#moon light illuminating branches

[talaok]

A small bed

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Fem!reader Summary: During a cold night at Nevermore, you seek shelter in your friend's, Xavier, room, but as it turns out, sleeping on a single bed in two, is not as easy as it sounds. Warnings: SMUT (protected sex and oral sex- female receiving-) a/n: Let's play a game. Guess who's depressed and has done nothing other than "write" and watch Wednesday for the past few days? Please find the answer in the following text.

It was so cold in the room. Those stupid wooden thin walls never actually isolated the building from the cold. Funny how the headmaster seemed to have money to donate to the Mayor's campaign but none to invest in the infrastructure she herself was managing. The bedroom was way too large and the ceiling way too high for the mere thermostat to be enough to fight the cruel Jericho's cold. You could hear Edvin's low snoring coming from the opposite side of the room. You wondered how she did it, how she could fall asleep with this temperature. Maybe it had something to do with her nature, and if that was it, you wished for a moment to have been born a werewolf too. Able at least to close your eyes without the fear you'll freeze to death in your sleep keep you from doing so. you sighed. there was no way you were gonna do it. The alarm on the nightstand indicated the time. 3:46, plastered in red lightning, the only thing illuminating the room besides the sheer light coming from outside, the moon still emanating her immortal glow through the branches. The howling of the wind seemed almost sinister, as it infiltrated from the window. You gripped the blanket and wrapped it around yourself, sitting up on the bed. There had to be something you could do right? You intently thought about it, as the cold spread itself all over your body. They were no more blankets, so that was a no. there was hot tea in the kitchen, but that meant stepping outside, where the cause of your suffering had originated, not to mention you were still going to have to come back to this infernal room after, so that was another no. the gears in your brain were desperately operating, trying hard to find a solution, but it seemed the temperature had compromised also them, not just your body, which was now trembling, as the only one they could find was the first one you had thought of, but had deliberately discarded. It's not like it was a bad idea, he would have said yes, you knew. there was just something about it that didn't convince you, a feeling or, better even, a presentiment, that made you doubtful on whether it was a good idea either. But you didn't have time to think about it as you slipped through the door, glancing one last time, at that shadow-filled space.

The sound resonated through the whole corridor as your knuckles met the door's hardwood. Silence filled it just moments after. It's not like you were expecting a prompt reply, or one at all for that matter. Light footsteps echoed in your ears just before the doorknob turned. "Y/n?" Xavier whispered, his voice still hoarse and full of sleep. "I know, I'm sorry. can I come in?" He frowned, visibly confused "Uhh, sure" "Thanks" you immediately sneaked in. He closed the door and leaned on it, still incredibly perplexed. "Did-did something happen?" "No, nothing like that" You smiled "I just-" you bit your lip nervously as you looked up at him "I can't sleep in my room. It's too cold." "Oh" he exhaled relieved, calming you with him. "I didn't know where else to go. I'm sorry. I can go if you want" you said, realizing just now how crazy you must look. Showing up to his room at 4 in the morning trembling and without shoes on. "shit you're freezing" he noticed, immediately taking his bed's blanket and walking up to you. He was silent as he gently wrapped it around you, his hands remaining on your arms once you had gripped it. "Thanks" "don't worry." he shook his head. A sincere expression spread over his face, and you let yourself stare at it, loving the way he was doing the same. "so, can I stay here?" you asked again "Of course" he said, looking offended by the fact you even had to ask. He glanced at his bed, an eyebrow-raising itself "There's only one thing" he offered you an apologetic smile "There's only one bed. Rowan's old one doesn't have any blankets". You looked around. He was right. Only the single bed surrounded by drawing-filled walls seemed to be suitable to sleep in. Especially today. You laughed softly. It wasn't funny, well maybe just a bit, but most of all it was ironic. you had come here for shelter and the only one you had found was a very thin mattress you now had to share with someone else. You wouldn't have accepted if it wasn't for the fact that there was no other option. You definitely weren't going back to the hellhole you had just escaped from. "I think we can fit" "you sure?" "Well, we at least have to try" you said "If I go back to my room there's a 90 % chance that I'll die of hypothermia" "and we wouldn't want that" he chuckled, his thumbs stroking your arms through the cover. "no" you smiled "we definitely wouldn't". You liked looking at him, the moon illuminating only the left side of him, lightening his long amber hair to champagne ones. "all right then" he let his arms fall to his sides before indicating the way     "Ladies first" "Why thank you, kind sir" you grinned as you went to the bed, laying down on it. It smelled of him. His scent was soaked in the sheets and in the pillow and you immersed yourself in it as you closed your eyes. You liked it. More than you should have, probably. "comfortable?" he asked, and you nodded sleepily as your eyes stayed shut. He laughed softly at how cute you looked, peacefully sleeping in his bed, and a weird feeling invaded his chest. He didn't pay attention to it as he walked towards you. You felt the bed creek and move as he climbed on it, laying just beside you. You hadn't really understood how small the bed was when you had looked at it before, but as you laid here, your two bodies glued together, you realized just how wrong your estimate had been. Silence filled the room again as he set the cover on you both. You were still shuddering, it seemed like the cold had made its way into you and had now little to no intention of ever leaving you. "You're still cold" he whispered, his hand finding your arm again, just to caress it kindly. His touch felt like fire on your frozen skin. You opened your eyes, finding his already on yours. You swallowed nervously at how close you were, a few inches was all that separated you. If you hadn't been best of friends this would have looked romantic, you thought. But you were, so there was nothing to think about. "mh-mh" you nodded. "can I-" he murmured as he turned to lay on his side "I can hug you" he bit his lip "if that's ok" "Y-yeah sure. I'd like that" you said shyly and he smiled "ok" He scooted closer to you and you turned to your side, just like he had,  facing the wall. You admired the extremely detailed spider on the drawing in front of you as he put one of his arms around you, tightly holding onto your chest, pushing you against his, and the other under your head. His body was flat against yours, from head to toe following your body's position. You could feel every inch of his body, his hair brushing against your neck where his breath was giving you goosebumps, his chest moving up and down against your back, and his knees on the back of your legs. He was warm, and as much as you were grateful for the cold beginning to leave your body, you weren't thinking about it anymore. What you were thinking about, was his hand on your stomach, and your ass-well- your ass dangerously close to his crotch. You gulped, if you had been on the verge of falling asleep before, you doubted you were ever gonna do it now. You kept staring at the drawing as you let yourself melt into his touch, so gentle and yet so reassuring. It felt nice. More than nice actually. Your neck was starting to hurt and you readjusted yourself to get more comfortable, inadvertently moving closer to him, and well,  grinding against his lap. A small groan, clearly not intended for you to be heard, left his throat. "sorry" you whispered, faintly "don't worry" his hoarse voice traveled to your ears, as he tightened his hug. Shit. There was a weight on your chest and a familiar feeling in your belly, and you preyed that you would have fallen asleep soon, zeroing out all the possible mistakes that you were afraid you couldn't stop yourself from making, and that right now were all you wanted to do. All the thoughts passing from your head were things you knew you would have regretted later, like what would have happened if you ground again against his crotch, or if you turned and leaned just a few inches over, meeting his lips with yours. They were all potential, doable possibilities, that you could have explored in a matter of seconds, but you couldn't, you shouldn't. You were just tired, that was it. Xavier was your friend, and friends don't kiss each other, even if they really really want to. "Y/n?" a soft whisper in your ear. "Hm" you hummed "are you sleeping?" You turned your neck around, now really inches from his face, from his nose, eyes, and stupidly pretty mouth. "no" you answered There was a moment of silence, as he inspected your whole face, his eyes traveling from your eyes to your mouth and then up again. You felt butterflies in your stomach. You had never understood that expression, but now, all of the sudden, it seemed to make a lot of sense. "are you feeling better?" "yes, thank you" He moved his hand from your belly and brought it up to your face "good" he murmured, as he stroked your cheek. You felt your cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink. "I-" your voice died in your throat, as you forgot what you wanted to say. "You're very pretty you know?" he kept caressing your face "I don't think I've ever told you before" he smiled "but you really are" shit. He was making it really hard not to want to explore the possibilities. "I- thank you" you murmured. He looked at you, seriously now, penetrating and studying you, like he was really seeing you for the first time. "Y/n" he murmured, his eyes blinking slowly. "Xavier" you whispered too, before he slowly leaned over, indecisively getting closer and closer to your lips. you looked at him as he reached them, pressing his mouth on yours, in a chaste kiss. you barely reciprocated, still shocked this was actually happening. He leaned away, his eyes moving between your mouth and your eyes, desperately trying to understand what you were thinking, while also desperately wanting to kiss you again, this time, like he really wanted to. You looked at him, his beautiful eyes always so confident, now looked so hesitant. It was a weird image, a new one. You smiled subtly as you leaned over and pressed your lips with his, this time better, harder and more passionately as his hand on your cheek traveled to your hair. He stroked your hair as he kissed you lovingly, his warm mouth on yours, as you both closed your eyes. It felt like floating, like flying on cotton candy clouds. You had never felt something like this. he smiled as he leaned away, and you couldn't help but do the same. "you're a good kisser" he murmured" better than I expected actually" you gasped, pretending to be mad " you expected me to be bad? " you asked, realizing just at that moment something "and what do you mean by expected?" "well" he moved a lock of your hair behind your ear "let's just say there have been times when I wondered about this" "have there?" you grinned "yes" he kissed  you again quickly "there have been" " Good to know"  you bit your lip "and by the way, you're a good kisser too" "Oh I know" he chuckled, retracting his hand from under your head to place it on your shoulder, his fingers trailing on it. "I'm good at a lot of things" he looked at you. A fire burned in his eyes. Your mouth opened slightly in surprise, and he kissed it uncaringly. His tongue infiltrated your lips as he forced your head together with his hand. You could taste him in your mouth, Xavier, all of him. from his toothpaste to the tip of the pencil he bit constantly. It was all there. "And do you want to show me those things you're so good at?" you said, surprising even yourself "pleeeease" he begged, desperation clear in his voice as he gripped your head one more time, kissing you hard and messily as he pushed you to lay down on the bed. He didn't waste any time as he got on top of you, peppering kisses all over your face, while his hands explored every inch of your body, leaving a trail of shivers with his touch. You whimpered as one of his hands found your breasts "We can stop if you want" "no. please no" He smiled "thank god" he lifted your shirt and sweater "I was just getting to the good part," he said, as he lifted it over your head with your help and shamelessly stared at your bare tits " fuck you're hot" he said bending down to spread kisses all over them while groping and caressing them hungrily. "so" he started kissing down your belly "fucking" he trailed down under the covers "hot" he said, kissing your fully clothed pubis. You moaned softly at the hint of a touch he just gave you. You were desperate "please" as I said, desperate "patience my dear" he whispered sarcastically, as he hooked the hem of your pants under his fingers, toying with it. You whined softly "a virtue you clearly don't possess" he chuckled under his breath as he slowly took your pants off, finally freeing you. he bent down immediately between your thighs, looking up at you smugly. You met his gaze and bit your lip. This was crazy. You were friends and had been such for so long, and apparently, all it took was a very cold night and a much too small bed to make you forget about it, and for him to end up between your legs. Fuck, he looked pretty that way. He brought you back to reality as he bent down and kissed your clit, still looking at you. You moaned softly, and then he did it again, this time for longer, and your moan became louder and kept doing so until he was sucking your clit and you were screaming his name, your hands gripping his hair and the sheets mindlessly. Lost in the pleasure he was provoking you He was looking at you mesmerized as you threw your neck back, your eyes shutting close and your mouth open, those filthy sounds coming out of it. Xavier thought he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. "you taste so good y/n" he said, his words vibrating against your cunt, as his fingers came up to your pussy, slowly moving towards the entrance. You cried out as they entered you, Xavier pumping them in and out relentlessly. A very dirty sound echoed through the room as he kept doing that, not even your voice able to cover it, as he went back to sucking and licking all he could find. "xavier" you mumbled "s-shit" you tried to speak, but the pressure forming in your belly distracted you "I-I'm coming" you finally spat out, and he smiled against your cunt "then cum y/n, come all over me" he stopped just to resume again, even harsher than before. You felt a knot in your stomach and as he scissored his fingers inside of you again, hitting your g-spot perfectly, it broke down. Making you come undone, loudly moaning his name as you came down from your high. "shit" you sighed incredulously, as he came back up to your face, pressing his lips with yours once again, letting you taste yourself in his mouth. "you weren't joking when you said you were good" you giggled, and he smirked "I'm a man of my word" his hand found your side again "now" he looked at you "let me show you my full potential" he said, making you laugh giddily, exited for what was about to come. His hands left you momentarily as he took off his shirt and just moments after, his pants. You had never seen anyone undress that quickly. He leaned over you to reach into one of his nightstand's drawers, his hand reappearing with a tinfoil package between his fingers, the same ones that were inside of you moments before. You squeezed your thighs shut, just at the thought He looked down at your legs and smiled knowingly, as he slid the condom on his cock. You weren't nervous. It was weird, usually, you were always nervous at moment like this but you felt safe, and more than a bit turned on. "you're gonna have to open your legs y/n" he raised an eyebrow, and you tilted your head to the side, biting down a smile "and what if I don't?" he bent down over you "then I'm gonna have to open them for you" he ghosted your lips. you swallowed thickly. Fucking shitty shit. Hot. That was hot. You spread your legs and he smirked smugly " so obedient" he joked and you rolled your eyes. "look at me" he commanded as he positioned himself at your entrance "I want you to look at me when I'm inside you" Your mouth slaked open but you still nodded "use your words" "ok" you answered finally, and he looked at you proudly before slowly pushing himself into you. A series of stroked and interrupted moans escaped your mouth as he bottomed out, filling you up completely. You were doing as he requested, looking at him intently as your face contorted in all sorts of expressions. "you're perfect" he sighed faintly, as he placed his hand on your stomach, stroking it gently " so fucking perfect" he looked at you, making your heart miss a beat. his lips twitched up into a very thin smirk as he started moving in and out of you slowly, his veiny cock wrapped tightly around your walls. "feel so good " he groaned as he quickened his pace. One of your hands flew to his shoulder as you gripped it to bring him down to you. You wanted to feel him, all of him. And you did, as you hooked your arm beside his neck and reached up to kiss him desperately, leaving pointless little whines in his mouth as he kept thrusting into you. "shit Xavier" you cried out as he brought one of his hands down to circle your already overstimulated clit. "I know," he said without an ounce of real sorriness "just take it " he pecked your lips again "It'll be worth it" You were out of breath as you kept bouncing on his bed, your tits moving with you. his movements were fast and you were feeling so many things at once that you weren't sure you knew exactly where you were at the moment. The same knot from before was starting to form itself again. "you're coming" he said, through his panting, anticipating you. Some of his hair were stuck to his forehead, and his mouth was open, gasping for air in between his sporadical groans of pleasure. "mh-mh" you nodded desperately, your hips moving with his to get even more friction. "come baby" he murmured, the pet name echoing through your ears, and traveling straight down to your cunt "come for me" "oh god xavier" you had the time to murmur before a wave of pleasure overwhelmed you, a series of little fireworks exploding inside you as he kept moving, chasing his own orgasm while letting you ride yours out. "fuck" he growled as his thrusts got more sloppy "you feel- so f-fucking good" he groaned, before with one final push, he came, a series of profanities leaving his mouth before he collapsed on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder. You smiled as you realized what had just happened, and when he raised his head, you could see he was doing the same. "I think the bed was too small" you grinned "What makes you say that?" he laughed

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage. 

You have to try. You have to. 

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens. 

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break. 

Just like you. 

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation. 

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again. 

The house. 

Your knees find ground. 

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or… 

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace. 

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching. 

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun. 

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip. 

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning. 

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch. 

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick. 

You’re sick. 

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face. 

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?” 

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod. 

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes. 

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity. 

You’re sick. 

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second. 

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking. 

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem. 

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.  

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure. 

If you could make it to the door. 

If you could make it down the hall. 

If you could get out. 

You grit your teeth. 

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time. 

They must not be here. 

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how. 

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron. 

You can do it. You can. 

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming. 

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just- 

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew. 

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks. 

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once. 

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go. 

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass. 

You’re locked in here. With them. 

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors. 

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes. 

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark. 

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look. 

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings. 

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.” 

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle. 

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.” 

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me. 

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.” 

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die. 

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both. 

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot. 

You’re sick. 

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it. 

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes. 

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day. 

Why must the leash be so tight? 

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe. 

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick. 

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick. 

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey. 

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick. 

Eight months prior: 

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition. 

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well... 

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it. 

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered. 

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove. 

[sapphiremusings]

bride {vampire!aemond targaryen}

WARNINGS: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[lesservillain]

alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

cw: SMUT, established relationship, primal play, free use, breeding, some fluff at the end

Branches snapped beneath your feet with each step, your body moving on its own as you bob and weave between the branches of the woods. Just through the clearing you could see that you were running parallel with Lover’s Lake, the shining light of the moon reflecting on the water and illuminating the path before you. It was both a help and a hindrance; you could see where you were going, preventing you from getting too lost in the depths of the woods. 

But it also meant that he could find you quicker. 

A rip pulls you out of your thoughts as the hem of your dress splits up the side, exposing your leg up to the hip. You curse under your breath, pissed that one of your favorite dresses was ruined. But the sound of rustling not far off reminded you what you were doing. What you were even out here for.

Your feet move again, chest huffing as you move as fast as you can to get away from the predator hot on your trail. But it didn’t matter how far away you got, because you could smell him closing in on you. 

A fresh flush of wetness between your legs has you gasping out, slowing down to work through the intense shock waves that are radiating from your core. The natural need in your body is fighting against the fear of the chase. Of the unknown.

Because even if you knew what he wanted, you didn’t know how he was going to go about it. This was a game changer for the both of you. Finishing school, years of hard work at a respectable job, saving money and getting your own place, being strict on his medications, and always being so, so caring and sweet; this was the least you could do for him.

As you continue to run into the thicket, you’re suddenly sent tumbling down into the dirt when your foot catched on a raised tree root. The wind is knocked from your lungs as you land on the rough ground. Face down in the dirt, you feel another gush between your thighs, a wave of heat flowing through your body from the building fever. Everything is too much, and you can feel yourself starting to panic. There’s no way he’s not going to get you now-

“Don’t move.”

Your breathing stills, body tensing at the low growl of his command. His voice was almost unrecognizable, octaves lower than his normal range in this state he’s in. His scent is so strong, infiltrating your nostrils and reducing you to a mindless mess. An alpha’s way of getting their omega to submit.

Seemingly moving on its own, your body shifts so that your legs are under you, your ass lifting to the air and swaying back and forth while your face remains in the dirt. A low growl from your right startles you, but you don’t move from the position you’re in. The sound of shifting tells you that he’s close to you moving around your body as you lay still, presenting yourself for him.

The fabric of your dress is moved off of you, flung over your back and forgotten as the cold breeze of the night air hits your soaked cunt. You hear the thump of him dropping to his knees behind you, his hands gripping at your ass and spreading you apart for him to see. Even if he’s seen you many times before, you still can’t help the feeling of unease that comes with being fully exposed, especially in a public place where anyone could find the two of you.

Suddenly, you feel his face directly on your core, his nose pressed close as he inhales your pheromones coming from your slick. The sound he makes could be mistaken as painful, and another wave of his scent hits you at full force, causing you to gush for him again. He wastes no more time to indulge in you, his tongue flattening to lick a broad strip from your clit to your hole, breaching your entrance to lap up as much of you as possible. 

The sudden penetration startles you, making your hips buck into his face to chase the friction. He pushes into you further, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue as if he was a man starved. The vibrations hit you right on your swollen clit where it's pressed into his chin. The sounds coming from the two of you were obscene, wet squelching and wanton moans echoing into the woods around you.

Just as you could feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, Eddie’s pulling away from you completely. You cry out, finally lifting your head to look at him for answers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Gonna--Fuck. Gonna give you what you need.”

When you get a good look at him, you can’t help but stare, forgetting your qualms for a moment as you take him in. 

You’re sure it’s just the sexual haze you’re in, but he looks bigger; his stature, his build, his cock as he undoes his pants and pulls it from the confines of his boxers, pumping it a few times against your ass and slapping it against your skin.

He’s also absolutely filthy, probably from his own trek through the woods on his hunt for you. The scratches on his face and arms are visible even in the low light that the moon is providing, instinctually you want to take care of him, lick his wounds clean and make him feel better. 

But that’s not what he needs right now.

The feeling of his smooth head running through your folds has you clenching on nothing. The feeling of him with no barrier between you, just skin on skin is much more intense than you imagined. The mix of excitement and anticipation has you panting like the bitch in heat that you are, tongue hanging from your mouth as he lines up with your hole.

“Are you ready for this, sweet girl?” His free hand runs down your back, body leaning down into you with his full body weight. “Last chance to back out--”

“Eddie, please,” you whine, pushing back into him, “I want you. Want you you to fuck me please. Please.”

He mutters out a low Fuck against your shoulder before he’s plunging his cock into you you, all the way to the base in one swift movement. It’s so much, so intense all at once that you instantly cum around him with a cry. 

Feeling you squeeze him so tight only spurs him on more, teeth sinking into your neck as he begins to set a brutal pace on your cunt. His arms wrap around you in a tight embrace to keep you in place as he uses your pussy for his own pleasure.

Your fingers collect dirt as you grip into the ground for any kind of purchase as you let him use you however he needs. Small moans and whines escape from your lips with each smack of his hips. He’s moving in and out of you so quickly he’s barely pulling out before pushing back in, the tip of his cock abusing that spot deep inside you over and over at the angle he has you in. It doesn’t take long for you to cum again, hand flying to grip at his curls as you scream into the forest floor. 

You’re not sure what did him in, but the sudden burn from the stretch of his knot takes your breath away. You cry out, not used to the feeling of being knotted since Eddie had always pulled out before. Even with the swell keeping him inside, Eddie continues to thrust into you with reckless abandon. And even as his hips stutter, filling your insides with thick, hot cum in a seemingly never ending stream, he pushes through it and picks up his pace once more. 

And he doesn’t stop. Hips roll into you desperately as he continues to fuck into you even with his limited range. He’s let go of your neck to mumble into your ear like a drunk fool. 

“Fucking love this pussy. Feels so fuckin’ good. Gripping my cock, taking it like a good girl. Gonna fill you up with my babies. Yeah, you want that don’t you? Want me to breed you like the bitch you are, right?”

“Yes, yes, Eddie, fuck! Want your babies!”

“Yeah? My pretty girl wants me to knock her up? What will evenryone think when the prettiest girl in Hawkins is pregnant with the freaks baby? Gonna tell everybody you let me fuck you in the woods?”

 You cum over and over, body completely limp as all of the energy is drained from your body. Every time you feel his knot start to go down, he gets himself worked up again until the muscle is back to pushing your limits. Even with the knot, you’re pretty sure he’s cum so much that it’s starting to leak out of you. You’d heard that sex between an alpha and omega when both were cycling could last a while due to the alpha’s instincts to breed, but you didn’t realize it would be this intense. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you had passed out until you felt yourself being laid down in the back of Eddie’s van on the makeshift bed. His rough hand caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he cooes, leaning in to kiss your temple, “you feeling okay? Want your water bottle?”

“Yes please,” you nod, voice small in your weakened state. Eddie rounds to the front of the van and back with a pep in his step and water bottle in hand. 

“How do you still have energy?” You ask with disbelief, sitting up to take a sip. 

“I don’t know,” he laughs, “I feel like I could run a marathon right now!” You grimace at the thought of doing anything other than sleeping, making Eddie laugh more.

Eddie gets you cleaned up and dressed into the comfy clothes you packed. He does the same for himself before he crawls into the back of the van beside you. The two of you lay with the back door open under the light of the moon until you fall asleep in his arms. 

thank you for reading.

[barefoothighlander]

fear of the dark

summary: ghost is teaching you to evade enemies before your little game turns into something darker

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), dub con, light hunter/prey dynamic, unprotected pinv, fingering, creampie, mask stays on, knife play, name calling, outdoor sex, biting, est relationship

“It goes on like this, green light means it’s active, the red means it’s off” He tucks the comm behind your ear, securing it before pulling his hands back. “This button is to talk, you have to wait for a second for the feed to run through but if anything happens, you tell me”

“Got it, green on, press to talk”

“And keep to channel 4”

You huff a breath, “Okay”

“You ready?”

“What do I get if I outrun you”

“A new skill"

“Boo”

“And if you win” You’re voice is quieter,

“You’ll find out” His thumb strokes across your cheek, “I’ll give you a head start, no leaving the property line, use what I’ve taught you and stay out of my sights, if you make it to sunrise you win”

You smirk, “See you at sunrise”

Turning around you march away from him, moving at a rushed pace, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, the ground is dry which means your tracks will be harder to find, moving your way towards the woods you spare a glance behind you, his large frame relaxed against the side of the house, illuminated by the single light outside as his hands cling to his vest his eyes glued to you.

It’s pitch black outside, the moon provided minimal light through the branches of the tree, guiding your path, you know he doesn’t have his night vision but he’s an expert at finding tracks, one of the few skills his father taught him when they’d go hunting.

You’re breathing heavy as you stumble over rocks, walking for what already felt like hours, navigating around the dark trying to cover your tracks. You make sure to stick to dry ground, knowing that if you stepped in any mud he’d notice the footprints and be on you in an instant.

You reach a small clearing in the woods, deciding it was as good a place as any to take a small rest, you’re not sure how much of a head start he gave you but you know you can’t sit for long. It’s strangely quiet, only a few noises of squirrels running through trees fills the air, there’s no wind or birds, all you can hear is the sound of your own heart, thudding in your ears.

You glimpse at your watch, it’s only midnight, the sun wouldn’t be up for another six hours and you had a lot of ground to cover. Pushing yourself from your position you continue through the woods, avoiding patches of leaves and sticks that could snap as you walk.

Your legs are aching by the time you reach a small stream, trying to navigate your position, doing your best to recall where the stream started. It’s tempting to just jump in, the humid air of summer doing little to cool your sweat beaded skin, the effort of moving up and down hills taking its toll on your muscles.

Fuck it.

If anything it’ll be harder for him to find you in the stream, pulling your boots off and stringing them to your backpack you step in, the coke water forming goosebumps on your skin as you wiggle your toes through the stream. You bend down to grab a hand-full, splashing it against your warm cheeks in an effort to cool down, letting it trickle down your neck as it wets the collar of your shirt.

“Oi, you there?”

His voice rings through your comm, you move to respond but stop yourself, if you answered now he’d know exactly where you were, the noise from the water would echo through your mic, directly into his earpiece.

You jump out of the stream quickly, moving a few paces away so that it was out of earshot before pressing your finger to the button.

"You miss me already?"

“Just checking in"

"Sure"

“Don’t be a brat”

“What are you gonna do about it” You tease through the comms

“Wanna find out?” His voice is deeper

Your hair suddenly stands on end,

He waits a beat, “You need to focus”

“I am”

“What if I was an enemy”

“What are you gonna do, you can’t even find me”

He doesn’t respond.

“Simon?"

The line drops and so does your heart, realizing that he could be directly behind you a sense of panic sets in, you jump back into the stream, following its flow as you rush through the water, your feet splashing it onto your clothes as you make your way through, praying it would cover your tracks.

You’re on edge, the silence of the forest now gone as every twig that snaps grabs your attention, your head on a swivel as you reach a small pond. Stepping out of the water and pulling your boots back on, you squint your eyes around trying to catch a glimpse of him, your breath catching in your throat everytime a branch shifted.

You move further into the woods, checking your watch again 1:36 how had it only been an hour and a half, it felt like forever since you stepped into the trees, the soothing chill of the water now gone, your legs ached from your efforts.

“Are your pants soaked?” His voice breaks your thoughts,

“What?”

“Water was a nice touch”

The line drops again, he’s at the top of the stream which gives you a little bit to gain some distance, tugging your bag around your shoulders you hike further.

Everything starts to look the same, all the trees are reminiscent of each other, you’ll admit you’re lost, but not to him, he’d accuse you of giving up and you didn’t want that. You try your best to navigate your direction, trying to use the stars as some sort of guide but it’s useless, the clouds in the sky block half your view and you can’t remember anything about astronomy anyway, your brain too clouded by the pain in your body.

Your breath hitches at the noise of a branch snapping, your heartbeat now in your ears, you didn't factor in how scary the woods are at night, every sense heightened in the dark.

"Simon?"

You call through your comms but there's no answer, it's dead air, your nerves on fire now, your we’re alone completely, you really didn’t think this through, didn’t stop to consider what would happen if the comms went dead.

You see a small light to your right, squinting your eyes to figure out what it’s from, hoping it was a street light of some sort you move toward it, moving past trees and fallen branches to get to it.

You’re huffing for air as you approach it, your eyes almost shut as it nears, blinding you, you shield your face with a hand,

“What’d I tell you about strange lights”

Your heart drops as you hear him, the crunching of leaves under his boots as he moves near you. You stumble back from him, head turning to find some sort of escape route,

“What’d I tell you love”

you swivel your head from his form to behind you, “They’re deceiving”. In a burst of adrenaline you take off, running away from him as he fades from view, it’s unnerving the way he just walks, he’s not chasing you, it’s like he knows where you’re going.

You’re feet carry you faster than you can think, twisting around trees and over hills, the taste of metal in your mouth as your palm runs over your stomach, a cramp settling into the muscle. You rest against a large oak, closing your eyes and catching your breath, your skin on fire as you try to focus on the sounds around you.

You wait a moment, bracing yourself before turning your body to move, gasping as you feel a hand tug you back.

“Gotcha”

You’re gasping for air as he pins you against the tree, his hands clamped around your arms, keeping you from fighting back.

“Okay, you win, let’s go home”

“Not without my prize”

“Simon, please” Your body is weak against his, no energy left in your muscles as he invaded your space, his chest pressing against yours, the fabric of his vest digging into your flesh.

“You didn’t listen”

“What?” Your brain is a fog

“You did nearly everything wrong, I could’ve had you the minute you stepped into the woods”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologize, you’ll learn”

Your hooded eyes plead with him, begging to go home, to rest but finding no sympathy, he leans his face towards yours, his chin next to your neck.

“I think you wanted to get caught, wanted to see what would happen”

His words click in your head, the heat from your skin suddenly transferring to your core, your arms straining against his grip as you let out a small whimper.

“That’s it, isn’t it, you wanted be to find you, to teach you a proper lesson”

He squeezes your arms tighter when you don’t respond, his eyes moving to stare into yours, his gaze is dark something darker behind it.

“That’s alright love, I’ll give you what you want, but you have to listen”

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid yourself of the ache between them as his hand trails down your side. He removes it for a minute, your stomach flinching as you feel the press of cold metal against it, it forms goosebumps on your skin, he trails it toward your breasts, teasing it through the valley of them before placing it under the hem of your shirt, splitting the fabric up the middle.

The cold air hits your skin causing your nipples to harden as he traces the blade over your skin, pressing it flat against the raised buds.

“You look good like this, all ready for me to use”

Your chest maintains a steady rise and fall, “Si-“

“Not this time love”

Your face falls as you watch his face, the shell of a skull staring back at you, “Ghost, please”

He pays no attention to your words, running his knife along your skin before settling it above the hem of your pants, wriggling your hips to sooth your arousal.

“Needy little thing aren’t you”

He removes his hands from you, giving you an out but you stand in front of him, weak fingers working to undo your pants, he watches as you stumble to step out of them, leaving you in your underwear, the chill outside doing little to settle your nerves.

“Such a perfect little thing” He runs a gloves hand over your breasts, humming as you let out a sigh. Your body freezes as his knife makes contact with your skin again, trailing it towards your core before using it to cut your panties, letting the fabric drop.

He flips the blade, teasing your thighs with the handle of it before he runs it through your folds, biting back a gasp, there was no way to hide your arousal now.

He pulls his knife into view, your slick coating the handle, glistening in front of your face “You’re fucking soaked, you little slut”

“Open your mouth”

You do as he says, flattening your tongue and pushing it out as his hand cups your jaw, holding it open. He runs the handle across the muscle, the taste of yourself dancing over your taste buds as he pushes it slowly into your mouth, stifling a chuckle as you gag around the handle. He watches the string of spit that forms between you and the weapon as he retracts it from your mouth, his eyes glancing toward your core, your unsteady legs holding you up as he brings the weapon towards it.

“Do you think you deserve my cock?”

“Yes, please Ghost”

He teases the handle between your folds, holding it against your weeping core, forcing you to clench around nothing.

Your head falls forward as he pushes it into you, the rough material running along your walls as he pumps it into you. Your hand reaches to brace on his shoulder, holding yourself up before his free hand connects with your throat, pushing you back against the tree. Your body is on display for him, his head looking down to where your cunt is swallowing his blade, groaning at the sight of your slick leaking from your core.

“Greedy little slut, you’d take anything wouldn’t you”

You shake your head, your voice strained by his grip on your neck,

“You will, you’ll take everything I give you”

He thrusts the handle into you faster, tightening his hand as you start to grind yourself down on it,

“Need more, please”

“You wanna cum on my knife you fucking slag”

“Please” You open your eyes at him, your face flush as you silently beg, he releases your throat, allowing you a breath as his gloved hand meets your clit, you arch your back at the contact, the rough circles providing enough stimulation that you feel your knees weaken.

“Do it, cum for me”

His fingers rub along your bud and you come undone, your fingers digging into his vest as you cum with a sob, your body falling forward against him as his fingers work you through your high. He feels you finish, pulling his knife from you, listening to you whimper from the loss of contact as he throws it to the dirt.

His arms lock under your thighs, hoisting your weak from against him and pressing your back against the tree, he grinds his clothed erection against your cunt, your core soaking his pants as your arms wrap around his neck.

“I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna take it, all of it”

Your pussy clench’s at the thought, your ears failing to hear hun unzip his pants, the tip of his cock reading through your folds, smearing your slick around your thighs as he lines himself up.

You bury your head in his neck as he pushes in, the stretch of him burning your walls as he stuffs his cock inside. His hands grip your waist, moving you further down his length until his tip is buried in your cervix, your fingers digging into his back as you whimper around him.

“That’s it, gonna fill this tiny cunt”

He holds you against the tree, keeping you up as his hips pull back, his cock dragging against your walls before he thrusts it back in, his balls slap against your ass as he pounds his cock into you, forcing you to take every inch.

“Fuck, can practically see myself in you”

He holds you with one arm while the other presses firmly to your stomach,

“Gonna split you on my fat fucking cock, you’d like that huh?”

His hand makes contact with the side of your ass when you don’t respond,

“I said you’d like that, wouldn’t you”

“Yes!” You scream, the heartbeat in your ears overpowering any other noise in the area as he moulds you to his cock.

“Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum, let you walk around with my seed in your cunt, dirty fucking whore”

He buried himself deeper with every thrust, pulling almost all the way out only to force his length back in, the weight behind his thrust bouncing you up and down, his eyes watching the way your breasts jump with every pump of his cock.

His fingers trail to your sensitive clit, pinching the bud, you let out a yelp, bearing your teeth into the base of his neck as he grunts, you mark his flesh as his grip on you gets tighter, sure to leave bruises in their wake.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes as you drop your cheek to his shoulder, the saliva in your moth dripping to wet his collar as he works another orgasm from you.

“Cum on my cock, want you to soak me, feel you squeeze me with your tight little cunt”

The bark of the tree scrapes against your bare skin, forcing you to arch into him, his cock driving deeper into you as you sob around him, his fingers circling and flicking over your clit, the band inside you stretching as your body melts.

You clench down on him, greedily taking every inch as you cum, your slick dripping from your core to wet his cock, your cum coating the opening of his pants as he grinds his pelvis against your clit, the friction from his pubic hair adding another layer as you ride out your orgasm.

You’re reduced to whimpers as he takes over all your senses, all you can hear, feel, see is him, the way his cock has you full, his grunts filling your ears as your gaze is stuck on him.

“That’s it baby, so good for me, such a perfect little slut”

You cling to him with weak limbs as his knuckles go white from his gold on you, his arms rising you up and down to meet his thrusts as he chases his high,

“That’s it, fuck that’s it, taking me so well”

He quickens his pace, fucking you ruthlessly, your aching core sucking him in as he pushes his length into you, his tip buried deep inside your walls as he holds you against his chest. Your lower stomach warms with the feeling of him spilling inside you, flooding your core as you sigh, your pussy fluttering as he pulls from you, watching his seed leak from your cunt before pushing it back in with two fingers, making sure it all stays in.

He holds you for a moment, letting you regain your composure before gently letting you down, his hand on your waist holding you steady as he removes his jacket, wrapping it around your naked form providing some sort of warmth.

You watch him with heavy lids, your body swaying at you try to stay upright, his stare is softer now as he bends down, his arms snaking under your legs to pick you up, holding you against his chest.

“Did so well love” He presses his forehead to yours, the heat of his body warming your cold limbs, “Let’s go home”.

He maneuvers around carefully, holding you steady as he moves around the trees, his gaze shifting to you every minute to make sure you were okay. He makes it out of the woods in minutes, the warm light of the windows coming into view as your body grows tired.

He carrie’s you into the house, slowly making his way towards the bathroom, setting you down for a moment so he can turn the tap on the bath on, he kneels in front of you, his hands tugging his mask off so you can see him, giving him a weak smile as he gently removes your remaining clothes.

He helps you to stand, walking towards the warm bath, feeling your muscles sooth as you step in, the water washing over your skin. He strips his own clothes, feeling the water rise as he sits behind you, his legs bent beside your frame as you lean back against his chest.

He runs a gentle cloth over your skin, cleaning up any dirt and grime that was on it, carefully cleaning around your core before his arms settle around your stomach, holding you close.

He rests his lips against the crown of your head as you focus on the sound of his breaths, steady behind you, lulling you to sleep as his thumbs trace over your skin.

[babsisbakery]

Running for your life

Alexia Putellas x fem!reader

For @greynatomy: happy belated birthday

warning: angst, someone is following you at night time

It was night time. Darkness envelops you. The moon and stars trying to illuminate your way but failing miserably. Too many large trees, their branches letting through as little light as possible. Many broken street lights on your way. The path is barely lit. Shadows cast upon every direction. Every step ricochets in the narrow street. The paved sidewalk does not help the following noises. Hectic steps can be heard, people watching from their windows but not daring to interfere. The path is empty besides two silhouettes. A broad figure directly behind you. Their pace is not slowing down, keeping up with you. At least you’re thankful for the extra laps you have to run on a daily basis because the workout is coming in handy at the moment. Otherwise, you’re afraid, it would have been a futile attempt to escape. 

Adrenaline pumping through your veins at rapid speed. Your heart beat has never been so high. Just one small mishap and it's over. The person behind you would get what it wants and that's you. As you keep running you see a group of women, far from you. Should you or should you not flee to them. You would outnumber the person but wouldn't you put innocent ladies at risk. Put their lives on the line to save yours. To maybe endanger some strangers. You decide against it, you weren't sure if the said person had a weapon. Even a simple knife can cause severe damage. Those ladies don't seem fit enough, rather drunk, a bit shaky on their legs. As you've already decided on the other possible option it struck your mind. It would have been perfect. Run to the helpless women, letting the person pursue them and not you. You have plenty of energy to get away safely while they are preoccupied with its fresh victims. But it was too late. Your mind was set on preserving their lives and risking your own in the process. 

Like a lightning bolt it struck you. Your girlfriend Alexia is out with a couple of her friends from the club while you decided to head to Irene to see Mateo. Walking back home alone in the dark didn't seem that bad at the time. Well how wrong you only were. A stranger following you, is not how you imagined your night to end. You should have stayed over like Irene suggested but you came up with another clever idea to get yourself killed - or worse, ending your football career. It's normal for yourself to get yourself in danger or trouble. But this is on another level.

Remembering the club’s name as you try to speed up, reserving your energy says what, to outpace the bastard. As you are mapping out the streets in your head and frantically searching for signs which indicate where you were you hear a bang. You don't dare to look back too scared to stumble and possibly end up like most horror movie characters, dead. Through a traffic mirror you could hardly identify someone but with a bit of luck a local just turns on their porch lanterns which illuminate the darkness. The figure is in a good distance from you, providing a slight cushion for emergencies. For example not looking where you go and losing your balance. 

Finally you figure out which streets to pass to get to your destination, your girl. You’d need five minutes if you sprint, walking there would be much longer. It shocks you that you have run such a large distance already. Not sure how much of this pace you would be able to continue without struggle. Your breath seems a bit more ragged. Heart pumping faster. Some sweat collects on your forehead. The purse on your shoulder felt heavier than usual. 

Time flies by fast, the constant movement making you lose track of it. Not comprehending how close you actually are to the club, you look around. Nothing seems familiar, well you've only been here a few times but always focused on the conversations with your friends. Panic overcomes you, the energy left in you fading. Frantically you look around but your head isn't thinking straight. With no idea how close or far the stranger is you search for an entrance, a safe space. A place to protect you from cruelty. But that's a mistake on your part. You misstep or stumble or you run over your own feet, you don't register clearly but you’re aware of falling.

You feel your jeans ripping. Your hands cushion your fall the best they can. Ripping your palms open in the process. But there is plenty of adrenaline coursing through your veins for you not to feel any pain. Blood pours out of your head soon after it hits the ground. The only thing you register with your blurry vision is the mysterious coming closer. There is an empty attempt to scream by you. Nothing comes out of your mouth, it doesn't even move, it stays closed. 

What you don't notice is that a door, a few metres from your current location, opens as you fall. It's your girlfriend with a couple of your shared teammates. They don't know it's you. Your back facing them. Still they run to the “stranger” in need. They are always helping those who they can help. Alexia doesn't miss the dark figure running towards you. She steps in front of the person she assumes is an unknown person. Blocking the way for your chaser. “Is there a problem mis-.” tries to ask your girlfriend. Before she can end her question her attention is demanded by Patri, who turns her abruptly around. She faces you, her face losing any colour it has.

In her position now stand Mapi and Lucy. Like two bodyguards, protecting their friend. Alexia falls to her knees. Seeing you so fragile breaks her heart. Noone would want to see their significant other in such a terrible state. Ingrid is on the phone summoning an ambulance. The flowing blood is concerning, your injury could be worse than what reaches the eye. Your girlfriend is cradling your head, muttering things in Spanish, incoherent to you. Even if she was talking louder you wouldn't have heard her. Your head is safely tucked into her lap. Her pants are now covered in red. You are in a trance. Mind foggy, vision still blurry. Consciousness is slipping from the tip of your fingers. The last thing you see before your eyes shut is the stranger passing something to Mapi. Something you recognise. 

When you awake, you're in an unfamiliar environment. Alone in a white room. Machines beeping, wires attached to your arm and bandages cover your hands. Normally people would panic but you don't, staying level headed. You’ve been in plenty of those rooms to add things together. Lying in a hospital. The light is too bright for you. A concussion for sure. At this moment Alexia walks in, looking rather shallow. As if a trail of sadness is following her. But as she sees you awake, the usual spark in her eyes returns. Relieve washing over her face. She’s instantly by your side, grabbing your hand into her own. Kissing your bandages head. Until now you weren't aware of that. Slowly your free hand moves to touch your head. Lots of covered area.

The midfielder presses a button, calling a nurse. The medical staff checks on you. A fast recovery is promised. Nothing to worry about. Except your mental state. Alexia tells you what had happened while you were out of it. Explaining in detail what the stranger wanted. To give you back something that had slipped from you while you were rummaging through your purse. But it seemed that the said person was being cryptic and soon vanished after your teammates bombarded them with their own doubts of the sketchy situation. They also told Mapi and Lucy that they tried to call out to you. Maybe they really did but you don't recall such a thing. Something your mind could have pushed away, a lost memory. It raises a lot of questions in your mind.

Since this incident you've never been the same, always cautious about your surroundings but even though it ended well you can't shake the feeling off that it could have been different. If you hadn't reached your teammates you wouldn't have seen another day. Of course that's only speculation even if the said stranger apologised and expressed their motive, it didn't sit right with you. The only person you expressed your thoughts about this was Alexia. She had your back and was there for you. Nightmares were plaguing your nights, your girlfriend right beside you consoling you when you burst into tears and reassuring you. With time those went away as well, contently lying in Alexia’s safe arms, sleeping peacefully. Your trauma is healing slowly. Still you’re not sure if you dare to go out alone in the dark again. Maybe with some therapy you will but for now you take one day at a time. But you know you’ve grown closer with your person. You're thankful she stood by you. Not leaving your side even if it got difficult. It made you certain she is the one. You knew before but some issues kept you from truly believing it. It was time to take the next step in your relationship. Life is too short to waste it, you've come to realise. This event changed you, it's something you don't wish on anyone, it still had a few positive outcomes. A fresh perspective on life. A life with Alexia.

All together it made you appreciate the people around you more. Stronger bonds not only with family but with friends. They showed up for you when you were in need, not even knowing it was you. That's the people you can count on no matter what.

[jasmines-library]

Hii! I’m the anon who requested the Remus with the heightened senses thing. I have another significantly LONGER one. I apologise in advance.

Going to the forest during the full moon becayse you don’t know that Remus Lupin is a werewolf, but then you see his post-transformation, scarred, bruised, blooded and whimpering form on the ground, surrounded by Sirius, James and Peter. You can’t help yourself from pulling him away from them and into your arms, cuddling him and petting his hair, fully believing that it was them who hurt him.

Eventually; they convince you to let them take Remus to the hospital wing, that they’ll explain when you get there, and you agree. So long as you can hold Remus’s waist, to make sure your culprits don’t hurt him. When you get to the hospital wing, you’re so incredibly clingy with Remus, even when he wakes up. the boys explain his lycanthropy, and Remus is convinced you won’t love him anymore. Quite the opposite. He’s just earned himself a few more weeks of tireless protective clinginess.

Miscommunication

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: Thanks for another great request!

Warnings: post full moon Remus, swearing

Word Count: 2k

⛧ MARAUDERS MASTERLIST⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The Forbidden Forest was not somewhere you wanted to be. Especially at night. The trees were uncomfortably large with claw-like branches, and the thicket made it disorientating to navigate through the maze of trees. The moon was big and bright, and would normally have illuminated the forest ground, but the trees and the mist allowed no luxury of light. You didn’t want to be there, not in the slightest, in fact the chances of getting a detention for being out here were extremely high, but you were following Remus. 

At the end of each month you would hear the door to the dormitories creak open. It was followed by the patter of footsteps and hushed whispers. But there was no one to be seen. They took their leave with James cloak, though they needed to work on their subtlety. The thing was, despite the noise they made as they crept down the stairs, as soon as they entered the common room, they fell silent and vanished out of the portrait and through the castle walls: invisible and nearly impossible to find. 

You knew you should have. You should have respected his privacy, but Remus and his friends were being shifty. It felt almost as if they were avoiding you. It had been going on for months now; at the end of the month they seemed to get shifty, slinking off without so much as an explanation. So, although it made guilt bubble up in your stomach, you couldn’t help but follow them. 

You finally decided to follow them when you lay restless at night. You found your mind wandering and the little sleep you got came uneasily to you. So you swung your legs over your bed, and crept towards the door. You take extra care to not step on the creaky floorboards to make sure you didn’t wake your roommates. Then, it was across the hall and down the stairs to the dorm you knew so well. Often, you spent more time there curled up in Remus’ bed instead of your own. You expected to hear a shuffle of footsteps before the door unlocked moments after your knuckles rapped on the wood. But instead there was nothing. So you tried again.

Nothing. 

Using a simple ‘alohomora’ the door swung open with an eerie jerk. Inside was the sound of nothing but silence. 

The marauders were up to something again. 

Illuminating your wand, you began to rummage around James’ trunk until your fingers grazed the crisply folded parchment. You pulled out the map, unfolding it until you could admire the delicate lines. It had taken the boys hours as they hunched over desks, but the results were completely worth it. It took you a minute to find the boys, but there, scrawled out in their best hand writing were their names, and four sets of footprints migrating toward the courtyard just outside of the forbidden forest. Cursing, you pocketed your wand and replaced the map back at the bottom of James’ trunk before following them. 

It took much longer than you thought it would to reach the forest. With nosy portraits hung around each corner, you did well to make it out without being spotted and earning yourself a week's worth of detention of scrubbing toilets. However in the time it took you to reach the forest, it had gotten much darker and you now struggled to see where you were going. 

The forest was daunting during the day and twice as much at night. Strange noises ricocheted through the trees and an unsteady breeze whipped through the air. You tugged the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers. Being alone made you jumpy. Each snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made your head whip around in alarm. You had considered turning back…but you had already come this far you were too stubborn to turn back now. 

It felt like you had searched every inch of the forest. You had begun to grow sore, and the biting cold was beginning to get to you. It was when the thought of turning back crossed your mind again that you saw him. Well, you heard him first. 

A whimper. Low and desperate. It was painted and cut through you like a knife because you knew that tone. Remus. You pushed your legs toward the sound until you could make out the dark, cloaked figures huddled around him. 

He was curled up on the ground, bloodied and bruised. Fresh scars oozed blood on his forehead and he seemed to be clutching his left arm as he writhed in pain. His friends stood over him in a circle, their wands poised above him. Threatening him. 

Your wand was in your hand in seconds, the carvings so familiar to your hands that it was almost like an extension of your own body. You didn’t really think in the moments that came after that. Supposedly it was because you were shocked. Your body was filled with an anger and protectiveness that you had never felt before as the marauders stood over your boyfriend. His own friends. 

“Remus!” Your voice cut through the silence as you crossed the last distance toward them. Sirius had taken a step toward him, but you blocked his path as you practically dived in front of him, scraping your knees on the ground as you raised your wand protectively in front of you. 

 “Get the fuck away from him!” You demanded, causing the skulk of faces to snap toward you. 

Sirius stumbled backward, caught off guard by your sudden appearance. Your eyes were wide as you watched cautiously, moving your wand hectically between the three of them. Not taking your harsh stare off of them, you gathered Remus up in your arms. 

He seemed so fragile in that moment, his body bloodied and scarred. His chapped lips moved as he tried to form words that only came out as strangled whimpers. Your hand ran over his air, smoothing his curls as you whispered to him softly. 

“Shh, I’ve got you Rem. It’s okay.”

He seemed to protest at first, hand wrapping weakly around the arm you used you clutch him to your chest, but at the sound of your voice he closed his eyes and sank into you. 

“Y/N?! Merlin, what the hell are you doing out here?” Sirius spoke first: panicked and confused. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You glared at him, scowling with your eyebrows. Your hand was shaking, your body too. You weren’t sure if it was anger or fear. Peter stiffened, his eyes widening as he went white as a sheet. 

You shook your head as your eyes brimmed with tears. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Remus was lying scared and injured on the floor surrounded by his friends who had- You could practically see it in your mind; Remus being chased down by the boys he believed were his closest friends…

Clenching your jaw you spat at them. “You’re supposed to be his friends!” 

James furrowed his brow, staring wide eyed at the end of your wand. “W-what?”

“He trusted you!” You yelled at them. “He trusted you and you treated him like shit!”

“Y/N… whatever you think is going on here isn’t.” Peter spoke meekly, distancing himself from your piercing gaze. 

“I can’t believe he trusted you! I-”

“You have to let us explain!” James protested “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Don’t you think you’ve already done enough?”

Sirius was about to open his mouth to reply when Remus let out a whimper, trying to shift his weight only to end up putting weight on one of his wounds. The five of you fell silent. 

“We need to get him to the infirmary.” Sirius stated. 

You clung to him closer. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

“Y/N please…” James begged “Let us help him. We’ll explain ourselves I promise. But he needs help.”

You glanced at Remus. His pain-dazed face made your stomach toss and turn. Swallowing thickly, you nodded hesitantly. “Fine.”

Letting out a sigh, Sirius moved to Remus’ right side, helping to haul him up onto his feet.

“Alright, Moony. Let’s get you to Poppy.”

Once Remus was back on his feet, the five of you made your way back to the hospital wing. It was a slow walk, and you kept one hand wrapped firmly around his waist as you helped support him. Although you had pocketed your wand, that didn’t stop you from sending warning glances at the other boys. You were still unsure. The three of them seemed to know what they were doing; they moved with the coordination of a group of people that were experienced and moved more like one force than as a group of separate people. 

When the pristine walls of the hospital wing came into view, you did well to hide your surprise. It seemed almost as though Poppy had been expecting the five of them to bring Remus to her. You also didn’t miss the frown she gave you which was followed by a questioning look to James who dismissed it with a wave of his hand as he tried to focus on Remus. 

When he was situated in a bed and Madame Pomfrey had finished hovering over him, you took a seat next to Remus with one of his hands in yours. His face already looked better, and with help from a potion seemed to have fallen into a dreamless sleep. 

~

It felt like forever before Remus woke up. You had fallen asleep hunched over on his bed and awoke to someone stroking the top of your hair. Blinking slowly, you lifted your head and came eye to eye with Remus. 

“Hey you.” He mumbled, his fingers trailing to under your chin.

“Rem?”

He smiled at you weakly, clearly still tired despite the fact that he looked much better “Hey.”

“Oh Rem…” You wrapped your arms around his neck, hesitant in case you hurt him. But he hugged you back tightly. 

“I’m so sorry…” Remus bit his lip nervously. He looked anxious and it made you wonder how long he had been awake before you finally opened your eyes. 

“What are you sorry for, Rem?”

 You could sense the taller boys lingering by the curtain. When it slid open, you felt your hand tighten around your boyfriends. The other three boys stood there equally as nervous. 

“Explain.” You said. 

“Y/n…” Peter started, unsure how to explain.

“What’s going on? I’m sick of being lied to. Just tell me the truth.” You told them, smoothing the skin on the back of Remus’ hand. 

“Its not that simple…” James told you. “I don’t know if Moony is ready to-”

Remus nodded his head slowly, twisting his gaze ever so slightly away from you. “It’s alright James. You can tell her. She deserves to know.”

“Do you know why we call him Moony? Y/N?”

You replied with a simple shake of your head. 

“It’s because Remus is…” Sirius took a deep breath. It was much shakier than he intended it to be. There was no easy way to say it. “Remus is a werewolf.”

Remus had expected you to laugh. To run off or to angrily accuse him of lying as you shoved him away. Albeit instead, you were quiet as you slowly pieced things together. It made sense. The scars, the disappearances each month…you were surprised you hadn’t figured it out sooner. You hummed. When you made eye contact with Remus, his eyes were frightful. As your hands moved to trace the scars on his face as you had done many times before, he leaned instinctively into your touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You whispered. 

“I was scared.” Remus admitted truthfully.

“Of what?” You knitted your eyebrows together, scrunching up your nose. 

“That you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

Your face softened.  “Oh Rem. I could never stop loving you.” He smiled softly as you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will never stop loving you.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

MARAUDERS TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

A Love Beyond Time.

fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!

word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)

in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.

trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.

trope: vampire!harry

The year was 1864.

You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.

The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.

With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.

Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.

The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.

The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.

Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.

The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.

Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.

In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.

Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.

The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.

Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.

A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.

Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.

He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.

Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.

Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.

As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.

Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.

Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.

You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.

Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.

The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.

You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.

"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.

His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.

"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.

Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.

Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.

"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.

Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.

The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.

Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.

You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.

With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.

His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.

The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.

Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.

Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.

You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.

As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.

But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.

In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.

You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.

As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.

The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.

you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.

The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,

𝐻.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.

The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,

It reads,

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.

𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.

𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.

𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,

𝐻.

With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),

𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.

𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,

𝐻.

The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.

As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.

You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.

As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.

His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.

Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.

Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.

He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.

You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.

The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.

He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.

You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.

Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.

As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.

The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.

Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.

He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.

"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.

You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."

Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"

He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.

Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"

Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.

"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.

In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."

His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.

You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.

Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.

Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.

As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.

The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.

In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.

You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.

As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.

Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.

He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.

The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.

The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.

In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.

It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.

Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.

The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.

Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.

As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.

When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.

You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.

Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.

The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.

The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.

The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.

You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.

Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.

His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.

He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.

The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.

Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.

Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.

"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."

Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.

In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.

Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.

Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.

It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.

At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.

The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.

The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.

Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.

The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.

Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.

The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.

The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.

In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.

Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.

A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.

His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.

His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.

The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.

Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.

Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.

They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.

Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.

"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"

The Chapel Grove.

A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.

Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."

Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."

His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.

Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.

It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.

Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.

It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.

The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.

Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.

He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.

He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.

As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.

As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.

In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.

He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.

With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.

You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.

It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.

The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.

Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.

Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.

Rookie mistake on your part.

And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.

The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.

In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.

The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.

The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.

You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.

And so, you continue your journey.

The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.

Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.

The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.

As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.

The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.

Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.

It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.

For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.

The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.

The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.

The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.

As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.

The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.

You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.

You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.

The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.

The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.

Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.

On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.

The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.

Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.

The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.

The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.

The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.

It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.

The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.

The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.

You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.

It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.

The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.

Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.

You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.

The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.

The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.

The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.

As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.

The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.

The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.

You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.

"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.

She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.

Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"

He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”

You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.

With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.

“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.

There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.

Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.

"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.

You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.

A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.

"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.

With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.

You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.

After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.

It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.

The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.

He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.

Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.

As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.

It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.

He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.

His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.

They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.

Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.

And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.

Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.

As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them

You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.

Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.

It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.

The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.

The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.

The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.

The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.

It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.

As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.

As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.

You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.

You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.

Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.

A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.

He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.

You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.

"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.

Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.

"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."

You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.

As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.

You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.

The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.

You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.

He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.

Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.

His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.

As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.

The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.

His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.

The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.

It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.

February 1, 2023.

The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.

The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.

His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.

For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.

Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.

As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.

They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.

Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.

As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.

Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.

His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.

Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.

"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.

He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.

Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.

"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.

Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.

Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"

Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.

"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.

After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.

He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.

Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.

With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.

The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.

As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.

Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.

The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.

Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.

The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.

He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.

In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.

Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."

Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.

Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."

The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.

"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."

With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.

"The signing of the Magna Carta?"

"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.

"The American Declaration of Independence?"

"1776."

The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.

Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.

As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.

Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.

Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.

He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.

You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.

The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.

You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.

It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.

Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.

"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."

He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.

Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.

"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."

You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."

He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."

You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.

You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.

Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.

The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.

Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.

The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.

Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.

The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.

The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.

Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.

As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.

The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.

Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.

The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.

You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.

The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.

Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.

She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."

Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.

You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.

You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.

That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.

A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.

Her ancestor was someone you once knew.

Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.

A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.

As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.

Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.

The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.

You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.

As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.

Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.

"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.

You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."

Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."

A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.

You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.

Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.

For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.

Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.

With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.

You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.

As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.

Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.

The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.

Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.

With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.

As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.

As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.

All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.

The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.

Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"

Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."

Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."

Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."

Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."

Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."

With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."

As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.

The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.

Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."

Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.

He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."

Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."

Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."

Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."

Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."

As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.

Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.

The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.

Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.

His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.

He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.

A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.

Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.

Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.

He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.

A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.

The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.

Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.

With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.

He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.

Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.

The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.

Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.

He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.

You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.

Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.

The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.

The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.

As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.

The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.

As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.

But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.

Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.

"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.

Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."

Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.

"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.

You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.

It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."

You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.

He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.

As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.

The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.

Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.

Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.

You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.

The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.

You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.

You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."

He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."

As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.

The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.

But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.

The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.

You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.

Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.

Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.

"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."

He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"

The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.

Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.

His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."

But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.

His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.

As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.

You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.

"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.

As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.

Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.

The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.

The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.

Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.

Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.

But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.

As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,

"He'll come back, he has to."

It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.

In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.

Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.

"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.

You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."

His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."

But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.

"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."

His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.

As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.

"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."

With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.

Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."

As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.

Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.

In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.

You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.

Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.

It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.

You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.

It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.

As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.

The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.

You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.

With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,

"I'm going outside for a smoke."

It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.

Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.

He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.

As you turned to leave, he called after you,

"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.

You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.

"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.

You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.

The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.

With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.

Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.

Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.

In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."

The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."

In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.

With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."

As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.

It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.

The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."

But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.

Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.

The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."

As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.

The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.

You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.

Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.

"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.

You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.

"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.

As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"

You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.

"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."

Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"

You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."

Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."

You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."

Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."

As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.

Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.

"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."

Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."

Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."

You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."

Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.

Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."

He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.

You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."

As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.

As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.

Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.

The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.

They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.

Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.

You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.

As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.

Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"

For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.

A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.

They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.

You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.

With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.

You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.

Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.

Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.

On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.

Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.

If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.

Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.

He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.

As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.

Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.

Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.

But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.

Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.

Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.

He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.

His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"

A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.

Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.

He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."

The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.

The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.

She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."

Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.

She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."

Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."

Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."

The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.

Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."

The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"

Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "

Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.

Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."

Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.

The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.

With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.

In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.

"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."

He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."

He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."

The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."

He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."

Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."

Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."

With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.

Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"

Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."

He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.

Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."

Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.

Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.

As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.

His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.

Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.

Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"

You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.

In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.

These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.

The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.

They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.

And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.

The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.

Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.

The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.

The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.

𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈

𝙾𝙵

𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.

𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳

𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,

𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).

Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.

The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.

The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.

The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.

His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.

The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.

You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."

Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.

He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.

The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."

The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.

"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."

As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.

It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.

With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.

"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.

The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.

With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.

It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.

The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.

The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.

Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.

His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.

He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.

His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

He had fantasised this moment countless times.

As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.

What if you were really there?

His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.

He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.

The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.

With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.

Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.

He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.

Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.

His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.

“(Y/N)?”

Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.

But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.

Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.

At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.

And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.

The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.

You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.

The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.

He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.

Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.

As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.

The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.

You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.

Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.

You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.

You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.

You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.

Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.

Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.

Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.

The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.

Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.

You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.

Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.

"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."

Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."

You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."

He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."

Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.

Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.

With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"

You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.

Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.

You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.

The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.

Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,

"Can I kiss ‘ye?"

You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.

With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.

The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.

Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.

Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.

The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.

“M’love you, m’sun.”

That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.

You were his sun, and he was your light.

You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.

And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.

“I love you, my light, always and forever.”

Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Part VII

Synopsis: You would say that you grew up together. From children, to teenagers, to young leaders, you did nothing but be who you were and Tobirama would forever name his love for you as the reason he hated the Uchiha.

Word Count: 5k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

Notes: Considering Izuna and Sasuke look so much alike, part of me wondered if I could use a picture of Sasuke for the front panel and if anyone would truly notice if I claimed it was a panel of Izuna haha

The gates to the Uchiha settlement were open, and enemy forces began gathering outside.

However, when describing the formidable territory the Uchiha had collected over the past few years, referring to their land as a settlement was a rather egregious understatement. The Uchiha gathered upon a sprawling territory equalling half the Grand Mountain range in addition to a handsome chunk of the flats, with the main sector they called home being in the center of the dense forest on a level section of the elevated land. 

After a long and strenuous trek up the mountain, the foreign battalions sat in wait among the tree branches in the shadow of their last obstacle. Tall, jagged tree trunks lined the main sector of the Uchiha civilization, forming a wall stretching almost infinitely in both directions. The barrier was interrupted only by a single open gate. 

It sprawled open in the cool night air. The sharpened ends of the wooden fortress pointed up toward the heavens, casting a jagged shadow across the ground to the treeline like ferocious teeth lining an agape jaw. 

A slight breeze caused the leaves to waver as the shadow-shrouded leadership pondered the open gate. Desperation and bloodthirst were almost palpable among the forces, exacerbated by fatigue and impatience. 

They ultimately trickled in against their better judgment, passing through the mouth of the Uchiha settlement in the moonlight. Years of passage in and out of the gate reduced the walking paths to little more than dirt and weeds. 

The battalions pressed on. The commanding warriors motioned for their squads to fan out in the darkness, moving low and quietly to fan out among homes and buildings. The battalions proceeded stealthily across the beaten-down ground, filling the entire west end of the camp before they squatted in the darkness with weapons at the ready.

Stillness once again overtook the quiet compound. 

The bright light of the full moon illuminated the settlement’s center, but the presence of the wooden fixtures left starkly black shadows around the camp’s perimeter. Even for nighttime, the shadows lingered a bit too largely among the buildings. 

Not a single Uchiha walked the dirt paths or stood guard in the tall perches that littered the fortress walls. Those had been the largest consideration in the foreign battalion’s strategy, as with the sharingan eye, a single guard could see down to the base of the mountain and miles beyond. And yet, not a single Uchiha soul was to be seen or sensed in the dimness of the night.

A muffled grunt sounded at the back of one of the squads. Members of the rear squads turned in alert, only to find nothing there but a swordsman-less sword and a patch of trampled dirt. 

And then the gate closed.

The honed ends slammed into ditches made in the ground long ago by movement. And before any response could be given to the disappearance of their most rear troops, all attention shot to the sealed-off exit. The invading force couldn’t help the surprised and horrified gasps that echoed through their ranks. Leadership hushed them quickly, whispering harsh words to recenter their feeble troops. 

Red eyes began to illuminate the darkness. 

Gurgling noises were swept off into the night as the warriors could only turn just in time to witness the corpses of their comrades being dragged off into the shadows. Kunai flew silently through the air. Blunt noises announced their impact, followed by the wet, squelching noises of blood spatter. 

Members at the front of their squads were quick to light torches, illuminating the battlefield in a wave of flame to reveal the creeping Uchiha waiting in the murk. The Uchiha held their weapons at the ready with their piercing gazes. Some crouched near the ground, holding the bodies of warriors before them with slit throats. A few of the captured were twitching; heads hung as the barely alive men were forced to watch their own blood stain the fronts of their armor red. 

With rage and fear in their eyes, the attacking forces led a charge, hollering out in the air with raised weapons. Their battle cries were enough for the battalions to summon back some courage lost at the sight of their fallen comrades. The clanging metal of swords filled the atmosphere as shouts rose toward the night sky. Uchiha stormed out from their hiding places, making expert use of their superior ocular abilities and quality weaponry. 

The resistance was futile. 

The sound of battle rang out, cries of pain only fueling the will of the Uchiha to defend their home. Forces gathered near the center of the main entry path, all having been stopped from moving farther. The enemy forces tried to press on in the face of their obstacle, but the bodies continued to drop. A mass of flesh and metal, the impact made an unmistakable clatter as carcasses hit the dirt below. One by one, they fell with a swiftness that dared to resemble mercy, and above them all, Madara emerged. 

Madara Uchiha, who already had a tall and bulky figure in his teenage years, had filled out his crimson-red armor. It proudly adorned his broad chest and squared shoulders, the pieces clanging together harshly as he moved— like a snake’s warning rattle. Madara’s foot found soft flesh as he stood tall upon the mountain of corpses, his oversized weapon slung across the back of his shoulders and the full moon framing his head. He wore his scars pridefully, displaying his well-earned trophies as symbols of his strength. Madara was no longer a boy green in his leadership skills but a battle-hardened man.

And his vast, infamous reputation proceeded him.

A few warriors stood strong against him, holding their swords up as they cried out rageful battle cries, ready to engage in combat again. But they were far and few between compared to the forces that turned and attempted to flee. 

Madara watched them with a critical eye, and the remaining warriors couldn’t help but glance out of their peripherals in horror as their remaining comrades were cut down as they ran back toward the closed gates. 

It was a massacre led by Izuna Uchiha.

He expertly swung his katana— his movements looking far more like a dance than a slaughter— pivoting in a single place as he cut down the fleeing forces that passed. The retreating forces who managed to make it past pounded on the closed entrance as those on the outside of the crowd were slowly picked off one by one. 

They clamored over each other, stepping on one another as they tried to climb up the towering fortress walls. Their wailing and begging resounded into the darkness of the night as Izuna moved in, his Mangekyō Sharingan allowing him to pay little regard to any attacking soldiers as he cut them down with ease.

The night turned silent once again. 

Tall torches were lit, lighting the battlefield in a rich glow. The cleanup began as Uchiha dragged corpses and barely alive men through the dirt to a pyre. Children scrambled through the blood-stained village to collect weaponry that could be melted down and reforged. 

Madara searched the piles of bodies himself, stalking through them like a proud tiger. Sharingan still ignited, he searched for survivors. Madara plucked one out of the pile by his hair. A strangled, boyish cry pierced the rotting atmosphere as Madara threw him down into a puddle of mud and blood. 

The swordsman, a boy no older than seventeen, picked his face up and laid against the bodies of his slain comrades. A gaping wound stretched across his stomach at the bottom of his ribcage, staining the cloth he wore under his armor a sickly dark red.

Madara stared down at him with severe eyes. The black patterns were still swirling within the reds of his irises. The young swordsman met his gaze head-on like a cornered and wounded animal, teeth clenched and brow knitted.

His shaking fingers tightened weakly around the hilt of his sword, and in one last act of defiance, the young warrior pointed the tip of his weapon at Madara. 

The entire sword shook.

Madara watched the display without expression, meeting the young warrior's gaze with a blank scowl. The young warrior quirked a semblance of a smile, painfully aware of his impending fate. 

Madara extinguished his sharingan, ignoring how the sword’s tip swayed with the boy’s dwindling strength. It was kicked away, and Madara took the boy by the hair again, dragging him off.

The young warrior moaned in agony but ultimately couldn’t do much to resist. Madara dragged the boy along the ground, filth that wasn’t his own collecting in the young warrior’s mouth as the skin on his torso tore. His head hit one stair, then another, and when Madara threw him down again, he found himself on a wood floor. 

The room was warm. 

When the young warrior opened his eyes, he could barely make out what he was looking at, but then the handcrafted cabinets became focused. Vials of plants in vials lined the shelves. Dried flowers sat suspended in liquids. He couldn’t take his eye off the jar in the center of his sight: a thick-looking clear liquid with the heads of white flowers floating within. The petals were slightly curled, but the flowers retained their overall structure. He couldn’t think; he could only stare at the little flowers suspended inside.

He heard footsteps above him, somewhere just farther into the little building. The boy laid curled in on himself, unable to see much more than the shelf in front of him and Madara’s long legs, which ended somewhere out of his sight. The sound of the steps he couldn’t place was light and stopped short of him.

“I will grab another cot,” a woman spoke.

Cot? For him?

“No need,” Madara quickly cut her off. A few other Uchiha warriors entered the door, but the young swordsman could barely register anything. “Handle this swiftly.”

Another set of steps vibrated harshly through the wood floor. The young warrior’s eyes moved weakly, spying a familiar green armor from one of his allies. An Uchiha warrior hauled the corpse. The green-clad sleeve wavered limply in the air. He might have wondered how many of his comrades had been taken to this place if he had had more strength.

“Stay here.” The lighter steps walked off again. Even though they were traveling away, they were louder this time. The wood floor adjusted. The young warrior’s chest clenched, instinctively jumpy at unseen movement near his head. 

“I have informed you that there is no need.”

“Ah, let another boy bleed out onto my floor then. I will ensure that the mop makes it to your hand,” the woman quickly snapped back. More noises resounded through the wood floor as she seemed to drag something forward. It sounded large if such a sound existed. There came a pause. “Well, do you intend to make yourself useful?”

“Woman!” The shout was loud enough to make the boy flinch. He wrapped an arm over his stomach. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. He could hardly feel the sting of the dirt contaminating his insides. “Do not push your luck.”

Before he could comprehend, the young warrior was lifted up. He gasped in pain, a noise of distress falling from his lips as his wound stretched before he settled on an elevated cot. A thick layer of fabric sat between him and the thin mat. A lantern light flashed, blinding him for just a moment as a set of hands came over his wound. 

When he cracked open his eyes, he saw you. You stood over him, one hand stopping the bleeding of his large wound with a clean cloth. He flinched away as the other came toward his forehead. You brushed away some wet strands of hair stuck to his sticky forehead. 

Madara stood a few feet behind you, watching over your shoulder. He took a long stride forward. 

“That is enough with your nonnecessities,” he protested. You dismissed him with a sound of annoyance, holding your hand out to prevent him from getting any closer. 

“If you cannot control yourself, you may wait outside,” you nodded without a second thought, departing from the young warrior’s vision again. 

“Woman—” The foreign boy felt a sharp movement somewhere out of his vision. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of quick pivots and the sound of fabric snapping. Madara’s armor rattled. But the sound of a palm slapping skin that the boy anticipated didn’t come, and after a beat of slowly declining tension, you padded somewhere deeper into the room.

You left a cool breeze in your wake, and to his surprise, Madara remained quiet where he stood. The Uchiha clan head puffed to himself, the simmering of his temper not yet reaching a boil.

The door swung open, allowing night air to flow into the room, but the new spectator didn’t announce his presence. 

The foreign warrior could hear you fiddling with something in your hands. Rapidly weakening, all the young warrior could do was hold the fabric you slipped under his hand on his wound. 

When you appeared over him again, the lantern light illuminated the back of your head like a halo. And as you pressed something into his mouth, he couldn’t help but consider you one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. 

Even at this hour, your hair draped gracefully over your brow. You had grown into your awkward features from adolescence, your immature frame having settled nicely into a distribution of healthy adult weight and functional muscle. You filled out in the way your biology intended. This might have been the first time he’s ever seen you, but the way your skilled hands and sharp mind held a commanding presence over your apothecary didn’t escape him— even as the elite Uchiha warriors hovered over your shoulder with every move. 

You must be Madara’s wife, the young warrior presumed somewhere in the fog of his dizzying head. He considered the thought amusing, for who else could talk to the infamous warrior Madara like you had?

“Tell me—” You spoke gently and turned the young warrior’s head to the side to face you. You wiped off some of the grime that caked his face. —“What clan do you hail from?” Your hand wrapped gingerly around his wrist, and two fingers rested below his palm. The words spilled from his lips without a second thought. 

“Sugai,” he answered as if his throat had retained strength while the rest of his body waivered. The word spilled out from his lips. He hardly registered it himself.

The handful of warriors who stood behind Madara muttered amongst themselves. 

“The Sugai Clan…”

“Were all your comrades members of the Sugai Clan?” you questioned. Were. You didn’t even have to leave your apothecary to know what happened to the rest. The young warrior didn’t register your tense. He only answered.

“Not all,” he said before his voice drifted into a faint whisper. You leaned down so that your ear sat adjacent to his lips. Strands of your hair fell over the clammy skin of his face. You kept a keen watch over the young warrior’s hands. The cloth on his stomach had changed colors completely. 

You continued your questioning and interrogation in a soft, low voice. You muttered to each other in the lantern light. Madara waited with frustrated anticipation, simmering to himself. After all, Madara had little patience for your involvement to begin with. 

“It appears that the Senju have migrated north.” You finally resurfaced, adjusting your robes and releasing your hold on the babbling boy on the cot below. “They are snatching up alliances, it seems.”

“The Sugai Clan has allied with the Senju?” one of the Uchiha warriors questioned from behind you. Madara swiftly hushed him.

“Silence.” The room returned to a standstill in an instant, nearly militantly. Madara took a moment to think to himself, crossing his thick arms over his blood-stained chest plate. He stared at the dying warrior on the cot, watching as the pool of red crept onto the fabric below. His eyes flickered to yours. —“Not just the Sugai, but all minor clans in the east have been pushed from their territories. The raid tonight was unsurprising, to say the least—” Madara glanced outside through a sliver in the ajar door as the bodies piled up outside. “Clearly.”

“Four other small clans to the southeast have allied with the Sugai now that the land between Uchiha and Senju dwindles by the day,” you added, leaning against the counter. A jar of processed flower buds— the same that you had shoved into the young warrior’s mouth— sat next to your elbow. Your eyes flickered again to Madara’s, watching him closely to gauge his demeanor. You were the interrogator, but then again, when the head of the Uchiha ordered silence, even you were not immune. 

“Indeed—” He chose not to regard you. —“We expected as much. This information is not new.” 

Without a second thought, Madara swiftly cut the throat of the Sugai warrior before swiftly retreating out the door with his war fan. 

One of the men behind him collected the young warrior, throwing him over his shoulder to be burned with the rest of the corpses. The boy coughed up blood, spewing it onto the wood flooring.

The door flapped back and forth in the doorframe. You watched as Madara and his pack of elite soldiers left between sways of the door. They grew smaller in the distance with every wave. You lurched forward, intent on following after them, but an arm swiftly wrapped around your torso. The motion almost swept you off your feet as Izuna’s shoulder blocked you from racing out the door. He gave a bit into your velocity, pivoting a half-step backward.

“Do not go outside,” he warned. You gripped the arm holding you, looking into Izuna’s dark eyes. A neutral expression held his face in acute severity. You didn’t miss how he held you at a calculated distance. Izuna’s lip shuddered once. 

“You are not my keeper, Izuna. It is not your place to stand in my way.” You brushed him off and ripped your arm away from his stern grip before readjusting the shoulder of your robes. He let you, watching the backs of your robes while uncertainty swam in his dark irises. You set out through the door.

“Madara!”

Madara ignored you, pretending not to hear as he stormed away, but by the third shout of his name, he reluctantly stopped in his tracks. His posse of elite military figures passed by him as Madara heaved a heavy sigh, his armor clattering with the motion before he turned to you. You made your way down the stairs. Smoke and mild debris wafted through the air as the Uchiha warriors made short work of tidying up the settlement. 

“Madara!” You called again as he lumbered over to you. He held his back erect with his weapon still clasped tightly in his hand. Madara said nothing as he expressed his usual stoic demeanor. You stood at the bottom step of the apothecary with one foot on the ground. Madara stopped a few meters away, still within earshot. He did not appear anywhere near as concerned as you were as you questioned him with wide eyes, “Are you unconcerned that Hashirama has been named head of the Senju clan?”

Your words remained stuck in the air, caught by the particles and impurities that danced in the atmosphere. The smell of death floated in the cool, nighttime wind. 

Madara’s lip dipped into a frown. 

“Lack of concern would be reckless indeed,” Madara muttered, puffing another deep breath out his chest. He pivoted slightly, turning his attention upward toward the moon. “However, it is not as reckless as refusing an alliance with the Senju based on Hashirama’s lack of leadership experience alone in favor of attacking the Uchiha. Small clans certainly have foresight equivalent to their size. The Sugai prove to be no different.”

“I worry about what this change in leadership will bring. It is most unpredictable.”

“Then it is fortunate that you are not in a position to worry yourself over such things.” Madara barked out what could have been mistaken for a laugh. “We have engaged with the Senju countless times. Formidable as they may be, the strength of the Uchiha is far greater.” 

He dismissed you with a wave of his hand, returning to head deeper into the settlement again. Now that you had inserted yourself into village politics, Madara had had enough of humoring you. You followed. 

“Tobirama Senju is a foul, beasty man. I can only imagine how— how objectionable the older one must be.”

Madara moved with wide strides, continuing with extra swiftness to purposefully lose you. 

“And what do you know of Tobirama?” Madara scoffed. He faced forward, completely missing the expression of dread that fell across your face. 

“The tales from Izuma, of course!” You quickened your pace.

Madara stopped once again, but you ran straight into his backplate this time. You stumbled back, a hand to your nose. Madara barked orders into the orderly chaos in front of you. He had taken to his role as clan head long ago and excelled in the position. 

“For yet another time, you need not concern yourself with affairs on the battlefield. Do you understand this?” Madara only spared a glance over his shoulder at you. His irises flickering across your form with something akin to skepticism. Madara averted his gaze before you could meet it.

“You bring foreign boys to my doorsteps to rifle information from—”

“Enemy warriors who attacked your kinsmen and home.”

—“And you expect—”

“I expect you to hold your tongue and obey your clan head.” You stopped in the middle of your sentence at the sight of Madara’s sharingan. You frowned but looked away. You had pressed as far as Madara would allow. “Clean what you must in the apothecary swiftly, then go straight home.”

You retreated the way you came back toward the apothecary, sparing not even a pout of defiance at your clan head. 

When you arrived, you found your space pleasantly lit as you pressed open the door. Izuna stood in the center of the room by the counter. A bundle of incense sat between his clasped hands. Izuna muttered a prayer as the smoke cleansed the apothecary. Death had occurred here, after all.

Izuna had lit every lantern and candle in the apothecary with his fire style, and the warm embers lit your workshop in a serene glow. The flame flickered in the reflection of the jar that held your truth-telling flower buds. A small line of smoke drifted from the incense, sailing up toward the high ceiling far above your heads. He followed the wisps with his eyes, tilting his chin up as he appeared deep in thought. 

You guided the apothecary door shut behind you. Izuna continued to withhold his eye contact, almost as if you wouldn’t notice him and shoo him away if he didn’t meet your eye. The cleaning supplies had already been brought out of storage. The bloody cot— along with the others from earlier in the night— was gone, along with the bloody streak across your floor. 

You stepped forward to inspect the wood paneling. No, some of the blood stains still remained, deepening the color of the previous one, which deepened the one before that. 

“Women should not have to be so close to such barbarism,” Izuna spoke, gaze training on the little jar of flower buds. He placed the incense in a ceramic holder, lingering for only a second before finally turning to face you directly. 

The orientation of his clothes appeared neat compared to the rest of him. Sweat, dirt, and blood layered his skin, deepening the complexion of his skin tone. Spatterings littered his armor. A prominent line of rust-red extended from his chest to over his right eye, bisecting his face with sanguinary matter. But his hands were clean— starkly pale and pristine in comparison to the blackish mix of earth and gore that stained his skin above his wrists. 

“I will be standing guard outside,” he said, “I am well aware that you will not be sleeping tonight. I would normally protest, but it is preferable to you venturing outside.”

“Izuna—”

He offered you a nod and little else as he began to walk toward the door, the back of his robes fluttering with his stride. You stepped after him, swiftly snatching his sleeve. Izuna turned to you, his motion gentle. 

“Izuna, please. You are being ridiculous.” It was uncomfortable meeting his eye. He looked intently at you as if just speaking was a contract binding his full, undivided attention. Even without his sharingan, it felt like he was looking right through you. “Stay. Let me treat your hands and cleanse your armor.”

Izuna’s gaze flickered gently down to your hand as he slotted his index finger into your grip on his sullied robes. He cocked his head to the side, more interested in searching for grime he may have transferred onto his skin than your protests. 

“My presence here is unsanitary and overstayed.” He took your fingers in his, gently prying your stubborn hold off his sleeve. 

“Bathe then and come back.”

He held your attention as he slowly circled you, backing up until he put himself between you and the door. Izuna continued to gingerly hold your hand as if keeping his touch on you would prevent you from acting recklessly. His lips quirked to the side at your notion, and unlike his older brother, who you could read like an open book, Izuna remained as composed as ever.

“Your attempts to deceive me into disclosing information about the military ventures of the clan are admirable, but I am not so easily fooled.” He gave your hand a soft squeeze.

“As if I would dare attempt to trick you—” You could barely speak the full sentence without your lips crinkling in guilt. Izuna’s cheeks creased, forming deep dimples on both sides of his mouth. He slowly released your hand.

“I will be right outside.”

“We hardly spend time together anymore. Do you remember our expeditions into the forest when we were children?” you trailed off. “Before all that happened…” Izuna suddenly formed an air of seriousness about him. 

Izuna was the only one you told about your encounter with Tobirama— or, more precisely— that Tobirama had been the one to attack you. The feud between the Uchiha and the Senju had raged for generations, but confrontations rarely left the battlefield as the two large clans carved up territory. So when a warrior in training from the Senju attacked an unarmed Uchiha girl, the clan was outraged. 

You left willingly to the coast with family and a few others. Although, given that the art of fishing knots was passed down matrilineally, this wasn’t out of the ordinary. 

You were told it was to practice a protection ritual in the salty waters and lend your hands to bringing in fresh, coastal resources, but a deep part of you knew that the clan leaders worried about the Senju targeting young girls. And if any resource was more valuable to the Uchiha than salted fish or powdered shells, it was the upcoming generation of young women, for who would bear the next generation of Uchiha warriors otherwise?

In the wake of the Senju raid on the village, your relationship with Tobirama weighed heavily on you, blanketing your head and shoulders as his fur had for too many nights by the river. 

Izuna seemed like the right person to tell.

You masked it as a realization. He only asked you how you knew Tobirama had been the one to attack you so long ago. Your response was vague, but Izuna didn’t push. 

“It would not be wise of me to overstay.” His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. His light tone snapped you from the rabbit hole of memories that instantly plagued your head. Izuna backed up to the door, his fingers pressing into the wood. The flames that topped your simple candles wavered, but Izuna’s eyes didn’t budge from yours. He looked at you with a soft certainty. “I will be right outside.” 

“Izuna—” You took a step forward but stopped short. His brows perked up slightly on his forehead as he let out a light hum. He held the door slightly ajar. “I—” Your words left you under the subtle pressure of Izuna’s gaze. You toyed with the seam of your robes but kept your attention locked with his. “Madara still fancies me.”

It was meant to be a question, but the words left your lips definitively, almost like an accusation. Izuna’s expression didn’t change, and his forced stoicism only served to confirm your hunch. The corners of your lips fell with your shoulders. 

You turned with a snap, facing the counter behind you. You gripped the wooden ledge, intending to find something to make you look busy, but to no avail. Izuna continued to stand with the door ajar, unmoving. 

“Why is it always about what Madara wants?” you puffed. Silence overtook the apothecary. The flames continued to waver. “It is true. You are far too loyal, Izuna. Do you not know of such things?”

The door creaked farther open before stopping. You refused to turn around, even as the back of your neck and back began to feel heated by the imaginary gaze that haunted your curiosity. 

You took a breath, tilting your head toward a large jar on one of your shelves. You could just barely make out Izuna’s figure as he stood in the doorway, not wholly committed to facing fully away from you. 

“I will be right outside until you are prepared to retire.”

The wooden door creaked quietly open before swinging closed, wavering in the night.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Author Commentary: Timeskiiip! They're all grown up! When I was writing this fic I imagined it like how they reintroduce all the nostalgic characters in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie. That's it, moving forward imagine Foul Creature of the set of pirates! That will certainly work! Tobirama may not be in this chapter, but rest assured this is still a Tobirama fic.

More importantly: In my experience, I always thought that people didn't like when series were, say, more than 5ish chapters. I found that a lot of people lost interest, so I tried to keep chapters themselves long and the quantity of them to a minimum. In my latest poll, most people didn't have a preference, but after that, people liked multiple shorter chapters. I wanted to wrap this series up in 2-4 long chapters, but maybe I'll drag it out a bit so I can post more frequently. Thoughts?

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

[lizziespoem]

all yours | noritoshi kamo ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺ So light and soft in perfect elegance, the innocent petals danced one by one down from the swaying branches of the ancient trees into the weary breeze of the pleasant air and mingled with the sweet scent of the honey-coated peaches. Without any effort, the innocent wind chime flitted through the old stone balcony, into the cozy interior of the bedroom and whirled the wafer-thin curtains around in silent dance. What a glorious and comforting view it had been to lean its sluggish body slightly against the stony terrain and cast a daring glance down into the inevitable gardens. It was like a timeless film of sophistication in which the ripe fruits hung from the dense treetops of the orchard and the babbling waters flowed through the wide pit of the river.

Silently the dripping, grapefruit-colored sky shone in all loveliness and their special rays kissed the naked honey-shining back of you, while the golden highlights rested on your cheekbones and like gentle waves the strands of your hair bobbed around in the hourly breeze of the heated air.

"how could my eyes ever get tired of seeing your beautiful grace?” a raspy voice mumbled as footstep came closer behind you and you didn’t needed to turn around to know who it was.

Nothing could have stirred in the universe and faded into cruel darkness, yet you would shine in silence as a pearl did in the depths of the sea or the shattered shards of glass, which had fallen down on the unimaginative, murky ground that had not been worthy of such a heavenly existence and yet even if Noritoshi Kamo wasn’t afraid to speak out loud his thought, he knew he could never have you. How much he had been afraid of proximity, of being desired and loved, but all it took for him was one look for the distance at your astonishing beauty to make him beg the gods to let the hungry waves wither.

His heart already been scorched, a punishment for longing for a sin, but god did you urge him on to another crime, to make him sin again.

Two clans, both alike in dignity and glory, but completely different in personality, what a cruel faith to be born in such a clan, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny haunted and distressed by the continuance of their parents' rage. Filthy stains of blood of most distant relatives of the kamo clan sticking on your skin and on his the blood of yours and yet they were meant to be a pair of star-cross'd lovers, ready to take their life to bury with their death their parents' strife. Even the magnificent stars and the illuminated moon didn’t knew how those two lost souls have found each other, between all the hatred and resentment, but there was this fine line, the unknowing end of the both star-cross’s lovers, which prevented the moon and the stars from saving them from their sins.

"noritoshi" you whispered quitely, afraid someone could hear your gentle voice saying the name of the enemy, yet your eyes carried so much love and affection as they met his, pleating to never look at something else than him. A soft smile crosses your tinted lips as you stepped inside into your bedroom, closing the gigantic doors of the balcony behind your back as you tilted your head a bit to the side while you watched the dark haired man sneaking into your room like it wouldn’t have cost him his life "someone could’ve caught you"

The son of the kamo clan and the fallen angel from the hostile clan fell in love, they love was marked with death from the beginning, yet those lovesick hearts couldn’t been saved from drowning in the abyss of their foolish fate.

"I took precaution…" there it was the smile of a foolish lovebird, who thought the world could never touch him as long as he was you and even though he knew that he wasn’t untouchable of death, he would risk his life to burn himself by the fallen star you were.

These star-cross’d lovers, their love a secret, yet this beautiful to astonishing the moon, the sun and their children.

"god, you’re so gorgeous" he said quitely as he took a few steps closer to you, placing his hand under your chin as his other hand travels through your hair, hidden under the satin face over your head, trying to hiding yourself from the sun and the cruel rays. Your hand placed on the back of his, feeling how cold his pale skin was, as your gaze feel down to the shinning floor, letting the soft fabric over your hair fall a bit down to your face "what if someone sees you… you could’ve been disowned or killed"

Noritoshi placed his hand on your cheek and carefully leaned forwards, pushing the satin fabric out the way as his eyes glimmered in affection "I do not care. I will risk everything for you. If my ancestors can risk thousands of years of tradition… then let it be a new era"

Softly is fingers grasped your chin, lifting your head up again to look into your eyes as his thumb stroked over you lower lip, while his other hand stroked a strand of your hair behind your ear under the satin fabric, before his tumb sweeped along your cheekbones. A small satisfied smile crosses his lips as he drew you closer and his lips brushing against your as he spoke "tell me you need me like I need you, that you know that we’ll be alright"

"Noritoshi, you’re going to be the death of me" you chuckle softly as you hand placed onto his chest, feeling how his heart beats his chest, trying to crawl through his ribs into your hands.

A raspy laugh escaped from his lips while his long fingers travels to your neck carefully down along your spine, before Noritoshi sealed his lips with yours, closing his tired eyes, pretending like the world wouldn’t judge you, as if it wasn’t a sin to hold you close to him, like it wasn’t burn him down and as if you both were meant to be.

Noritoshi's heart pounded out a staccato rhythm of desire as his lips pressed against yours with a passion that could be described as a hunger, his tongue pushing past your lips with a desire to mingle with yours. His arms encircled you, drawing you even closer to himself, while his hands entangled in your hair and he deepened the kiss, even as the world around you two seemed to melt away.

His hand slipped past your waist, tracing along your side and coming to cup your bottom as his other hand went up her chest, before his fingertips teased the base of your spine, causing goosebumps to form along your skin. A a low and passionate groan escaped Noritoshi's mouth as he traced your lower lip over and over with his tongue. His hand squeezed and grasped your bottom, letting out a low groan as passion overcame him.

"Noritoshi…" you mumbled against his lips as he pulled away slightly to gaze at you in awe, his breath heavy with passion. His hands held onto you tighter, tracing the curves and lines of your body as his eyes stared into yours with pure affection, before he lets one of his hand creasing you cheek "y/n, my beautiful y/n"

Noritoshi's mouth released yours to trail soft kisses along your cheek to your ear as he nipped at your earlobe, running his tongue along the bottom of your ear before whispering in a husky whisper "I can not beat it any longer"

His fingertips danced across your skin as he trailed a line of kisses from your shoulder down to your neck "I want you to be mine"

"I am all yours" your breath was a heavily as you closed your eyes, feeling how his teeth nipped at your shoulder and his fingertips sliding down to grip the waistline of your skirt, teasingly playing with it befor he pulled on the waistband of your skirt and tugged it upwards.

"say it again" he breathed. Noritoshi looked into your eyes, a passionate fire burning there as his hand caressed the contours of your face, his thumb brushing away a strand of hair that fell across your cheek.

A low gasp escaped his lips when he saw your flushed pout after repeating your words and his fingers pushed against your chin, forcing you to look into his hungry eyes "Say it one more time, y/n"

"Be a good girl and say it like you mean it" his finger traced your bottom lip and he leaned in to kiss your pout but stoping before his lips stroked yours. You feel his long fingers gently brushing over the fabric of your panties as his lips met your neck, his tongue carefully licked over the arteries of your throat as a low chuckle rumbeling after hearing you moan quitely.

You couldn’t help but laying your head back into your neck as you feel his fingers massaging over your sweet spot, while your shaking voice quitely moans "I am subjected to you"

Suddenly a raspy groan escaped his mouth as you pulled him closer by the waistline of his pants, letting your lips meet his earlobe as you seductively whisper "do you want me to show you how much Iove you?"

Noritoshi closed his eyes as felt your fingers playing with the waistline of his pants, letting him teasing pulling on the fabric of your panties as the cold air touches your wet count. Your soft lips nibbed on his neck as you opened the clasp of his pants.

A love forbbiden by faults of the past, marked to death, so fragile and unfair, impossible to bare yet to special to hide, too wrong to be processed and yet the moon and the stars were to exited to see how far they would come.

© 2023 LIZZIESPOEM. please do not copy any of my writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

notes༯ I was too afraid to write smut and fuck up the whole chapter because I suck at it so I thought I leave it like this

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Arrows and Rags

Daryl Dixon x reader

You help a wounded creature who leads you to its hideout, where you find the one person you thought you had lost in the walker attack.

🐺 🐺 🐺

With that last horde catching your camping group off guard you were eventually all split up in the still unfamiliar woods.

You were told to grab a pack and run, so you ran until your legs gave out and you hid in a tree.

The light of the full moon illuminated parts of the ground far beneath you where walkers still stumbled by every once in a while as you laid on a thick branch and worried about your group and hoped the others had the same plan of navigating back to the campsite where you all dispersed at first.

You sang a song in your head to try and keep track of how often walkers passed by underneath you and by the time you finished your song for a third time in a row without seeing any passing near you it was time to hop back down and go backtrack.

What you quickly realized was the fact that you were in no way a tracker. You cooked for your group and patched up wounds.

You wished you had gotten away with Daryl but he had been gone for a full day by now, tracking a larger animal that would feed the group for a long while. With your mind so distracted you didn't realize you had been walking without direction and recognized even less of your surroundings now.

Panic started setting in and you franticly looked around you, begging someone familiar would walk into view and not be dead.

Standing still you grounded yourself, taking deep breaths and re-evaluated your plan.

Except you had no plan. You were alone in the woods after running in god knows what direction because your camp with all your new found family got attacked by the undead. All you could do was stand around until a sound caught your attention and you jumped up, grabbing your hunting knife and holding it out in front of you in the direction the noise came from.

The rustling of leaves and heavy breathing got closer and all you could think about was how this large walker with the heavy footsteps was gonna take you out in no time.

What caught your eye wasn't a walker.

Its head was about level with yours with bright blue eyes that held nothing but hurt in them. It limped towards you on three legs, dragging its fourth along. The way it circled you and stepped fully into view had you wondering what exactly the creature was. Stopping at an angle that showed you the arrow sticking out of its hip and looking between it and you it let out a soft, pained whine.

Your heartbeat rung in your ears and your knife shook in your hand as the creature stepped closer to you, keeping its head low. A garbled howl left its maw as it dropped to the ground, yelping in agony as its hindleg slipped on some leaves and moved the arrow around in its hip. A paw reached out in the leaves like it tried to get you to come closer.

"Am I really gonna help the crazy big demon dog thing? No way, I'm gonna walk.." Talking out loud to yourself felt like the only that was gonna keep you sane, but unexpectedly the thing seemed to reply in its own monstrous way.

You sighed in disbelieve of yourself and huffed as you gave it a look. "Help?" You stated, waiting for an answer like a crazy person and to your surprise it nodded in agreement, motioning its head toward the arrow.

You took a quick breath to ground yourself and stepped towards its side, giving the bleeding leg a good look and noticing a piece of fabric stuck to its tail. You diverted your attention to it for a second and recognized it as Daryl's red cloth he always carried in his back pocket. Besides, the rag wasn't stuck in its fur. It was tied around the base.

"Where did you get this?" You asked no one in particular as you untied the rag and went back to the arrow.

With one hand pressed to the fur around the wound you wrapped your other around the arrow and apologized over and over again before breathing in and pulling at the arrow on exhale and yanking it out in one smooth motion. This earned you a loud growl, all clenched teeth and tensed muscles before the creature seemed to deflate with a deep huff.

"You good?" Why you were still talking to the creature was a mystery to you, but you got a nod as response again, this time along with a large paw on your leg.

The sudden touch had you jumping away from the creature and accidentally pressing onto its hurt leg by accident, earning you a loud pained yelp.

"Ah fuck I'm sorry." You kneeled back down to rub at its furred torso, taking a good look at the wound by softly brushing aside the fur to inspect it. Before your eyes the flesh in the wound seemed to move and stitch itself together for the closed up skin to regrow fur and entirely disappear in a matter of minutes.

You sat frozen staring at the hind leg that just healed on its own, not realizing the creature's front had moved and its face was inches away from yours until a warm breath fanned across your cheek and a thick, wet tongue dragged over your cheek.

The lick startled you so bad you grabbed at your cheek and stumbled sideways onto the forest floor.

You wiped the drool off your face with Daryl's rag, giving it a sad look remembering you had no idea where he was.

With its leg healed again the creature sat up, hind legs folded in front of its body and front legs-- arms? reaching for the rag and pointing at its tail. Its movements resembled that of a human, and its proportions as well but everything else was wolflike. Now that it was moving around properly and seemingly not attacking you, you really got a good look at it under the bright moonlight.

"I'm not giving you this." You pulled back the rag close to your body. "It's my boyfriend's and I don't know where he is." The initial sadness of having to run away from your group and not knowing if your boyfriend was even alive.

You looked back up at the creature. "How did you get this anyways? You didn't hurt him, did you?" Like you'd get an answer, this animal didn't understand you.

Except you got a surprised look and a quick shake of its head, paws raising, mimicking the human gesture of defense.

It moved around its paws, pointing at the rag and then holding them out like a bowl in front of you before curling the fingers inward and bringing its closed paws back to its chest, pointing at itself lastly.

"You want this. I know. You're not getting it."

An annoyed grumble left the animal before its maw opened and a garbled noise came out like it tried to speak but forgot how to and huffed in defeat.

“What even are you? I mean, you understand me but you’re an animal.” It gave you a look that screamed ‘do I look like I can talk?’ and just pointed up at the bright moon.

You thought for a second before a dumb suggestion made its way out. “Werewolf?”

An excited nod made it clear you were right, but somehow it still hadn’t clicked all the way because you still hadn’t recognized him and given him the rag back.

As he thought how to get his point across he grumbled until he decided to take you to his hiding place where he kept his stash of clothes and weapons. He got up and motioned for you to follow him, hoping you trusted him enough to do so and to his luck you did. You two walked through the forest, taking out the occasional walker with either knives or claws until you reached a steep ditch.

The beast slid down into it and held out its paws for you to jump into. He squeezed his paws twice to indicate he would catch you, and even though you called yourself insane you hopped in his direction. You were caught and placed onto the dirt gently, suddenly seeing the ditch was partially covered by fallen trees and created a sort of hideout.

As he led you underneath the fallen trees you spotted a pile of items, haphazardly thrown together but easily recognized as Daryl's full attire. Boots, winged vest and even those Calvin Kleins you had snagged on one of your inner city runs.

"What is all this? Where is he?" Panic rose in your chest and tears started flowing freely as your mind went through every single worst case scenario it could come up with.

An apologetic whine left the beast as it took you by the shoulders and pulled you into a hug that enveloped your entire body in soft fur and warmth.

With the side of your face shoved into his chest you had the inside of his upper arm right in your eyesight. There was a weirdly shaped dark spot in his lighter brown fur there and without thinking you had put your hand on it, tracing the shape with your fingertips.

A realization hit the creature as you were touching the mark in his fur.

Large paws took your upper arms as he moved you to face him, one finger pointing at the spot you just touched before letting go and turning around. A hand came over his shoulder to point at the darker spots on his shoulder blade in his shaggy fur. You inspected those as well, fingers tracing the edges and looking over the full expanse of furred muscle, seeing all the familiar scars your boyfriend carried as well. You sniffled and wiped away your tears. “..Daryl?” Your palms laid flat against his back when he turned around and nodded slowly. He couldn’t tell if you were afraid or not, the overwhelming amount of emotions coming off you made his senses useless.

Your eyes scanned over his entire body, grabbing and squeezing at any area your could get your hands on to make any sense of it.

“Is this why you left camp?” Another nod answered your question and another thousand filled your mind but one shoved all the others aside and came barreling to the front in bold letters. “Wait,” with eyes wide and mouth in an open smile you slap him against his chest. “Is this why you’re so growly during sex?” A surprised noise left his lips as he ..laughed? Yeah, that really sounded like a laugh. A grumbly Daryl laugh.

“I thought you were dead..” A relieved sigh left you as you let your body sink into his, all fur and warmth and genuine love for the one you thought you had lost earlier tonight. The rumbling of his chest as he let out a content noise made you feel like the world hadn’t decided to chase you up a tree. With careful touches you were led further into the hiding space and took you down to the ground with him, pulling you down to lay on top of him. He settled into a comfortable position and held you close, making sure you wouldn’t fall off as you slept.

“You’ll keep me safe, right?” Your question was half muffled by how you were speaking into his large chest, but the answer that sounded oddly like a ‘yes’ gave you all the comfort you needed to really sleep for the first time this night.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: This was one of the suggestions I got for ways to make reader find out her boyfriend is a werewolf! Very enjoyable to write ♡

[hp-hcs]

I saw your post about being on a big Theodore kick and HONESTLY SAME. Gimme anything Theo and I’ll read it, a Theodore Nott x male reader would honestly be incredible because there’s SO LITTLE OUT THERE (my little gay heart is broken) the plot can be anything you want I just want a happy ending please ☆〜���ゝ。∂）

OH MY GOD THAT IS SO FACTS CAN WE P L E A S E STOP WITH ALL ‘X READER’S INHERENTLY BEING FEM-SPECIFIC????

Splinched (Chapter One) — death eater! theodore nott x splinched! male! muggleborn! reader

TWs: graphic descriptions of a wound, blood, injury, and the like; also theo’s just kinda a dick ngl

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sshhhh “…nother skirmish has broken out in D…”zzzzzz “…lley, leading to the fire that has com…” ssshhhh “…tely consumed Flourish & Blotts. It is with great sadne…” bzzzz “…nd regret that the Wizarding Wireless Ne…” sshhzzz “…ork News must inform our listeners of the murders o…” pssshzh “…Creevy and Florean Fortes…” ssshhhh “…ue. Additionally, the foll…” zzzzzzsssshh “…en abducted: L…” pssshhhzbbbbzzzz “…Alice…” zzzzzzzhhh “…Y/N L/N…”

Theodore smacks the radio once more and it goes quiet. You flinch back at the sudden aggression.

He mistakes the flinch for movement, whirling around and pointing his wand at your throat.

“Don’t. Move.”

You freeze, eyes wide, and nod rapidly.

Theodore grunts, turning back to his original task of stoking the campfire that existed as the only thing lighting the dark area. The heavily wooded space Theodore had chosen as a stopping spot for the night creeped you out. Branches constantly cracked nearby, leaves rustled with creatures passing through, and the trees rose up so high, the moon and stars were completely blocked out.

Shivering, you drew your meager cloak tighter around yourself, biting your lip in pain as you brush against your wound. You squeeze your nails into your palm to keep from crying out. The waves of pain seem never ending, the wound sending sharp stabs of agony up your ribs and across your entire torso.

“Fucking Salazar, are you really crying?” Theodore’s voice dripped with disgust. “You’re pathetic.”

“Strong words coming from a magical Nazi,” you bite out through the pain, scoffing bitterly. “Just kill me an’ get it over with, for both of our sakes.”

His face contorts into a vicious scowl and his grip tightens around his wand again. He stares at you with those terrifyingly dead eyes before moving closer to where you sit on the ground by the fire.

“You’re injured.”

“What?”

“Merlin, are you fucking stupid?” He spits. “You’re. Injured.”

“Thanks, Sherlock, I wasn’t fucking aware.”

He switches his wand to his other hand and moves even closer, tugging at the edge of your cloak. Your fingers, trembling with the pain and exhaustion you feel, let go of the fabric with no resistance.

“Lumos.”

You can hear Theodore draw in a sharp breath as he holds his wand closer to your torso. His other hand comes up and traces the edge of it with surprisingly gentle fingers.

You wince at the sudden flare of pain.

“Does that hurt?” He glances up at you. You could’ve sworn that for a second, something flashed through those dead eyes—pity, maybe, or sympathy, even?

“No, I actually always flinch whenever something doesn’t hurt.”

“No need to be a smartass,” he sneers, any traces of pity completely gone. “You got splinched.”

You grimace. “Fuck.”

“Indeed,” he drawls, tugging at your cloak. “Take this off.”

You mock-gasp. “Mr. Nott, I barely know you!”

“Merlin help me- I swear to Salazar, L/N…”

You roll your eyes and unfasten your cloak, letting it drop to the ground around you. You shiver in the late evening chill, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Theodore leans in closer, illuminating your wound with his wand. He cringes, his fingers once again returning to trace over the edges, trying to determine how large the injury is.

You gasp in pain, digging your nails into your palms again. Theodore glanced up at you, then back down at your torso.

“Think you could stand?”

You hesitate.

He nods, mostly to himself, and gets to his feet, slinging your arm around his shoulder and half-walking you, half-carrying you into the shoddy tent he’d been able to conjure. (“Believe it or not, L/N, I’ve never seen a muggle tent before. Stop laughing.”)

He helps you lay down on one of the blankets, you wincing with every little movement. He closes and wards the tent with a few simple spells, crawling over and kneeling by your side.

“Take off your shirt,” he grunts as he digs through his bag.

You comply, shaking fingers fumbling with the buttons. Theodore is caught off guard when he doesn’t hear any snappy comeback from you and glances over curiously.

Your shirt’s only about halfway unbuttoned, your fingers too slick with your own blood to unfasten the slippery buttons.

He huffs, smacking your hands away and unbuttoning your shirt himself.

He draws in another sharp breath at the sight. “Uh- this…is beyond my knowledge.”

Your breaths are shallow and your eyes closed. You nod after a second too long, blood rushing in your ears.

“‘ve you got thread an’ a needle?” You ask quietly after a moment.

“No. That’s barbaric. Fucking Merlin-” he huffs, grabbing his wand and trying a few simple healing spells that really don’t do much against a wound of your size.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. O-”

“If you say okay one more time, I’m going to punch you.”

It doesn’t seem like Theodore heard you. “We can’t Apparate, we don’t have a portkey, and you’re too injured to fly or walk. Fuck.”

“Aww, guess you’re gonna have to spend even more time with little ol’ me then, huh?”

“If you weren’t actively bleeding out, I’d crucio your ass so fast,” he threatens through gritted teeth.

“Kinky.”

Theo just sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t move. I’m gonna try to fix this, alright?”

“Yeah, cause you’ve been great at that so far.”

He doesn’t answer, instead slowly chanting a spell you’re completely unfamiliar with. You’ve never heard it before, but you can tell that every word that comes out of his mouth is absolutely dripping in Dark magic.

Gasping sharply, fresh, torturous pain claws at your torso, sinking its nails into your flesh and dragging the jagged edges back together. You can feel your bones being jarringly shoved back into place, your skin knitting itself back together twisted and wrong.

You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, your teeth drawing blood as you squeeze your eyes shut. Eventually, you can take no more and cry out in agony, weakly swatting at his hand for him to stop.

His wand falls from his hand with a clatter. He fumbles for what to do, settling on just gripping your hand and shushing you, as if you were a child.

Your chest spasms with the effort of taking a breath, and you grasp his hand back as tight as you can.

“Shit. Okay. Okay- uh, that’s- that’s enough, for now. We can pick this back up tomorrow,” Theo’s voice rises in pitch and his anxiety becomes palpable.

Your fingers tremble against the back of his hand, tears pricking at your eyes as you gasp in a breath. “H-hurts.”

“Shh, I know, I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, keeping his grasp on your hand steady and smoothing down your hair with his free hand.

Theodore bit his lip nervously. The spell wasn’t finished; your ribs still looked like a jumbled up mess underneath stretched-taut skin. Your entire torso was a mess of contractured scars that left your skin looking wrinkled and messed up, like someone had pulled a running stitch through a piece of fabric too tightly.

You, one of the most bitingly acerbic, tough-as-nails guys he’d ever met, had been reduced to a whimpering, crying mess under Theo’s spell. You still held his hand, but had turned your head to press your face against his knee, mumbling incoherently under your breath.

Theodore could feel the Dark magic of his spell fizzing and crackling off of you. He bit his lip again, deliberating, before gently moving your face back from his knee so that he could lie down next to you.

You blindly reach for him, his hand on your shoulder gently guiding you to bury your face into his chest. He wraps his free arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

Theo squeezed his eyes shut with every muffled whimper and cry that came from your lips, mentally berating himself for the odd flutter of his heart he feels when you cling to him.

Stop it, Theodore. Now is not the time.

Well…why isn’t it?

He’s alone, in a very small tent, with a cute guy who is utterly reliant on Theo for survival.

Really, what’s so bad about making the best of the current situation?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Ostara

Note: bit of an unplanned surprise fic I came up with earlier today, see it as my one year anniversary gift to you lovely readers. extra note; I wrote and proofread this during the boop war, so any mistakes left are not my fault.

Warnings: 18+!! smut; primal play, breeding kink.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: It's time to celebrate the spring equinox.

wordcount: 1,7k

Masterlist

The fire was bright and warm, your skin orange from its glow and glistening from its heat. The smell of burnt wood mingled with the scent of fresh ale and smoked meat, while the laughter and cheers of many roared through the clear night sky. The bonfire, which lit up the entire town, was always the highlight of the celebration to welcome back spring and its warmth and light, as well as the renewal of life, after a long, dark and cold winter. Celebrating the spring equinox was simply tradition, and another tradition that came with it every year was your husband getting drunk early in the evening, and you already weren't looking forward to it. When your husband was drunk he was always looking to pick a fight, with anyone, and you always had to drag him home. But him being much taller and broader than you, dragging him home always resulted in some weird wrestling competition you could never win anyway, so you already braced yourself for the struggle that would undoubtedly arrive later.

However, tonight… Sihtric wasn't drunk. In fact, he was very much sober, to your surprise, and he was enjoying the festivity while he never strayed from your side. His hands lingering on your waist, and his lips on your neck and shoulders whenever he saw his chance. You laughed and danced, together and with your friends, and it didn't take long before your husband became a little more needy and rough with his hands. He pulled you further from the celebrating crowd with every few passing minutes, kissing and hugging you until he had you taken to the edge of town where the thick forest began, which was starting to blossom and bloom again.

'What are we doing here?' you giggled, slightly tipsy but still sober enough to know exactly what you were doing.

'Celebrating the return of spring,' Sihtric whispered against your lips before he kissed you again, 'and the fertility of the earth,' he pulled away slightly and looked down into your eyes with a smirk, 'and of you, my wife,' he breathed and his hands found your buttocks.

'Someone is in a mood tonight,' you chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, then ran your hands through his long, wild and loose hair.

Your husband hummed in agreement, he would never deny he had been looking forward to this evening for several days already, withholding from getting drunk for once just so he could breed you in the forest while the whole town was celebrating around the bonfire. No one would miss the two of you or even hear you. Sihtric spun your around and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and he swayed you lightly in the light of the moon.

'I want to chase you,' he husked as his teeth grazed your ear, 'so, now hop, my little wife,' he chuckled darkly and slapped your buttocks firmly, which made you jump slightly, 'hop like a little bunny and run from the big bad wolf.'

You knew this game all too well. It wasn't the first time Sihtric chased after you, but it had been a while since the last time you had run and hid from your husband, and this was the first time you were to do so in a darkened forest. Regardless, you knew what to do, and as soon as Sihtric released you from his embrace you began to run, like a bunny. Quickly, with your dress hiked up in your hands you ran past the trees, into the darkness of the night, your path scarcely illuminated by the silver moon light while you jumped and skipped over branches and small bushes. You knew your husband always gives you a headstart, so you ran as far as you could while your heart was beating out of your chest. Your body trembled with adrenaline and the anticipation of your husband following your tracks and finding you. So you ran and ran…

Sihtric sniffed and raked his tattooed fingers through his hair while he gave you a chance to hide. He inhaled deeply and exhaled just as sharply, his warm breath visible in the cool, moonlit night. He already felt his arousal tightening his breeches, and his jaw was clenched while his eyes were wide and almost wild, like those of a hungry predator. His nostrils flared with each breath he took, until he decided you had enough time, and he began to run into the direction he had seen you hop away to.

Like you, Sihtric jumped and swayed through the forest, albeit much smoother than you ever could, avoiding fallen trees and broken branches while bats flew overhead and an owl hooted in the distance. And it was as if your husband could track your scent, because he instinctively followed the path you had taken, and soon heard twigs snap and leaves rustle nearby. He stopped to listen and closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds around him. And no matter how careful you were, you also knew he heard the loud splintering of a twig underneath your boots echoing through the forest as you tried to sneak further into the darkness. 

Sihtric snapped his head towards the sound, just when the hooting owl flew off and bats flapped their quiet wings, betraying your presence as you had scared those with your shadow in the night. Sihtric turned on his heels, and he howled like a wolf while his cloak circled around him and moved along with his impressive body as he stalked towards you, his lips curling into a devilish smile once his mismatched eyes caught your fleeing figure not far ahead.

You looked back over your shoulder, hearing the undeniably familiar sound of your husband's footsteps as he closed in on you, accompanied by his heavy but calm breathing once he was close enough for you to hear. You squealed with excitement and an arousing sense of fear captivated you when you felt his big hands grab your waist, pulling you back towards him and lifting you momentarily off your feet. And your husband was strong, as he held you up with one arm while he removed his cloak with his free hand, covering the cold forest ground with the fur before he laid you down beneath him.

'My bunny did not hop fast enough,' Sihtric laughed soft and darkly as he nuzzled your nose and dragged his lips over yours, 'did she?'

You shook your head and gave him your best big and innocent eyes, for you had not managed to escape the claws of your husband. Sihtric shoved his hands under your skirt, digging his fingers into your warm thighs while he snarled at you, like a wolf whose mouth was watering for his prey after an exhilarating chase.

'So now,' he purred low and dangerously, 'this pretty little bunny is mine to play with… mine to taste… mine to devour… and mine to breed,' he growled and moved away, then grabbed your ankles and threw them over his shoulders before he grabbed your hips.

He leaned in and buried his head underneath your pushed up skirt, he pulled your core towards his face and you shivered with desire when you felt his warm breath on your sensitive skin. He locked your legs with his arms and delved his tongue between your folds, sucking and licking and kissing your sweet spot until you cried out helplessly and shook in his arms while your fingers were tangled in his locks, pulling and tugging as you bucked your hips against his mouth. Your moans and gasps sounded through the woods, but no one, except your husband and those bats in the sky, would ever hear the way your husband had you captured and cry for more.

And he drank your juices like a dehydrated beast, while tears pricked in your eyes and his name sounded from your smiling lips, over and over again in ecstasy until your hands released the tight grip you had in his hair, and your trembling legs slid off his broad shoulders. Sihtric then took his dagger from his leather belt, and he cut open your dress with one swift move, then sheathed the blade again and kissed his way up your exposed body, which was decorated with goosebumps while the moon made your skin look hauntingly beautiful and perfect, like a goddess.

'I only had a taste,' Sihtric murmured and kissed your neck, 'I have yet to devour you,' he whispered and bit your ear lightly.

He grabbed one of your breasts and squeezed your flesh in his warm hand as he trailed his lips down to your other, he flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple before he bit the sensitive skin lightly. He began to kiss his way down your figure again, his fingertips following the trail of wet kisses he left on your body until he reached your folds again.

'And I will devour you,' he said and looked up at you as he laid between your thighs.

You swallowed hard and moaned desperately, the sight of your beautiful yet rugged looking husband between your thighs was your favourite sight in the world. But Sihtric had other plans to devour you, as to devour you the same way he had tasted you would not be thrilling enough for him now, so he was quick to flip you over and on top of him. You gasped and a lewd moan left you when you felt his tongue devouring your core again after he had pulled you up to his face, your thighs once again locked in his strong arms, forcing you to grind down on his face as he laid underneath you. And devouring you he did, until your legs weakened and you collapsed on top of him with another desperate cry of his name. Sihtric then wrapped you in his arms and laid you down again, safe and warm on his cloak while he wasn't done with you yet, and he crawled on top of you.

'My pretty little bunny,' your husband husked in your ear and cupped your cheeks, 'I have tasted and devoured you,' he cooed.

He peppered your face with soft kisses while you smiled at him, dazed and in love and completely surrendered to the beast that your husband was for the night.

'Now,' Sihtric grinned and dragged his tongue over his teeth, 'all that lasts is breeding you, until dawn arrives.'

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[waitingforteyam]

𔘓 🌊 . ִ ֗ the mirage of you

≡ ⌂ ⌕ ❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘❙❙❚❙❘❙❘❙❚❙❘❙❙❚❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ♡゙ written by muse

❝you're as beautiful as the day i lost you❞

ˑ 𐇛̲﹗27! neteyam sully x 27! mate, widower neteyam sully x assumed dead mate, angst, comfort, brief mention of bonding, brief mention of explosions, mentions of death, grief, war hero neteyam sully, inspired by httyd 2 stoick and val's reunion

➷ NAVIGATION/MASTERLIST. PT2.

When he was all but seventeen, Neteyam lost the love of his life.

The sky people dropped an explosion, forfeiting your life without a speck of ash to remember you by. Immeasurable lives were lost amidst the inferno of flames devouring the forest. Knowing that you've descended the mountains on that particular day to pick out his favourite fruit, the fangs of guilt sunk into his neck.

He planned to commemorate your first day as one of the people and his mate, never expecting he would have to remember it as your final day as well.

After all these years, Neteyam still mourned for you. It wasn't spoken or conveyed through actions, but everyone could tell through the fog of dejection around him and the smile that never reached his eyes.

He had been engrossed in protecting the rest of his family, watching the years flash by, without ever catching a break.

Until tonight.

“Fnu, both of you.” Neteyam snapped at his sisters, tone harsh with concern when he asked them to be quiet. “How could you venture out during the eclipse? Do you have a death wish?”

For the many moons that came without you, Neteyam slept out of necessity. Four hours would be his usual. Even as his muscles were sore and his bones ached, he couldn't find comfort in resting. When he had retired to the night early, he didn't expect to wake up two hours later to find both his sisters missing.

Imagine his fear when he located them near the ruins of the sky people's old base, vulnerable and bare, fiddling with the remnants of their mechanics. The only person keeping his sanity intact was Loak, who to everyone's surprise, wasn't involved in this at all.

“Neteyam, you wouldn't believe who I saw一”

He raised his hand, signalling for Tuk to stop talking.

In front of them, Loak froze.

Sighing, Kiri placed her hand on Neteyam's biceps.

“Neteyam, I need you to calm down and maybe lower your weapon. This information would be best processed with nothing lethal in your hands.”

He frowned, both at Kiri's words and Loak's flabbergasted expression. His younger brother dropped his firearm. Neteyam's blood ran cold. Loak never drops his firearm. He passed by his siblings, patting Neteyam's shoulder with a slackened jaw.

It was as if Loak saw a ghost.

“You might want to take this one.”

Neteyam had no complaints. Swiftly, he positioned a poisoned arrow against the string of his bow. He led his siblings, treading stealthily. For his prideful brother to back down, perhaps it was a vicious beast.

Dread knotted in his stomach. With every step nearing the exit, his tail twitched in vigilance. Mentally, he prepared himself for the worst. But what was the definition of worst? it could be a thanator, a pack of viperwolves, or even the sky people.

“Kalweyaveng.” son of a bitch, he muttered under his breath. Did it matter what he would have to face? During the war, Neteyam had slain creatures, dreamwalkers, robots and humans. He was ready to kill anything.

Neteyam emerged from the thick metal door, stretching his bow as he laid eyes on his prey. One glimpse would be enough for the young war veteran to mark his enemy for death.

“Oh.”

Oh.

At once, he understood why Loak had reacted that way.

Beneath the swirling branches and silver starlight, at the centre of the yard, there the phantom of his dreams stood一you. Fireflies adorned your unravelled hair. The borrowed light illuminated your raised eyebrows and separated lips. Ah, your lips. Neteyam remembered the last time he tasted them. The day he lost you.

A barely audible gasp echoed in his ears. Your gasp. Dear Eywa, he had missed the way you breathed. The way you lived.

Discarding his bow, he took a step forward. It was shaky, just like his fingers that removed his own ikran riding visor. Your golden eyes widened, alarmed at his sudden appearance.

You gulped, abandoning the basket of fruits.

The human base was a deserted place that grew unique fruits and vegetables. Though the Na'vi condemned any location where the humans set foot, you worshipped the emptied places. You weren't the best huntress and sometimes; you want an easy dinner. Who wouldn't?

Tonight, you sneaked into a nearby base and foraged next week's rations. The last thing you expected was to find him.

“I know what you're thinking, Neteyam.”

So you knew how much he missed that voice? How much he craved to hear you say his name again?

“Staying away all those years. Why didn't I come back to you?”

No, that was the last thing on his mind. Neteyam could only conjure thoughts of you being alive. His mate was alive. In thinking so, a part of him also began to revive.

Neteyam was a complex man who learned to mask his true emotions. His father built it into him from the second he learned to walk. But right now, great mother, he surrendered. The walls he built around himself collapsed.

During this twinkle of time, breathing in the night mist, he was in his rawest form.

“The RDA was after your family and they've been hunting down the traitors of humanity.”

Neteyam continued his advance, glossy eyes glued on you the entire time.

At first, you held your ground. You could stand talking to him from a distance, albeit Neteyam was adamant to close said distance. Your legs faltered as you retreated.

In the background, you noticed his siblings. They're alive. All of them were. You missed them too, but right now, all you could focus on was the loud thumping of your heart. Your ribcage threatened to break with how rapid your heartbeat was. It was a miracle how you had yet to faint.

“Your father is a strong warrior. He can protect his family. But I can't.” Gradually, your back hit against a tree trunk. “A prodigy like you wouldn't understand, but it was the best option.”

Neteyam listened to you, like he always did. He understood where you were coming from: you were a scientist without prior combat experience. During the war, the only time you held a weapon was to hunt a small animal for food.

“My death guaranteed one less burden for you.”

He wanted to disagree, but his voice tangled at the base of his throat. Where you lacked in hunting, you made it up with your intelligence. That was one of the reasons you ended up surviving.

Neteyam had so many things to say, so many questions to ask. Nonetheless, he didn't want to interrupt you. What if he spoke and the mirage broke? What if you vanish before him? Oh, his poor heart wouldn't be able to handle it.

He shook his head, banishing that thought. Though it seemed his action led you to think he didn't believe you.

It maimed you, urging you to explain yourself better.

“I know I left you all alone. But don't you understand? That was my way of protecting you.”

Two years ago, they called a truce. After the war, the humans pledged to never walk on pandora land ever again. However, you understood how fickle human promises were. Paranoid, you vowed to hide yourself until your death.

“You must resent me, but I have no regrets.”

Your eyes shot all over the place. At one point, you shut tight them, hoping when you open them again, Neteyam would stop in his tracks.

To your surprise, he did. His hot breath fanned your face as you craned your neck to face him. He had matured into a strong and mighty warrior. Scars, both tiny and big, littered his blue skin. He had grown taller too, now towering over you and enveloping you in his shadow.

Disbelief marred his handsome face. A sense of nostalgia twanged his heartstrings. He had stared at you like this, ten years ago. As if you were the last thing he wanted to see and now the realisation of it all shocked him.

“Oh, don't be so silent, Neteyam.”

Your lips trembled.

His silence scared you. The minute he entered your view, you couldn't stop the words from flowing out of your mouth yet Neteyam hadn't spared you a single alphabet.

“Go on一scream, shout, say something.”

Neteyam cupped your cheek. His heart melted at how you instinctively leaned into his warm touch. It proved you were here, right now, right infront of him. Goosebumps rose on his skin to surface, and he became so sensitive.

The Great Mother must've appreciated his endeavours to protect his planet. This was her reward, her sign that she had witnessed his glory. She had returned you to him.

You're real.

Alive, healthy and breathtaking.

Once upon a time, he carved your face into his memory and sculpted your features out of his love. Be that as it may, nothing came close to your actual visage. The one he was holding onto as of now.

Neteyam found his voice, but it was fragile and soft.

A single tear escaped his eye.

“You're as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

reblogs are appreciated

( repost bc i was sort of shadow banned yst but i will make a pt2 ab them dancing and singing )

written by muse 2023

[zorosdimples]

YOU’RE MINE

pairing ༄ alpha!kakashi x princess!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, predator/prey dynamics, light a/b/o dynamics, mild descriptions of injuries. reader is a princess, wears a gown, and has an intricate hairstyle, but there are no gendered terms aside from “princess.” kakashi calls reader “pup” once.

word count ༄ 922

notes ༄ everyone can thank cher @honeylavendr for unknowingly?baiting me into writing this. it was really only a matter of time… kakashi is my first love and i’ve lost the omegaverse battle, so this is the result. this has no plot, so just enjoy the whirlwind of emotions!

the cold air bites at your exposed flesh like a hungry wolf. you ignore your discomfort as you hike up the heavy skirt of your gown and delve deeper into the pitch-dark forest. stray moonbeams cut through the dense canopy and illuminate patches of earth and gaps between the trees, your winding path mostly guesswork as you feel your way through the vegetation.

branches sharp as claws rip your gown and flay your flesh, and while you can faintly feel the warm dribble of blood down your frozen temple, it’s difficult to focus on anything other than moving forward. shreds of shimmering velvet catch in brambles as you run, but the sickening sound of fabric tearing doesn’t reach your ears.

after what feels like hours of running, your senses are overwhelmed to the point of numbness. the only absolute truth is your ragged breathing; everything else is hearsay as you float through the night, a whisper among the leaves. the primal urge to just survive is your sole guide.

your lungs burn and legs ache—at least you think they do—but your mind and body are currently separate entities. you know your pace is unsustainable, and you cry out to the gods in relief when you finally crash through the tree line and into a clearing. the moon hangs brightly in the inky sky, light rippling on the surface of a lake so large it stretches beyond the horizon.

you collapse to the ground in a pool of tattered velvet, frantically gasping for air as the tight bodice of your gown painfully squeezes your chest. a wave of nausea rolls over you and you bite back the urge to retch.

stretching your legs out, you clumsily gather your skirt and pull it back, gasping when you see the mottled bruises and bloody gashes that litter your skin. feet in agony, you opt to crawl to the edge of the lake to peer at your reflection in the frigid water.

“you can’t hide from me, princess.”

the smooth taunt stops you mid-crawl, horror blossoming in your gut and unfurling to caress every nerve in your now-trembling body. as if you can no longer control your movements—can you ever when he’s around?—you slowly turn to face the shadowy forest.

you see his eyes before anything else. his right iris shines silver like a honed dagger and his left glows crimson like spilled blood. when kakashi emerges from the cover of darkness, you forget your fear for a moment and bristle with irritation. he looks impeccable—not a strand of hair or thread of clothing is out of place. he doesn’t look like he has been tracking you through the wilderness for hours. for a split second, your right palm itches to slap his perfect face.

kakashi is unhurried as he approaches you, soaking in the sight of the kingdom’s beloved princess at his feet, cowering in defeat. when he reaches you, kneeling down so you are eye level, he decides that you have never looked more beautiful.

your soft face is covered in claret scrapes and angry welts, shiny eyes swollen and dripping hot tears. your hair has fallen out of the intricate updo your handmaiden worked on all afternoon; most of the pearls and pins that once adorned your silken strands would now rot away on the forest floor. the expensive gown that took hundreds of hours of labor and dozens of seamstresses to craft is now unrecognizable.

fear courses through your veins under his scrutiny, but kakashi doesn’t have to look at you to know how you feel. he can smell how terrified you are. it only makes him desire you more.

he reaches out a gloved hand to brush your icy cheek, but you jerk away from his touch. he simply tuts in mock annoyance. “there is nowhere left for you to run, princess.” his coo is cloying as he leans over you. his signature mask covers the bottom half of his face, but when he sees you eyeing the fabric, he slips it down with a cruel smirk. “if you want to look, all you have to do is ask, my little omega.”

you swallow dryly at those words. you are no longer just an omega; you are his omega, his mate. the fetters of royalty have chained you to this man—this monster. kakashi moves to grip both of your arms at the elbows, large hands gently pulling you closer and closer until you tumble into his lap.

“no matter how many times you try to run, i will always find you,” kakashi murmurs into your ear, warm breath lighting a fire beneath your skin. he nuzzles your cheek then grazes his fangs down the side of your neck, leaving goosebumps his wake; you shiver beautifully for him. “do you know why, pup?”

you whimper as kakashi’s lips ghost his mark on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. he kisses the healing wound sweetly before laving his tongue over it until you breathe a pleased sigh. kakashi raises his head to meet your heavy lidded gaze, one hand cradling your face, the other—now gloveless, claws exposed—slicing down the length of your dress until you sit completely bare. his lips meet yours chastely, but for some inexplicable reason, you hunger for more. he pulls back with a chuckle after you try to pry his mouth open with your tongue. both of his hands come up to wrap around your neck, thumbs pressing sharply beneath your chin.

“it’s because you’re mine.”

[minty-drop]

Hello! Is it okay if you write Shadow Milk Cookie x Faerie Reader (romantically)? Thank you for reading my request and hope you have a good day! <3

Sure thing! This one was a little rushed but I hope that’s alright?

͙͘͡★ Shadow milk cookie x faerie reader

Tw: very slight angst, forbidden romance, mentions of corruption

Type: general romance head-canons, romantically themes, non established relationship

Delicate wings, but a mighty soul is what a faerie was. A soldier of the land of beast yeast, in there quiet and cozy little kingdom.

Though this kingdom held a secret. Where 5 beast were sealed in the large trunk of the silver tree. Every faerie knew of the tale of the 5 beast, the once saviours of beast yeast. knowledge, volition, happiness, change and solitary, turned to sour dough, vile and sinister cookies who crumbled the weak beneath there power for the entertainment of selfishness.

This should have scarred you away from the silver tree. Struck fear in you. It did for a long time. But when the tree split, allowing the darkness of this world to spew out again, you could only feel curious after the encounter. Your questions never answer by the guardian about the event. Questions that you had he could not answer. Questions that banged in your mind like a brick being dropped onto your dough. The knowledge you craved, the guardian could not give your satisfactory. Each time he failed to give you an answer, the more you pondered everything around you to the smallest of details.

And in desperation, you against all of faeries kinda rules and nature, ventured to the tree, in the time when the sun was not longer out, the sky swallowed with a inky black, stars shining bright and the moon high. The illuminating celestial objects bright hues caste down apon the thick tree tops, leaking down onto the soil of the land.

The path was bright into your sight by the light, which was covered in vines until you made it to a large open space, a king, silver path above you. Spreading your silky clear wings, you guided yourself up onto its cold surface.

The tree was absolutely beautiful up close. The trunks stood strong and perched, roots stretching far beneath the soil. Branches twisting and turning in all distractions, branching into even more complex structures. The glow of it was dim but noticeable, how could anyone not want to stare at its beautiful light.

In hesitation, finding it hard to move from your spot in fear of being caught out at this hour. you hurriedly scudded a-crossed the large platform to its wide base.

Feeling the bark under breath your hand, it was cold, much like you expected. The texture was almost as if it was coated in a film of silver like it’s name. Leaning against it, you began to ponder if this really was a good idea to ask of knowledge from one of the most sinister beings to Rome earth bread. Everyone knows the story, how all the beast had turned into there opposites. In which once in particular help the knowledge of 1000.

It took courage to utter any words, but you managed to muster out a shaking and quiet hello to anything, anyone who could be able to answer your questions…silence was the only thing the responded, accompanied by the quiet chips and clicks of bird in the tree tops.

This was pointless, what a stupid idea. Asking a god like cookie for there knowledge, and this being was one of the beasts. We’re they even still alive? Maybe they perished during there time in the tree. Knowledge now turned to deceit, everyone knew that. But..maybe if you offered something. Something valuable, maybe just maybe they would give you something true.

A sly, cocky voice, just barely able to hear admitted from the dense bark.

“Hello dearyyyy” the y drawn out with sickening laughter.

Jumping out of your skin is what you could call the reaction, bolting away from the tree a good 6 seat in fear. Something really responded. One of them really responded to your feeble attempts at communication.

You leaned against the tree again,trying to listen for a sound, anything. But there was nothing. And as childish as it sounded, you knocked a small pattern on the bark….silence yet again….before the same pattern was repeated back to you.

This is how you met the cocky, sly and funny cookie, one who terrorized the old era was now melting at your ‘touch’. The trees bark kept you away from him, but that didn’t stop him from speaking to you.

You knew it was wrong, a faerie and a god. Nothing less a god that had killed thousands, thousands of innocent souls. But you couldn’t stop yourself from fall for him, sneaking away from you home to visit this locked away soul.

He loved you, as close as he could get to loving someone even if he never had show it well. he wanted you. He wanted to corrupt your being so you could truly see how much he cared for you.