#his death felt so... idk i hate it

[daigah]

Captain Atom picking up Jaime ☺☺☺

Justice League: Generation Lost #22

[adhd-merlin]

sorry but I was rewatching some bits of The Hollow Queen and the transition from daegal's tragic death in merlin's arms to arthur sitting at the table and telling his wife "I still can't believe how lucky I was! :)" while merlin limps in the background is kind of funny

[electoons]

guys this "keeping myself busy with distractions so I don't get sad" thing isn't working

[theood]

Gonna be entirely honest from what ive heard abt New Soupernatural it honestly feels very unfitting for Dean to go around actually saving his mom. Like. Im SORRY to say it but the way John raised Dean and how John shaped him to be Sams Protector to be There For Sammy to raise him with the burden of "you may have to kill him for me, Dean. You're going to need to watch Sam and I need you to promise me you'll shoot him if he goes south" is really fucking integral to why Dean is Dean.

YES, we see Dean multiple times wanting a white picket fence life. We know he doesn't want to hunt. But for him to completely rewrite time. Alter a timeline feels. So disingenuous to who his character was.

Dean didn't deserve to die how he did, but what he's doing in Heaven is no better. Deans story should have ended differently yes, but not how it's going in The New Show

[perenlop]

well i finished renegade. i sure was renegading all over the place

[fexicoded]

+

[torgawl]

wolf's rain spoilers

toboe....

[seasaltbaptism]

i’m deleting this later.

so bleach used to be one of my favorite shows / mangas and i still have love for it but it’s LARGELY unsatisfactory when it comes to ichigo’s heroes journey ,,? does that make sense? i’m not going to get too technical, but he starts as a kid who’s got issues bc he lost his mom ( tragically ) and he’s living life with this chip on his shoulder. bla bla bla inciting action , transformation & boom . . . we’re on our journey with our magical aid. the soul society arc was one of the best pieces of story i have seen from any mangaka to date and that’s just bc it’s so interesting to me. you have this outlier ( ichigo ) busting into a stagnant world and completely shaking it to its foundations BY SHEER LOVE AND WILLPOWER, and his friends follow him for the same reasons! they clash with this society, meet people, understand their motives more, their lives. they make FRIENDS and ENEMIES and uncover heinous secrets, cruelties and injustice and actually stand up and say ‘ yo wtf? ? ‘

throughout the arc we see major figureheads ‘change sides ‘ / change their minds and stand up too and it’s just really cool to see the ripple effect ichigo has on things, he’s a shaker and a mover. this arc ends with aizen’s betrayal revealed and his promise to return and destroy soul society and BAM we’re led into another amazing arc : hueco mundo. now if you pay attention THIS is a continuation where we see ichigo sort of confronting himself more but also denying himself in this arc ( he did a lot of soul searching in the first arc do not get me wrong homie jilted a 10+ year process in three days ) but in this arc we see how far he really goes for the ones he calls family ( i.e orihime getting nabbed + ichigo DYING & returning in that one fight , to him agreeing to split his soul to achieve final getsuga ) which just leads me to feel like after / during this arc we see ichigo really come alive meeting people who are like him? ikkaku? renji? ganju?? like it’s so. . . . idk ! seeing him continuing to fight for a society like their attack dog that ( albeit made some changes ! ) is still so stagnant ?? forever ? his whole arc after soul society + hueco mundo is him dealing with his depression which i actually enjoy bc at least it’s touching on ? his ptsd ? pain? loss of HALF HIS SOUL. i think this is such a powerful moment in his life? idk what i wanted done with him but then we hit the fullbring arc and it was so unsatisfactory to me bc ?? he regains his soul reaper powers ONLY because they needed him to defeat ginjo on their behalf. they didn’t pool their power into a zanpakuto BEFORE ??? it’s just,,, idk !

and anytime after that all ichigo does is fight for soul society, all side plot non canon movies , all filler eps , thousand year blood war? ichigo is not even 18 ?? and soul society once again asks him for his help, it’s just unsatisfactory to me! i miss the first arc and maybe the second one where we take more of a psychological look at ichigo , his motivations , his pains and how that makes him act around the people he loves. where do you take a character like that after he’s gotten his friend back? does he continue to change the society from the inside out? does he quit ? does he stay? that’s sort of the catch 22 with him, you CANT realistically say ichigo would give up his power and carry on as if nothing ever happened bc that’s not who he IS , he has a savior complex / survivors guilt + ptsd. he’s obsessed with making sure EVERYTHING is okay and safe because he’ll make it ok and safe but he won’t tell you whatever’s going on with him bc that’s just too much and he can handle it. i’m getting ahead of myself

tdlr; ichigo loses his mother who he loved more than anything -> ichigo pulls into himself and keeps friends who he can relate to close but not too close, not ever too close -> he meets rukia and undergoes massive change to save his family , he lets her in -> rejects the responsibility over everyone at first but then is convinced that he can’t half-ass the job , all souls need him -> his new friend who he sees himself in ( and someone who taught him the ropes ) gets kidnapped and imprisoned and sentenced to death for ‘ helping him ‘ / saving his life / doing her fucking job -> his friends who love him so much were empowered just by being around ichigo and train to help him -> they all go to get their new friend back and save them from a grim fate, fall into a world with so many personalities , backstories, motivations, rules , fuckery that they can’t help but make friends and garner allies -> he lets people in, he has motivation and a goal and a reason to push past boundaries and overcome the odds and blow people away -> he fails and gets back up and wins and fails again and carries on , who is he if he can’t save his friends even at the cost of his own well-being -> cue his friends ready to push it to the limit too bc they love him and he has to realize he can’t be self sacrificial and expect his friends to not do the same -> eventually they save rukia and bring attention to oddity of her DEATH SENTENCE -> ichigo achieves his goal but can’t help but feel anger as aizen reveals his betrayal and plan for the world at large , he lives in the world and takes it SO personally -> MORE growth for ichigo as he literally plows through enemies without really going through proper inner channels , but needs the power so he has quick meetings and sheer force of wills himself through situations -> eventually makes the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of others and his family / friends , splitting himself away from himself. he’s harshly cutting away the piece that has made him feel alive, useful , for the first time in a long long time. and his father encourages it. where does that leave him? where would that lead you? after everything ? all the adventures, adversaries, people you met? you must say goodbye bc this was never a choice for you? this was like breathing, you’d cut yourself into smaller pieces if it met you could fill the bellies of those you loved. ichigo’s arc makes me fucking crazy because it’s like a snake that eats itself, it’s never ending , and tite tried to end it? he tried to say that there ‘ is no zanpakuto spirit , you’re always fighting alone , it’s self acceptance and love that’s the answer. ‘ and he gets another power up and everything’s wrapped up ( it’s not , lots are missing / dead but hey kubo was sick so ) and ichigo married and had a kid , he could finally rest and give up reaping — like WHAT

[flugame-mp3]

SEASON NINE FINALE WAS WILD. I HAVE MANY MANY THOUGHTS. WHAT JUST HAPPENED. A FUCKING ROLLER COASTER FOR SURE

[hecksupremechips]

Ooooooghhhhhhhhh stressed 🥺

[deadghosy]

Mommy long legs reader or slender man reader x Hazbin hotel 🌚🌝

AHHHH I LOVE YOU MY GHOST ANONNNN! SLENDERMAN?? YOU FINNA BRING OUT MY CREEPYPASTA PHASEE🦆✨💗‼️‼️‼️

HAZBIN HOTEL X SLENDERMAN! READER

prompt: a faceless creature of the height of 10’5 (or 7’9 idk I got two different heights from safari lol) came to hell to serve one final purpose…get a damn job.

Two words, scary tall…

So say your height was 10’5…

SHIT GON GET WICKEEDDDD!!!

Okay so I can see Charlie being scared staring at you as you just sit like a nice gentleman as your body doesn’t fit the whole seat… (y’know what, let’s go with 7’9…) you told Charlie you use to be a leader before you somehow came to this wrenched place

Charlie felt bad and gave you a job here so yon can stay. But she was confused when you said “somehow”’ as if you didn’t die as a Human…WAIT A MINUTE..DID YOU JUST TALK WITHOUT A MOU-

Lucifer looked up at you and was like….“What in the fucking nine circles…” and you two became friends because of how Lucifer put accessories on you like a Christmas tree

Y’know how people make slenderman wear reading glasses sometimes? That’s you. 😭 with your blind ass LMAOO (I also wear glasses dw…) But I can see you wear the glasses and residents be so confused because…you don’t have eyes for Christ out loud-

“Fuck you wearin' glasses for?” Husk said to you once as he caught you even reading a book…now he was more confused. “I’m reading…” “…..okay..” husk was so done with this buffoonery as you had no mouth and eyes. But yet you could still read, see, and fuckin talk? Yeah he must be drunk as hell itself…

You treat niffty just like how fanon slenderman treats Sally. That’s how I headcannon it.

I headcannon you to be the fanon version of slenderman rather the cannon version. Cause you being the fanon version is just sweet considering the chaos that can happen in the hotel and how you treat niffty.

I can see people thinking you are a new overlord as you had a stern aura around yourself as you had a proper straight walk as you held a high chin not showing any weaknesses.

“Woah….did you see that sinner get lit in flames…” “yeah I did.” It got so quiet so quick as angel gave you a confused face as you just stood there. 😭 Angel couldn’t tell if you were being fr or being a smartass

You were just sleeping on the couch, dead ass like a passed out beer dad after watching football. And fat nuggets sat in your lap sleeping. Then angel came and slept by you, then husk, then niffty, AND THEN EVERYONE JOINED 😭 big ass family cuddle💗💗🦆

You deadass could be the bodyguard of the hotel as you could escort a sinner who is trying to be an ass to the staff and you’re just like, “YEET!” And boom they are thrown away

You and Alastor definitely bond the most as you two got black tentacles. It’s just for Alastor it’s based on his powers when he uses his magic. But for you, it’s just your appearance as you use them to pierce your enemies. But mostly you use them when you are too bored to pick up objects with your hands

BIGGG headcannon that when slenderman do that static thingy, for you it clouds their vision and hearing as you make them pass out. Either to death or just to knock them out.

Lol I can imagine the whole creepypasta mansion going crazy while you drink tea like “this is fine” as you are in some other universe- 😭 crossover type shit

Like Drowned Ben is spam texting your phone like, “slender. slender. Help. Slendy. Octopus. Father. Help help.. help JeFF STABBED ME!”

And your tall ass is just sleeping as everything is going soooo peaceful in the hotel.

While we are at that, EJ definitely was using a book to try and to summon you with sally behind him hugging her teddy to see you again. Meanwhile Jeff was chasing Ben as he goes through a tv to hide from Jeff.

I imagine people in the hotel would hug you except for Alastor as he hates touch. But the people would dead ass hug you as one of your tentacles hold them.

You picked up angel, niffty , Charlie and Vaggie with your four tentacles as you read a book. It was a funny but cute sight as Charlie was like “:p” while the others had a cartoony ass expression or a blank one which is definitely Vaggie and husk

Adam and Lute definitely glanced at each other confused at what the fuck you were as you didn’t have a demonic or angelic aura. But you had some type of power in you. It was weird asf as you just stood there like “🧍🏾am I ugly?” They just kept staring at you

I can see you having the same expression as the picture above when you met pentious as you and Alastor was having tea just chilling with the hellish weather.

“Do you know that guy?” “I have no idea who that pest is my dear friend.” Alastor says with his usual smile as he hands you a cookie.

Just straight up tea times with Alastor is so peaceful as Alastor was kinda suspicious when you didn’t say anything if he ate a cannibalism meal. But I mean…slenderman! Reader is use to people being a cannibal.

The vees are definitely intrigued with who the hell you are and how powerful are you as you were the talk of pentagram city when you first came.

I headcannon a sinner tried to cut off your tentacles only to be grabbed by one of them and slammed to the ground. You just stood there and let static ring loudly in their head to the point it exploded.

[fairysluna]

the wolf's cage.

After being captured by the Northerns, you found yourself with the Lord of Winterfell whose strange politeness makes you doubt his true intentions.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader.

TAGS — smut (p in v, m!oral, spanking, use of the word whore, face fucking, hate sex(?, dirty talk, degrading/praise, belly bulge), cursing, mentions of war, blood and bruises, kind of enemies to lovers, dilf!cregan, and idk if this counts as dark!cregan but I'll add it just in case. If something is missing let me know!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — it's the first time that i write smut after a very long time, and i wrote this in a rush, so it's not perfect but i loved it anyway bc i fell in love with this trope. Reader is loosely based on Osha from GoT. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k. (oh damn)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

“We found her close to the Godswood,” one of the men said. “She was hiding and preparing herself to kill, my lord.” 

Cregan walked slightly closer to you, his curiosity peaking when he noticed how small you looked curled up in a corner of your cell, covered by thick pieces of fur. Your face was stained with dirt and dried blood. His men had told him you were a menace, but after looking at you, he didn't believe it. 

“She seems harmless,” he pointed out, kneeling beside you. 

“She is not, my lord. She's responsible for the death of three of our men,” the same man explained. They were all in combat position; holding the hilt of their swords just in case you would dare to attack their leader. Cregan, however, seemed to be unafraid, getting closer to you and trying to see more of you. He was certainly intrigued.

How was a young girl like you able to kill a group of ruthless men? 

He raised his hand and gently pulled a strand of your hair out of your face; he saw a scar on your cheek and a cut on your lip. Then, you met his eyes with yours. Your cold and mercenary haze did little to intimidate him. You were finally in the presence of the man you hated the most; the man who had killed your people in cold blood. He could see your wrath burning through your haze, and he understood it. 

With his thumb, he removed the drop of blood that was dripping from your lip — a soft touch that felt so foreign to your skin. He attempted to do it again, but you moved your face away and he knew it was enough. With a sigh, he stood up casting a large shadow over your smaller frame; you looked down at the floor, ignoring his penetrating stare on you before he turned around and walked out of the cell. 

“Tell a maid to give her a bath, then bring her to the dining room,” he ordered. 

“My lord, I don't think-”

“Tell the cooks to make a meal for two, and tell a maid to keep Rickon out of my room tonight,” he abruptly interrupted him, the guard was left in surprise. 

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not think it’s a good idea at all,” The maester advised him, talking in whispers so you would not hear a word. “I believe that being in a room alone with that savage would put your life at risk. We cannot afford that, not when we're in the middle of an imminent war.” 

Cregan turned to give one more look at you before one of the guards locked your cell again. You looked so fragile, and you were probably starving after spending days in the merciless Winter cold. He knew you would not be such a threat in such a condition, so he did not follow his loyal Maester’s advice.

“The decision has been made,” he spoke as he started to walk away from the dungeons. The old man quickly followed his pace. 

“I would advise you to make some double thinking about your decision-” 

“Are you questioning my methods?” His voice came out low and slow, but it carried a bit of an intimidating undertone that was easy to catch. The Maester took a step back when his superior turned around; his Lordship was an imposing man, tall and with wide shoulders and some grey eyes that would pierce through your soul. Lord Stark was a kindhearted man, but whenever he was angry he was unrecognisable. 

And the Maester trembled when he saw a small glimpse of his anger. 

“Of course not, but it is my duty as your advisor to give you the best options… risking your life it's certainly not.” 

“That girl is craving for a meal, I will not let her starve,” he grunted. “Besides, I might steal some valuable information from her. She's just a girl, and she's unarmed. She will do no harm.” 

The old man simply nodded, knowing that it was a lost battle and not having the guts to continue to defy his lord. Cregan cleared his throat, repeated the instructions and then turned around to leave his men behind. They shared confused looks, doubting his plan and how unusual it was for him to have mercy with the people of your kind. This new and sudden sympathy towards you raised suspicion among the northern guards, but they were all too afraid to speak up. 

They just obeyed the orders of their Lord. 

Cregan was tapping his fingertips against the table, patiently waiting for your arrival as he was blankly staring at his half-empty cup of wine. The only sound that was heard was coming from the fireplace, and the rest of the room was deadly silent. He was wondering how much time would it take for you to arrive when two guards opened the door, and two others were carrying you inside. They were grabbing your arms, tight enough to leave a bruise behind. Cregan stood up the instant you showed up, and, with a slight nod from him, you were freed from their grip. 

Lord Stark took the time to look at you, shamelessly glancing at every inch of your body. He noticed how your skin was glowing now, freed of any stain or impureness on your face, except for that scar on your cheekbone that seemed to be quite recent. Regardless of that, you were such a sight for his eyes, so pretty and young and fierce all the same. The glow in your eyes was still yelling your hate for him and, somehow, that would make you even more appealing to him. He followed the trail down your neck and found your bossom being squeezed by the dress which looked a bit too small for you, but that fit your body like a glove; shaping your curves and enhancing them, he had to take a deep breath after seeing you. 

All the beauty that was previously hidden under thick layers of clothes and dirty hair and face was now starting to show.

“You can leave now,” he indicated to the guards. They nodded and followed his orders immediately. 

Once they were alone, Cregan pointed at the chair on the other side of the table, inviting you to take a seat. You were reluctant, staring at the large amount of food with distrust; you thought this was a trap, no one ever invites their foes to supper. You did not obey him at first, standing still in your place, using a pair of borrowed shoes that were almost crushing your feet and making you feel like walking on burning coal. 

You knew one thing for sure; you needed to get out of there as soon as you could. Or, better yet, you had to kill that man. 

“Please, be seated,” he spoke so softly and politely that you could not believe it. It was so blatantly obvious. “The pork it's better when it's warm.” 

A glance at the table and you saw your plate already served; this did nothing but increase your mistrust. However, you walked towards the spot, slowly and with your guard up. The sound of your shoes clacking on the wooden floor as you made your way to your seat until you finally sat. 

Then, a silence fell over the room. Cregan's eyes seemed to never look away from you as he raised his cup and brought it to his lips. You nervously played with your cup, already filled with wine. 

“I gave myself the liberty to fill your cup,” he said. 

Besides that, your plate was full of beans, pork, carrots and mashed potatoes. Everything was already cut into tiny pieces, and only then did you realize you only had a spoon; no knife, and no fork. 

“Is wine not of your taste?” Cregan asked after your long silence. “Would you rather have some ale? or juice?” 

Nothing came out of your mouth. Cregan was losing his little patience, but he knew better and he stayed calm. Upsetting you would only make things worse. 

“You might be wondering why I spared your life today,” he started, attempting a two-sided conversation. “If you were any other, your head would be in a spike by now… but you might be useful for us.” He made a pause, sipping his wine so delicately and manly. Then he added, “For me.”

Again, no answer. 

“I believe you have valuable information that would help us to understand your people better,” he explained, trying to sound likeable and friendly, even giving you a warm smile. “Maybe that way we'll understand your reasons.” 

“Why would I give information to the one who's murdering my people?” You finally spoke. 

Cregan heard your thick northern accent and a smile was drawn on his face. He hid the gesture by grabbing his fork and knife and cutting a piece of meat before putting it inside his mouth. You realized that contrary to you, he had a knife; you wondered how you could reach it without him noticing.

“Ah, so you can speak,” he claimed, cheerfully. “For a moment I thought you were mute.” 

“I am not,” you grunted.

“You could stop an imminent war, you know?” He continued the previous conversation. “Save the lives of your people, avoid a bloodbath.” 

“You are the only one causing those things, my lord,” the mocking tone in your voice when you uttered the last two words was obvious. “This war carries your name.” 

“You are the ones taking over our lands,” he debated. 

“We're escaping,” you snapped. “You have no idea what's beyond that wall. You and your men would do the same in our position.” 

“And what is it that's up there with all of you?” 

“You wouldn't believe my words. You'll have to see it.” 

He hummed, not convinced at all. He leaned back on his chair. 

“How did you get that scar on your face? It looks quite recent,” he slightly narrowed his eyes. 

“An accident while climbing the wall,” you simply explained, not wanting to give out too many details. 

“When did you cross it?” 

“A few weeks ago.” 

“And what have you been doing all this time?” 

“I already told you… trying to survive.” 

Cregan clicked his tongue, sipping his wine once more and letting the topic go. “You haven't touched your food,” he pointed out. “Nor your wine. The cooks work hard on this food.” 

“I'm not hungry.” 

“It's not poisoned,” he let you know as if you would believe his mere words. “If I ever kill you it wouldn't be with a drop of venom, that it's not an honourable way to murder your opponent.” 

“Honour,” you repeated with a mocking tone. 

“Does that word sound funny to you?” 

“It does when it's you saying it,” you muttered, clenching your jaw. “You have the blood of innocents in your hands, you have no honour.”

The tense environment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Soon, a small child entered the room and ran towards Cregan; it was his son, his spitting image standing right next to him. His weakness. You looked closely, and you noticed how Lord Stark's demeanour was briefly replaced by a softer one when he held his child in his arms, only to get angry again when one of the maids walked in rushing behind the boy. You were observant, and then quickly an idea of escape lighted up your mind. 

“I apologize, Lord Stark,” the maid murmured, shaking and breathing unevenly. “Little Rickon wanted to say goodnight and he ran away from his chambers-” 

“Don't let it happen again,” he stopped her before she could go on with her explanations that were of little interest to his Lordship. “Just take him to bed, and don't let this happen again.” 

“Yes, my lord.”

He kissed the child's forehead and hugged him one last time before the maid pulled his arm and took him away. The boy was looking back at his sire with saddened eyes as he walked, and once he was out of sight, Cregan was back to his tough facade. However, you knew new information, and now you knew exactly how to manage to escape.

“Was that your child?” 

“Indeed,” he nodded. 

“Beyond the wall, children are taught to fight and hunt from a very young age,” you randomly told him. “Does he know how to do that?” 

“He's still learning.” 

“How old is he?” 

“We are not here to talk about my child,” he snapped, growing impatient with each passing second. 

You stopped, only for a brief second to let it rest and prepare yourself for the next thing. The suddenness of your next question left him speechless.

“Where's his mother?” You noticed how he tensed, clenching his jaw and forming a fist with his hand. There it is. “Is she around?” 

His silence gave you the answer you were expecting, you had to hold back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you murmured, “Childbirth?” 

His fist smacked against the table and you noticed how all the plates jumped due to the impact. He stood up, fuming, all the kindness and politeness vanishing from his body as he lost his patience with you. Yet, you did not seem fazed by his roughness, you barely flinched. You stood up too and slowly started to walk around the table, to get closer to him. 

“I bet your nights might be lonely now that you've lost your wife,” A false tone of empathy was heard in your voice as you kept taking step after step. “Does your bed feel empty at night?” 

“That's enough,” he growled. 

“You dressed me, bathed me and fed me… perhaps you're trying to convince me to stay by your side,” you deduced, using your seduction skills to distract him from the fact that you were getting closer to the knife on the table. “Is this your intention? To make me yours? To turn me into your whore?” Your voice lowered itself a few tones, getting raspier and more seductive.

You reached his side, his eyes were stuck on your face as his breathing was starting to get faster with each second. You saw his jaw, sharp as the knife you were trying to grab, and tensed as he tried to hide his growing arousal. Of course, he has noticed your attributes before, and of course, he had secretly —and shamelessly— fantasized about ripping your dress to see what was underneath, but now your words would only make his struggle grow. 

Perhaps the Maester was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea. 

“Have you heard what they say about the women from the Free Folk?” You were teasing him, boldly raising your hands until they went to his thick coat and untied it; it fell around his leather shoes, and only a thin shirt was beneath it. Your eyes glanced at him, noticing the chest hair on his skin as your hands felt the hardness of his abdomen; years of training with the sword had certainly made its effect. “People say we're difficult to handle, but that we fuck like goddesses. Wouldn't you want to try it out?”

One of your hands travelled lower and lower until it was able to feel the shape of his growing cock in your palm and through his pants. A winning smile appeared on your lips. His growing lust did not allow him to see the moment when your hand took the knife. Luckily for him, his reflexes were quite fast, and he was able to stop your hand right before you almost stabbed his neck. Your eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist and turned your body around, slamming you against the table. He pressed himself against you, your dress now ruined with the food beneath your frame. 

Cregan's hand grabbed a big portion of your hair and pulled it back, roughly, forcing you to arch your back. You could not help but whimper due to the pain in your skull. His breathing soon reached your neck and caused shivers down your spine; it smelled like wine. 

“You little whore,” he mocked you, “you thought you could've killed me?” 

His voice was completely different to the one you have heard before; it was almost like a growl, so deep, slow and hoarse. You would be lying if you said you did not find it amusing. His touch was rough and lacking the gentleness and delicacy that it had hours ago when he wiped the blood off of your lip. 

“It was worth the try,” you breathed out, laughing at him when you felt his arousal pressing against your arse. 

“What's so funny, huh?” he grunted, pulling you harder and making you hum. “I could kill you right here, right now,” he threatened. 

“But you won't,” you murmured. 

“That's right,” he mumbled, breathing in your scent. Even after taking a bath you still smelled of pine tree, it was an intoxicating smell. “I will prove your word first. Let's see if the wildlings whores fuck like goddesses, mhm?” 

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand freeing your hair and going towards the skirts of your borrowed dress. He lifted them, holding them in place on your waist behind your back. He saw how your pussy was already starting to glisten with your arousal, even when he had barely touched you beforehand. His cock twitched inside his pants when he noticed that all of this was because of his rough touch. 

You filthy slut, he thought. 

You heard a soft stump on the floor as his pants fell down his thick legs. It did not take too much time for you to feel his leaking tip brushing against your folds, spreading them open and smearing your slick all over it. You had to bite your lip, holding back a gasp as he teasingly rubbed against your clit; this was certainly not what you were expecting, but it felt good enough to make you want more. 

Slowly, he started to make his way inside you, grabbing your arsecheeck with his free hand and spreading it only to see your needy cunt taking him. Cregan gasped, your soft walls were wrapping around him perfectly, squeezing him just right and creaming all over him. He hummed in delight as he felt your legs already starting to shake. Gods, he was big, stretching you out as of you were a fucking maiden, providing you with that sweet pain that made your eyes close. 

When he was halfway in, he pushed himself all in with a single thrust. His head touched that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck!” you cried out, involuntarily spreading your legs further, at the same time your hands pushed all the plates and cups away from your side. It all ended up spilt on the floor. 

He remained there for a few seconds, still inside of you and not moving an inch. Cregan's hand reached for your hair once again, pulling it back until your back was pressed against his chest and his lips were brushing against your ear. His breathing was ragged and unsteady; his tongue licked his lips as they started to get dry. You were able to feel him, his veins pulsing inside of you as he would twitch each time you clenched around him. Cregan hummed against your ear. 

Without warning, his hips started to move and your legs suddenly felt as weak and giggly as jelly. Your hands gripped the border of the table as his movements started to increase his pace. He was filling you up so good, so deep. You found yourself murmuring senseless words as you slowly started to lose your mind, which was a weird thing for you; you would usually be the one in charge. 

Though you did not mind submitting to him for a while. All your morality was soon gone, and all thanks to the man whose cock was good enough to make you forget about how much you hated him.

His hips started to meet yours with more force, thrusting hard but slow. It was just the beginning, and he wanted to make sure you would feel every inch of him, to feel every vein. All while he was also losing his mind over how good your pussy was taking him; your tight grip around him was sending him to the heavens, his eyes never looking away from the place where both of your bodies would join. Your walls contracted around him whenever he was pulling out, almost as if they were reluctant to let him go. Cregan loved that a bit too much, he might have become addicted to it. 

Then, he sped it up. His grunts and moans were falling from his lips in cascades that reached your ears. A vocal man he was, expressing his lust with the most arousing sounds you have ever heard. It brought a sense of pride to your chest, having such an imposing man as him reduced to a moaning mess. But the truth was, you were not doing any better; his animalistic movements were now sending you over the edge quicker than you thought. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and the feeling of your arousal falling down your thighs was enough to pull you into a cloud of raw lasciviousness. Your mind felt dizzy. 

Suddenly, Cregan grabbed the knife you were trying to reach and threw it right next to your hand. You saw it through your heavy eyelids as you panted and gasped. You felt his lips pressing against your ear once again, but this time he spoke,

“Try to kill me now,” he hoarsely said. “Go on. Where's the girl who tried to kill me? Not so brave now with my cock ripping you apart, huh?” 

“Fuck off…” you managed to say in a murmur. Cregan mockingly laughed, and his hand fell against the soft skin of your rear, leaving a pinching pain behind. Gods, you hated the fact that you loved it so much.

“So fiery, and yet you're a mess…” he chuckled, his heavy breathing against your nape making you tremble under his touch. “I wish you could see how your little cunny is taking my cock… you're fucking soaking for me.” 

You moaned, louder than you should have. 

“Want to take a look?” he teased you, pushing deeper inside of you. You tried to mumble an answer, but nothing came out of your mouth. His hand met your arse again, this time slightly harder. “Answer me,” he demanded, using his lower tone which made your knees go weak. 

You had no choice, “Y-yes…” you whimpered as tears of pleasure were gathering in the corner of your eyes. 

He pulled out of you and you immediately whined, complaining about his absence. His hands went to the ties on the back of your dress, starting to pull them out to get them loose enough to remove that piece of fabric that was just bothering him. When he finally did, he pulled it down in a single movement, and just like that you were completely exposed to him. 

He took a quick look at your body once you turned around, glancing at your breasts and your perky nipples, and then looking at the glistening mess between your thighs. His hand wrapped around your jaw, and he leaned forward; his leaking cock rubbing against your belly as his nose touched your cheek. Suddenly, his lips trapped yours in a heated kiss that lacked any delicacy; he was claiming your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and devouring you. You heard how he pushed the rest of the dishes, plates and cups on the ground, then he lifted your body forcing you to spread your legs. Only then he pulled away. 

He looked down, watching your pussy drenched with your arousal and chuckling at the sight. “Didn't know wildlings women were such whores… getting this wet when I fuck you rough,” he mocked you, tightening the grip around your jaw and forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

Cregan guided his cock towards your slit, repeating the same teasing game as before, rubbing his tip against your now throbbing clit soaking it with the mixture of your juices and his. He gave a few taps afterwards, making you whine and your legs shake. You never, in a million years, thought you would be thinking of begging a Lord like him, yet there you were, about to plead to have him inside of you once again because the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable. 

As if he had read your thoughts, he soon pressed his cockhead against your entrance, pushing just the tip. You sighed, biting your lip as you looked down at it. You could have come right there as you saw how he slowly filled you up and stretched your walls once more. The way your labia would spread to take him in; such an obscene sight it was, yet you couldn't bring yourself to take your eyes off of it. 

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you managed to perceive a small bulge forming in your lower belly which would appear each time he would bury himself deep inside of you. He did not take too much time to be rough this time, starting to snap his hips against yours and making you moan and drool until your mind was fully gone once again. His big hands were grabbing your hips, his nails digging into your flesh and making it slightly painful for you; yet, you didn't want it to stop. The sound of him entering your wetness was enough to make you mumble nonsense, and it wasn't long before you managed to see a ring of your juices around the bottom of his shaft. Your eyes rolled back. 

His animalistic movements were sending you over the edge, and it was humiliating how loud your cries of pleasure were; you were certain that they could be heard in the hallway, but neither you nor Cregan cared enough to stop. Both of you were consumed by each other's touch, it was rough and passionate, you could feel the heat running through your veins as he possessed every inch of your insides until you were nothing but a moaning mess. Your skin was glowing with a layer of sweat, and Cregan leaned forward to lick on your collarbone, his tongue creating a path to your breasts; his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and nibbling. You grew desperate for release. 

“Fuck- I need to… I'm so close,” you whimpered, your eyes locking with his. 

“Come on,” he hoarsely murmured. “Show me how good of a whore you are, and make a mess on my cock.” 

His words blurred your mind, sending a stimulus right into your core. You felt that sweet sensation of culmination when he touched your most sensitive point inside of you over and over again until you were sobbing with the tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as you felt your release exploding and washing over you until your legs felt sore. You felt weak, trembling and overwhelmed. Your hair was sticking at your forehead due to your sweat and you were far gone into the pleasure he had just provided you. Yet, he seemed to not have enough. 

Lord Stark pulled out of you. His length had a layer of your release coating it, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. It was unusual for you to feel this shy in this situation, but this whole thing was something rather unusual and rare. Sleeping with the biggest foe, you were a traitor now. 

But Gods, it felt so damn good.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. His hand wrapped around his leaking cock stroking himself, legs slightly parted as he looked at you with darkened eyes filled with lust. He was achingly hard, you could tell; his stones seemed heavy with his seed, which you would rather feel inside of you. 

Yet, you obeyed, kneeling and looking up at him through your lashes. He cursed with a sigh, twitching with the lustful sight of you ready to take him once again. 

“Open wide,” he instructed, brushing his cockhead against your swollen lips. You did what you were told. “Wider,” he demanded, and you obeyed again. “That's a good little whore…” he hummed, content. 

You stuck your tongue out and felt his salty taste as he tapped his cock against it. You moaned, and he grabbed the sides of your face to keep you still as he started to move in and out of your mouth. He groaned, looking up and then back at you; such a skilful little minx you were, taking him so well. 

Soon, your gags were echoing in the room along with your gulps and his moans. You were drooling; your saliva running down the corners of your lips as he fucked them as fast and hard as he pleased. 

“There you go, take it all just like that,” he praised you, and you felt the warmth of the tears falling down your cheeks. “Mhm, fuck. I might start to believe what they say now. You're sucking my cock like a fucking goddess…” 

You felt the back of your head pressing against the border of the table as he sped up. You were choking around him, and the sounds that came out of it were obscene and filthy, and Cregan loved it. 

Before you could tell, he spilt himself inside of your mouth, forcing you to swallow every drop that left him. And you did. 

Once he freed you from his grip, you pulled away. A string of saliva was still hanging from your lips as you desperately gasped for air, and only then Cregan noticed the big mess you had become. Hot and soaked cheeks, eyes tearing up, your lips swollen and covered with his thick and pearly seed. You were such an unholy sight. 

His thumb reached for your lip, wiping your drool out of it. Such a gesture brought you back to that very same evening when he wiped the blood out of the cut in your lip. It did not feel foreign anymore. You were breathless, trying to regain composure as Cregan looked down at you with a satisfied glance. 

“Seems like the rumours are not false,” he muttered, starting to pull his pants up again. “I might keep you so that I can feel those pretty lips around my cock again.” 

“Keep- keep me?” you asked, confused and overwhelmed.

Cregan arched an eyebrow, “You think because I fucked you I will let you go?” he chuckled. You felt his hand wrapped around your jaw once again, forcing you to stand up. You trembled a little, feeling your legs shaky and weak. “So naive of you… to think that I would have a taste of you and then let you go.” 

You felt your heart sink inside your chest as you heard him. 

“Since you offered so nicely before, I will accept,” he sighed, picking up the dress you were wearing and throwing it up to you. “I’ll make you my personal whore, how about that?” You went silent. “Oh, come on, don't pretend this was not your idea… I was going to let you go with a warning but you came out with a better proposal. How could I say no?” 

“I don't- I-” you shook your head. 

“You belong to me now,” he chuckled. “A wildling made just for me to fuck as I please… Sounds perfect, does it not?” 

You look into his grey eyes, perceiving and reading the mischievousness in them. You tried to escape and return to your freedom. Instead, everything went wrong and now you were trapped in the wolf's cage once again. 

You were not sure how to feel about that.

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!!

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

[holyghostbelle]

Call the shots part two

Oliver quick x fem!reader

TW:DUBCON? DARK!OLIVER(it's literally him though so idk)slight reader x felix, but also oliver pinning over felix because no ones mentioning that??? reader and Oliver lowkey hate each other I guess, SMUT, ORAL(fem) (a/n, Thank you!!! thank you so much for the attention the last part received, I haven't written in forever and ever and salt burn just reeled me in like a fish. there's going to hopefully be a third part to this to end the lil series,/// wish men actually kissed like this gif 😔)

if you haven't read the first part to this click here!

my master list

The first time you had met Felix Catton you were eight, your first summer at the Saltburn estate and after meeting Venetia at an all girls private school you had been introduced to her older brother by one year. Felix was mesmerising, he was like a prophet, everyone loved him, and you felt yourself fall in love with him deeply, of course at first Venetia hated it, you were hers, you belonged to her. But years after spending summers while your own family spent summers in Venice and Paris for business you had become Felixs as well. No jealousy had become between either of them. You had lost your virginity to him, smoked your first cigarette with him, your first line of coke, your first shot. All of your firsts and now. 

None of your lasts.

The air was heavy with grief as the Cattons to give the farewell to their beloved. Tear-streaked faces and her eyes swollen, Elsebeth stands stoically, hands gripped with Venetias. The service wasn't beautiful, but nothing could live up to Felix.

You stand opposite Oliver, his face crumpled, gripping the white handkerchief from dinners ago. The room echoes with muted sobs, you stand in disbelief, the last you had seen Felix his gold wings loomed over you, and now they hung from his bed untouched.

His grave now laying in the estates graveyard, six feet under with people who he hadn't met, you run you hand over the temporary wooden cross, his bracelets hanging from the oak, you taste the tears on your cheeks and Venetia clutches at your arm, mascara running over her cheeks, just like yours.

It's raining and the Cattons and you throw Felix's rock in the river before returning to the house. Oliver stays behind and returns with muddy knees, his shirt see through. When Venetia excuses herself to her room that night, you find yourself wandering saltburn in the dark with a glass of deep red wine in your hand, all you can think about is Felix's swollen blue face lying in a pile of puke. There was no beauty in his death. 

Clad in a white night gown and Felix's jumper you find your self in his room.

It suffocates you with the smell of cigarettes and cologne. the smell of Felix prevalent in his sheets comforts you. closing your eyes you begin to believe he's still there.

Suddenly you hear a sloshing of water. Deciding that Oliver must be taking a bath you think to yourself, a few minutes go past and Oliver enters the room. He's clad in blue boxers and a red robe, you can hardly remember the timid boy with frameless glasses at the beginning of summer. Silently, you observe Oliver as he moves with a heaviness in his step.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask, you smooth down the covers with your hand, rings catching on a bare thread, the duvet is lumpy and you assume it's from the socks Felix would shed off in his sleep.

“I should ask you the same thing” He questions back.

“Felix was mine first, I saw you crying at the funeral. Like you had known him for years and it's been six months, pathetic really."

You stare at him as he bends to meet with you at eye level, he leans on to his knees with his hands as you turn from his glare. He feels the heat radiate from your cheeks. They're wet, his hand meets your face wiping the salty tears with the back of his hand, rough against your skin.

“Stop it, Stop it Oliver” you cry, your hand meets the small of his wrist pushing it away from your face. They fall to your lap, your gaze following.

And suddenly “Apologise to me” he orders, his thick fingers grip at your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You stare through your lashes, one eyebrow raised at him. 

“what? Sorry for what?” you question, your head tilts, hair following.

“Say sorry for being such a bitch to me, such a bad girl” he coos. His other hand stroking at the wetness of your face. 

And you whimper at him. It's so delicious, he feels himself harden.

His eyes darken, pulling his hand back. You begin to think he's going to leave but your face is smacked to the left. Heat rushing to your cheek. 

“ow, what the fuck Oliver” you clutch at it.

“I said apologise, tell me your so sorry for being a rude brat this summer, make me believe it”

“You're joking,” your eyes widen.

He grips at your chin again,you think it might bruise this time, and as your eyes meet you feel something you haven't felt in forever, fear. Your heart thumps against your chest.

“I'm so sorry that you think i’ve been a bitch to you this summer Oliver,” your chest heaves. Teeth gritting at him. 

Oliver, however, doesn't seem satisfied; his grip on your chin loosens only to be replaced by a vice-like hold on your hair.The room feels like a confined space, trapping you in a twisted dance.

“Again” he commands with venom. You feel the grip on your hair tighten and you are pulled back in submission, reminded of the bruise on your arm from him.

You hiss at him as he holds your head up by your hair. “ I'm sorry!” you sigh “im sorry ive been a rude bratty bitch, i'm really sorry” you comply and his hand once cruelly knotted in your hair loosens.

His head cocks to the side, cooing at your disgruntled face “ Got there in the end didn't we?” he smiles looking down upon the soft of your faces, smoothing your hair down.

You nod at him quickly, and your body stills, eyes flickering down, you refuse to hold gaze with him. He still stands above you. 

Lips trembling you stutter,“Venetia was right.” 

“Huh?” he interrogates, eyebrows rising, intriguing him.

"You really can make people do whatever you want," you murmur, a bitter realisation lingering in your words, the taste of  imbalance still fresh on your tongue. Oliver smirks, a perverse satisfaction radiates from his gaze upon your body. You squirm underneath him.

"Then kiss me," he commands, his tone laced with an arrogant confidence that sends shivers down your spine. It hangs in the air, an unspoken challenge that demands submission. He bends to meet you once again.

You push your morals aside. Leaning in and allowing your lips to meet his in a forced union. His hand cups around your neck and tightens as you murmur against his grip. He parts your knees with his own. The oak bed frame digging into the flesh of your thigh as he runs his cold hand against it. 

“Fuck” he grunts. Your breath catches as Oliver's grip tightens around your throat. In that moment, something shifts, and his lips crash onto yours. Oliver's lips mold against yours; it's cruel and leaves you breathless, but it's too harsh to feel like Felix, and the breathlessness makes you panic, not giddy. Oliver is every bit harsher than Felix and it reminds you of how fleeting of a memory he will be. His weight presses into you as you paw at his chest, mewling against him you breath against each other in open mouthed kisses , he licks up into your mouth, thumb pulling your bottom lip down and watching it bounce back in satisfaction he smirks as he peers down on your body hand gripping at your thighs you whine.

He pushes your white silk nightgown up over your hips revealing your pussy,  smiling to himself and dips a finger in your wetness.

‘Hate me and yet you're soaked’ he grins up to you, his cheeks just at your knees, eyes looking so sweet.

He bites and sucks into the succulent flesh of your thighs, you gasp as his lips meet your cunt and indulges himself in you. You mewl your juices dribbling down his chin and creating a wet trail on his face.

“Fucking slut, could Felix make you come?”he questions. 

You nod at him.

“how sweet, too bad ill fucking ruin him for you” his hands traces at your thighs wandering up to your hips,

“Actin’ all innocent under me now, i know what girls like you are like ,your a fucking tease is what you are”

He dives in once again and your hand grips at his hair, it's gotten longer. He's every bit rougher than Felix, choosing to pinch and suck rather than kiss. You gasp and whimper as he eats you like his last meal, hands tightening on his hair. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you moan, he smirks under your hold, hands grasping at your hips to pull you towards him, you hump at his face and he drinks you up like nectar, feeling the pressure build.

“Mmm, close Oli” you whine.

He goes everybit harder and faster than before, and you feel the pressure snap, you convulse under him. Moaning and overstimulated, you whimper as he laps you up.

 His head leaning against your thigh, he looks up at you, bright blue eyes smiling up at you. Realisation settles in.

"You alright?” he strokes the length of your arm. 

You look away from him, biting down on your lip before slipping the covers over your body, now cold in the ridiculously big house, he joins you in Felix's bed.

“yeah, no, I'm fine.” you smile at him. Laying down and turning your body away, you feel his hands snake around your waist, you close your eyes, you feel so dirty.

Guilt pools in your stomach.

The light filters through the dark curtains, a curse of being south facing. Oliver lies there cocking his head, you pull on the red robe, smoothing back your hair. as you scurry to the bathroom to wash your face. Hand on the golden door knob you hear something smashing to the marble floor. Your eyebrows furrow, the door swings open and the maid in front of you releases a guttural scream, the bathroom floor is filled with murky red water and your eyes meet hers. Venatias head floating out of the bath, her blood spilling over the bath. You fall backwards, hand clutching over your mouth, Oliver peeks his head round the corner, his eyes widened. You push the door closed. 

Eyes flickering to the floor. You swallow. “I think you should go back to your room Oliver.” your hand reaches out for his arm, “ i think it's best i tell Elsebeth”

He nods,you choke back tears. Flapping your hands over your face before calling an ambulance.

Oliver is gone, he left in the morning shortly after Venetias funeral, you assume James had paid him off. 

You pack your things, one week of summer left and then oxford university, you look into the room adjoining yours. Venetias, she won't be coming to Oxford with you and neither will Felix, you begin to wonder if you'll see Oliver and how best to avoid him, not wanting to get into the complications of things, hoping you would never run into him.

When your luggage is piled up by the main door, Elsebeth and James stand next to you, smiling. 

“You will join us for the ski trip this winter won't you, dear?”

You smile at her, head nodding “ Mum and Dad said they would be coming, i think it would be best if we all spend christmas together” 

James nods at you, “maybe we could share the chateau with you, there's loads of rooms” 

You smile “of course, i'll let them know, thank you for this summer, amid everything it was lovely” you hand clasps around Elsbeth's shoulder, but she pulls you in for a quick hug, James taking to patting you back. 

“Well, I'll message you how I get on at oxford. Gosh ten years have flown by havent they?”you laugh, eyes watering. “Well goodbye, I'll see you christmas.”

the next part

@callsignwidow (comment to be added to taglist)

[toorurs]

LOVE IS AN OPEN DOOR

synopsis: if you wouldn't know any better you'd think that chuuya nakahara doesn't take a liking to you - he loathes you. but what if one day you make a shocking discovery that it might be the opposite.

pairing: chuuya nakahara x gn!reader | wordcount: 1.2k | content & warnings: im at the first ep of s4, so if chuuya mischaracterized no need to wonder…, school au-ish kind of??, cursing (fuck), dazai teases chuuya for his crush, chuuyas kinda not rly good with his feelings and expressing himself, drinking (chuuya offering to go out and drink), dazai plays cupid/matchmaker

a/n: when i wrote this i didn't have 15 yo dazai or chuuya in mind (cause of the school au yk) just as them idk but interpret it however you like - high school or college wtv, im so obsessed with chuuya rn y'all don't even know, hope u guys enjoy this little thing i've whipped up in an hour

you're convinced that chuuya nakahara hates you.

that's one thing you're sure of. after all, he avoids you like the plague; however when the two of you do get in touch with one another, he starts cursing you out, calling you names such as “dumbass" and abruptly leaves.

yeah, you're pretty sure that that guy dislikes - if not despises you. although until now you've hadn’t had the slightest idea why. well, that was the case up until now.

some days have passed since you started noticing it. every time you hung out with dazai and started laughing a bit too loudly at his jokes or lightly slapped his shoulder, chuuya gave you a death stare - if you wouldnt know any better he looked like he’d grab your throat any minute to shut you up.

admittedly (and also embarrassedly) you never really noticed it until dazai has pointed it out. which, on one hand, explains the weird feeling you’ve recently gotten - it felt like someone was shooting daggers at the back of your head, luckily for you, that’s solved now.

but on the other hand, you still demand an explanation why chuuya would do that. is it simply because of his (one-sided) hatred towards you, that can’t be the case right? or did he have a huge crush on dazai, that’s the most realistic explanation that you can think of.

-

once school ended and the bell had just rung to release everyone from their classes and go back home. you’d usually scurry home right away, because there was no point in staying longer, after all who’d want to endure this hell house also known as school more than necessary, it's no use right?

well jokes on you, staying over time was definitely worth it. kunikida assigned you the task (forced) to carry a huge stack of boxes full of documents and paper to your homeroom teacher's room, because it was the “right” thing to do - well at least according to his ideals. 

“but what about dazai? that idiot  just ran off and is probably slacking off right now!” you protested, because it's not fair when everyone has a task to complete and someone else just gets to relax, right? 

at your complaint the blond could only scoff “i’ll scold him later, but for now let's just concentrate on the task in front of us, time is running out.”

-

that’s how you ended up here, back pressed against the heavy classroom door that separated you and the two guys that were inside the room as you tried to listen in into their conversation.

initially your plan was to find dazai, drag him by the collar of his white button up and beat his ass for skipping and leaving you alone with a ton of boxes that not only cost you ten minutes to carry around or so.

because neither kunikida or anyone else didn’t bother to tell you that there were three, fucking three, of those staples of boxes that were filled with countless papers.

however, it came to a change of plans upon hearing chuuyas’ voice. usually, any sound that was made inside of the classrooms was drowned out and barely audible to hear outside the room. 

this time, that didn’t seem to be the case though. chuuyas’ screaming and dazais' hysterical laughter were faint but loud enough to hear from outside the room. 

“come on chuuya, there's no need denying it, you have a massive crush on them.” dazais’ voice was laced with amusement as he started laughing out loud which seemed to piss the redhead off. 

you were able to hear a small huff that escaped dazais mouth. “chuuya, there’s really no need to start getting all violent, just admit that you’re absolutely whipped for them!” the brunette chuckled. “so stop kicking me in the balls!” that probably earned him another kick as you could hear dazai letting out a small “ouch.”

“shut up, shitty dazai.” the guy in question only snickered at that. “yeah, yeah. everyone’s able to tell that you’re madly in love with them. every time you’re around them you start to get beet red, the color even exceeds the one of your hair! a hilarious sight to look at, really.” 

you didn’t hear a response from chuuya and apparently neither did dazai so he just continued his rant. “also, let me tell you one thing, you’re not making it any better by cussing them out or intently staring at them, that’s just scary, man!” dazai closes his eyes and starts shaking his head before tutting in disappointment.

“oh chuuya. the brunette sighs, eyes still closed. “letting a beauty like them slip away this easily by not showing any proper interest. you’re to be pitied, really.” the male moves away from his previous position and bolts over to the door, crossing his arms as his back leans against the door.

an exasperated sigh leaves chuuyas mouth. “what do you expect me to do then? they probably have a horrible impression of me already. if i pull up with a bouquet of roses and some cliché pick up lines, they’d probably stare at me in horror, wondering if i got possessed or something.” he sneers at dazai. 

just who in the world are they talking about?

dazai pretends to think for a moment before snapping his fingers. “well for starters, how about greeting them, doesn’t even have to be verbal, just some waving or nodding. then start hanging out with them!”

“idiot! how's that supposed to work from just greeting each other!” the ginger scowls at dazai.

“hold your horses.” the brunette whistles. “i didn't say to rendez-vous and have a candle-light dinner. how about accepting those group invites first that you keep declining. then you’d have the chance to meet up with them more often and get to know them.”

dazai continues to advise chuuya by giving him tips and recommendations “try bonding over stuff with each other, like favorite shows or food. and if you’re not incapable of doing so, how about complimenting them. wouldn't hurt you know?” dazai shrugs in simplicity. 

chuuyas still skeptical “assumingly that was the case. the two of us attending the same party, they’re alone and i finally get the chance to approach them, what the fuck am i supposed to say?” dazai only smiles at chuuya, a look that says “that’s up to you.” 

“why not use me as your lab rat!” dazai suggests optimistically.

“no way in hell!” chuuya shoots back pessimistically.

after pondering and musing for a while, chuuya comes up with a curt sentence. “i find you really good looking and cool.” the redhead stops and both you and dazai await his continuation in anticipation. “wanna go out and grab drinks sometimes?” chuuya doesn’t look up from the floor which he’s been staring at for the past minute. the tips of his ears tinted in a vermillion red.

“well, that wasn't so hard was it?” dazai asks cheerily, clapping his hands together. “if you still have doubts, how about you try it on the real thing now?” and before you can realize what's going on dazai swiftly steps away from the door before grabbing the door handle and opens the door, revealing your figure to the two guys. 

you’re not sure who's more taken aback, you or chuuya.

e/n: as y’all can tell the title is inspired by frozen's love is an open door cause y’know dazai opens the door for chuuya to confess his feelings. does this make sense lol??

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