tried to recall who ruled in Barrowton. Some northern lord, no friend of mine. And that seal … the Boltons of the Dreadfort went into battle beneath pink banners spattered with little drops of blood. It only stood to reason that they would use pink sealing wax as well. This is poison that I hold, she thought. I ought to burn it. Instead she cracked the seal. A scrap of leather fluttered down into her lap. When she read the dry brown words, her black mood grew blacker still. Dark wings, dark words. The ravens never brought glad tidings. The last message sent to Deepwood had been from Stannis Baratheon, demanding homage. This was worse. “The northmen have taken Moat Cailin.” “The Bastard of Bolton?” asked Qarl, beside her. “Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, he signs himself. But there are other names as well.” Lady Dustin, Lady Cerwyn, and four Ryswells had appended their own signatures beneath his. Beside them was drawn a crude giant, the mark of some Umber. Those were done in maester’s ink, made of soot and coal tar, but the message above was scrawled in brown in a huge, spiky hand. It spoke of the fall of Moat Cailin, of the triumphant return of the Warden of the North to his domains, of a marriage soon to be made. The first words were, “I write this letter in the blood of ironmen,” the last, “I send you each a piece of prince. Linger in my lands, and share his fate.” Asha had believed her little brother dead. Better dead than this. The scrap of skin had fallen into her lap. She held it to the candle and watched the smoke curl up, until the last of it had been consumed and the flame was licking at her fingers. Galbart Glover’s maester hovered expectantly at her elbow. “There will be no answer,” she informed him.

I'll admit that the timelines are a bit confused to me, but it seems to me that Asha is one of the last of our named characters to learn about Theon's fate. Prior to this letter, she thought Theon dead.

We have several indications that the ironborn as a people and the Greyjoys as family have not been informed of Theon's captivity and survival, nor of his torture:

Before the priest could answer Gorold Goodbrother, the maester's mouth flapped open once again. "By rights the Seastone Chair belongs to Theon, or Asha if the prince is dead. That is the law."

Or Asha if the prince is dead. They don't know if he is. He might be.

They had spoken in the Sea Tower, as the wind howled outside the windows and the waves crashed restlessly below. Balon had shaken his head in despair when he heard what Aeron had to tell him of his last remaining son. "The wolves have made a weakling of him, as I feared," the king had said. "I pray god that they killed him, so he cannot stand in Asha's way."

Well, this is brutal, but clearly, Balon never knew what happened to Theon. Balon has many faults but this kind of sneaky dishonesty isn't one. Had he known about Theon's captivity and torture, he would not have claimed ignorance.

And Theon, if he lived, was just as hopeless, a boy of sulks and smiles. At Winterfell he proved his worth, such that it was, but the Crow's Eye was no crippled boy.

Aeron, too, is in the dark on whether Theon survived.

Only now do the ironborn receive letters telling them of Theon's situation. The letters don't aim to negotiate Theon's future, nor do they offer his death or release (understandable, as they are written by Ramsay, who wants to keep Theon for himself). They use Theon's fate as threat and show of force. This is happening to him, this could happen to you.

"Each of you" implies several such letters were sent. Asha. Dagmer would seem likely. Maybe some more along the Stony Shore? Unclear to me whether the Iron Islands proper (aka Euron or Erik Ironmaker who rules the Iron Islands as Euron's steward in his absence) have gotten a similar letter yes or no.

Asha is very affected by this letter. Most of this chapter she spends ruminating and reacting to her (lack of) options:

What does it matter? My father’s dead, my mother’s dying, my brother’s being flayed, and there’s naught that I can do about any of it.

But at least once it is implied she might have wanted to go rescue Theon, had she been able to.

She could turn merchanter, as Tris seemed to want, or else make for the Stepstones and join the pirates there. Or … “I send you each a piece of prince,” she muttered.

I read this as: Or… she could go find Theon.

She won't be able to, as immediately after, Deepwood Motte gets attacked and conquered by Stannis' forces and Asha taken prisoner.

She'll keep thinking of Theon and Theon's fate several times, in brief, vague memories tingued with guilt, often connected to her mother.

🩸Some Context 🩸

On the one hand, torture is normalised in the world these characters inhabit.

Manderly has a torturer. Stannis has a torturer. Jon Snow, some chapters prior, learned that Qhorin Halfhand had wildlings tortured. One of them Qhorin had tortured to death and "too quickly for him to be of much use". Jon is not upset by this and will come to respect Qhorin.

People get tortured for all sorts of reasons: To question them, to threaten others, to provide particularly gruesome deaths that leave an effect on enemies or allies (and so on).

On the other hand, there are some rules.

The flayed man was the sigil of House Bolton, Theon knew; ages past, certain of their lords had gone so far as to cloak themselves in the skins of dead enemies. A number of Starks had ended thus. Supposedly all that had stopped a thousand years ago, when the Boltons had bent their knees to Winterfell.

We learn, for instance, that the Boltons had to stop cloaking themselves in their enemies' skin when they bent the knee to Winterfell. It's somewhat unclear to me here if flaying as torture method at all was banned or "cloaking themselves in their enmies' skin" in specific.

After all, not only Joffrey but also the good Blackfish Tully throws threats of flaying people around, which would imply that flaying is not per se considered too abominable to consider.

“I mean,” said the Blackfish, “that you owe His Grace your thanks for his forbearance. He played out that mummer’s farce in the Great Hall so as not to shame you before your own people. Had it been me I would have flayed you for your stupidity rather than praising this folly of the fords.”

The Blackfish is not serious in this threat (probably) but think of violence you (your culture) would consider truly descipable. Would you, even unseriously, as "a good person", boast of doing this to someone?

The Bolton banner is considered abominable, though. There's a rumour about a room in the Dreadfort where the Boltons hang their enemies's skins deemed dreadful enough by at least the Stark children to be suspected to be "only one of Old Nan's stories"

"Gods, I was so scared. And the Greatjon’s not the worst of them, only the loudest. Lord Roose never says a word, he only looks at me, and all I can think of is that room they have in the Dreadfort, where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.” “That’s just one of Old Nan’s stories,” Bran said. A note of doubt crept into his voice. “Isn’t it?” “I don’t know.” He gave a weary shake of his head.

(Robb talking to Bran)

So flaying yay or nay is is a bit ambiguous to me, but

Roose himself calls Ramsay's treatment of Theon exceptionally "cruel"

Manderly & Co discuss Ramsay as extremely cruel abnomaly, and house Bolton as "cunning and cruel"

Barbrey Dustin reacts with horror to seeing Theon, which tells us that the way Ramsay treats his prisoner is considered beyond the realm of "normal", even in this brutal world, even by vengeful, vindictive women like Barbrey who do not shy away from a little cruelty

If we assume that flaying was in fact banned in the North, when Bolton spreads the word that Theon is being flayed by his Bastard, he's conducting a double PR-move:

One, rejoice in our mistreatment of the turncloak who destroyed Winterfell and Winterfell's heirs. (Invoking the memory of Stark to cement their power; "we are avenging Winterfell")

Two, we are flaying again, and don't you in fact like it? (Defying the memory of Stark to show that They are now in charge according to their Own rules. Stark might have banned flaying, but we flay. A power-move against the memory of Stark.)

What is being done to Theon is then something that "should not" be considered acceptable (this is no honourable way to treat prisoners; this is an exceptional and cruel mode of punishment; skinning your enemies is abominable; it was banned; this is not a regular hazard of going to battle and being a war prisoner) yet it is, because it speaks to people's desires and political needs that if it is done to Theon we will accept and even welcome it.

"Theon is secretly tortured" vs. "Theon is publicly tortured and the world approves" makes for two very different stories and very different narratives for Theon, as well.

There's no recuperation, here. There's no "if they had known they would have".

It is simply that Theon's mistreatment is the price that is being paid. To maintain or reinstate power in the North. To create order. To manage a story of heroes (us) and villains (them; vanquished, under our control, punished). This is true of Theon as a child taken hostage and it is true of Theon as young adult getting tortured.

The knowing of it is the point. For a surviving Theon, it means living in a world that approved of his captivity and a world that approved of his torture. I think that very compelling and if GRRM ever writes these books I look forward to seeing this Theon.

#theon greyjoy #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #twoweeksoftheon

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 1 year

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your knight to the rescue

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

WC: 1.8K

warnings: cursing, creepy older man, sexual tension? i think thats it.

summary: being a plus one has its perks and downsides.

A/N: i wrote this for @alecmores my editor and friend since they did a fic for my birthday this year. a little reward for having to read all my stories and listen to me talk nonsense in chat.

also tried to make this as gender neutral as possible. so if theres something that comes off as fem presenting just let me know and ill fix it!

also used two prompts from @urfriendlywriter , forced proximity numbers 3 and 4

in the drafts since may13

masterlist / dick grayson

“please, y/n! you’ll be doing me a solid!”

“if you get on your knees and start begging i might consider throwing myself to the wolves.”

you were just joking, you would’ve done anything dick asked of you. but he got on his knees with his hands clasped in front of his face and put on his best puppy dog eyes. oh! he really didn’t want to go.

“y/n l/n, will you do your best friend in the whole world a huge favor and be my plus one to this wayne gala event?” he even shuffled closer and leaned his head against your thighs as you leaned against the cave computer.

without a thought you set a hand on the crown of his raven hair and run your fingers through the strands. “can we get a big belly burger after?” you know the gala will only have alcohol and finger food.

dick moved his head as his chin sat on the meat of your thighs so he could look directly into your eyes. “of course, y/n. what kind of friend would i be if i let you starve yourself on my time?”

“a terrible friend.”

“and i am anything but a terrible friend.” he groaned as he pushed himself from the floor and walked to the suit displays.

“sure you should be going out? i heard you groan from just getting off the floor, you might be getting old.” you followed behind with your arms crossed over your chest.

dick just threw a middle finger over his shoulder, not wasting his time to look your way. “fuck you. i’m in my twenties, this is my prime.”

“yeah, okay, boy wonder.”

dick grabbed his black and blue outfit before heading to a changing area. you lingered around and the silence slowly got to your head. your fingers bit into your biceps and looked down at your slippers.

“just… just be careful, dick.” you scrunch your face at your simple wording, “cause- cause i’m sure alfred is tired of patching you up. and- and you don’t want to look a mess at the gala… could cause some rumors or something.” rambling just so it doesn’t seem like you care too deeply for dick’s safety. honestly just saying, “i like you dick grayson, so don’t be an idiot as you’re backflipping off buildings.” would be a lot easier than what just came out your mouth.

dick stepped back into the cold cave and stood in front of you. his black eye mask was in place along with his gear all secured in their compartments. you couldn’t see his baby blues due to the white holes staring back at you, but he had a smirk on his lips that made you scuff without knowing his next words.

“worried about my safety?” he copied your arms-crossed stance. his head cocked to the side. you narrowed your eyes, “no shit, dumbass. you're fighting criminals, street level and insane.”

you rolled your lips, “i know it’s unavoidable at times, just…” you sighed, “just don’t get in the line of fire if you can.” you touched his arm before walking away and back up the spiral stairs.

in your rush to leave you missed how dick’s arms fell and his smirk vanished in a blink. hidden eyes watching your every step until you were gone from his sight.

“i want big belly burger.”

“all in due time, y/n.”

your hands tugged at the nice, but tight fabric of your black formal attire. you even shuffled on your feet, already feeling the blisters forming. you were used to loose and flowy clothing with sneakers or slippers since you worked behind the scenes.

with you knowing there would be cameras in attendance, you took extra long to make sure you were presentable and cleaned well. especially since you would be standing beside dick for most of the event, you didn’t want to look like sewer trash next to a sculpted statue.

“stop fidgeting,” dick leaned close to your ear, “you look marvelous.” his breath caressed your ear and you had to suppress the shiver it caused.

leaving the outfit alone, your hands clasped over your stomach. a more appropriate gesture than arms crossed as you stare down the boring one percenters. you could spot bruce somewhere in the distance chatting along with some people, and you could spot his fake laughing from a mile away. letting your eyes scan the room you land on detective gordon, who’s tucked away in a corner with his hands shoved in his khaki trench coat.

“looks like gordon didn’t get the dress code memo.” giving dick a hit from your elbow as you knocked your chin in the cop’s direction.

“wants a little attention. nothing wrong with that.” and something about that last part… “i’m- i’m gonna get a drink. i’ll- i’ll be right back.” and you hurried off before dick could stop you.

politely moving through the sea of people, you landed at the open bar. palms wrapping around the cool granite counter, you leaned forward and waved down a bartender. he was very handsome, but he wasn’t-

“just champagne, please. thank you.”

the flute of bubbling amber liquid sat in front of you and the bartender left to help others. you fiddled with the stem and bottom, giving the liquid a little swirling making the bubbles fizzle. you held the glass in hand as you turned your back to the counter and faced the chatting party. you needed a breather from grayson.

from the corner of your eye, you saw an older gentleman saddle up to the bar top, right next to you. to close for comfort. you could feel the air shift as he moved his arm, suit jacket popping your bubble. you stiffened, not feeling brave enough to make it obvious that he was the cause of discomfort. now you wished dick would come to your rescue and lead you away, on the other side of the room would be nice.

“may i just say,” his hand touched you, “you are a visionary.” fingers moving caused goosebumps. you had to swallow the acid rising.

“you're too kind.” fake smiled as you raised your glass. where is dick?

“are you here alone? how do you know bruce wayne?” the man questioned. moving closer, his chest almost bumping yours.

you licked your lips, “i’m a- a worker for bruce wayne… secretary. or personal assistant to mister wayne.” not too much of a fib. “and i’m here with someone. i should,” you pointed a finger at the crowd, “i should go look for him.”

the man’s grimy fingers trapped your wrist after just a step and tugged you into his body. his breathing grating against your ear and neck, “what’s the rush? i’m sure your friend can wait.”

“really, i should-“ he slipped an arm over your waist and you shut down. it’s like you were hit with mr. freeze’s ice gun.

your heart started hammering and your eyes were darting around for any sight of him. your chest was heaving, your panic growing the longer his touch and breath were on your body.

“how about we-“ “there you are, baby. i was starting to get worried.”

it’s like an angel was sent to save you from death. the chandelier lighting cast dick in a halo of blinding light. his tall stature and wide shoulders held with grace and strength. his dark black hair swept in a clean style as his piercing irises stared the man down. you heard the gasp and took a shallow breath when you felt him move away.

dick held a hand out and you grasped it like a lifeline as he tucked you into his side. arm protective on your waist and fingers splayed, it was the warmth you need after freezing to death. your arm circled his waist to pull him even closer, head falling to his chest. he even positioned himself to where you were less in the older man’s eye line, his wider frame acting as a shield.

“who’s your new friend?” dick asked. it came off playful, but you heard the undertone. he was ready to hang him upside down by his shoestrings.

“i’m not sure. haven’t been given a name.” and you haven’t. but you already have his face memorized.

the creep opened and closed his mouth. a fish gasping for water as sharks played with their dinner. you tried to give the air of innocence to compliment dick’s bomb that was slowly ticking with each second.

he stuck his hand out for a friendly shake, “dick grayson. nice to meet you…” he trailed off. waiting for the answer before he searched him up on the computer back home.

the man took his outstretched hand, “mr. cooper. pleasure to meet you.” and you saw the flash of pain over his face. dick’s grip looked like it could crush a skull.

“mr. cooper, well i hope you have an excellent evening. if you don’t mind, i’d like to steal my dance partner back.” without waiting, he walked the both of you away. you left your champagne behind without a thought.

near the edge of the dance floor on the other side was where dick planted the both of you. he held your right hand in his while his left hand settled at the small of your back. you let your left-hand rest on his strong shoulder. it wasn’t much dancing, just bodies swaying.

“thank you… for back there-“ “no need to thank me. i would do it again in a heartbeat.”

his eyes twinkled. your heartbeat stuttered.

the orchestra continued their melodic strumming and you let yourself get swept away. eyes closing, you leaned your head on dick’s dress shirt. right near his heart. the smell of citrus and pine invaded your senses and you almost got dizzy. the hand on your back pressed in harder and then rubbed along your spine.

you almost snapped your eyes open at the feeling of dick’s lips being pressed to your temple. and it wasn’t just a simple peck, it lingered. your body felt hot and you would bet ten bucks your ears were burning red. his lips moved and then he nudged his nose against your hairline as he sighed.

“i still want a big belly burger.”

your hunger broke the romantic moment.

feeling dick’s laugh through his chest and hearing the boyish noise lit you up. pressing your chin into his shirt, you made eye contact and both flashed smiles.

“wanna ditch?” “you make it sound like high school.” hands tightening. he grinned, “you're right. i think it’s time to leave.”

and dick grayson, being your knight in shining armor, led the both of you out of the stuffy venue. and he took the waiting chariot to the closet's big belly so you could stuff your face with food you’ve been waiting to scarf down.

and as you moaned with ketchup at the corner of your mouth and chugged soda, dick grayson thought you were the best thing to ever happen to him. and he would do anything to keep you safe and smiling.

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