#or I could change the way I worded the description of the cloak in the fic

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 12, day 9

Back to cloaks! Thank goodness I have a bajillion WIPs, my brain did not want to work on shading tonight, it wanted to draw something XD

In canon the different "evolutions" of the cloaks are basically the same thing just with more embellishments/accessories, so I'm redesigning the second "stage" of Echt to actually line up with that concept. That means pauldrons! Why? Because I like pauldrons ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[yikes-aemond]

I love you. It's ruining my life.

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears a dress and has "flowing hair")

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing 

summary: You meet Benjicot Blackwood in the woods and continue to pine after him for years. 

word count: 2.9k

part II can be found here. part III can be found here. part iv can be found here.

You were bleeding the first time you saw Benjicot Blackwood. 

At the age of three and ten you had thought yourself invincible. So careless in your disregard for your father’s rules about minding the boundary stones that you crossed into Blackwood territory. So careless that you sought to climb a ravine that was nearly impassable. So careless that you lost your footing, scrambled to find purchase, cutting your hands and tearing your dress. So careless that you twisted your ankle and cried out in pain, alerting all those in the surrounding area to your presence. 

Face down in the dirt and sobbing, you did not hear him approach. But when you felt his touch at your shoulder, you jerked in response and tried to roll away. 

Through your tears, you saw a figure crouching before you. His face was almost entirely blank except for the furrow of his brow. Dark, messy hair that had likely never seen a comb. Stormy eyes that flitted across your person, assessing and calculating. A slight tremble to his fingers, fidgeting with the dagger at his waist. A black and red cloak, with a raven sigil pinned at the shoulder. No mistaking a Blackwood. And not just any Blackwood—Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall. 

You screamed, whether from the pain or fright, you could not be sure. You tried to push yourself up to flee, but your ankle would not bear any weight. 

You fell back to the dirt, spitting a curse that you had heard your cousin Aeron use when he thought you were not around. 

Benjicot raised to his feet. “I would not recommend that, my lady.”  

You were sure that he knew who you were. Your gold dress might have been torn and dirty, but the red stallion detail was clear as day. You sat up and tried to brush the tears from your face, but there was no hiding your fear. You were trapped on Blackwood land, in violation of the assize and without any way to escape. 

Benjicot’s gaze had not left your face. From your Septa’s lessons, you knew that he was not much older than you. Maybe only a year or two. But even at five and ten his presence was imposing. He walked with a confidence of someone years older, so clearly comfortable in his own skin. 

Panting, you managed to gulp down enough air to make out, “If you’re going to kill me, then get on with it.”

Benjicot’s expression did not change, except for the almost unpercetable raise of his eyebrows. Unsheathing his dagger, Benjicot slowly circled your form before lowering and stopping right in front of you. He was so close that you could feel his hot breath. Smell his leathers and the soap he had likely used to wash that morning. Bringing his dagger to just under your chin, he forced your head to raise and meet his eyes. 

The cold sting of the blade made your breath hitch. Your body trembled, but you dared not look away. 

Leaning further into your personal space and pressing the dagger into your skin, Benjicot asked, “Are you so eager for death, my lady?” 

You pressed yourself into the dagger, feeling the bite of the blade cut into your skin. Warm blood trickled down your neck and soaked into the front of your gown. You watched Benjicot trace the path of the blood. Saw his breath catch ever so slightly at your actions. 

But he did not withdraw the blade and you did not move away. “There are fates worse than death, my lord.” 

An emotion flashed across Benjicot’s face, but it was gone before you could place it. Removing the blade from your neck, he leaned away from you and sat back on the ground. “One could say that a quick death is too good for a Bracken.”

You could hear the smile and jest in his voice. For the first time since falling in the ravine, you felt like you could breathe. Whatever had just passed between you and Benjicot, you were now sure that he wasn’t going to harm you. 

“And one could also say that being killed by a Blackwood is likely to bring shame upon my entire family.” You flopped onto your back, giving up on any attempt to stand. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Benjicot twirl the dagger between his fingers. When his hand stilled, you shifted your gaze fully back onto him. “What do you plan on doing with me, my lord?” Your voice did not come out as strong as you would like, but you felt a shift in Benjicot’s disposition. You could tell that he had reached some kind of decision. 

Benjicot leaned back into your space, his face directly above yours. Your heart started beating faster. Your stomach clenched and dipped. And for one fleeting moment, you thought that he might kiss you. 

His face drew closer and closer, but instead of your lips, he sought your ear. “Remember this well, my lady. This land is not for Brackens.” You tried to keep your breathing even, but with his body so close and his voice so raspy, you felt bewitched. You, the helpless prey to his predator. 

“Should you wander into these woods again, I cannot guarantee that you will meet the same fate.” His lips brushed the side of your face, whether intentionally or not, you did not know. “Sleep well, my lady.” And before you could react, Benjicot brought the hilt of his dagger against your temple, sending you into darkness. 

Six years had passed since that fateful day. You will never forget waking on Bracken soil, cold and alone and in pain. But other than the injuries you sustained because of your own stupidity, you were unharmed. Benjicot had knocked you unconscious and carried you home. 

You lied through your teeth when your father and Aeron questioned you about what happened. You claimed to have suffered a hit to the head (not untrue) and could not recall how you made it home. When your story did not change, they eventually gave up asking. 

You had seen Benjicot sparingly over the years and only ever in passing or from across a crowded room. But you watched him—oh, how you watched him. 

Each year you begged your father to allow you to attend the Riverrun assize just for the chance to see him. From afar, you watched him grow taller and more handsome. A lean build and broad shoulders developed from years of sparring and training. His reputation for violence and ruthlessness made all Bracken guards nervous. Bloody Ben, indeed.

And at the last assize you knew he was watching you, too. Each time you entered a room, you felt his eyes track you and linger. Felt his gaze sweep across you; your skin flushing and hot at the thought he might find you as desirable as you found him. 

On the last night of the assize, Lord Tully held a feast to celebrate a successful negotiation of the boundary stones. You were passing tables upon tables of lords, knights, and squires, trying to make it to your seat without being crushed. 

But then you saw Benjicot. Walking in your direction. 

Your eyes caught, and what you would have given to be anywhere else in that moment. Alone with him. 

To outsiders, Benjicot’s face was indifferent, blank. But you knew his eyes were mirrors of your own—an intoxicating mix of intrigue and longing. As you passed each other, you felt the hairs breath of space between your hands. You had not touched, but your hand flinched as if burned. Propriety demanded that you keep your gaze forward, so you fought the urge to watch Benjicot walk away, but only just barely. 

That was almost a year ago. No matter how many times you walked the tree line separating the Bracken and Blackwood lands, you never saw him. You thought of writing him a letter but feared interception and rejection. And what could you possibly say? Thank you, Lord Blackwood, for saving me six years ago. In case you were curious, I have been infatuated with you ever since. Surely not.

So, imagine your surprise that on an otherwise unremarkable day, when you were merely walking the pastures with Aeron, that you were finally granted the opportunity to see him. 

Aeron and the other young men walking with you had stopped just short of the boundary stones. The day was relatively cool, and the fields were still damp from last night’s rain. You stood a short distance away from the others, preferring to settle against a rock formation and wait for the men to finish their work.

“Can you even get that thing up?” 

You heard Aeron unsheathe his sword. “Well enough for killing Blackwoods.” The others laughed at Aeron’s joke while you rolled your eyes at their arrogance. 

“Bracken!” A voice rang out from across the field. 

Your heart leapt to your throat as you swung your head around to see Benjicot approach with a host of Blackwood men. You heard a roaring in your ears as your focus narrowed on the scene before you. 

Aeron and the others had turned toward the direction of the Blackwood lands. From where you stood, you could see the tension line their bodies. Their laughter dying in the wind. 

Walking with purpose and determination, Benjicot demand, “Put the boundary stones back.”

Aeron hesitated briefly before approaching, “We didn’t move them—”

“Oh, so they just moved themselves, then?” Benjicot cut off. “Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows could fill their bellies on Blackwood grass.”

Aeron tried to argue, “The assize at Riverrun—”

But Benjicot wasn’t having it. “Fuck the assize,” he paused before adding, “and fuck you. This is our land.”

You were paralyzed. You did not know if Benjicot had spotted you yet, but even if he had, you were not sure your presence would matter. Blackwoods and Brackens never needed an excuse to shed each other’s blood. 

You watched unease flicker across Aeron’s face before resolving into determination. “It’s Bracken land.”

Benjicot’s face clouded over. And when Aeron mumbled “Babe-killer,” you saw rage and anger bubble to the surface.

“What did you say?”

Aeron turned back toward the Blackwoods, disgust marring his features. “Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer,” Aeron accused.  

Never mind that Aemond Targaryen drew first blood in this conflict by killing Rhaenyra’s son. Not that Aeron bothered listening to you when you pointed this out. 

Benjicot grimaced before asking, “Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?” But he knew the answer. No matter that your father had sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra nearly two decades ago. No matter that rumors spread wild about Aegon’s drunken, lecherous ways. No matter that this conflict was sure to result in war and death and famine and fire. 

Benjicot had reached his limit. “Well then, let me tell you. Aegon Targaryen is no true king,” he paused before continuing, “just as you are no true knight.” 

With each word, Benjicot advanced until he stood chest to chest Aeron. “You’re both craven”—shove—“little”—another shove—“cunts!” With a final shove, Benjicot pushed Aeron into another Bracken man, sending him to the ground. 

But Aeron had reached his limit too. Unsheathing his sword, Aeron pointed the blade at Benjicot’s chest. 

And Benjicot could not have been more delighted. A crazed look came over this face—Bloody Ben rising to the surface to meet battle. Smirking and laughing, he advanced toward Aeron’s sword and said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Stop!” You shrieked, finally finding your voice and your legs. You sprinted to the both of them, shoving the Bracken men out of the way when they tried to hold you back. 

You stood between the two of them, wrenching Aeron’s sword away from Benjicot’s chest so that it pointed at your own. You faced toward Aeron, eyes pleading to back down from this challenge. “That is enough.”

You missed the look of panic on Benjicot’s face as you stepped in front of the sword. Missed the way he nearly lunged for you to pull you out of the way. Missed how his eyes settled and softened at the edges when taking in the sight of you. Your golden dress and flowing hair. Gods, how he wanted you.

And if Aeron did not move that fucking sword away from you in five seconds, Benjicot was going to kill him. Consequences be damned. 

Your interference seemed to strike Aeron dumb. He did not know what to do, but when he finally realized that his sword was directed toward you, he sheathed the blade. He made to grab you but you resisted, flinging your hands out to both sides in a bid to stop the two of them. 

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, betraying your panic and fear. But when you spoke, your voice was strong. “There is no need for violence.” 

Turning toward Benjicot, your breath caught in your throat. His attention was on you. His eyes glued to your form. You were not even sure he was blinking. You fought the heat that threatened to crawl across your cheeks and expose your feelings. 

For the first time in six years, you spoke to Benjicot. “We will move the boundary stones back.” Out of all the things you had imagined saying to him, boundary stones had never once crossed your mind. But such is your luck in this life. 

Aeron stiffened and started, “We will do no such—”

You did not see Benjicot move, but suddenly he was in front of Aeron again. “Are you going to defy an order from your lady, you craven cunt?” 

You did not bother pointing out as your father’s heir, Aeron ranked higher than you in House Bracken. 

No, instead you watched Aeron pull back his arm to swing at Benjicot. You were not sure what possessed you—love, most likely—but you found yourself shoving Benjicot aside and stepping into the line of Aeron’s fist. By the time Aeron and Benjicot realized what happened, Aeron had already struck you across the face. 

Your face whipped to the side from the force of Aeron’s punch, causing you to lose your balance and fall to the ground. You were stunned from the hit. And when you gingerly touched the side of your mouth, your hand revealed blood. 

When you looked up to Benjicot and Aeron, you were not sure who was more shocked. Aeron looked sick with himself, but Benjicot—oh, Benjicot was enraged. How dare anyone strike you?  How dare anyone make you bleed? 

Benjicot unleashed his fury. You could hear bone snap from the force of Benjicot’s punches and strikes. Aeron tried to block, but Benjicot was too fast and too angry to be slowed. 

“You call yourself a knight?” Benjicot spat at Aeron. “Hiding behind your lady and letting her fight your battles? You fucking worthless excuse for a man. I should cut off your godsdamn balls and hang you with them.”

When Benjicot drew his dagger, you knew you had to put an end to this. Picking yourself up off the ground, you approached the fight. Of all the foolish and ill-thought plans you had ever had in your life, interrupting a fight between a Blackwood and Bracken may have been the stupidest. 

Just as Benjicot was about to strike, you placed your hand on his back. He was hot and hard and you felt a shock surge up your arm where the two of you connected. Instantly, Benjicot lowered his weapon and turned toward you. 

He was breathing heavily, but the crazed look in his eye faded when he beheld you. He could see the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. See the shallow cut on your mouth. See the fear and hurt and longing in your gaze. His knees threatened to buckle. 

Keeping your hand on his back, you whispered, “Please, stop.” 

You forgot about the men surrounding you. Forgot about propriety. Forgot about the boundary stones. Forgot about your feuding families. Forgot about everything except for the man in front of you. The man you loved.

Quick as lightening, Benjicot sheathed his dagger. He longed to grab your hand and pull you into his arms and assess your injuries. But unlike you, Benjicot did not forget himself. Not when there were those here who could still harm you, whether by word or deed. 

So he simply said, “As you wish, my lady.”

My lady. Oh, your heart squeezed at the sound of that. 

Holding your gaze, Benjicot returned to his men. In the distance, you heard the Bracken men help Aeron stand, hurling insults to the Blackwoods as if Benjicot had not just thoroughly bested their lord. 

Clearing your throat, you repeated, “We will return the boundary stones. Let that be the end of this matter.” 

As you turned away from Benjicot and crossed back onto Bracken land, you let a sob escape. Hoping that the others would blame it on your injuries, you avoided their looks of concern and confusion. You ignored Aeron’s apologies. You wanted to get as far away as possible. But with each step you took, you felt your heart break just a little bit more, realizing that your love was an impossible dream. 

--I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if I should do a part two.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

[sleepynoons]

Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown. 

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.  

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face. 

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage. 

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of. 

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred. 

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep. 

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER - KAZ BREKKER

//tags: @beekeepingageissome // an: i really hope i can pull this off. i anticipate this being 2-3 parts. right now, we’re set before the Ice Court. also i’m picturing danielle rose russell as the character. lmk if we want this as an OC or reader// next part

Pairing: kaz x rollins!reader (enemies to lovers) [no Y/N used yet]

Word Count: 5,892

Summary: Her father’s action led to the death of her only two childhood friends, Kaz and Jordie Rietveld. Only Kaz returned as the infamous Dirtyhands. Creating her own gang in the shadows, she considers allying with the Bastard of the Barrel, only it goes about as well as anything could with Brekker.

It all seemed so far away, the first time you had met Kaz and his brother. Years ago that seemed to be another life. And maybe it was. You had left your father not long after that. When you heard that Jordie and Kaz - or at least two boys that fit their descriptions and matched your sketches - were picked up during the Queen Lady’s Plague collections, your stomach had pitched.

You were only a child, the same age as Kaz give or take a few months, and his brother seemed a good boy. They ate dinner with your family, played with you and your dog. You and Kaz had come up with games late into the night until Jordie took him home.

And then suddenly, you and your family were out of the house. You didn’t understand but you didn’t question it. You never saw the boys again but it was easy enough to hear of who had died of the sickness and who hadn’t. And it didn’t take long to find out how.

Your father used an alias and rolled the boys for their money. They had nowhere to go except the streets and it killed them.

Well, one of them.

Kaz had managed to pull through, but the boy that came back wasn’t the boy you knew. He had changed and you weren’t sure if you had expected him to be the same. When you left your father, you had seen him around the Barrel. You considered talking to him but the unbridled anger in his eyes kept you at bay. Instead, you decided to bide your time. Build your own empire. And in time, you would offer Kaz a deal and take down your father together.

Leaving Jordie and Kaz to die killed not only one of the Rietveld brothers, but it killed you as well. You existed only in stories to him. Pekka Rollins’ only daughter, fled home as a young teen, building up a gang of her own.

You changed your hair, colored it a midnight shade of red, and cut bangs. You kept the rest braided and pinned. You wore a hooded cloak when you went out during the day. You never spoke your name in public. But you did help yourself to your father’s money.

Your money, technically, since it was placed into an account in your name. You withdrew from it once a month, never letting the balance fall beneath the initial. It filled the coffer of your growing gang, choosing a snake as your branding. Your father had Dime Lions. Kaz had the Dregs. You had your snakes, though a fitting name never came to you.

You were on your way to attempt a meeting with the Dregs’ Heartrender, Nina Zenik. She held occupancy at the White Rose, and she was not an easy woman to schedule with. Nor was she cheap. You were leaving the bank, your latest withdrawal under your cloak, when you saw him.

You’d seen him in passing over the years, heard all the stories of what he’d become. Dirtyhands Kaz Brekker. The Bastard of the Barrel. Some said he was a demon. Some called him a monster, a wretched boy with only bones for fingers. He was Death, the Reaper who sent his Wraith without remorse.

You had to remind yourself to breath when a hand clasped your shoulder.

You spun quickly and a hand went to the small knife in the sheath sewn to the inside of the collar.

“Boss has been looking for you.” A familiar voice said. You didn’t know his name, but the voice was one from your childhood. You didn’t miss the lion tattooed on his forearm. “He’ll be happy to see who’s been taking his money.”

You narrowed your eyes but remained quiet. You yanked your knife free and sliced the forearm of the hand touching you, cutting right through the Lion. Decapitating it. You would’ve stayed and admired your handiwork had you not been on a mission.

So you ran.

You worked through the busy crowd until you somehow ended up at Kaz’s side.

“I need your help.” You stepped in front of him. You hadn’t even realized it was him until you stood face to face.

You couldn’t have picked anyone else?

“You’ve come to the wrong person.” He shook his head.

“It’s one of Pekka Rollins’ men.” You tried urgently. “They’re looking for his daughter.”

That got his attention but he tried not to show it. It flashed across his face for a split second, a momentary sliver of the young boy you knew.

“Isn’t she dead?” He said flatly, as if it was a fact. “I sure hope so.”

“She’s not.” You said sharply and dared a glanced behind him. Your father’s goon was making his way through the crowd a few feet away. “But I’m guessing you’ll kill her if you get the chance.”

“In front of her father, yes. Maybe slice her open from her sternum and watch her heart stop beating.” He nodded, tapping the beak of his crow against the base of your throat, then paused to study your face. Your heart sped up and under your cloak, the grip on your knife grew tighter in an effort to not bat his cane away. It was already stained with the blood of your pursuer, and you weren’t above adding Kaz’s if he recognized you, but you were praying that Sankta Alina would help you avoid it. Never one for religion, but her story had always stuck with you. “What do you know about her?”

You lifted your chin slightly. “Why should I tell you anything?”

He leaned down slightly and you reflexively stepped back. “You came to me, remember? Unless you’d like me to leave you here for your friend back there.”

You sneered slightly before answering. “She’s alive, in the Barrel. She’s been building her own gang, using her father’s money for it.”

Kaz’s head cocked in interest.

“He has an account open for her and puts money in every week. She empties it every month or so.”

“A fool’s errand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leaves a paper trail, on both sides… Why is she still here?”

“Why do you think? She wants to get rid of her father.”

“Why?”

You checked again and the Dime Lion was closing in. You shifted on your feet and Kaz took a step to the side, turning himself slightly to block you from view. You dropped your head and blocked your face with your hand as the man passed, hoping the scene looked like a blushing girl hiding her embarrassment. You sighed with relief and almost thanked Kaz.

He didn’t do it for you. You’re useful to him now is all.

“How do you know this?” Kaz asked after watching the Dime Lion for a few more seconds.

You replaced your knife and unbuttoned your cloak to pull your collar and show the snake tattoo winding across your shoulder. You fixed your clothing back to position and Kaz studied you silently.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, Brekker.” You nodded.

He stood dumbfounded as you continued on. It took only a moment before the shock wore off. Kaz watched you go, his confusion burning to anger. He was mad that you had so much information yet gave so little. He was mad that you knew him, yet he knew nothing about you.

But what infuriated him most was that you were vaguely familiar. That he felt some old reminder of who he used to be, when he was just a boy with his brother. He also thought of Jordie with a shudder. He hated that you had some memory connected to his brother and he swore that he would get his answers, even if he had to cut them out of you.

When you were finally able to get in with Nina, it was a relief. She went into what seemed like a rehearsed spiel while you undid your cloak and draped it across your lap as you sat. You reached into your boot and pulled out the specific pile that was intended for her. You dropped it on the table and it silenced her.

“I didn’t come for the Heartrender, Ms. Zenik. I need the Dreg.” You began calmly. 

“The Dregs?” She tugged her sleeve uncomfortably. “What is this, a test from Brekker?”

“Not at all. I just ask that you deliver a few things to Kaz.”

“A delivery?” She laughed. “Drop it in the Post like every other lovesick girl that thinks they can fix him and move on, Dear.”

“He has a fan club?” Your brow quirked. You knew it was a joke but you wouldn’t be surprised if there was some group of girls that were fawning over Kaz. He was very pretty after all. “This isn’t a declaration of love or a marriage proposal. More of a… heads-up.”

“If this is a threat-“ Her hand raised and quickly lifted your own in defeat.

“I’d rather try my luck against his Wraith than face you.” You admitted. “I’d like you to hear me out, Nina. Please, you can turn me away and keep the money after. I’m sure every cent helps towards your Fjerdan project.”

Hesitantly, she lowered her hand 

You flipped your cloak and withdrew the small envelope from the main pocket. You held it out to her and waited until she opened it before you spoke.

“All I ask is that you get these to Brekker. He’ll know what they mean.” You said calmly, though your heart was racing. You wondered if she could tell.

“Drawings?” She looked up from the papers to you.

“She’s quite proud of those.” You smiled slightly.

It was a small collection of portrait sketches. A few of Kaz as a kid, one of Jordie and Kaz, and a few of Kaz in recent times.

“There should be something else.” You nodded and she shook the ring out of the envelope.

“Hmm, are you sure this isn’t a proposal?” She joked.

She examined it carefully, turning it at different angles and holding it close to her face. She slipped it on her own finger - it was so small, it barely fit her pinky -  and your jaw tightened.

“Who is this she you mentioned?” She asked, looking back to you.

“He’ll know.”

“I could just keep this ring, you know. It’s quite adorable.”

“You could.” You agreed. “But that’s a risk she was aware of. Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d care much for a child’s keepsake ring. Besides, it was either you or the sharpshooter, and I’m sure Jesper Fahey would’ve found some parlor that’d give him a line of credit for it.”

“It’s Grisha made, isn’t it?”

You rubbed the fabric of your cloak between your fingers. That had cost you quite a pretty penny. “Yes.”

“Must be a very well off child.”

“She was.”

“Merchant’s daughter?”

“Not quite.”

She quickly grew tired of your avoidant answers. “So what happens if Kaz gets all this?”

“He can do what he wishes with the papers. Those are only a part of a collection that needs to be downsized regardless, but the ring is what’s important… She’ll come for it when she’s ready.”

“She plans on waltzing up to Kaz and demanding the ring?”

“No.” You smiled. “She’ll simply take it back, almost like a placeholder.”

“She’s mad if she thinks she can rob Kaz Brekker” Nina laughed, and you had to admit the sound was rather infectious. “But I’d love to see her try.”

“Can I trust you with this, Ms. Zenik?”

She mulled it over and had to tighten your hands into fists around the fabric of your cloak when you saw your ring was still on her finger. You knew you couldn’t take it back. Not only because it was part of your plan, but because she’d stop your heart as soon as you stood.

“I will, but only because I'd like to see how this’ll play out.” She nodded. “But what about the Wraith?”

You stood and fastened your cloak into place over your shoulders.

“He’ll send her for you and whoever sent these.” She warned.

“Trust. She expects as much.” You added over your shoulder as you left the room.

It took a few days but the unmistakable feeling of being watched from the shadows seized you as you were returning to your small dwelling. You ducked down a different alley, weaving your way through crowded passageways until you finally got to an empty, secluded area. Bold to lure the Wraith deeper into darkness, but you couldn’t risk anyone else hearing your words.

“I’m surprised he waited so long.” You said flatly and lowered your hood. To anyone else, you were talking to yourself. But soon after, her dark clad figure came from the shadows and you faced her bravely. “Hello, Wraith.”

She held up her hand and your ring tumbled out, tied around a string attached to her wrist. You stared at the small piece of jewelry for a moment and the chain around your neck you usually kept it on felt too light. You missed the light weight against your chest, the way it would bounce off your bones when you ran or trained.

“Ah.” You forced a smile. “I see Nina made good on our deal. I should thank her.”

“What business do you have with Kaz?” She finally spoke and her voice was level, void of any sort of emotional cue. You had to give it to Kaz. He trained his Dregs well.

“What business does he have with Pekka Rollins?” You countered. You knew it all, every minute detail, but you wondered what he had told her.

“Nina said that you work for someone else.” She changed the subject, wanting control of the interrogation. “An unnamed girl with Grisha connections.”

“Hmm.” You shrugged. “What did Brekker tell you when he sent you after me?”

“That you work for Pekka Rollins’ daughter.”

You tilted your head side to side in thought. “I suppose, in a way they’re both correct.” You conceded and flicked your cloak over your shoulder. You watched her hand fly to the knives at her ribs and you smiled innocently. You shifted your shirt collar and tilted your head away, waiting for her to see your tattoo. She squinted into the darkness but her hand slowly fell away. “I’d like to live long enough for the reunion, Inej.”

Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. You fixed your cloak over your shoulder and held out your empty palms.

“Yes, I know quite a bit about Brekker’s favorite Crows.” You said simply, keeping all malice out of your words. “Nina Zenik, the Heartrender at the White Rose with a Fjerdan friend out at Hellgate. Jesper Fahey, remarkable Zemeni sharpshooter with a tendency to wring out his coffers across the Barrel. You, Inej Ghafa, formerly Tante Heleen’s Lynx turned ghost story, utilizing those Suli acrobatics. Then there’s the Fjerdan himself that Brekker keeps tabs on, and the new one, the young demo expert.”

Wylan Van Eck - though he had an alias of his own - but you didn’t dare to say that. You wondered if Wylan would recognize you, but you had only seen him in passing years ago. You weren’t sure he knew that much about the Barrel in general. But given the fact that Kaz didn’t recognize you, you doubted Wylan would when you thought about it.

“How long have you been watching us?” She asked, squaring her shoulders and tucking the ring away. You were sad to see it go.

“Off and on.” You shrugged. “Truthfully, I just needed to establish a pattern before I could get that to him… He did get it, didn’t he?”

Her head cocked and you knew she heard something in your voice. Hope, or desperation maybe, and you cursed yourself for it.

“No.” She said smugly. “Nina delivered it to me.”

“Then I assume you have the same motives as she did, interest in what’s happening here.” You realized. “Tell me, Wraith. Has Kaz ordered my death yet, or am I still a target?”

“I believe the word he used was investment.”

“Investment… You know you won’t get anything from me. You’ll go and report back to Kaz with how much I know. If you two haven’t already, you’ll go over the ‘paper trail’ of her account and see it’s been tapped out, which’ll only serve as proof to what I’ve said so far. I’ll wander the Barrel, wasting nights at a gambling table while I bat my lashes to use someone else’s money or I’ll sample the menageries to pass the time. You or Brekker will get restless and pause your pursuit. And when none of you are looking, I’ll go back and you won’t see me again unless I want you to.”

You recognized a flash of silver and realized she drew a knife. You hadn’t even seen her hand move but you hid your shock by lifting your chin defiantly. You would not yield, not cower from Inej. You folded your hands in front of you, under your cloak so you could reach your pistol.

“I don’t want a fight, Inej.” You said honestly.

“I don’t intend there to be much of one.” She countered smoothly and the blade shifted in her hand. “I come as a warning. Keep her snakes away from us.” She said, adding extra venom into your gang’s patron.

“Us?” You instigated. “You bear no Dreg tattoo, Wraith. How can I be sure you’re truly aligned with them?”

“Doubt be again and find out.”

“We don’t want a war.” You reasoned.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You and your shadow boss will not back the Dregs into a corner. Brekker won’t he-“

“I don’t fear Kaz Brekker.” You said firmly.

“Then you’re more of a fool than he thinks.” She snapped. She glanced around as if someone was listening, but no one in Ketterdam dared to watch the confrontations in the alleys. “Pride will be your downfall before he makes a move.”

“He wants to dismantle everything Pekka Rollins has.” You reasoned. You weren’t why you wanted so badly to convince Inej that you weren’t Kaz’s enemy, but when you thought about it, you knew he’d see you that way regardless. You worked for Pekka Rollins’ daughter. Actually, you were Rollins’ daughter. You’d be dead the second he found out. “She wants her father’s empire to burn as well. Why fight?”

“Do not come to the Dregs again, snake.”

“Is that a threat?” Your brows raised.

She smiled and her hand was a blur as the knife flew at you. You barely hid behind your cloak in time. You felt the blunt force of the knife against your cheek, thanking the Saints, before the blade clattered to the floor. You peaked out and another came, skating across the back of your hand. You yelped and clutched the wound to your chest.

Before you could react, she was on you. She had you by your cloak and slammed you against the nearest wall. You felt the distinct tip of a blade under your chin and you were quick to pull your own. You pressed it against her abdomen, grabbing her other arm to keep her close. You ignored the burn of the cut and righted your grip.

“The thing with snakes-“ You began and smiled. “We can wait. Bide our time until conditions fit us. We won’t back the Dregs into a corner, but you won’t flush us out either.”

Her eyes darted between yours as she tried to read your expression. Or maybe she wanted to remember your features. Either way, you acted. You slammed your head forward and collided with hers. She stumbled back and her blade fell away. You flicked your cloak to add to her disorientation before you kicked at her chest to knock her down.

Then you ran. 

It took a few more days before you saw either of them again. You had seen a Healer in that time, someone who wouldn’t give their name or let you look directly at them. Why they were in hiding you didn’t know or ask. They repaired your hand and that was all you needed.

You were wandering the streets when you saw her silhouette in the alley you passed. Moments later, she was on the rooftops above you, following. You dared a glance but as soon as your eyes turned that way, she disappeared. You knew she wanted you to follow so you sighed to yourself, checked that no one else was looking - of course they weren’t - and ducked down the alley.

You went as deep as you dared but there was no one else, only the faint tap of a cane behind you. You nodded slightly and put your hands up in surrender. You flipped down your hood and turned, facing Kaz straight on.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” You began innocently, though you added a bit of roughness to your voice. If Kaz was going to recognize you, you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

A soft thud of landing behind you but you kept your focus forward.

“Will you come quietly?” Kaz spoke simply, as if it was obvious you were beaten. You quirked a brow and considered how the fight would go if you chose it. One of them you could take, but winning against both of them wasn’t likely.

“You say that like there’s a choice.” You sighed. “I know when I’m out-gunned, Dirtyhands.”

You slipped your fingers under the opposite sleeve and slid the hidden retractable blade strapped to your wrist out. You tossed the cuff to Kaz and he caught it with the crow’s beak of his cane. While he examined the small device, you held your pistol to Inej, who took it without a word. You tapped the toe of one boot on the ground, then the other, and felt the blade shifting against your leg. Glancing up, Kaz didn’t seem to notice the movement but the gentle kick to shin told you Inej did. With a huff, you pulled it out and handed it over. All you were left with was the small blade at the sheath under your cloak’s collar, but you wouldn’t give that up.

Only an idiot gets taken hostage by the two most lethal Dregs unarmed.

“Nice to see you again, Wraith.” You said teasingly. “Although this isn’t much of a fair fight, is it?”

You put your hands up again and offered Kaz a sarcastic expression. He was stone faced as usual, though he nodded to Inej over your shoulder. Your brows furrowed and as you turned, the side of your head was slammed into the nearest wall.

You woke up tied to a chair in an office/bedroom with an empty chair across from you, Kaz’s cane resting against the seat. Your head was pounding and you could feel your pulse beating in the new wound, growing as the room came into better focus. Your cloak was thrown across the desk, your wrists tied tightly to the back of the chair with scratchy ropes, your ankles were tied a lot looser. You shifted in the chair to test the integrity and wondered how hard you’d have to fall for it to break.

“About time.” He complained from somewhere behind you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do your usual hostages regain consciousness sooner?” You spat back, craning your neck to find him. “Should’ve brought your Heartrender if you were that impatient.”

Kaz was making it very hard to try for an alliance with him. At that moment, you wanted to kick his pretty teeth in.

“You’re not worth that much trouble.” He waved you off and you saw the infamous black gloves.

“Enough trouble for you to come and get me. What made that decision for you? Was it when Inej couldn’t do it herself?”

“Are you certain she wanted to?”

“Could’ve fooled me, but according to her, I’m a fool anyways.” You shrugged as best you could. “What's with the gloves?”

His leather-clad hands tightened into fists and he looked down at them for a moment, contemplating. You wondered what was going through his head, but you’d never know. His expression was as blank as ever and you cursed his self-control.

“You didn't wear them before.” You continued. “When you were a boy.”

“You know quite a lot, Dear.” He said simply and made his way in front of you. He moved his cane and sat, stretching his legs in front of him.

“Been around a while.”

“Who are you?” He leaned in a bit in interest. You were something new, something potentially dangerous, and he wanted to learn everything he could about you.

“A stranger that knows so much about you, Kaz Rietveld.”

His eyes narrowed and shifted the cane between his hands. You eyed it carefully, knowing the dangers that object held especially in Kaz’s hands. It could break bones, numb limbs, slice through skin. You’d be lucky if he didn’t use it on you, but the daunting silhouette of the crow’s head didn’t stop you from talking.

“You and Jordie… Her drawings are the spitting ima-“

The sharp beak of his crow topper sliced down your cheekbone and cut your words short. Your head snapped to the side and you cried out slightly, fresh blood slowly dripping down your cheek. You stared back at him angrily, new and sudden rage burning in your stomach as he stood over you.

“You don’t get to say that name.” He said viciously. The rage in his eyes made you worry he’d kill you there. “What did she tell you?”

“You can beat me all you like.” You said firmly. “I won’t break.”

“Then you’ll die.”

He pulled a knife and you shifted in your seat, pushing back as far as you could. One of his covered hands landed on your shoulder while the other pressed the blade to your throat. Your eyes darted in a panic and you noticed the silver chain around his neck.

“The ring.” You breathed and the knife froze. “You have the ring. You know she’s out there.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He pulled the blade, causing you to wince, and you felt a thin stream of blood from your neck. He took up his cane with the other hand and tapped it against the floor, punctuating his words.  “I do, however, doubt you’re as steadfast as you claim.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shook your head. “I’ll die before I give up anything on my snakes. You think I don’t know what you do to people you don’t like? I’ve heard all the stories, Dirtyhands.” You laughed. “I wouldn’t risk their lives just to save myself.”

The cold crow’s head came under your chin and forced your attention to him.

“Your snakes?” His head cocked and your eyes went wide with panic for a moment. Leave it to Kaz to pick up on your one rhetoric mistake.

“I serve as her lieutenant. The snakes are as much mine as hers.” You covered, but he didn’t seem convinced as you jerked your head away. “Are the Dregs not as much yours as they are Haskell’s?”

“The Dregs follow me.” He said firmly, an air of leadership and confidence around him. If you didn’t have a gang already, you would’ve asked him to take you in as well. “This will go one of two ways. You answer my questions and you can burrow back into whatever hole you and Rollins’ pathetic daughter are hiding in with minimal injury.”

You spat at his feet. He swung the cane at your ribs. You wheezed as the air left one of your lungs.

“Or I can flay you piece by piece until you’re unrecognizable, covered in tears and your own blood, and I still get what I need.”

“You’ll get nothing from me.” You rasped and shook your head.

“Or…” He trailed off, wagging his finger as if a new idea came to him. “I can simply keep you here, wait until she finally shows herself and then drag her kicking and screaming to her father’s doorstep.”

“And do what?” You dared to ask, though you had a feeling you knew the answer. “He won’t care. He gave up on her years ago.”

“If that were true, he wouldn’t have an account for her.” Kaz shook his head. “Yes, I looked into it and, as I mentioned, the paper trail was easy enough to pick up. But I must admit, the trail to you was quite the dead-end. Well done.”

“He’ll laugh in your face if you bring her to him.” You continued, but the air you breathed left the faint taste of blood in your mouth. “She ran out on him. You think he’d want to see her again?”

“Oh, I think he’s still hoping she’ll come home.”

The wicked look in his eyes told you all you needed.

“To protect his secrets, maybe. She knows every trick he has.”

“Secrets die with those who keep them.” Kaz mused as if it was his saying. “And the only ones worth keeping aren’t worth a life.”

“Oh, Saints.” You complained with your head dropped against the back of the chair, eyes cast upward. “You know no one is going to come for me, don’t you?”

Silence. Just the threatening tap of his cane on the floor.

“Her and I agreed that if either of us get caught by you or her father, we wouldn’t go looking for the other. It’s a good way to get us both killed so we sacrifice the other if push comes to shove.” You looked back at him. “And you’ve shoved.”

“No one is coming?” He asked. The question seemed innocent enough but the menacing way he spun his knife in his hand proved otherwise.

“Our secret dies with the other.”

“Meaning no one will hear your screams? You’ll cry out and plead. but no one will come… I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Hang on.” You tried and he pressed the knife to your collarbone, a few inches to the side of your snake tattoo. “I-“

“Giving in already?” He taunted.

You needed something to get the knife off of you, something to distract him. He didn’t seem all that interested in anything about your alleged leader. Maybe he knew all he needed about you on that front. Was there something you could ask him instead?

“She feels guilty.” You confessed suddenly. “About you. About Jordie.”

You flinched at the look he gave you.

“I don’t know who he is!” You lied quickly.

You hated that all your control, all your pose and power, fell away while you were strapped to the chair. You were helpless, at the mercy of the Bastard of the Barrel, the most notorious and merciless person in Ketterdam. Maybe you were out of your league.

“I’ve only heard the name… She says her father took everything and she wishes there was something she could’ve done. She wants to make things right.”

“Make things right?” He asked lowly before a rough, disbelieving chuckles left his lips. “Can she suddenly raise the dead? No, you see, she was a child. Just as I was. But breaking her in front of her father, taking the one thing he yearns for, now that just might ‘make things right’.”

“What happened to you?” You said desperately. “What changed?”

“The boy that girl told you about is dead.” Kaz explained carefully, as if saying those words took more effort than anything he’d ever done. “Kaz Rietveld is dead.”

“She doesn’t believe that.”

“What’s that old saying? Like calls to like? Believing that makes her more of a fool than you are… Where is she?”

“She’s in the Barrel.” You confessed carefully. The knife hit the ground but before you could feel any relief. a heavy fist connected with your jaw. Blood filled your mouth and you knew you but your tongue, hard.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.” He said, his voice holding a dangerous edge.

“No.” You managed through gritted teeth. “What will you do, hunt her? You’ll never find her.”

“What makes you think you haven’t led us to her already?”

Your mind raced. Had he or Inej seen you go to your most recent safe house? It was possible that he had been trailing you longer than you thought, but if that was the case, he’d know that there was no girl in the shadows leading the snakes. It was you.

It was a bluff.

“So string her up instead of me.” You sneered and shifted your feet, just able to brace your toes against the floor. “I tried to be civilized here, Brekker. But you know what I’ve learned?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re just a man. And all men can fall.”

His brows furrowed slightly and you threw yourself backwards. The chair hit the ground and broke with a loud crack. You got to your knees and were fiddling with the ropes that bound your wrists to the fragments of the chair when you had to drop to your back, the heavy crow’s head swinging past where you head would’ve been. You yelped and rolled to the side as it crashed into the floor in a high arc.

Finally, you freed your hands. However, the crow’s head landed against your same side again and the impact had you falling to your face. You coughed roughly and the ragged breathing and shooting pain had you fearing that your rib was broken.

With a whine, you climbed to a kneel.

Your eyes darted to your cloak before surveying for an escape route. You could go for the door but it was obvious and you knew the place would likely be crawling with Dregs. You weren’t getting out that way. Your only other option seemed to be the window.

You got to your feet and charged. You threw punches at Kaz, hardly any of them connecting. You growled slightly in annoyance at his ability to block your hits so you threw your elbow instead, smacking it to the side of his jaw. You followed it with a hard hook then a few body shots. You wanted to end it so you threw a hard kick for his head but he caught it.

He tilted his head in disappointment and you saw the blossoming red marks across his features. You watched his elbow lift, on a path to the side of your knee, and you reacted. You jumped and threw the other foot. It connected with his jaw and you both fell to the floor. You cried loudly and you landed on the rib.

You forced yourself up, ignored the dangerously threatening pain as you stood straight, and dashed for your cloak. Beneath it was the rest of your weaponry. You collected it in a hurry and climbed through the window.

“We’ll meet again, Kaz.” You warned, crouching in the windowsill. He had rolled to his back and you saw the cut your kick broke near his eyebrow. “Come for me before that, I’ll burn the Dregs to the ground.”

Then you were gone.

[aceviscontiswife]

Late Night Visit | Danny Johnson

Danny pays you a visit after a very successful night, you help him celebrate.

I figured that since I started this blog with Danny, I should return from my very long absence with Danny.

Afab!Reader. Warnings: 18+!!! PRE-ENTITY! Pre-established relationship. Little plot before smut, lots of f-bombs (sorry), Talk/descriptions of murder, Mating press, degradation, talk of murder during sex, overstimulation. NOT PROOFREAD… oops.

It was a cold, rainy, miserable night in Roseville. Most people were staying home, curled up in bed and sleeping to pass time. Danny was not, nor was the woman whose life Danny had worked so hard to take. She was a fighter… something Danny had not expected but he eventually managed to take her down. Her screams were like music to his ears, and the bloody scene her murder had left? Tonight was a success.

However, Danny was left feeling pent up. He had to tell someone about how good he did, about how skillfully he dug his knife into that woman’s chest… he needed you. God, you were the best reward he could think of, and Danny definitely deserved his treat. Despite it being nearly midnight, Danny began making his way to your apartment, still wearing his bloodied cloak and mask. Not like anyone would notice him anyways.

***

You were woken up by a tapping on your window. The rain had died down a while ago, so when the tapping didn’t stop you figured you might as well see what was going on. Flicking on your bedside lamp, you look on in shock as you spot what was causing that annoying tapping.

Danny?

Did he have no fear of getting caught? He was covered in blood, still wearing his signature Ghostface outfit, and practically banging on your window! You get out of bed, only wearing one of Danny’s shirts—that he had left here the last time he came over, and quickly open your window.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You whisper harshly, helping Danny inside before shutting your window and looking up at him with the most annoyed yet concerned look you could muster. “I’m not allowed to pay my girlfriend a visit?” You could practically feel him grinning at you from under his mask, Danny knew how to get on your nerves quicker than anyone. He also never stopped by your apartment after one of his… nights, at least not without having changed first.

“You are, but… why?” Your question was only met with a chuckle as Danny reaches up to take his mask off, revealing the face you had come to love more than anything. As well as a look in his eyes that seemed to answer your question before Danny could. “Tonight was amazing, doll. I can’t wait to tell you how well I did… but right now, right now I need you more than anything.” His words brought heat to your face as well as your core, a tingle running down your spine as Danny takes a step closer to you, his eyes practically undressing you then and there.

Danny got like this after a successful kill. Before you came along he would just handle things by himself, but now that you’re here? God, he couldn’t wait to have you. Without waiting for your response, one of Danny’s gloved hands grab your chin, tilting your head up until your eyes met his. Danny wasted no time in quickly pressing his lips against yours, the lustful urgency behind his moves enough to make you whimper against his lips.

Danny guides you towards the bed—you blindly stepping backwards until the back of your knees came into contact with your mattress. Danny gives you a soft push, breaking the heated kiss and causing you to fall back onto the bed in the process. Looking up at him, you could see just how badly Danny needed this. He wasn’t himself, no, he was Ghostface—primal, bloodthirsty, and ready to get what he wanted. Arousal rushed through your system at the sight, and you were sure your panties were already getting soaked.

“Fuck,” Danny starts, already beginning to take off his cloaks. “If you don’t want this, then you better say it now doll.” Danny pauses for a moment, giving you one chance to back out. You knew what you were getting into, you might be the one and only person Danny loves, but he would always put his needs first—and his need was you.

“I want this.” You reply, a lustful tone dripping off of your tongue that you had never heard before. Or at least not this intense. Danny only nods, continuing to removes his cloaks until they fell into a heaped, bloodstained pile behind him. A smile paints his features, dark brown eyes somehow darkening as he begins to undo his belt. “Good.”

His belt now undone, Danny tosses it aside and unzips his pants, letting them fall to his ankles before kicking them aside. He was left in his boxers, his bulge straining against the fabric and a wet patch forming where the tip of his cock would be. It was now your turn to undress, and you wasted no time in doing so. You took off your shirt, about to take off your pajama pants as well before Danny swatted your hands away and did it himself. He chuckles upon seeing how wet you were, the sight spurring him on even more.

“Fuck it, I can’t wait any longer.” It was Danny’s version of a warning, and before you knew it he was on the bed, pinning you under him. Your legs wrap around his waist, but Danny grabs the back of your thighs and pushes your legs back until your thighs were pressed against your chest. Danny pulls his boxers down, pulling away just long enough to finish taking them off and tossing them with the rest of his clothes.

Your panties however, were simply moved to the side. Danny couldn’t be bothered with taking them off. “You’re already so wet, doll… did seeing me all bloody really get you that fucking excited?” Danny clicks his tongue, lining his cock up with your entrance. No prep, but with how eager Danny was, you didn’t expect any. His words sent a spark of arousal down your spine, your pussy clenching against nothing as your clit practically begged for attention.

“Please, Danny—“ You were cut off by Danny, who suddenly pushed into you without warning. Your heels dig into his shoulder blades, a strained gasp escaping your lips as your eyes screw shut. Danny groans, pumping into you at a quick pace. “This what you wanted? To be pounded like the slut you are?” You didn’t respond—you couldn’t respond, a loud moan interrupting any of the words that wanted to leave your mouth.

Danny growls as he thrusts into you, reaching down to kiss and bite at your neck, leaving marks that you were sure everyone would see the next time you went out. Neither of you cared, however, as Danny chuckles suddenly and pulls back, grabbing your chin and forcing your attention to be on him.

“Wish you could’ve seen it, doll… she was—fuck, she was screaming so loud, had me worried for a second that someone might hear.” Was he really talking about that now? Anyone else would have been utterly disgusted, but for some unknown reason, it only turned you on more. “She bled so much… Stabbed her so. many. fucking. times.” Danny groans, a moan escaping his lips as he drills into you, hands grabbing the back of your thighs and locking you into the press he had you in.

You could already feel that all familiar knot growing in your stomach, your gasps and moans growing louder and needier as you try to warn Danny. “D-Danny-! ‘Can feel it- don’t stop!” Danny laughs at you, not easing up on his brutal pace whatsoever as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. “Look at you, already about to cum. Such a whore, barely started and she’s already gonna cum.” His words, while rude, were all you needed to topple over the edge, your pussy clenching around Danny’s dick as you cum with a strained gasp and yell of his name.

Danny could feel his orgasm building closer, but he held it off, fucking into you until you were writhing and squirming under his grasp, hands grabbing at his biceps as you try to escape the painfully pleasant overstimulation.

“Gonna fill this pussy up with my cum—shit, you feel so good. ‘Feels better than killing that bitch, that’s for fucking sure.” You cry out as Danny’s pace begins to grow sloppier and sloppier, still managing to hit all the right places, leaving you seeing stars. Tears of ecstasy were dripping down your cheeks, only filling Danny’s darkest desires as he bring a hand up to cup your cheek—the softest thing he’s done so far, his lips crashing against yours.

Danny groans, muffled against your mouth as you feel his hot cum fill you, his thrusts only letting up for a moment before they start back up. You weren’t sure how much you could take, but Danny didn’t seem to care. You were in for a long night, and you knew it.

You whimper, squirming underneath Danny as the pleasure begins to be too much. Danny knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he’d be damned if he stopped any time soon. “You wanted this, doll. I’m not stopping until you’re practically full of my cum.”

***

Trying to get back into writing after taking a freakishly long break is… hard. Still, I hope you enjoyed this (that I totally wrote at 1am & while super sick)! Love ya. ❤️

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.5 K Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. (Reader discretion is advised). Prompt: We need to talk. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Chapter 24: Peace of Mind

10:00 November 24th, 1976

You waited for the girls to fall asleep and used a combination of spells to sneak out without being noticed. Lily had changed your bandages before bed and you had gladly let her, Sirius’ words reverberating in your head as she did “ Don’t be so stubborn and let us help!”

Perhaps you’d have to use those same words with Remus later on. Little after telling him you were sorry for hurting him so bad and asking him to please not hate you for the rest of his life. As you walked towards the infirmary with the disillusionment charm, the same charm you had used so often since you arrived at Hogwarts that you had pretty much mastered it. Your charm was almost as deceiving as James’ invisibility cloak, logically you knew it’d never match its greatness, but you could definitely get close.

At least enough to sneak past Peeves who was busy rearranging all the portraits on one of the halls so they were all upside down, you heard the paintings complain as he shook them about for good measure. You winced, I wouldn’t want to be any of those portraits, you thought, but continued on your way to the infirmary. As you walked you pulled the sleeves of your quidditch sweater over your hands, the temperature had dropped a little that night and you felt a stark contrast between the cold you felt then and how hot you had felt earlier in the passages with Sirius, you flushed a little when the images came back you your mind, the hunger you had felt had been so overwhelming it felt like a dream. 

You took another breath, still feeling cold. Was being sensible to temperature changes also because of the bit of lycanthropy running through your system at that point? Did poor Remus have to deal with them so often? Maybe that was why he always carried around some kind of sweater, in case it got chilly and he felt it a little more strongly than the rest. 

Once you arrived at the big infirmary doors you looked at them for a minute and waited, taking a deep breath as you stared. You had gotten word that Pomfrey usually retired to her chambers at 11:30 PM, after curfew and once she made sure all the children in the infirmary –if there were any– had fallen asleep. Her chambers were close enough so she could rush back in, in case of an emergency with the children, and she had some house elves check on the children often. 

You were thankful you had made friends with Myrtle since she had been the one to provide you with so much detailed information. Information that she had eavesdropped out a couple of years ago when Sirius, James and Peter were planning how to get into the infirmary since no one allowed them to visit Remus. 

You had also gone to talk to Numbletwist earlier that day, to try and figure out if there would be any elves in the infirmary that night. She shook her head, telling you that they were often called off when students got sick around the full moon. She said it was probably because Poppy liked to stay extra attentive of things. You had nodded and thanked her profusely for the information. Scurrying away with the excuse of needing to rest before she asked why you wanted to know. 

You heard a bit of rattling and then one of the doors opened up, she walked outside, using her wand to illuminate her path, and you sneaked in and hid behind one of the beds, even if you still had the disillusionment charm, you knew it was better safe than sorry. And Poppy definitely had better eyesight than most witches her age. She turned off the rest of the lights in the infirmary and closed the door behind her, but you stayed crouching behind the bed. 

You stood there, breathing steady as you slowly pushed yourself up to peer over the bed and check whether Remus was asleep or awake. He seemed to be waiting for Poppy to leave too, since a couple of minutes later he lifted himself up, accommodating a pillow and pulling his wand out. He used Lumus to see better as he looked through the drawer of his night table, grabbing onto a book and settling it over his lap. 

Great, Remus really had no plan to sleep soon then, you shrank into Vixen and walked over to Remus, sneaking in below his bed and onto the other side, where you could keep an eye on the door just in case. Once you manage to collect your thoughts you sprung back into human form. Remus jumped from his spot in the bed when you appeared out of nowhere. 

“Sorry to startle you,” you whispered with a bit of a frown, regret evident in your tone. 

“Little Witch?” he asked as he blinked a couple of times, trying to decipher if the way the low blue light from the stars and the waning moon shone behind your figure was all part of a dream or whether you really were there again. In truth, he had smelled you minutes earlier, but he assumed perhaps he was just picking up your scent from the chocolates you kept bringing over, or he was so drudged with potions that he was now smelling you like you really were there. And it wouldn’t be uncommon, he had dreamed of you so often lately that you standing there might really just be yet another one. But the way the light cast a halo behind you was too realistic to be part of his imagination “What are you doing here?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said simply. 

Remus stiffened and froze as if he had seen a basilisk, but then shook his head “I wasn’t… I didn’t–” 

“–It’s ok,” you cut him off “I get it, I understand why you wouldn’t want to see me, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry I was stubborn and I’m sorry I jinxed you and I’m sorry I had the Whomping Willow throw you to the side and I’m sorry Prongs had to gore you, several times because I couldn’t run fast enough and I’m sorry I–“ 

Remus reached for your hand, and your breath caught in your throat as you felt a small shock of electricity, “hey!” he said softly “I wasn’t avoiding you because I’m angry at you.” 

Remus’ hand was warm and soft, not as soft as Sirius’ but not as tough as you imagined it would be. “Then why?” 

“I– I thought you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore,” he admitted, his hand on yours tightening “After the moon I was terrified the reason you’d come to see me was… to say goodbye. Because the friend that you thought you had was a monster, and because I couldn’t control myself as a wolf and because I’m bIoody dangerous to be around.” 

That was the second time Remus called himself a monster in front of you, you’d have none of it, “Remus,” you said, leaning in a little closer “You’re not a monster.” 

“I’m pretty sure werewolves fit in the category damn nicely,” he responded bitterly. 

“I give three fucks if they fit in the monster category, in the extra dangerous being category or in the beasts section of the library. You, Remus. My Remus, are not a monster.” 

Perhaps Remus would have realised the way you had used his name had it not been with how wrapped up in his own head he was “I could’ve killed you.” 

“You didn’t.” 

He averted your gaze “Could’ve bitten you. That’s what the wolf wanted, you know? To bite you. To turn you.” 

“But you didn’t,” you insisted. “And even if you had, we would’ve found a way to deal with it.” 

“Like how? After a bite there’s no way back, trust me, I would know.” 

“I didn’t say we’d find a way to revert it, I said we’d deal with it. Remus, I’d rather be a werewolf than lose you.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m awful.” I’m crushing on your boyfriend, and on you for fucks sake, he thought “You’d be better off–“

You wouldn’t let him finish that phrase “–don’t bullshit me like that,” you said sternly “There isn’t a bIoody universe in which I’d be better off without you, on which any of us would. Not one!” 

“But I hurt you. Even as you ran, I chased behind you and then I dug my claws on–“ 

“–It was a scratch.”

“Stop cutting me off, damn it!” he spat, a little annoyed. “And it wasn’t a scratch, Peter told me how you shivered all night.” 

“Well then stop saying stupid shit and I will stop cutting you off!” you responded exasperated.  Then you sighed, placing one of your hands on your temple. The hand that wasn’t glued to Remus’ “freaking little Wormtail ratted me out.” you mumbled.  

“I literally kept pushing until my claws broke your soft skin, Moony could have broken your arm.” 

“I would have survived.” 

“You don’t know that!” 

“Remus. You can’t make decisions for me,” you said slowly “I knew you were a werewolf for a couple of weeks before this happened, and I never even once considered to stop being your friend.” 

“That was before…” 

“And it’s the exact same thing now,” you responded with a thin smile. “I don’t care if you’re a werewolf, I don’t care if Moony scratched me and made me hungry, and sensitive to temperatures and thirsty. I don’t care if my arm hurts or if I have to change my bandages every couple of hours and add more of Lily’s magic mixture or take painkillers. And that’s because, no matter what, you’re still Remus, and I wouldn’t want you to be any different,” you gave his hand a squeeze “I’m not gonna let you push me away because you’re terrified I might be scared of Moony.”

“But you were terrified of me! The nightmares, the boggart, the…” 

“That was before I met Moony.” 

“What?” 

“He’s beautiful Remus, you’re beautiful.” 

“What?!” he repeated, a little louder now. 

You took a deep breath “Yes, the nightmares, the beast. I was scared because a huge thing chased after me, squashing me and throwing me around countless times. But Remus, I had never gotten to see it, not really, I was too busy running away from it to pay attention. Did you know he has your eyes?” Your kind eyes, you thought. “The golden specks that are more present near the moon? I could see them, and I wasn’t scared anymore.” 

“And that was dumb, leaving my wand on the ground–“ 

“–I said I would stop interrupting if you stopped with the stupid comments.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

You wanted to argue, but it really had been a stupid thing to do, you had been so mesmerised by the wolf, that perhaps you really weren’t thinking straight. Not that it would be expected, especially after everything you had gone through previous to that. “Fine then, one part brave, three parts fool, I’m a Gryffindor after all. Regardless, I’m not scared of Moony, not anymore, not now I know It’s you.” 

“That’s stupid too,” he added, you could feel a slight change in his tone, he was a lot more relaxed now, he’s joking, you realised.

“Well you have a very stupid friend, get over it,” you joked with a smile, “Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” 

Remus sighed “How could I abandon my potions partner?” he asked, a small smirk drawing itself on his lips. 

You chuckled, your hands, the ones that were still intertwined with each other, dangled as your shoulders shook, “That’s the spirit,” you said, your sight flickering towards his hand, and the way it held yours. You brushed your thumb gently over a particularly thick scar on the back of his hand. Remus shivered, but you were so cold you assumed it was for the same reason that you would, werewolves were clearly more sensible to temperature.

“Your hand is very cold,” he said as he tightened his grip. 

“It’s freezing here,” you responded, “you feel it too, don’t you? You shivered.”

He cleared his throat “Yeah,” he lied “kinda cold.” 

“Your hand’s nice and warm tho,” you acknowledged. 

“I had it under the covers,” he lied again. He wondered why you hadn’t separated your hands, not because he wanted you to do it, but rather because he was dreading the moment you did, “how’s the arm?” He asked, nodding towards it. 

You shrugged, “It’s healing… your ribs? I broke them didn’t I?”

“It was the Whomping Willow.”

“Yeah, the tree, and my carefully executed plan.”

That had him shaking his head in amusement “How did you know it would work?” 

You swallowed, you could lie and say you used maths or highly advanced magic to calculate things to the tea, but enough secrets had been held between you and Remus already “I didn’t,” you admitted “The idea just came to me and I used my instinct to know when to jump.” 

“You’re insane,” he said with a shake of his head, he was half pissed, half amused you had managed to pull it off “and brilliant.”

You frowned, a small smile playing on your lips “I’ll take that as a compliment,” there was a silence and you leaned in to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to hurt the boy as you sat, your head still turned to him “Tom said you’d be out tomorrow.” 

“Is that how you found out I was avoiding you?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. 

You nodded “Yeah, that and Poppy looking at me so pitifully, even Sirius seemed like he was suspicious after a while.” 

He winced “Sorry ‘bout that… But yeah, she said I could leave tomorrow, she kept me here tonight just in case.” 

“Well, thank Godric she did, this would’ve been an awkward conversation to have in front of the boys,” you teased “especially when I didn’t even let you speak.” 

“I was being twat.” 

“Yeah, you were,” you agreed, a small teasing smile on your face. He scooted slightly to the side to give you more space to sit, then pulled your hand so you moved in a little bit more. 

There was silence, a rather comfortable one, but Remus broke it, he was now rubbing circles on your hand “You were here when Pomfrey gave me the Skellegro,” he said, and then turned his gaze to you “Weren’t you?” 

You nodded “Sirius and Lily brought me over for dittany and silver dust, the scratch wasn’t healing until Lily made some a paste.” 

“So you were bleeding all night…” he said, guilt filling his expression. 

You sighed “It’s fine, I heal fast.” 

Remus looked to the side, barely spotting the bruise on your neck “Is that from when they…?” he asked, pointing towards it. 

You opened your eyes wider and pulled the collar of the sweater you were wearing up, blushing at the memory of Sirius kissing your neck as he had you flushed against the stone wall of one of the passageways “Um… I… no it’s…” 

Remus understood a sour expression playing on his face that he masked with disgust “Ugh you and Pads are gross.” 

You hit him on the arm playfully “As if you’d never done it,” you chastised “Oh.. by the way, what’s with you and Alice?” you asked with an arched eyebrow and a suggestive smile. 

Remus felt a pang in his chest, the cause was in the way you’d asked, so casually and playfully. You were clearly teasing him, and also clearly not into him. And then he cursed himself for feeling jealous, of course, she’s not into me, she’s into Sirius, her boyfriend. “We… I mean…” how the fuck do I tell her we’re only having fun without sounding like an ass? It's not like I can tell her I’m using Alice as a distraction, that’d be way worse. 

“You’re not in love with her, are you?” you asked, with a rather apprehensive tone. 

“Does that make me an asshole?” 

You shook your head “I’m sure she’s not in love either,” you said with a sigh “Todd told me she likes to have fun and then… Well, I don’t think that makes her a bad person per se, as long as she’s honest about it.” 

“She is,” he reassured, “she’s fun too.” Remus wasn’t sure fun was a very accurate description, not even close to distracting, but it seemed like the right thing to say. 

“That’s good. You deserve to have fun,” you said with a smile “Though I’m sure you’d easily find someone for a deeper connection if you were looking for it.” 

Remus scoffed, shaking his head “Yeah sure, until they find out I’m a monst–“ 

“–We’re not going to keep calling you that, Remus,” you interrupted. “And I think they would. Just think about it, all of the people who know are still there for you, no matter what. We’re here, and if someone really loved you, they would be there for you too. And if they weren’t then they don’t deserve you.” He gave you a look of disbelief “Honest, if I were dating you, and then I found out. Even if I had gone through the same thing I went through that night, I’d still date you.”

Remus wasn’t sure whether to be happy or cry at your statement “But you’re dating Sirius.” It was almost bitter the way he said it, but it slipped past you.

“Well duh, but hypothetically, I’d love you either way. And I mean, how many people can say they’re dating a sexy werewolf, that’s gotta give you some points…”

Remus grabbed one of the pillows from his side and threw it at your face, he didn’t wanna talk about depressing shit anymore. 

“Oi! What was that for?!” 

“You were getting too sappy with me,” he said with a diverted smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a mirroring smile on your lips “Oh you’re a twat,” you said as you hit him on the side lightly, he groaned and you winced, brows instantly furrowing in concern “Sorry…” He nodded, but a small smile showed on his soft lips, like he was holding back a laugh. You quickly realised he had faked it and hit him again in return “That’s a nasty trick, you shouldn’t take advantage of your hurt state.” 

“The one that you induced?” he said as his grin widened, teasing you again. You gasped in shock, and laughed afterwards, hitting him again a couple more times. 

“Oi, oi, that’s enough…” he said as he grabbed onto your hand, laughing along with you. 

He had been soft when he grabbed you, but he was so strong even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to move your arm, but instead of dwelling on the boy’s strength, you just laughed merrily, leaning in so far down that your hair brushed over his chest. He could smell it, and it was as delightful as ever, perhaps a bit more now that he knew you wouldn’t avoid him just because of his condition. He took a deep breath as you laughed, almost feeling guilty for enjoying the moment so much. 

You cannot love her, it is sin, said a voice in his head as he listened to your giggles, but why does it feel like heaven then? 

“Can you turn back into the fox?” he asked, despite himself. Perhaps he was already so drunk on you, and your laughs that he wasn’t thinking straight. You turned your gaze to him, as you let your laughs die out. An arched eyebrow looking at him questioning “You got to see Moony, but I only got to see the fox through his eyes. I wanna see her with my eyes,” he reasoned, although he wasn’t sure if he was actually reasoning. 

“Seems fair enough,” you said with a shrug “It’s Vixen, by the way.” 

“Who’s Vixen?” 

“Me,” you said as if it was obvious “I mean… the fox, she is. Wormmy and Prongs chose it, Sirius said it fit.” 

Remus hummed in response “It certainly does,” he said as he looked at you, the blue moonlight was still illuminating your features, and you certainly looked as charming as ever, tantalising, beguiling even. And the small cut on your lip? The one that he had noticed since the day at the Shrieking Shack and hadn’t disappeared from your face yet, along with the hickey Sirius had left on your neck, made you look as fierce as ever. 

Remus wondered for a second what it would feel like to leave a matching one on the other side of your neck, what would it feel like for Sirius to leave one on his? He knew he was yearning for something he couldn’t have, alas, he had yearned for a normal life so often, he was already used to the feeling. But his fantasies about being normal were never as sweet as his fantasies of you, of Sirius. Of either of your lips attached to his neck or his lips attached to yours, to Sirius’s silky pale skin or to your soft velvety neck. To your collarbone, to the indents that made it almost impossible for him to look back at your face. He remembered you in your Halloween costume again, he remembered Sirius’s devilish smile and matching outfit, and he had to adjust the bedsheets underneath, clearing his throat as he tried to get back on earth. 

It’s Moony’s fault, It’s Moony’s fault! Did she notice? Will she buy it if I tell her that? 

“Is it really a good idea for me to turn into Vixen here? Isn’t it like… dangerous for your wounds and stuff?” 

Remus frowned, buffing diverted “You’ve got rabies or something?”

You gasped again “Of course I don’t! How would you feel if I asked you the same thing?!” He shrugged in response and you considered hitting him again. “Fine then,” you said “but I will bite if you try anything weird.” 

“Define anything weird…” he teased. 

“I’d rather bite instead,” you retorted “It’ll be my payback for the scratch,” you said with a diverted smile before shrinking into Vixen. You were still on the bed as Remus looked at you. You were small, smaller than normal, and certainly smaller than Padfoot, a good deal less than half as tall as him.

“So you are a little witch in the end,” he teased as he looked at you, you bared your teeth at him for a second, and turned your head, “Aww… don’t be like that!” You shook your head and walked a little closer to him, feeling the soft bed give way under your paws.

You stared at him curiously, and you understood why he wanted to see you as a fox so much, it was completely different, the way in which you perceived someone being animal or human. Remus, for example, seemed a lot bigger when you looked at him from the eyes of Vixen. You could also feel the heat radiating from him, which is why you had almost instinctively walked closer. And just like you had been lured by Moony when you left the wand on the floor, Vixen seemed to somehow be lured by Remus. 

You wondered if you were to lose your mind, and be more fox than human, would you still feel just as beguiled by the boy?

Remus was still looking at you when he extended his hand as if he wanted to pet you, but he pulled it back seconds later when he remembered Peter had once straight up bit him when he tried to do it for the first time, and you had threatened to bite. But what you did instead was surprising, since you walked closer and placed your head underneath his extended palm, nuzzling into it like a cat would. 

When Remus started brushing his fingers over your head you leaned in closer, allowing him to scratch just behind your ears, which had you relax so much you almost allowed yourself to lay on the bed. When he pulled away his hand you nuzzled his arm with your nose, so he would come back “Needy, aren’t we?” he teased. You didn’t even care to respond. His hands were so big they almost covered your entire head, and so warm too, it was like having a heated blanket that also gave massages. 

Maybe it was the canine side of you, but he started scratching a particular spot that had you wagging your tail like a small puppy. Remus laughed when he noticed “You still cold?” he asked when he felt your cold paw brush against his forearm. You nuzzled closer to his hand in response. “Wanna come here?” he asked, patting his chest. You tilted your head, looking at his chest rise and fall, still feeling the heat coming from it.  

Maybe it’s weird, shouldn’t have aske– Remus didn’t get to finish his thoughts, you had already climbed all the way up to his chest, fast and careful, trying to avoid the side where you knew the Whomping Willow had hit him. He smiled as you nuzzled your entire body against him, allowing your tail to almost wrap itself around you, bringing a little more warmth into the equation. You then bumped your head against his chest softly. 

“What’s that little witch? You want me to pet you some more?” he asked, but he wasn’t teasing this time, the cocky undertone you’d heard earlier completely gone this time around. You allowed your head to rest and closed your eyes as you moved up and down along his every breath. 

Eventually, he brought his hand over you again, this time resting it over your back, and moving it softly along your fur, with soft strokes from your head to your mid back, your only reaction was to close your eyes and enjoy the way his fingers intertwined with your fur. You wondered if cuddling with Sirius as a fox would feel just as nice and decided you’d have to ask him to try, even if you had no idea how you’d put that into words. 

Either way, Remus was awfully good at cuddling: big, warm, heavy hands, and a total people pleaser. You realised when he figured out the spot that made your tail waggle and focus his scratches there from then on. You had been so comfortable with the boy, that you didn’t even notice the moment you fell asleep. He did see you; and was extra quiet for a while, the only sound being the one of his breaths and your light snoring, or what sounded like snoring at least, Remus wasn’t sure if foxes actually had the ability to snore. 

He had been admiring the way you slept, so peaceful, and so beautiful too, he was sure all the foxes would fall for you in the forest if they met you, not that he would allow any of them to lay a paw on you. Which he then realised might have been one of the stupidest things to ever cross his mind. But at least he wasn’t thinking of you and Sirius. Except when he was and he forced himself to look back at Vixen, letting his anxiety melt away as he continued to brush his hands over your soft red fur. 

And as his anxiety left, so did most of his negative thoughts, and he was engulfed in this ever so peaceful stance that he was sure to cuddle Vixen for the rest of his life had he the chance. After some time, he too started feeling sleepy, his eyelids heavy and his stroking slower, lazier, he too fell asleep. And you must have stayed like that, sleeping on top of him, your slight weight comforting him the same way a weighted blanket would, for at least a couple of hours. Since next thing you knew, there was a high-pitched scream and you felt yourself being pushed off Remus with the force of a spell. 

You fell on your leg and let out a cry of pain, you were rather confused when you noticed the woman that had used a spell against you had been no other than Madam Pomfrey. 

“Wait no! Poppy, stop!” you heard Remus say, panicked and sitting up on the bed to get the woman’s attention. You shook your head and attempted to stand, only for your leg to give in again. You huffed, and while wincing, forced yourself up. You saw Pomfrey approaching you, her wand still in her hands as she pointed it at you. 

You took a couple of steps back, feeling a sharp pain whenever you moved your front leg. “She’s my pet!” Remus said, “Don’t hurt her.”

Pomfrey seemed distracted by the boy’s words and you took that as a chance to scurry under one of the beds and then all the way to the door. 

Every step was agonising, but the adrenaline kept you going all the way to the door that seemed to have shown up out of nowhere. You looked to the sides of the hall to make sure there was no one around before springing back into your human form and pushing the door open, getting in and closing it behind you. You could feel the stickiness of your arm. 

Evans is going to kill me, you thought as you leaned in on the door, allowing yourself to rest for a second before turning to look at the place you had ended up in. And when you did you were surprised, since it looked just like the infirmary, you frowned, and opened the door to see if you had run to the same place that you’d left, but it was positively a different hallway. Different paintings, different statues, different doors, it’s definitely not the same place, you thought.

You went back in after a second and looked around again, now clutching your wounded arm, and tilted your head as you stared. Upon closer inspection, it was most definitely not the same infirmary either. In fact, near the back, there was a rather large mirror and a supply closet near it, the infirmary had large windows instead. You walked near the middle of the room and looked around you, there weren’t many beds either, and the place seemed to be filled with things that could be useful. From warm blankets to a sink and clean rags close to it. 

You blinked a couple of times, taking it all in, the usefulness, the door that seemed to have shown up out of nowhere, you let out a short breath, realisation hitting you  “The Room of Requirements,” you whispered. 

Then started nodding, hyping yourself up for what you’d have to do next. You turned around to see if there was a clock somewhere, which there indeed was, a huge grandfather clock near the door, it was 4 am, and you had just enough time to clean things up and go back to your room, change and get back to class.  

You took your shirt off and winced when you realised the bIoody bandage, if you kept acting so recklessly, you weren’t sure it was ever actually going to heal. You walked towards the sink, and wet one of the rags before passing it over the broken flesh. You winced as the warm piece of cloth passed over the open part of the wound. You stared at it for a second once it was clean, even after all the misadventures, it certainly looked better than it had done the previous night. But it hurt just as much as it had, the painkillers might have been wearing thin by then. 

You walked towards the supply closet, your vision a little blurry due to the sharp pain. Luckily the first thing you spotted was some painkillers,  you instantly drank a bit of it and placed the rest in your pocket. You kept rummaging through it and found dried dittany leaves and some silver dust. So you grabbed a mortar, and some beeswax and mugwort, which were the few things you remembered Lily had used to make her green paste, and recreated it to the best of your abilities. With your dominant arm incapacitated -and drowning in pain since the painkillers hadn’t done their thing- you clenched the mortar handle in your other hand and started to mix.

Once the paste was ready, you washed your hand and with trembling fingers, you gingerly spread the paste across the open wound. A couple of tears started streaming down your cheeks as you did. You must have missed something when you made the paste since instead of making you feel instant relief, it stung like hell for what felt like an eternity before gradually numbing the pain.

Once you had gone through most of the scratch you used the back of your hand to wipe your tears and sniffed as you took some more in your finger, hesitating for a second before biting your lip and finally placing the paste on the parts that you hadn’t covered yet.

When you finished with it, you felt utterly drained. The pain was still there, your arm had even started to throb. You let your head fall back and considered just throwing yourself on the floor, the temptation to just rest almost agonising, but you knew you still had to wrap a bandage around your wounded arm. You were fumbling with the ends of the bandage roll when you remembered Sirius’ words “Don’t be stubborn and let us help!” 

You swallowed, he probably would have run off to help you had you asked, but Sirius must have been just as tired as you were, and even if he hadn’t been hurt physically, you were sure the events of the night had taken a toll on his mind, heck they clearly had done it on yours, so, despite his command, you decided to deal with it in your own. You continued trying for a couple of minutes, and after what felt like an eternity –and in a fit of desperation– you hurled it against the mirror. It bumped down and rolled off, one of the ends staying behind as the rest of the roll continued unravelling. 

You sighed and went to grab another one from the supply closet and started trying once again. This time around you actually managed to open it after a couple of minutes and brought your arm up. You held the end against your arm with your chin and you started wrapping. Eventually, you switched your manual labour for your wand and used a simple spell to levitate the roll of bandages around your arm, making sure that it was just tight enough to seal the wound but not so tight as to cause additional pain, mirroring the way both Sirius and Lily had done it earlier. 

When you were done, you turned to the watch again, you’d hoped you had enough time to lay in one of the beds of the infirmary but when you realised you had spent over an hour there you cast a quick disillusionment charm and sneaked back to the common room. You did consider staying in the Room of Requirements and not going back, but your friends would probably worry if they didn’t see you at all in the morning, Lily would be panicked and the boys, especially Sirius, would cause a mini-scandal. You could almost hear Sirius ask something like “How the hell did you lose my girlfriend Evans?” Which is why, in the end, you decided against it. 

You picked up the mess with a wave of your wand and put your shirt and sweater back on, giving a once over to the room before leaving and walking through the halls and passageways trying to make as little sound as possible. Once you arrive at your common room you let yourself fall into one of the single couches by the fire. Not bothering to counter your disillusionment charm, as you used your wand to kindle the fire. You sank deeper on the couch and sighed, closing your eyes for a snooze when you heard footsteps. 

You turned to the side and spotted Sirius and James walking down, you waved at them, and when they didn’t respond, you remembered you were still kind of invisible. You were about to cancel the spell off when you saw Sirius was already leaning to sit down, on the exact same spot you were. You moved your wounded arm to the side and allowed the boy to sit “Hey babe,” you whispered as you wrapped your arm around his waist, Sirius pretty much jumped off and turned around looking mortified.

You just laughed at his reaction, “Vixen?!” you heard James ask as he squinted his eyes in your direction, you just kept laughing as you finally waved your wand over yourself again, allowing the spell to vanish, the painkiller potion was finally doing its thing and you already felt a lot better.

“Hey Prongs!” you said with a smile. 

“What the hell was that Stashine, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

“Don’t you get one of those whenever you look into my eyes?” you asked with a playful pout, James laughed again, and your boyfriend just looked at you surprised. 

“How did you know it would be Sirius the one to sit there?” James asked. 

“I was already here, I just took the chance,” you said, scooting to the side to allow Sirius to sit by your side, even in the small space. He didn’t think about it twice and sat beside you, pulling you by the waist half over one of his legs so you’d be more comfortable.

“Absolutely brilliant!” James complimented, Sirius threw him a look “And you disillusionment charm too, I’d never seen one so good.”

“Thanks!” you said with a smile “I’ve been using it a lot recently.” 

“You do know you can just take the Invisibility Cloak, right?” 

You nodded, not if I have to tell you what I need it for, you thought. “That’s very nice of you Jammie,” you said with a smile.

“How’s the arm?” Sirius asked. 

You looked at him for a second, a tight smile on your lips before you nodded “Great.”

Sirius frowned, not quite buying it, but didn’t press further. “Why were you out here, luv?” James asked “I’d assume Lily would rather be checking on you instead of having you here by yourself.” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said pointing to your eyebags “And the fire seemed tempting… and also I went to check on Remus who was avoiding me.” 

“You noticed?” Sirius asked about at the same time James said something like “You went to see Remus by yourself?!”

“Of course I noticed! I went to check on him like 5 times and he was asleep all of them. Tom comes up and says he had a chat with him seconds after we went to visit. It was suspicious enough. And then there was Pomfrey’s pitiful look whenever I showed up…” 

“He sometimes does that… I assumed he was doing it when we went before lunch. Did you get him to talk to you?” Sirius asked.

You nodded “Yeah, we’ve sorted things out, had to call him out on how dumb he was being though.” 

Sirius laughed at the casual way you said it, and pulled you a bit closer to him “That’s my girl!”

You were distracted for a good second, remembering the way Remus had pulled Vixen closer and how similar it had been to the way Sirius had done it, you wondered if it was a Brit thing, to be so touchy –which you already knew Sirius was- or if instead it was something very particular of the boys. 

“It’s kinda late for flying, isn’t it?” James asked as he looked at the clock, clearly the messy sleepless nights had also taken a toll on him. 

“Who are you and what have you done to James Potter?” You teased. 

“Don’t mess with him, Kit, he might change his mind.”

“Kit?” You asked, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. 

He shrugged “If you can call me Puppy I can call you Kit,” he said simply, to which you laughed, it wasn’t that you didn’t like it, rather you were a little surprised. And really, the more you thought about it, it was rather endearing. 

“Does that mean we’re not flying then?” you asked, turning back to James, “even if the next game is on Sunday?” 

James groaned, placing a pillow over his head to muffle the sounds. “Now that’s straight-up torture,” Sirius said with a teasing smile as he pointed at James. 

“Either way, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to play, we might have to move the–“ 

“–Don’t even joke about it Potter!” you said in a serious tone. 

James winced, you didn’t call him James, not even Prongs, you were not happy about his suggestion, but he was the captain, and he had to look out for his team, he had to look out for you, “You’re hurt.” 

“It was barely a scratch!” 

“You keep saying that, but I see the way you clutch onto your arm when the painkillers wear off–“ 

“I’ll be like new by Sunday!” you argued again “I heal fast.” 

“Sunday is in three days!” 

“Back me up on this?” you asked, turning to Sirius, who had a small frown on his face. 

He couldn’t find a way to say what he wanted to say without upsetting you “Darling, maybe Prongs is right…” 

You turned to him exasperated “Don’t block me like this James! We’re playing Slytherin, I want to show those assholed that they didn’t–” You cut yourself off, not being able to finish the sentence either. 

James’ face seemed to soften at your words, Sirius and Remus had somewhat told them what happened that night, or at least what they knew, and what they assumed. You hadn’t talked to them much about it, let alone go into detail, but either way, he understood. He got why you were so desperate to prove that you could still fight -or fly in this case–, you needed to show them that no matter what they did, they wouldn’t bring you down, “We’ll think about it,” he conceded. You were still looking at him with a frown, “Listen if your arm really is better off by then, then you’ll play.” 

“You promise you’ll let me?” 

Sirius was looking at James reproachfully, as if he wasn’t happy with his answer, but didn’t say a thing. He could try to convince you of dropping it later, although he was pretty sure you wouldn’t change your mind about it, not unless you were bedridden or something. 

“I promise we’ll think about it.” You nodded, that was probably as good as it would get. Now all you had to do was play the part of someone who was not affected at all by the hit and you’d be able to play on Sunday. 

“Aren’t you hungry luv?” Sirius asked. 

And strangely enough, you weren’t that hungry, in fact, you hadn’t been hungry since you went to visit Remus, which made you assume it was a Lycanthropy thing. Regardless, a warm cup of tea, along with some toast did sound incredibly good, so you nodded, motioning to stand up when you saw Remus walk in, he looked visibly relieved when he spotted you, even as you were almost sitting on Sirius’ lap. 

“Good to see you’re all right, after the fall I thought you might have–“ 

“–What fall?” Sirius asked, turning to you. 

“That?! It was nothing…” you said, “I had turned into Vixen and Pomfrey saw me, and was probably horrified since I was close to Rem, and then she pushed me off with a spell. I mean it hurt a little but it was nothing…” 

“You were thrown in the air and fell to the ground, and it was nothing?” Sirius asked as he toyed with the hem of your sweater’s sleeve, to see if he could lift it enough to check on your wound.

“Yes, Pomfrey wasn’t trying to hurt me, and Remus stopped her from following.” 

Remus was sure he’d seen you break the fall with the same arm that was hurt but decided not to press any further, since you clearly didn’t want to go too much into detail. He plopped down next to James on the sofa and turned to Sirius “How’s the plan going?” He asked the long-haired boy. 

“What plan?” you asked with furrowing your eyebrows just a little bit. 

“The revenge plan.” 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Rem is finally back yay! How are we feeling? Personally, I love cuddles, wish I could actually transport into this universe to get some od Moony's warm cuddles. Thoughts?

Raead more Marauders Fiction

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Gloves

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: public sex, fingering, smut, angst, threats, sexual tension, domination, violence, mention of the murder ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Although the thought of marriage and motherhood had terrified her before her father's death, now, being married at last and hoping to become the mother of her husband-king's children, she understood that it was all just a matter of the person she was to spend her life with.

Her husband, though terrifying and cruel, understood his duty as a husband and as a lover and fulfilled them to the best of his ability. She did not expect sweet words or confessions from him, knowing that they were not in his nature, however, he showed his affection to her in a different way.

Through his actions.

When that insolent woman dared to suggest that she become her husband's mistress in the future, that she would bear his child, she felt disbelief and a sense of betrayal spill over her insides.

She clenched her lips, trying with all her might to hold back the tears of humiliation that appeared under her eyelids.

How dare she?

"Hold her." She heard her husband's cold voice and saw him stand from his throne with a sudden, impatient movement.

"− give me your sword −" He said to Ser Criston in an unobjectionable voice − his guards grabbed the woman under her arms and forced her to kneel before them. She noticed with satisfaction that there was no longer a trace of the certainty of a moment ago on her face.

Her husband was unpredictable, burning like a fire that could not be tamed.

Anyone who tried was doomed to burn.

She listened to her desperate explanations with her lips clenched, pale, begging in her mind that her husband would not change his mind, that he would not let her go after what she had said, allowing her to leave a scar in her heart forever.

The thought that one day they would meet again without her knowledge and her prediction would come true.

A great uproar spread around them, people shouting at each other, until suddenly a blade swished swiftly in front of her − the woman who had just stood before them was deprived of her head, which rolled down the stairs to the stone floor with a thud.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said lowly, with some kind of regret towards himself for allowing such a situation to happen.

He looked at her with a calmness in his eye, a conviction that he had done the right thing, that whatever this woman had predicted would never come true.

Once again, he made her feel an overwhelming sense of relief, like when she saw her mother and learned that she was alive.

She thought, looking at him with parted lips, feeling sweet throbbing between her thighs, that she would give him everything, would drown with him in her blood, would not let him carry the burden of this sin alone.

He did it for her.

Never before had she come as hard as she had that evening, feeling the tart taste of blood in her mouth as he slammed into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her weeping cunt with his fat, swollen cock, aroused as much as she was.

She couldn't even remember when she reached her peak, feeling that she almost screamed with pleasure along with him.

She sighed quietly as she felt his hot seed finally spill inside her, feeling only fulfilment, only peace.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked uncertainly, horrified surely as she was at how brutal and sacrilegious this closeness was.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she hadn't been this relaxed in a long time.

She heard him sigh out loud as she nodded her head, his large, rough hand stroking lightly her soft buttock.

"Let's take a bath." He suggested and she nodded again, completely without strength.

They undressed slowly when they were left alone with the steaming tub filled with pleasantly warm water. She dipped her feet into it first and then sat between his legs, resting her wet back against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. She heard him hum quietly, feeling his fingers combing through her hair in a tender gesture.

They lay like this in silence, calming down at last, fingertips of his free hand trailing thoughtfully over her bare body making her feel goosebumps.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her suddenly, startling her completely − his voice quiet and uncertain, on the verge of a whisper.

She lifted her face higher, twisting with a quiet splash of water, wanting to look at him, raising her fingers to his cheek and running them over his skin.

"No." She replied softly, warmly, his hand combing through her hair with a light, musing gesture.

"I tried to kill you." He said lowly, as if merely stating a fact that he felt should concern her.

"Then why am I still alive?" She asked tracing her fingers along his chin, cupping her nose against his cheek. She heard him snort under his breath.

She didn't have to look at him to know that an amused grin was painted on his face.

She felt his hand trace a circle over her lower abdomen, massaging her warm skin under the water, knowing that all he was thinking now was the fact that she was filled with his spend.

Neither of them said anything more.

They conveyed most of the things to each other without words. She felt that he was able to express more with his hands than with his mouth, his fingers combing through her hair, stroking her naked body at night showing her what he felt, what he desired.

They both knew how empty and worthless words could be.

After what had happened to Alys Rivers, no woman dared to even attempt to come close to her husband anymore. She decided to show mercy to the lord who had brought her before them and was plotting against her, knowing that if her husband killed him, his whole family would turn against him.

She knew that the whole court had witnessed what would befall those who would try to come between them.

She found with amusement that they did not understand where their attachment and affection came from, thinking that it had a purely physical undertone that could always pass when someone more beautiful or more tempting appeared on the horizon.

Their marriage, however, was primarily based on how deeply they were bonded by their pasts, how they experienced things similarly, sunk in darkness, coming out at night to haunt the castle's inhabitants like ghosts.

She had the impression that there was a disturbing aura around them, that people feared them not only because of their power, but also because of that hint of madness they saw in their eyes.

After a time of war and unrest, her husband's lords advised him to take advantage of the fact that the new year was approaching, to use the date as a break from the past and to allow celebrations in the fortress as well as throughout the kingdom.

"Do you think it's appropriate? To hold a carnival and balls for chattels and drunkard lords?" He asked, sitting stretched out in his chair, obviously unconvinced by the idea, yet realising that his cool nature may have overlooked some of his subjects' needs, which did not mean that they were not important.

"The people have at last regained their King, peace has prevailed. Even though you won't do it, they want to move on and forget what happened eight years ago, begin again. Let them enjoy themselves, give them a day full of wine, bread and dances, let them decorate their town and enjoy themselves as they wish." She said softly, looking at him with a gentle gaze. He sighed heavily, massaging his forehead with his hand.

"Am I supposed to sit for hours behind a table and watch them make fools of themselves?" He asked impatiently, and she pressed her lips together, approaching him slowly with the quiet rustling of her gown.

"Arrange for it to be a masked ball. Let's blend in with the crowd. Don't we also have reason to celebrate, my husband?"

To her surprise, after much thought, he agreed to her proposal. His lords accepted his decision with relief, themselves apparently looking for an opportunity at long last to get out of the stress and sacrifice they had put in to help him regain his throne.

None of them told each other what they would wear or when they would appear in the throne room, recognising that it would spoil everything. She ordered that a matte, soft black gown be prepared for her, with a cut neckline with exposed shoulders and back, bold and unworthy of a queen or true lady.

She wore a black mask over her face, sheathed in a material identical to that of her gown, her dark hair loose. She did not put on any jewellery − she liked the simplicity and at the same time shamelessness of this attire.

She thought that this night she was not a Queen, she was not a lady but a shadow, a phantom, a mist, something intangible, something she had always wanted to be.

As she left her chamber she was immediately struck by the sounds of violin and flute music, loud conversations and laughter. She turned into the corridor and noticed hundreds of people discussing with each other, each of them disguised, masks over their faces.

She noted with satisfaction that no one bowed to her, that no one paid any attention to her, that she was like air.

She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, a sense of empowerment and impunity at the same time.

She stepped into the main hall, which was the throne room, looking at the couples dancing in the centre of it − lovers for just one night pressed their bodies close to the walls, enjoying the time they were given as best they could, knowing that tomorrow they would have to return to their husbands and wives.

They all had goblets filled to the brim with wine − she could smell the roasts, soups and breads from the tables around her.

It seemed to her that she had joined some temple of promiscuity and splendour, her heart pounding like mad.

She walked unhurriedly among the crowds of people, gazing intently at their fanciful costumes, eavesdropping on their conversations, listening with amusement as the apparent anonymity gave the court's inhabitants the courage to speak their minds about her and her husband.

"I once passed by our King's chambers at night. There were such noises coming from it that I thought they were both dying in agony." Said a woman with light hair pinned up in a bun, her mask and gown blue, adorned with gold threads.

"She is a witch. As a traitor's daughter, she certainly has her ways of deceiving the King's mind." The other woman, younger, replied − she seemed to recognise in her the daughter of one of the lords who had strenuously tried for weeks to stumble upon her husband in the crown's library, wishing to seduce him.

"They are both mad." She hummed to them with amusement, and saw that they looked at her, trying in the semi-darkness to recognise who she might have been, but she did not let them stare at her and moved on, looking thoughtfully at the dancing pairs.

She was surprised to hear someone moaning behind her, and spotted a couple who were clearly just having a rapture with each other − both of them pressed up against the wall, hidden in the shadows, apparently hoping that no one would interrupt their obviously wonderful delight.

She smiled under her breath, turning her face away − she felt a throbbing between her thighs at the thought that her husband might take her in the same way this evening, in front of everyone.

She almost laughed at the thought that perhaps these prudish ladies would recognise them and their moans.

"My Lady." She shuddered when heard someone whisper behind her, masculine and low, pleasantly throaty. She did not turn towards him, looking ahead.

"You caught my attention right away. That beautiful back." The man muttered, running his fingers over her exposed skin − she felt a pleasant shiver, but did not bestow a single glance on him.

"I have to dance with you, my Lady, because I swear I'm going to lose my mind."

She lifted her chin higher and hummed, considering his words.

"We have enough madness in this stronghold so I am afraid I must prevent your downfall and agree, my Lord." She said, extending her hand to him − he took it respectfully and led her towards the spinning pairs.

She hadn't done it for months and never in this way and this man, whoever he was, was an excellent dancer.

He dared to shamelessly place his hand on her bare back and only then did she lift her warning gaze to him; his hair was dark and curly, reaching his shoulders, he was well built and tall.

She saw that he parted his lips when he saw a small part of her face, her eyes, lips and chin emerging from under her black mask, looking at her as if his breath had been taken away.

"Tell me you don't have a husband." He choked out between one turn and the next, their hands meeting in another movement.

"I have a husband, my Lord, and I am a faithful wife." She said softly − the man licked his lower lip, leaning over her, only to take a few steps away from her, their hands touching again.

"Is that so?" He murmured defiantly, and she smiled, amused, feeling herself throbbing at the thought that her king, her husband might have just watched her from afar, might have recognised her, might have been furious with jealousy.

That he might have wanted to kill this brazen man.

"Mmm. I would be careful if I were you, my Lord. My husband is dangerous. He is a breathing death." She whispered, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart at that thought, feeling with excitement that she was wet, her fleshy walls pulsing around nothing.

"I don't fear death. What I fear for is that I will never see you again." He said when the music ended, applause echoed around them, even though he should have done so, he didn't let go of her hand.

"You can be sure of that." She hummed with amusement, taking her hand and turning away from him, disappearing into the crowd.

She heard his desperate calls behind her and laughed, feeling like a mermaid who was leading an innocent young man to be devoured by a monster.

She was hot and walked over to the table to pour herself some wine, however the steel gilded jug was heavy and she had trouble lifting it. She shuddered and gasped when someone stopped right behind her, a large hand dressed in a black leather glove took it from her and filled her goblet halfway.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my Lady?" She heard a cold, deep, familiar voice behind her, a powerful shiver of desire passed through her − she involuntarily parted her lips feeling the unbearable pulsing of her walls and lifted her cup to her lips, taking a deep sip from it.

"Yes, my Lord." She replied innocently, feeling his hot breath on her neck, his dark, dangerous, sinister aura.

"Dance with me."

She felt her heart stop for a moment and swallowed loudly, turning over her shoulder.

A tear-stained mask on his face, a hood on his head.

He looked like one of her father's ghosts.

Vhagar.

He held out his hand to her and she placed hers on it, allowing him to guide her between the couples spinning to the rhythm of the music.

She felt stunned by his scent and his presence − if a moment ago she had been a cruel siren longing to devour, now she longed to be devoured, wanted to burn in the fire of his wrath, to die in the embrace of his arms if that was his wish.

As they made a turn their hands clasped tightly over their bodies; they were far too close to each other to consider their dance decent, however this night no one paid any attention to such things, his gaze from under the transparent black material cold and distant.

"Do you enjoy balancing on the edge of life and death, my Lady?" He asked low, his voice like ice, like a sharp blade − her pink lips swollen with desire parted slightly, droplets of sweat on her bare arms as they spun around each other, their hands touching.

"Yes." She whispered and heard him hum, as if he accepted her answer.

She felt overwhelmed, at the same time knowing who was behind the mask, yet being able to pretend that it was a complete stranger, a phantom who wanted to kill her, rip her entrails apart.

They didn't take their eyes off each other for the entire dance − there was something sensual in their movements, his gloved hand barely touching her bare back, she felt like she was about to die of lust.

She wanted him to do this to her, and he knew it, he could see it in her eyes.

When the music silenced they bowed to each other. She immediately headed towards the crowd, glancing at him meaningfully over her shoulder, watching to see if he would follow her. She stopped only at the wall, with nowhere else to go, her face illuminated only by the flame of a torch hanging nearby.

He walked towards her with a calm, lazy, firm step, like an executioner, like a judge, like a sentence to be imposed on her. She moaned as he turned her violently towards the wall, immediately pushing against her, she felt his hardness pressed against her buttocks.

"Whore." He hissed, she parted her lips and mewled, feeling her moist core throb around nothing, her cheek pressed against the wall, her fingers clenched helplessly on the cold stone.

She heard him pull off his gloves and throw them on the floor − one of his hands grabbed her neck and forced her to arch back and buck up, the other with an impatient, rough movement lifted the material of her gown at the front, slipping immediately between her thighs, they both groaned low with pleasure when he felt how wet she was.

"− what happened here? − hm? − fuck − all sticky −" He breathed out between her helpless, sweet moans, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, digging deeply into her skin around her pearl, teasing her with circular, sure strokes, involuntarily her hips began to rub against his hard cock hidden in his breeches behind her.

"− oh − oh gods, yes −" She mumbled dulled by how pleasurable it was − she heard him chuckle lowly behind her, his other hand clasped tighter around her neck. She squirmed as his finger tentatively slid inside her, only teasing her slit.

"− look at him − look at him when you fuck yourself with my fingers −" He growled and she obeyed his command, looking at the man who only a moment ago was ready to ask her to marry him − he stood in the distance looking at them in disbelief, his lips slightly parted.

She moaned, responding with her hips to his strokes when she realised that he must have imagined he was in the place of that black hooded figure standing behind her.

"− does your husband fuck you too rarely? − doesn't he stretch you well with his cock? − hm? −" He snarled, sliding his finger in and out deeper and deeper, pressing and rubbing again and again the wonderful spot hidden between her fleshy walls.

"− I − mghmm −" She mumbled out feeling that she was about to come, panting loudly along with him, his hips rubbing aggressively against her buttocks.

"− let's show him what duty a husband has to his wife −" He exhaled, sliding his finger out of her, his hand wet with her juices lifted her gown up.

She felt a chill wash over her exposed buttocks − there was music and loud conversations all around them, everyone could see what they were doing and although they weren't the only ones, the thought that it was happening right now and this way, made her legs tremble.

She heard him quickly undo the clasp of his coat, covering her with his body, not allowing anyone but him to see her womanhood, all swollen and wet with her moisture. She squirmed when she felt his freed, hard erection hit her bare skin, his fingers spreading her folds before him as the fat head of his cock pressed against her slit from below.

He opened her wide with one simple, sharp thrust, slamming into her like mad, his hand clamped around her neck forcing her to lean back more − she could feel his hot breath against her ear despite his mask.

"− look at him − he's fucking himself with his hand while looking at my wife − at my − fucking − wife −" He growled sinisterly, infuriated, rooting into her quickly and brutally, with each thrust of his hips forcing her sore, fleshy muscles to barely fit him in, his thick, swollen cock rubbing her so wonderfully that a cry broke from her lips − even if she wanted to she couldn't see anyone anymore, her gaze and mind clouded from pleasure.

"− you know he's already dead, don't you? − ah − would you want him to touch you before he died? − for him to root his cock deep inside you just for once? −" He hissed out between aggressive, deep thrusts, pounding into her with a loud slapping of flesh against flesh, both of them panting desperately, her body responding to his every move with rocking her hips.

"− n-no − your seed − I want it inside me −" She babbled with difficulty between her whimpers and his thrusts from which her whole body trembled − she heard his low groan of surprise and delight, his cock throbbing hard inside her, feeling her walls clench around him greedily.

"− beg − fucking beg −" He growled pounding it into her so hard that her pleasure was on the verge of pain − she cried out loudly sensing that a few more of his movements and she would come, feeling that wonderful tickle in her lower abdomen every time the tip of his cock rubbed against her upper wall again.

"− please − please, husband, have mercy − fill your faithful wife −" She mewled pleadingly, despairingly, pathetically, thinking only of the fact that she wanted him to come inside her, that she wanted to feel his spend trickling down her thighs when she looked again at this insolent man.

"− faithful? − you let him touch you − your bare skin that belongs to me − fuck − you don't deserve this grace −" He mocked licking his lips loudly, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her wetness with each ruthless thrust of his hips.

"− p-please − oh − oh gods, m close −" She mumbled out in delight and parted her lips in shock as a powerful wave of pleasure surged through her body again, again and again.

She clenched her eyes shut moaning shamelessly − she heard him gasp lowly, pounding into her faster, panting heavily, his cock twitching all over inside her.

"− fucking take it − take it-take it-take it −" He growled rooting it into her so hard that her throbbing walls forced him to let go and at last he filled her with himself with a sigh of relief, rocking his hips inside her for a while longer, several couples standing near them looked at them in disbelief.

She squirmed with despair when she felt him slide out of her − he tied his breeches quickly and lowered her gown with an impatient flick of his hand, covering her buttocks and thighs where his seed was trickling down. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had moved forward, between the crowd.

She sank to the floor, panting heavily, her face hot from the exertion huddled against the cold wall, her heart pounding like mad.

She saw that those around her were looking at her and she wondered if they recognised her.

After a moment, she rose as if nothing had happened and moved towards her husband's chamber, stepping inside without a word, slipping her black gown off her shoulders, lying on his bed with only her black mask over her face, her thighs sticky from their mingled moisture.

She lay in the dim candlelight as he stepped into his chamber − her attention immediately drawn to the fact that he had no mask, his hood slipped from his head, his hands all covered in blood.

With a calm, nonchalant movement, he approached the table and undid the buckles of his cloak, dropping it to the ground, sinking his hands into a bowl of water, washing them thoroughly of the sticky red.

"Has my wife enjoyed her evening?"

"Yes, my King." She whispered softly, lying on her back, one of her legs bent at the knee swinging slightly from side to side, her hands placed on either side of her head.

"Mmm."

"I warned him that I have a husband and that I am an obedient, faithful wife. That this was the last day of his life. But he didn't listen." She whispered, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, knowing that they were both mad, that she shouldn't feel such heat at the thought that he was so sickly jealous of her.

And yet.

"Mmm, no need to fret about it anymore, my love. He will never bother you again."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[naomis-daydream]

on the throne // shuri udaku

summary: just read tbh….ok fine i’ll explain😒. being queen comes with a load of royal responsibilities; from border patrol, to technological advancements, and everything in between. though wakanda’s ruler realizes there’s a special someone she’s been neglecting. shuri’s come up short, and her wife’s coming to collect what’s hers.

warnings: pregnant!wife!reader. descriptions of pregnancy (obvs), teeny weeny bit of oral (shuri receiving). barely proofread.

a/n: this is the product of baby fever and ovulation😜 also this is a draft from forever ago, it kinda sucks so im dropping it under the cloak of night🥷🏽.

there were many things shuri loved about your body.

your hands, for instance. they always offered her a soothing rub or relaxing touch whenever she became stressed or overwhelmed with the weight of the crown. or something soft to hold as you spent evenings watching the wakandan sunset from the palace garden.

then there were your arms. shuri found that she only slept peacefully when yours were wrapped tightly around her middle. and if the royal ever woke to realize you rolled away, she’d assure she wiggled her way back into your grasp.

and bast your thighs. if the queen could spend the rest of her days between them, the soft, plush cushions, there’d be absolutely no resistance from the panther.

now it was worse, and it was all your fault. it was one of the many nights the queen spent inside you. somewhere between when she slowly pushed into you and when she brought you nearing your third high of the night, you had joked about her getting you pregnant. something about her having the genius and the looks to make a great gene pool. “fill me up, my queen,” you uttered, “give it to me. i want all of you.” you we’re fucking tantalizing.

it didn’t help that she had the science to make what originated as a lustful thought a reality.

now, seven months later, everything she loved about you only grew as your body changed. your natural curves only hypnotized her more as your hips widened and breasts swelled.

shuri also couldn’t help but smile when you wobbled cutely around your shared home due to the swell of your ankles, and while you refused to be helped with an act as simple as walking, you would feign resistance to shuri’s pleads to ease your pain before caving to let her massage your aching joints.

but the absolute worst part was the hormones. the cravings that made shuri tip-toe into the kitchen for you well after midnight, the hot flashes that would cause you to walk practically bare around the palace, and your sex drive, yours nearly matched that of her’s when she took the herb. though, only two of those things seemed to be prevailing today, where the only thing separating you from her was the thinnest dresses. it wasn’t unusual for you to forgo a bra this late into your pregnancy, but it seemed you’d forgotten any undergarments at all today as you sat on the lap of the queen, grinding helplessly into her thigh.

“yiza, mntwana,” you purred. come on, baby. “let me touch you.”

your wife squirmed from her place on the throne, hands on your hips as she guided you. you trailed your lips down her jaw to land on her pulse point before sucking intently.

while you were preoccupied, the woman took the chance to glance at the clock in the room, hissing slightly when noticing the time and when you sunk your teeth into her flesh. you were going to ruin her, she knew that much. the sad part is, she was gonna let you.

“the elders,” she whined, finding words rather hard when you moaned against her. “our meeting, they’ll be here in minutes!”

you pause your movements to lean up to her ear, whispering, “fuck the meeting.”

shuri threw her head back, sinking further into the the chair and further into the trap you set in motion the minute you walked into the room.

you always started by entering with a sweet smile, followed by asking her how her day was or what project she was working on. then you’d begin rubbing her shoulders, kissing her neck while muttering sweet nothings and telling her she worked too hard. “let me take care of you,” you’d say, “you deserve to feel good, don’t you wanna feel good?” and soon shuri would end up on her back, eyes wide shut as her legs were thrown over your shoulders and your fingers snug between her walls.

this time was different though. it had to be. the council meeting was nearing by the minute, and you showed no signs of waving the white flag.

“entle,” she began, licking her lips as she spoke. “i-i really think we should wait.” you continued to kiss her, attaching your lips to whatever skin you could reach as shuri continues. “once it’s over we can do whatever you want, my love.” her hands run over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently.

you pulled away from her, hands still cupping her cheeks. “i wanna do whatever i want now.”

“i know. i promise i-i’ll make it up to you.” she says, tilting her head up to look at you before placing a soft kiss to your lips. it’s sweet, the taste of her, and as much as you wanted more, she pulls away. “you better,” you scolded, “you’re the one who did this to me anyway.” you nod your head down to your stomach, stretching against the fabric of your maxi dress. the hormones had been driving you insane. and it didn’t help that shuri spent so much time away with all her new duties. this left you to take care of your own needs more often than you’d like to admit. you needed her. to feel her. while it might seem like you were caving, her majesty should’ve known better than too assume her wife would back down so easily.

your words bring a smile to shuri’s lips, a laugh escaping her as you sigh while you rise off of her, giving her a full view of your bump as you do so.

“whatever you want, mama.”

you hum a lazy response as your queen visibly relaxes, no longer antsy with your aroused antics. though she wasn’t in the clear just yet, you came here for a reason, and wouldn’t leave unfulfilled.

a simple idea sprouts in your head, and soon, a mischievous smile dances across your features as you reach back to unclasp your necklace. shuri raises a brow in question, but remains silent as you both watch the dainty jewelry slide down your chest and onto the floor, right between her feet.

“oops.”

the royal shakes her head, already having a clue of where this was headed. but you’re already sinking to your knees, eyes never leaving hers.

you rub your palms along the fabric of her black dress, reaching just below her knees. you play with the hem, eyeing the fickle fabric before tracing your fingertips higher. and higher. and high-

“thandiwe.” she warned.

beloved. how wholesome a name in contrast to your actions upon her. you peered up at her, batting your lashes at her. “yes, my queen?”

“we have ten minutes before our meeting-”

“i’ve made you come in less,” you continue, hooking your fingers around her underwear.

shuri wanted to protest, she really did, and she tried to. she mutters tiny objections at first, and you almost believe them, but the way she lifted her hips to help you remove her underwear, the way she whined when you tugged her to the throne’s edge, and the way she threw her head back with the first stripe you licked up her center told you all you needed to know. let’s face it, she knew she was done for the minute you walked in the room.

you begin to place gentle kisses to her clit, giving her a little stimulation, but not quite enough for her liking. shuri shudders above you, legs shaking gently. she began to realize just how long it’d been since the two of you had sex.

“still want me to stop?” you asked, tongue twirling around her entrance, to which she moaned in response. a light chuckle escapes your lips. “i’ll take that as a no.”

[hey-august]

A Favor for the Captain - Chapter 2 | NSFW (Buggy x afab!reader)

→ Chapter 1

Description: The day after helping your captain with a favor, you end up stuck on night duty again. As much as Buggy wanted to avoid you and his feelings, he still has something he needs your help with. Word count: ~2.3k A/N: This is the last chapter for this story. Sorry it took so long, perfectionism and imposter syndrome fight dirty, lol. I hope you enjoy this! Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x afab!reader, no use of Y/N, dry humping, heavy petting, buggy is still bad at feelings and communicating. All parties are consenting adults. Tags: @angeli-fucking-cat

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You woke up the next day as restless as the sea. Waves swayed the ship as you slept, rocking your body through memories of the night before, cloaked in dreams. A party of stars laughed and danced around you, each one burning brighter than the next, until they all exploded into darkness leaving you behind. Whispers of loneliness and confusion slipped away like sand as the mid-morning sun carried you to consciousness.

A big yawn and stretching didn’t shake the sleep from your body as efficiently as sharp knocks at the door, followed by words that flipped your stomach with an icy chill. 

“Hey, you ‘wake? I need a favor.” 

With the weight of an iceberg in your body, you cracked the door and were greeted by a face of desperation and hope worn by one of your crewmates. You slumped against the doorframe as relief melted the tension in your body. The pirate frantically explained that he was scheduled for night duty and needed to switch, but everyone he asked so far had refused. The reasoning was difficult to follow. There was something about a friend of their cousin, dancing, a dinner party, and not wanting to let down family. Once the pieces were cobbled together, you were able to see the whole puzzle.

“So, you don’t want to miss a date with a townie?” you asked bluntly.

“I mean- well- that’s a part of it. Ya’ see, I told him that…”

You cut off the rerun by agreeing to swap duties - one overnight shift for two bathroom cleaning shifts. After an appreciative handshake with both of his hands wrapped around one of yours, he bounced off to prepare for the date. His jubilant exit left you wondering if you should have bargained for a better deal. At least this gave you a reason to look for the meteor shower again. You ignored the pit in your stomach, choosing to believe it was from the last-minute changes and not related to anything else that might involve stars or favors.

With only a half-day left before your shift, you headed to town for food and freedom. Elsewhere, someone breathed easier knowing that you were no longer on the ship. It was only a coincidence that the captain was watching the dock when you departed. He’s responsible for his crew and should monitor who comes and goes - that’s what Buggy told himself. Truthfully, he kept finding reasons to stay near portholes so that he could look for you without the risk of getting too close. 

Buggy felt dirty. Shame had him in a vice grip - stuck between remorse about what happened and guilt because he enjoyed it. Commitment to the crew had you willingly follow your captain’s filthy, degrading orders. Every lecherous detail - the way you felt, how you sounded, your sinful expressions - was etched into his memory. Yet, he still wanted more. For that reason, he also wanted to avoid you. 

The second desire was bypassed when Buggy went to check on the night guard. Unaware of the shift change, he didn’t expect to see you lounging against the railing, back to the sea. Most of the crew opted to stay on shore when they weren’t working, and the rare few who did come back only returned to sleep. Unfortunately for Buggy, you were awake, alone, and alert. Despite darkness flooding the deck, the captain was in clear view. What fucking luck. He considered a wordless exit, but before he could retreat, you called out to him.

“Good evening, Captain.”

A simple greeting. One that tugged at his achy heart and added to the guilty pressure he felt. He knew that walking away would only add to the restlessness. Pulling courage from the part of him that was glad to have an excuse to be near you, Buggy walked over to return the greeting. He joined you in leaning along the railing, foolishly hoping that your presence might actually pacify the turmoil in his body.

The tension radiating from your captain mirrored the nervousness you felt. It was obvious you startled him and you didn’t know why. Not exactly. Did he want to see someone else? Was he trying to avoid you? Both questions were similar and neither offered comfort. You stared at the illuminated town, hoping to find clarity in your tangled thoughts. The ambient sound of waves from the sandy shore and trickles of music emphasized the silence on the ship.

“On guard duty, again?” Buggy repeated his questioning from last night, feeling stuck in the stillness between you two.

You wondered if that was the answer you were looking for. The captain of the ship wasn’t aware of who was protecting the ship and expected to see someone else. That sounded reasonable and the thought made your heart lighter.

“Yeah, I was asked to swap shifts. Something about going on a date,” you explained while waving a hand towards town.

“You- going on a date?” The question cannonballed out of the pirate’s mouth faster than he thought it, along with an uncontrolled glare. Both were met with a confused look. 

“Not me… I just swapped shifts,” you responded with a softness that disarmed him.

Buggy nodded silently, his jealousy collapsing into humiliation. Unlike yesterday, being near you was anything but peaceful. Each piece of him was screaming to get closer and he could hardly control himself. Everything he did or said added to the rubble of guilt he was trapped under.

“It gives me another chance to look for shooting stars, though.” You continued talking, desperate to move past the awkward miscommunication by clinging to one topic that felt safe.

“I guess you haven’t seen any yet. If I knew you were here, I woulda came prepared.” Buggy picked up on your unspoken cue. Following the script, he aimed a finger towards the sky above the town and cocked his hand back as he let loose an imaginary shot.

“Well, there’s always next time.” And with that, the space between you two shrank.

Buggy marveled at how you handled his clumsy conversational skills with ease. Each step he took with uncertainty or pushed by feelings he couldn’t handle, you redirected until he was on the path he really wanted. One that he could pretend he was walking with you, hand in hand.

“You don’t mind being stuck on the ship while the island is all freaked out?” Buggy chuckled when you groaned at his choice of words. 

“Not at all, actually. I like it here…I like the ocean.” You turned your back to the town and spoke to the water’s horizon. “I also don’t mind helping out when I can. I’m just glad to be part of your crew.” 

His crew. You watched Buggy in the corner of your eyesight, hoping he understood what you were telling him. Nerves had you dancing around the subject, afraid to get too close to the fire burning in your chest. But the light and the heat were too much to ignore or keep inside.

The spark you sent his way ignited thoughts that were far too flammable. Fragile ideas that housed his insecurities. Buggy heard that you liked to help the crew. That must be why you indulged him yesterday - you simply wanted to help the captain of the crew you belong to. Anything beyond that was a shadow puppet cast by his desire and used to chase away loneliness. Something inside the pirate clung to that puppet, begging Buggy to say the words that would let the errant fire consume him entirely. He listened to that small voice and chose to believe the ache in his body was just physical desire.

“In that case, I need you to help me with something,” Buggy said before stepping behind you.

The familiar tone in his voice had your heart pounding wildly. A similar sensation was mirrored down lower as Buggy pressed his body against yours. With gloved hands holding the railing on each side, you were surrounded. Buggy rested his head on the back of yours as he fitted his body around your form, only softening when you eased into his touch. 

You weren’t surprised by his hardness this time. Actually, you may have surprised Buggy with how you accepted his request. His grip on the railing tightened as you pressed your ass against his erection to make sure it was nestled and snug.

“Is this what you need help with, Captain?” You hoped the shake in your voice was unnoticeable. A nod against the back of your head confirmed both hopes, so you began to grind against him.

Buggy’s face was buried in your hair and the roll of your ass against his cock took away what little breath he had left. In need of fresh air, he moved his head until his cheek was resting on your shoulder. Now he could clearly hear the quiet huffs you let out as you rolled your hips. The sweet sounds enticed his body to buck against yours, making the soft sounds crescendo into throaty moans that you tried to hold back. Craving more, Buggy pressed his lips against your neck. Your skin was hot and smelled delicious. He needed a taste.

The feel of his tongue and heavy breath on your neck sent electricity through your body. Every nerve was lit up, lighting the way for instinct to come and overtake your mind and body. The slide of Buggy’s cock against your ass did nothing for how your body desperately craved more. Your underwear was soaked and you could feel the slickness as you angled your hips to grind against his entire length. The slippery feeling filled your head with images of his thick cock sliding deep into your dripping cunt before fucking you like an animal.

“C-captain, can I-” Your words were cut off as a hand flew up and squeezed your cheeks, silencing you like the night before. Frustrated, you snatched Buggy’s hand off your face and shoved it between your legs. 

“I wanna come,” you whined as you pressed his fingers against your clothed folds until there was contact with your needy clit. You guided his movements, making his digits circle and massage exactly where you needed them. 

Buggy’s hips stuttered, before moving to a rhythm that your unrestrained sounds orchestrated. His thrusts were hard, wedging his aching cock in your ass and helping him imagine he was fucking your pussy. Imagining how it would hold and squeeze him, as if it didn’t want his cock to leave. As if it belonged there. As if he belonged with you. Giving in to those feelings, Buggy smothered your neck and shoulder with sloppy kisses in between mindless moans that tickled your skin. 

His impassioned attention was fierce and intense, overwhelming you until your body gave in with a loud cry. Trembling against your captain, ecstasy took over. Your blissed-out sounds and movements carried Buggy with you. His hand continued rubbing your clit under your shaky grasp as you both rode through your climaxes.

Eventually, his movements stilled and your sounds quieted down. Buggy’s chest pressed against your back with each heavy breath. His hand returned to the railing, taking its warmth away. He felt weak, both physically and mentally. Seeing, hearing, feeling your orgasm against his body was more than he ever hoped for, but it only happened because you were following your captain’s orders. Because you’re a nice person.

“That felt good…I’m glad you needed my help.” Your breathless voice cut through the noise in Buggy’s head, but didn’t bring comfort. 

“Don’t say that,” he snapped with a little more bite than he meant. He didn’t really need your help, he just took advantage of your willingness to help.

“Why?” you asked as you turned to face him, despite being caged by his arms.

Buggy avoided your gaze, wishing that his body would finish recovering so he could leave. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. He would rather have his perverted memory tainted by self-pity, not by vulnerability or because he hurt your feelings.

Cautiously, you placed a hand on one of his before picking it up. You removed his glove and repeated the question, breaking through the wall he hid behind. Green eyes finally met your gaze as he succumbed to your request for sincerity.

“You were just following orders. Doing something nice for the captain of your crew,” he spat. “Saying that kind of shit might make me think that I could be more than just your ‘captain.’” 

The words hardly left his mouth before they were replaced by your lips. You pressed into the kiss, ignoring how his mouth twitched with words that died under the contact. Pulling back, you were greeted with eyes opened wide in shock and you had to hold in a giggle.

“You can think that. I would like it if you were more than that…if this was something more.”

Buggy studied your face, looking for any hint of a joke. Deep inside, he knew you wouldn’t tease him like this. You refused to waver under his scrutinizing stare, holding fast until he accepted your unabashed confession.

“Me?” he finally croaked out. You nodded in response so quickly that Buggy felt butterflies fill his chest with the same eagerness.

You watched patiently as he leaned in, hesitated, and then closed the space for another kiss. This one was messy and full of nervous excitement. Buggy started talking against your lips long before he pulled away.

“M’gonna extend the stay.” He planted kisses on your cheeks. “You’re also off guard duty - there are more important things that you should be doing than this.”

“Like you?” He set you up for the response and you couldn’t resist sending it back with a grin.

Buggy could have sworn he fell into the sea and died. Even if that had happened, his oxygen-deprived mind couldn’t have concocted a story like this.

Before he could say another word, something caught his attention. Buggy twirled you around and tilted your head up towards a shooting star. Your shout of joy seemed to encourage more stars to begin their journeys and soon the sky was full of dazzling light - a beautiful show for two.

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 4

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Four: Home

Flea-Bottom was his kingdom. He wanted to share it with someone. A knock breaks Saera away from her thoughts – She walks slowly and twists the metal knob, her eyes brightening as she realizes it's just Daemon. "Kepa, (Valyrian word for father and uncle)" she greets with a smile and discards her book. 

He throws her a piece of clothing and she raises her eyebrows in confusion. 

"We're going somewhere," he responded as he placed a cap in her head. His niece had never been to Flea-Bottom before, and as a princess of the realm — she should know what business happens there. Deep inside Daemon knew that he was grooming her to be his replacement in the gold-cloaks. Saera was skilled with a sword, but her confidence needed work. 

"Where?" she questions as she takes her robes off, pausing lightly as his eyes trail towards her body — memorizing every curve in it. He quickly snaps into reality and turns around, Saera was an honorful lady — she didn't deserve such...wanton behavior. "My Kingdom — Flea Bottom." he answered in a joking tone. 

He was called the Prince of Flea Bottom, since he spent the majority of his days in brothels and taverns. But he was different now, he wanted to change for the better. "Don't you have other ladies to spend time with?" she questioned as she finished tying the ends of her tunic. She maintained the confused expression however as he turned right back around. 

"And who am I asking out? Is it not you?" he inquired as he bonds their hands together. His hand fitting into hers like a puzzle that didn't need to be solved. "Am I special then?" she smiles as he ushers her to open the window — allowing for both of them to evade the eyes of the knights. "That shouldn't be a question," he retorted flirtatiously as he began his descent down the window. 

His shoed foot loudly jumps down, and he lands with both of his feet. He looks up at Saera who looked around nervously — his little niece was afraid of a little height, he chuckles wondering if she was afraid riding Melarys too. "Jump," he yells, not bothering to look around if anyone could possibly see them. 

There was nothing wrong with a little rendezvous, anyone who believed that malice was behind it would have their tongues cut off. "It looks dangerous," she whines while her hands grip the metal frame of her window. He lets out a low chuckle, allowing the fog around him to settle. "I'll catch you," he promised, offering both of his hands as a show of support. 

"Kepus, you're crazy. There's no possible way that you'd catch me," she complained as he let out a sigh. He didn't want to coerce her into doing something she didn't want to do.

 "It's alright, we can do it another time —" he began to change his mind. Getting caught off guard as she jumps from the window. 

His breath lightly shudders as he hurries to catch her in time. He should've known that she'd attempt to pull this stunt — she wasn't nicknamed Mischievous Saera as a kid for no reason. He catches her, but they both fall down on the floor. A loud laugh escaped from the Princess' mouth. "Fuck," he yelps as she dusts her clothes and stands up. "You've gotten rusty, old man." she mocks him as he stands up. Almost avoiding the pile of garbage on the side. 

"You hurt my feelings, darling." he muttered as another laugh escaped from her lips. He reaches for her arms again, bonding them together — and making sure that she wouldn't get in trouble. They walk towards the slums of Kingslanding — the foul smell immediately welcoming the both of them. Saera lets out a loud exhale, hoping that the smell would die down. 

They walk beside a fortune booth and one of the women blocks their way. "A silver coin for your future." she says enticingly as a metal crown falls from her gown. Saera looks down and frowns, picking it up and placing it on both of her hands. She wasn't afraid to be in the slums, but only because she knew that Daemon would be there to protect her. 

Daemon looks at the object in her hands, and smiles. "Fits you," he complimented as he took it and placed it atop her head. "Queen Saera," he muttered while the fortune-teller glared at the both of them. Saera reaches for the crown on her head, and quickly places it down on the table beside her. The fortune-teller looked like a crazy old woman, she didn't want to take chances. 

Daemon shoves the woman out of the way, before wrapping his arms around Saera's shoulders. Leading her towards his favorite place. Saera wasn't a child — she was an adult, and being a lady made her more vulnerable towards the advances of greedy men. Daemon remembered the story of Princess Gael Targaryen — his aunt who was seduced by a singer, and she killed herself. He didn't wish the same faith upon his beloved. He didn't want Saera to be naive. 

"Brothels are either filled with soldiers or noble lords who wish to let out their desires. Most importantly, in brothels we hear all their dirty little secrets." Daemon says as he leads her towards his usual spot. He always used to visit this one particular whore, Mysaria, who was strictly professional — she wanted gold and he wanted pleasure. She never wanted anything more than that. She's retired and found a new job. He's already forgotten about her. 

"And you're telling me this because?" she questioned looking around the place and seeing rows and rows of beds filled with prostitutes and their clients. She respected their job — they did what they could to survive. But she didn't understand why she had to be here and see all of this. 

"Pity? We're second-children, Saera. Our siblings will become Kings and Queens, but our destiny is ours to forge. Despite you being a woman, I hold faith that you'll become someone important." he admits seeing potential inside the young ingenue. Maybe he saw himself inside of her. He saw himself inside a girl who wished for love, and found it nowhere. 

"You need not pity me, kepus. I can do well on my own." she asserts as he leads her down deeper into the building. He reaches for her cap and takes it off, allowing for her white-hair to flow free. She smiles, following along with him. Everyday that she spent with Daemon felt like reaching her full potential, she spent every minute with him burning restlessly and breathing fire like a real dragon should. 

He turns to look at her, as he follows after one of his old whores. "And if your father marries you to a Lannister? What will you do?" he questions with a smirk and she shrugs. "It'll be better, now I can spend more time with Leila." she responded and he scoffs loudly. 

He couldn't believe that she hadn't been educated about what was expected of her. As a wife and as a princess. He never saw the beauty in forcing a woman to bear children — and in spite of his anger towards Lady Rhea, he never forced her to sleep with him. He respected that, but not all lords did. There will be some more crueler than others — ones that would feed you to the hounds. 

"Life is not all compromises, my sweet girl." he advises as she takes a seat down in one of the benches. He walks towards the bench and sits beside her, placing his arm on her body and his other arm on the bottom of her chin. "Always assert dominance. Marriage may be for the benefit of our house — but we are always free to do what we please. Fuck who we please." he whispered allowing his hot breath to send shivers down Saera's spine. 

"You speak of marriage as if I am a man." she remarks as the space between the both of them grew smaller and smaller. "My dear Saera, you will be greater than any man." he replied while licking his pink lips. She looks in his eyes — finding herself lost in him. She knew what he was doing — he was trying to get her. She found it amusing, and thus played along. 

"I will not be able to fuck who I please — love who I need to." she breathed as she raised her legs and placed it atop his. His eyes held the universe in them — she found herself slowly flying in response. "You always have a choice," he corrects as his hands trail from her face and down to the sides of her body. 

He knew that it was wrong. He knew that he wanted to marry her first. But once he found himself lost in the labyrinth, he couldn't find himself out. "I choose you, kepus." she smiles as he leans closer and tastes her lips. They tasted like honey and strawberries. She was sweet and he loved the taste of it. 

Oh

Oh 

So this was love. Saera thought as she continued leaning into his embrace. It wasn't loud like thunder or screaming like a battle cry, it was soft like rain and burned like fire. Real love was calm and truthful. It didn’t need spectators. 

He breaks free from the kiss, snapping himself back to reality. He pulls away from her, "Let's go home." he mutters softly — still tasting her in his tongue. 

— 

Saera and Daemon laid on her bed, sprawled and staring at the ceiling. “Do you love me, kepus?” she asked, turning her head in his direction. “I will return to the Vale. I will ask my brother to consider my marriage with Lady Rhea as void and null."

“Kesan dīnagon ao, saera.  Ruaragon ao isse īlva robes, dīnagon ao isse se ways hen zaldrīzes.  Mērī pār, kesā gīmigon skorkydoso olvie avy jorrāelan.” he vowed while staring deep into her eyes. Each word uttered was a vow. His promise to never leave her. 

I will marry you, Saera. Cover you in our robes, marry you in the ways of the dragon. Only then, you will know how much I love you. 

“Yn mērī lo kesā rual nyke.” (But only if you will allow me.) he smiled softly, hands reaching to cup her cheeks. Saera’s lips turned into a smile. How lucky she was to find a man that listened to her whims. “I would love that, kepus. It is everything I need.” she smiled, bridging their lips together. 

next chapter>>

taglist. @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1

[ramsayxme]

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / AO3 Link

TW - description of dead bodies, physical violence, oral sex, manipulation, ramsay bolton.

Chapter Six: Consequences

You were certain that Ramsay was starting to trust you. You were no longer confined to one room. Ramsay allowed you to wander the Dreadfort, inside and outside, as long as you stayed within the walls. He began providing you with warmer clothes since you were able to spend time outside. This morning, you were walking along the stables. Your long cloak dragging along the dirty snow, frozen patches of mud sticking up from the earth. You enjoyed the fresh air and taste of false freedom. You were starting to feel somewhat comfortable in the chaos.

You hadn't seen Reek since the torture. A small part of you felt nauseous when you thought about that night, but you shoved it down. Maybe Ramsay was right, he deserved these things. Who were you to decide? You didn't know his past. Perhaps you were just helping Ramsay bring justice. Something had changed that night, though. The way Ramsay looked at you had shifted, almost as if he felt a stronger connection with you... or perhaps you were making it up. You struggled to attempt to define how Ramsay felt about you, and struggled even more with how you felt about him.

You spent the entire afternoon in the stables. Animals calmed you. You knew Ramsay's favorite horses were gone, so you assumed he was on a hunt or traveling. You could spend hours brushing the horses and whispering your deepest thoughts to them, knowing they would never judge you. The day was drowned out by their whinnies and the distant barks from the kennels. When the sun started to set, you began to head back towards your chambers.

You turned the corner past the stables and saw Reek, pulling down a flayed man who had been posted up for a few days. The leftovers of his body had froze and Reek was yanking on him in a desperate attempt to separate the frozen muscles from the wood. You wanted to speak with Reek. You had a lot of questions and you knew he couldn't lie. Your curiosity got the best of you as you walked up behind him. "Reek..." you whispered. He jumped at his name, immediately cowering and tilting his head to the side. "M'Lady." He muttered, his eyes staring at the ground.

"Where's Ramsay gone to?" You quietly asked. "On a hunt, M'Lady. They left b-before sunrise." He stammered, his eyes refusing to blink as they were glued to the snowy ground at your feet. You wanted to speak to Reek alone. You knew this was dangerous if Ramsay found out, but you were dying to pry at the broken man. "Follow me, then." You started to walk towards the large stone archways. Reek drug his feet as he kept up with you. You brought Reek to your bed chambers, and sat by the fire, allowing him to defrost.

"Reek, I want to ask you some questions, okay?" You said, noticing you were dumbing your voice as if you were speaking to a small child, just like Ramsay did when he spoke to Reek. He nodded his head quickly, his eyes fixated on the fire and small whimpers escaping his throat. "I'm not going to hurt you..." You reminded him. Of course, it would be hard for him to believe you, but you wanted to try to reassure him. "Who are you?" You asked in a hushed voice. His cracked lips parted as he stuttered. "I...I'm Reek. I'm Reek."

You shook your head. "No, no... who were you...before Reek?" Your question seemed to sting as he winced away from your words. "No. J-just Reek." You sighed, realizing that he was much more broken than you thought. You rested your hands on your thighs as you sat on your knees. Reek shifted around, unable to get comfortable. "Do you want a blanket?" You asked him, reaching for one of the woven blankets nearby. He squirmed. "If it pleases M'Lady to give me one."

You handed him a blanket and he quickly wrapped it around his quivering body. You stared at him for a moment before asking your next question. "Reek, Ramsay calls himself Lord Bolton, but we had dinner with Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort. Why does Ramsay call himself Lord?" Reek cried under his breath. "R-Ramsay has asked me to call him Lord B-Bolton. He calls himself Lord Bolton because it pleases him...He is my Master. Ramsay will be Lord someday." Reek finally looked at you, his eyes seemed to open into his interior slightly. "You need to be careful around him." He whispered.

You scooted closer to him, realizing you were making progress. "I know, I know, he's hurt me too but he's also been very kind to me..." You were interrupted by Reek. "It's a trick, please!" He began crying, tears falling down his cracked and bruised skin. "Who were you before Reek?" You asked again, hoping to infiltrate his vulnerable state. "No! Just Reek! Always...forever." His eyes filled with tears as he looked at you. "Okay, okay...I won't ask that question anymore." You sighed, studying the broken creature.

Reek perked up suddenly. "He's coming back." He stated blankly as he stood up, shaking. You didn't hear anything. "M'Lady, he will hurt you if he knows we were talking!" His voice shaking with concern. "Hide!" You hiss, Reek shaking his head back and forth. "That'll be worse." His eyes sink back to the floor and he quickly rips the blankets off the chair and bed, collecting them in a heap in his arms, acting like he was gathering your linens for washing. Just then, you heard Ramsay. His voice echoed through the hallway outside your door, and his voice only grew louder as he approached.

He was laughing with another man until he reached your door. You heard him bid the man a good night as he swung open your door, grinning as he stepped inside. He was clean shaven, his hair messy from riding through the woods. His nose and cheeks were kissed red from the chill in the air. He wore his hunting gear, his bow still in his hand. He grinned at you, but his eyes quickly shifted to Reek standing near you. The smile across Ramsay's face died instantly when he saw Reek. Ramsay took slow steps into the room before pulling his face into a false grin once again.

"Reek?" Ramsay started, his voice dumbed down. "What are you doing in here?" Reek shifted his feet. "G-gathering the linens, M'Lord. I... forgot to do them earlier. I'm sorry." He scurried towards the door, but Ramsay stood in the way. "My love. Is this true?" He looked at you, eyebrows raised. You swallowed hard, praying to the Gods that Ramsay would believe you. "Yes! Reek forgot to get my linens earlier, so he came by a few minutes ago. He was just leaving."

Ramsay looked back at Reek. "Well, we can't have him get away with forgetting his job, can we?" He looked back at you. "If he really failed, he needs punished! He can't get away with it that easily, dear." Ramsay walked over towards you and draped his arm across your shoulders, leaning in to your cheek. "We need to punish him for this!" He hissed. "Reek, drop those linens and come over here." Ramsay squeezed you tight under his arm. Reek obeyed.

He hobbled over and stood in front of you and Ramsay. Ramsay nudged you. "Go on, love. Hit him." You felt your stomach churn but you knew you had to do it. Without hesitation, you pulled your arm back and slapped Reek across the face, hard. "Blacken his eye so he will not forget tomorrow." Ramsay demanded, breathing heavy as he watched you torture his plaything. You pulled back once again and punched Reek directly on the cheekbone under his eye. You knew it would leave a large bruise. "Good girl!" Ramsay chuckled, kissing your cheek.

Ramsay stepped forward and punched Reek himself in the same eye. "There!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Now you will not forget." Reek sniffled and cried as he picked up the linens and scurried out of the room like a pest under a bright light. Ramsay turned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. He grinned as his eyes lazily scanned your face. He kissed your lips softly and whispered, "Now, I have something I want to show you." He took your hand and led you out the door and down the hall. He brought you to the dog kennels.

The dogs barked loudly in their dark kennels, each bark producing a huff of breath in the cold air. The walkway was illuminated by torches flickering against the walls. He pressed you up against the wall and kissed your neck, his hands hungrily pulling at your snug clothing. He wasn't used to you having so many layers on, and he grumbled realizing he couldn't paw at your bare skin yet.

He tugged your cloak, pulling you into an empty kennel, and shutting the door behind him. The dogs were still howling and barking until Ramsay's voice boomed loudly. "Hush! Sit!" Every single hound obeyed him instantly which sent a shiver up your spine. Even the wild animals didn't dare disobey their master. Ramsay kissed you deeply as he tugged at his own trousers. He was already aroused when he pulled the waistline down to his knees. "I missed you today. I'm quite exhausted, make me feel better." He put his hands on your shoulders and gently added pressure, coaxing you to your knees.

You gave in, sliding down to your knees in front of Ramsay. You felt your stomach flutter when his cock touched your lips. You were eager to please him. You began gently kissing the tip of his erection, swirling your tongue between your lips on him. He exhaled strongly as he pet your hair. You began slowly allowing the head of his cock to bob in and out of your mouth, his groaning told you everything you needed to know. Ramsay reached his hands up to his own head and ran his fingers through his hair before opening his eyes and gazing down at you.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He groaned, his cock still in your mouth. You pulled away from his member, a small pop as it left your mouth. "Yes, always." You continued to stroke him while you waited for the secret. Ramsay brought his hands down and stroked your hair before gripping it tightly. His teeth grit together and he bent at his waist, leaning down to your forehead. His voice spilled out smoothly, "I know you lied to me. I don't know why Reek was in your chambers, but I do know that you lied to me."

You froze, your hand stopped rubbing him. You could only peer up at him as he stood back up. He didn't say anything else, but he smiled a wicked grin and used your hair as reins. He yanked your hair, forcing your face against his cock. "I didn't tell you to stop." You instantly put your mouth back around him as he pulled your hair, forcing his cock down your throat. He fucked your face mercilessly. You gagged, sputtered, and spat as he used your face for his pleasure. He growled as he watched you suck him.

He reached one of his hands down to cup his testicles, gently massaging them while he shoved himself down your throat. His thighs were shaking and his needy hips pressed forward. You couldn't attempt to guess how many minutes it lasted before he started harshly moaning, filling your mouth with his cum. You swallowed as he caught his breath, leaving his member inside. He groaned as he slowly pulled his now soft cock out of your mouth. He tucked himself back into his trousers, tying them at his waist as if nothing had happened.

"Follow me." He beckoned you to stand. You carefully took his hand as he guided you out of the gated area and down the midsection of the kennels. "This one is my biggest and best girl!" He whispered into your ear, pointing to a huge hound sitting in the shadows of the biggest kennel. You nodded, watching the dog snarl. Ramsay smiled as he led you through the exit, silently walking to his chambers together. You didn't know if you should say anything about the lying.

Once in his bed chambers, you both crawled into his bed for the night. He apparently wanted your company since he didn't drop you off at your own chambers. You lay in silence as Ramsay shifted, making himself comfortable underneath the woven blankets. He groaned as he pulled you close to him. You were both on your sides and he rested his chin in the crook of your neck. He started drawing small circles on your arm with his fingers.

"You know, my love..." He began. "I told everyone we will be having our wedding tomorrow. I truly want you to be my bride." He whispered, sprinkling kisses on your shoulder as he spoke. "Ramsay, about earlier-" You wanted to bring it up, it was eating at you. Before you could say more, Ramsay shushed you, his hand gripping your jaw. “I know you lied. You don't have a good reason to lie to me, I am going to be your husband. That would be a shame, to lie to your future husband more than once. I am showing you mercy."

You nodded against his grip. He kissed your neck as he rolled onto his back. You heard him exhale a gentle smile. "Do you remember the big dog I showed you, the largest girl?" You whispered a response into the night, "Yes, I remember." Ramsay took a deep breath as he settled, his hand resting on your hip as he pulled you to your back, lying next to him. He turned his head, his curls falling on the pillow. You couldn't see much of his face in the dim light, but you could see the widened whites of his eyes. "She is the one who will rip you if you ever decide to lie to me again." Your blood ran cold as you lay still, listening to your lover gently fall asleep.

Chapter Seven

[luna-writes-stuff]

Mercy, Castiel

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Aftermath betrayal, hurt/comfort. S8! central

Word count: 2514

Tw: Not proofread. s8 centric, after Cas’ betrayal/Naomi. Mention of injuries/pain and slight descriptions of battle.

Summary: After Castiel escaped Heaven with the angel tablet, he finds his way back to you. Through initial anger and betrayal, you find out what really happened to him.

Buy me coffee/force me to write more

“Help me, I've fallen on the inside.

I tried to change the game.

I tried to infiltrate, but now I'm losing.”

He didn’t think it would end up here. All his time with Naomi had prepared him for this exact moment, but the aftermath was not at all what he expected.

You and Dean had followed Castiel for his search for the angel tablet. Something had been up with him for weeks now, but he was an angel after all. Perhaps this was just a mere miscommunication of sorts. He had always been distant and unclear on his intentions. But they always turned out for the best in the end. You had simply dismissed it, thinking he was simply dealing with a lot, especially concerning Heaven.

You and the Winchesters had discussed it multiple times, but Dean seemed the most wary. You still tried to see the best in every situation, especially concerning Cas. He wouldn’t betray you. Not after all that you had been through. He had promised to look out for you after the whole Leviathan thing. Angels wouldn’t break their promises, Castiel least of all.

But you were soon to discover how awfully wrong you were about that.

“Men in cloaks always seem to run the show.

Save me from the

Ghosts and shadows before they eat my soul.”

The second Castiel refused to hand the tablet to Dean, you knew something was wrong. You had tried to be calm about the situation, but with Dean’s temper and Castiel’s adamance, the problem got blown out of proportion. When Cas landed the first hit on the hunter, you immediately flew into action. Friend or not, you knew he could easily kill Dean if he wanted to. You hadn’t kept in mind that the exact same could happen to you.

Before you could even process it, a rough punch landed on your jaw, sending you to the ground with Dean. You could have taken his blows for hours, you lost track after you failed to get back up. The fear coursing through you had been so real and terrifying, you remembered the relief when Dean threw himself in front of you, shielding you from Castiel’s attacks. When the angel had raised his blade, Dean didn’t fight anymore. He just sat there, on his knees, directly in front of you. You didn’t have it in you to get back up.

But the blow never came. Instead, a Castiel spoke up, visibly snapping out of something. He apologized, claiming the tablet needed to be kept safe from people, including you. You didn’t register much of what happened after that, save from the fact that the pain within you seemed to suddenly fade, accompanied by a pleasant warmth. When you came back to your senses, Cas was gone, and you and Dean appeared completely fine.

“Mercy, mercy.

Show me mercy,

from the powers that be.”

The days after that were spent at the bunker, trying to process what had happened. Sam and Dean had immediately taken hunting back up, which hadn’t surprised you, but you hadn’t joined them.

You still couldn’t believe how easily Cas had betrayed you. As if it was nothing. Sure, he had shown remorse for his actions afterwards, but people usually don’t just disappear after an apology. You had tried to work out where Cas might have been, and where he had kept the angel tablet. It might have been safest in the hands of an angel, but considering his prior actions, you’d feel safer if it was with you in the bunker.

It wasn’t rare for you to spend full days and nights in the library researching. You’d return to bed late and wake up early. Though the Winchesters were often done, they weren’t blind to notice your change in behaviour and looks. You weren’t only tired - you looked it too. But you would shake off their concern every time the mentioned it.

“Show me mercy,

can someone rescue me?”

There were many days where you would fall asleep on top of your laptop or the books. Tonight had been one of those nights. You had been spending the entire day checking locations and biblical miracles for anything out of the ordinary, until it eventually became too much for you.

You proposed a short moment of peace. Closing your eyes for just ten minutes. But exhaustion seemed too apparent, and before you knew it, you had been knock-out. You woke up to a gentle hand on your shoulder, and the sharp smell of mint tea. Tearing your eyes opened, you yawned. Your eyes noticed the hand, before trailing up to meet that familiar face.

“Good morning.” “Cas?” You mumbled confused, squinting your eyes together to take a better look at him. He held a teacup in front of you, a small cloud of steam coming from the top of it. “I made you this.”

You merely stared at him, unsure of whether he was truly there or not. And if he was, what would he be offering you tea for? You hesitantly accepted the steaming cup before Dean entered the library. “What the hell are you doing here?” He grumbled angrily, roughly grabbing Cas’ sleeve and tugging him towards the war room. “Well, I-” “No, I told you to stay out of the library.” Dean interrupted, gaining a look from Sam, who stood up from his seat in the other room. He gave you an assuring smile as he noticed you were finally up.

“We found him on the road last night.” He shared as he walked up to you. “You found him on the road last night?” You repeated incredulously. “Yes,” Sam muttered, watching as Dean left the angel in the war room before storming off. “Listen, we need to check for something,” Sam shared. “Just, take your time to wake up.”

And with that, he had followed his brother.

“Absent gods and silent tyranny.

We're going under, hypnotized by another puppeteer.”

When the Winchesters had disappeared, your confused eyes ran back to Castiel’s figure, who had walked back up to you. “Hello,” He greeted gruffly. You blinked twice before finally coming to your senses: “Where the hell have you been?” “Biggerson’s.” He stated simply. You gaped at him at his answer, shaking your head. “You have been at Biggerson’s all this time?” “Yes.”

And with that, all earlier worry had suddenly disappeared.You had not been searching every corner of the Eart and web for him to hide in a fastfood restaurant. A scoff of frustration escaped you.

“I owe you an apology.” Cas began, but you dismissed him. “Forget it.” “No,” He denied. “You deserve an explanation.”

You were too tired to argue with him. Within the one minute span of now and you waking up, a lot had happened. It could have nearly given you whiplash. You sighed, sitting back down at the table before gesturing to the chair in front of you. Castiel understood the silent hint, sitting down on the appointed chair: “I wanted to get back to Heaven. I would only be allowed in if I helped Naomi. She made me fight you. Multiple times.”

You didn’t quite know what to say to that. Part of you wanted to be mad at him for betraying you and the Winchesters, but another part of you told you that you understood. He had known Heaven his entire life, which was an awful lot longer than you knew him, let alone even lived. Of course he’d want to get back to that. Castiel didn’t seem to notice your conflict - he simply continued speaking: “I have killed you and Dean countless times.” “Well, don’t gloat.” You mumbled.

“Something about it seemed so normal,”

“Wow,”

“As if I had been preparing for it all my life.”

“Can we stop talking about you killing me thousands of times?” You interrupted, holding your hands up, telling him to shut up.

“And tell me why the men in cloaks always have

To bring me down.

Running from the

Ghosts and shadows the world just disavows.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel frowned. “I thought you wanted me to explain.” “Well, you’re making it sound as if it is your crowning achievement.” You filled in, cringing internally at the thought of Castiel killing you over and over again.

“My point is that I hated it. I couldn’t do it.”

And that was when the cold reality began to settle in. Part of you had tried to forget the whole ordeal, leaving the part of the angel blade out voluntarily. But when he spoke his last words, cold dread began to settle in. He wasn’t fighting you to keep you off of the angel tablet; it was his intention to end it. He was going to kill you.

You swallowed harshly, your heart suddenly beating really fast. This was something that Cas did notice.

“You were going to kill us?” You asked, your voice quivering slightly. “Yes,” He admitted. “I am thankful I didn’t.” “Yeah,” You breathed, squeezing your hands together in tight fists, trying to get rid of the new-found anxiety. “You’re not that good at apologies. This somehow made me feel worse.”

“Mercy, mercy.

Show me mercy,

from the powers that be.”

He halted, looking at you for a short moment, quietly observing you. You coughed under his gaze, averting his eyes on purpose. He noticed how you slightly shrank under his eyes. He also noticed how much he didn’t like it.

“I understand.” He spoke up. “You should know that I would never voluntarily harm you, let alone kill you. That was Naomi.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She…did something to me.” That piqued your interest. Though you definitely felt somewhat threated under his look, even as his eyes had softened, a spike of worry shot through you. “What did she do?” You asked cautiously.

The angel sighed heavily, laying his hands on the table as if he was about to tell the most captivating story ever. “Some torture device.” He spoke grimly. “It included sticking metal bars in my head.” “I’m sorry?” You squeeked out, your mouth falling open in shock.

“It included-” “No, I heard you the first time.” You quickly cut him off, shaking your head wildly.

“Show me mercy,

can someone rescue me?”

Castiel didn’t speak up. It was a hurtful notion, not because you didn’t like that he didn’t speak to you - it was because you couldn’t comfort him. Castiel wasn’t the best with words, nor comfort. Though he has adjusted significantly to mortal norms and habits in his time with you and the Winchesters, it was still extremely apparent that he had not been human at all. And how were you going to comfort a literal angel?

“Cas, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” You tried, your voice hesitant, almost afraid the speech would be dismissed by him quickly. So, when he nodded his head to you in gratitude, you were pleasantly surprised.

“It wasn’t your fault.” He added regardless. “No, but still,” You went on. “You don’t deserve that.”

He simply looked at you, causing a twinge of sympathy to run through you. Sure, what he did wasn’t okay, but you knew he was genuinely sorry. Your earlier discomfort had seemed to fade slowly, the hostility of the situation now showing that it was only you who had felt threatened in the situation. Castiel hadn’t meant to hurt, and you knew he was honest about that. Whatever he went through, wasn’t entirely his fault, even as majority still lay there.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“Show me mercy.

Show me mercy, please.”

His voice shook you out of your thoughts, grounding you back to the bunker’s library. You offered him a polite nod, leaning back in your seat slightly. “How are you now?” You asked, a small amount of guilt creeping up on you as you realized the torture he has been through.

“The wound on my stomach isn’t completely healing yet.” He spoke in his usual deadpan voice, lifting up his blouse to show you the stab wound on his lower abdomen. You gasped at the sight, shooting out of your seat as you neared him.

“Oh, my god, what the hell happened to you?” You yelped, noting the way the wound didn’t look infected, but painful nonetheless. “The angels found me,” He explained. “Tortured me to get information out of me. It didn’t work.” “Holy shit,” You exhaled, creating a little more distance between you and the angel, minding to respect his personal space, even if he didn’t always return the gesture.”Are you alright?”

He looked down at the wound before lwoering his shirt again. “I will live.”

When that didn’t seem to satisfy you, he gave you a kurt smile. “I appreciate the concern.” “Yeah,” You mumbled. Then, he swallowed thickly, looking at you with silent remorse. “I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done. If I could take it back, I would.” “I know.” You comforted.

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Help me, I've fallen on the inside.

And all the men in cloaks trying to devour my soul.”

“Dean doesn’t seem to give me time yet.” Cas audibly observed. “Yes, well,” You began to explain. “He’s Dean.”

He was right to not listen yet. Castiel, your friend who you’ve trusted for years now, had almost left you to die over a stupid relic. The thought stung, even after he revealed his own struggle on the matter. He was talking about lives on the line. Not his, your own.

“You did betray us.” You announced, sympathizing with Dean’s alleged words. “Cas, what you did stung. It’s a tough pill to swallow. I understand, but…” You trailed off, trying to find the right words, when - in truth - there were none. “I don’t think I’m ready to forgive just yet.” You admitted.

Cas’ face fell slightly upon the revelation, but he managed to cover it up relatively well. You couldn’t have seen it right away, but you noticed the change in his voice.

“I understand,”

“Show me mercy from the powers that be.

Show me mercy from the gutless and mean.”

You sighed at the sound. You were right not to forgive him, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. You walked back up to him again, hesitantly wrapping him in a hug. He loosely returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around you in silent comfort.

“Just,” You began, parting from him. “Don’t run off to somewhere right now, okay? Don’t need you to get tortured by angels again.”

Relief flooded his sense upon your words. Even though you hadn’t forgiven him, there was an understanding there. And for now, that would be enough for him. Yet, he wanted to be sure he had your permission: “You want me to stay?”

You shrugged, but couldn’t force the tiny smile off of your face. “If you wouldn’t mind.” “No,” He quickly stated. “Good.” You muttered.

“Good. You should stay.”

“Show me mercy from the killing machines.

Show me mercy, can someone rescue me?”

[levi501ackerman]

Steel Heart Chapter 5:

Dog Days

Hange x Reader Chapter Index Masterlist

Megan's Note: OMG IM GETTING PUMPED!! Posted: 7/13/24

Word Count: 3.7k

!!WARNING!! : violence and unsettling descriptions!

Between the crack of dawn and before the twilight sky brightened, Levi and his knights were preparing the horses for the day’s travel. They were triple-checking the saddles and making sure their equipment was firm. 

Waking up, you didn’t expect Levi’s tent to be nearly empty. Your bedroll, blankets, and yourself were the only things remaining in the tent. You also didn’t expect the familiar stench of the horses to be the first thing you inhaled. Among the boisterous neighs and grunts of the horses, Levi shouting indistinct orders in the distance could be heard. Hastily, you exited the tent seeking Levi.

The view of horses looking larger than before carrying the knights’ supplies was overwhelming. Your mouth slowly gaped at the view of men cladded in full suits of steel armor. They looked indistinguishable, a united force of intimidating men made of steel surrounded you. You looked for a knight around the size of Captain Levi’s short frame, but the horses and cloned men of steel made it difficult. The majestic beauty of the horses from yesterday, now had an alert, focused, and fierce blaze in their eyes, being the core reason for your hesitation. 

“E-Excuse me?” You called toward the closest knight, waving at him and your other hand gripped the fabric of the grey shirt Levi gave you. “Where’s—”

“Captain!” The knight called out over his shoulder, voice ringing through the herd. You looked through the steel clones trying to catch a glimpse of Levi. No luck. Then he gave you a bright friendly smile, “Did you sleep well, your Highness?”

“Yes sir, thank you. Uh, did you?”

“Yes, thank you. I can pack your tent for you?” Before you could answer, the knight began walking toward the tent you and Captain Levi shared.

“I can help! I just don’t know how. Maybe you can teach me?” 

“No need, your Highness. Levi wants to speak with you before we set off for the day.” The Knight opened the tent and began rolling your bedroll and blankets up. “Princess, your cloak?” 

“Oh! Uh, Thank you!” You dashed forward to grab the cloak and then moved out of the friendly knight’s way. As you put one arm into the sleeve of the cloak, you heard more footsteps behind you. 

Levi, Jean, and Connie were dressed in a full suit of armor intimidating and standing confidently. Their armor bulked their frame accentuating their muscular physique. Imposing. Powerful. You darted your eyes away from them, hoping they didn’t realize you were admiring their presence.

“Good morning, Princess Y/N,” Levi said and you couldn’t look him in the eye. You were excessively blinking and then you swallowed your thoughts.

“ . . . Hey.”

“Take off your cloak. I have some light armor I want you to try on.” You looked at the dark leather chest plates Levi was holding. 

“Captain’s in denial of his chest plate fitting best,” Connie said nodding, inducing a smirk on Jean’s face. You looked at Levi whose stoic face didn’t change. 

“Try this one,” Levi’s held out the first leather chest plate. “It goes over the shirt.” You put the chest plate over the shirt Levi gave you. It was loose, and you looked at the three not knowing what to do next. While Connie and Jean examined you, Levi stepped closer and put his hands on the fastenings of the chest plate. His hand brushed against the side of your abdomen and your breath softly hitched. A familiar feeling you felt once before stirred . . . In an attempt to hide your face, you focused on Levi fastening your straps. His hands were clean with a few prominent veins.

“How does it feel?”

“Huh?”

“Levi.” Connie was failing at holding back a smile and he pointed to the second chest plate. You looked at Levi who was ignoring Connie. 

“Fine, try mine on.” Levi started unbuckling the straps and helping you out of Connie’s leather chest plate. You put on Levi’s and he buckled the fastenings. He told you to raise your arms and the chest plate barely shifted when you did. It was the better fit out of the two. “Alright, Princess. We have a long day ahead of us. Few things to keep in mind. Your hood is on at all times until we can find something to tie your hair back. That’s orders from the Commander of the Royal King’s Guard himself. The point is it’s harder to tell the Princess is in our company if there’s no long-haired girl with a dress on. Next, if we run into trouble, which I suspect we will, you don’t scream, you don’t panic. You do as I say, got it?”

“Yes, Captain Levi.”

“You haven’t ridden a horse, correct?”

“Correct, sir.”

“You’ll be riding with me. It can feel like you’re going to fall off; you won't.” Levi motioned you to follow him and he started walking through the cloned men of steel. The knights sat tall and proud on their steeds, flickering a glance at you passing. The horses beneath them were just as formidable with rippling muscles. Beautiful.

“Captain Levi, does Sir Zacharius and the knights with him know there’s a different plan? So he knows where to meet us?”

“Last night Connie went to the cottage to pass along the new plan. Although it might be better for Sir Zacharius’ health to travel to Mitras Castle.”

“How is he?” Levi paused for a moment and you followed obediently behind him, waiting for an answer. Dreading any news of Sir Zacharius’ health getting worse.

“He’s fine.”

“You promise?” Levi abruptly turned around, stopping in his tracks. Regret filled you, you didn’t mean to sound like you were doubting Captain Levi. His normally stoic expression softened.

“The infection spread to the rest of his body . . . the antibiotics should help, but we’re not going to know for a while. I’m sorry Princess. Miche is a strong man and he’ll be able to take care of himself once he can walk. Right now it’s important to focus on getting you to the castle.” Levi’s eyes glanced away from yours, then he walked toward his horse. You trailed behind him, gripping a part of your cloak seeking comfort. 

“Good morning Princess Y/N.” A knight said as you passed.

“Good morning,” You replied politely, a little caught off guard.

A pleasant cacophony of polite greetings began to overwhelm your ears as you passed each knight. When Levi arrived at his black beautiful horse, his horse nudged her nostrils towards him, Levi gave her a quick pet on the bridge of her nose. The knight who packed up Captain Levi’s tent was finishing the fastenings.  

“C-Can I touch?” Levi turned around noticing you addressing his horse. He started petting the lower part of her neck.

“Pet here.” You nodded and looked into the horse’s eyes and gently touched her shoulders. The horse didn’t react in a significant way and then blew air from her nostrils. 

“Wow,” You whispered.  

“I think she likes you, Princess,” A voice behind you said. You turned to see blonde hair and round-rimmed glasses. The messenger from last night, Zeke Yeager. You gave him a shy smile. The gleam in his blue eyes didn’t look away from you. 

“Does your horse like me, Captain?” 

“Loves you,” Levi said dismissively. “Jean, help Y/N get up once I’m ready.” Levi climbed onto his horse, looking tall for once. 

“Princess, put your foot here and push yourself up kind of like . . .” Jean held out his hand, it felt awkward. Levi was looking down on you and Jean. He offered a hand. You hooked your foot onto the strap and pushed yourself. You clumsily started pushing on Jean’s shoulder, then pulling on Levi before comfortably swinging your leg over, sitting very close to Levi. You were pressed up against Levi’s back. “I’ll be behind you and Connie will be near you.”

You nodded. There's a moment of awkward silence as you settled behind Levi, aware of how close you are to him. You could smell his clean scent filling the air around you. You put your hands on his shoulders, flustered and unsure of where to hold onto.

“Hold onto my waist.” You wrapped your arms around Levi’s waist, being forced to be close to him. Unlike holding Sir Zacharius’ arm, clinging to him while escaping Shiganshina, or lying next to him while sleeping on the small bed, this felt intimate. Holding onto Levi’s waist while being pressed against him ensured stability, but flushed your face of embarrassment. “Get your hood up! I don’t care if you have to hold it. Your hood remains on at all times.”

“Yes, sir, sorry.” Not even noticing your hood fell, you quickly pulled it back over your head. Your heart pounded at Levi’s stern tone. 

“Gentlemen!” Levi bellowed, “As we ride east stay alert! Stay sharp! Arrows and swords at the ready for any danger! The only reason to stop is if Dame Hange’s group is spotted! Otherwise no stopping until the forest of giant trees! We must reach there before sundown! Gentlemen Dedicate Your Hearts! ONWARDS!”

The knights in the very front began riding off. As more joined the stampede, the sound of beating hooves hitting the ground rhythmically filled your ears. Your weight shifted against Levi when his horse started sprinting and you tightened your hold around his waist. The wind rushed against your face, pushing your hood off. You groaned and put your hood back on, squeezing Levi with your remaining arm. With all the strength of your core, you tried to maintain balance. Riding a horse for the first time was a bit nerve-wracking. You avoided looking at the ground passing rapidly under Levi’s horse. 

As the journey to Karanese District began, the sun rose from behind the horizon shining directly in the face of the knights. The vast blue sky was beginning to warm the land. You looked past the knights beside you and gazed at the landscape. The green hills were slowly passing by. When looking over your shoulder to take a peak of where you came from, the closest cottage was disappearing out of view.

You noticed Jean’s eyes ten feet behind you and you smiled at him. Then you looked for Connie on his horse, but you couldn’t find him near Jean. Only figuring out he was ten feet away on Levi’s left.  

The harsh sunlight was reflecting off the ground and the knights’ steel armor. A faint heat from the pouring rays were beginning to burn into your forehead and temples. The relentless sunlight didn’t let up until a few hours of riding when the sun was higher in the sky. 

You looked around for the first four hours, interested in the landscape you had never been to before. The grass was taller than the field where Levi’s camp was, reminding you of the tall grass in the forest where Sir Zacharius was caught in the large animal trap. 

You closed your eyes and the lack of the bright view soothed you. Shading your eyes with your hood from the beams of light was relaxing, alleviating the strain. The day felt long and the sound of the rhythmic horses galloping began to blend into the background. You placed your cheek on the back of Levi’s shoulder, holding the hood in place. Then you clasped your fingers together, ensuring your hold around Levi. The long boring day began to wear you down and you felt heavier.  

“Princess, you need to stay awake,” Levi called out.

“I am!” You said with your eyes remaining closed.

A sudden ambiance of rushing water jolted you awake. You saw a large body of water cutting into the green and rocky landscape. You haven’t seen such a large river before except for illustrations in books. 

“Princess please stay awake!”

“I’m sorry Captain.”

The melody of the flowing river added to the soundtrack of the rhythmic sounds from the horses. You returned your cheek against the back of Levi’s shoulder, resting once again. You weren’t going to fall asleep, just rest your eyes. 

Suddenly Levi shoved his shoulder, your heartbeat was in your throat realizing you jolted awake and Levi caught you. 

“No more resting your head on me! Stay awake.”

“I’m sorry I’m tired!” 

The river was gone and the landscape was flat. Ahead was a silhouette almost looking like a mountain, taking up most of the horizon. The shape of the silhouette was too odd to be a mountain, but the height of the landscape appeared intimidating and grand.

“Captain Levi . . . is that the forest of giant trees?”

“Does it look like it?” You flinched at Levi’s remark, confused about why he snapped at you like that. You felt like you didn’t deserve it and pondered if falling asleep was why he was upset with you. Besides that, what could you have done to get him to snap at you? A moment later Levi glanced back and you saw a pang of remorse in his eyes. “Ignore my bluntness, I feel like shit and we have just about three more hours until we’re at the edge of the forest.” 

“CAPTAIN! ON THE MESA!” A knight near the front of the formation pointed toward the direction of the tiny elevation of land, almost more like a large hill under three miles away. Everyone looked to the flat-topped raised land.

“Captain! Are those people?”

“SHIT!” 

When squinting, on top of the flat mesa-like hill appeared to look like a ward of humans. Their figures were distinct against the blue open sky.

Standing there. 

Watching.

Not moving a muscle. 

The formation of knights continued toward the forest of giant trees, holding their breath and waiting . . .

A foreboding sinking feeling, made you swallow. Your chest started heaving.

“Levi?” You quietly asked. 

“Full speed ahead toward the edge of the forest! They don’t appear to look like they have horses!” Levi called out and then the knights in the formation urged their horses onward. Their eyes fixed ahead toward the forest of giant trees as the horses picked up speed. 

The hairs stood on the back of your neck. You clutched your cloak making sure to absolutely not have the hood fall. Who are those people?

Watching . . .

An uneasy feeling in your stomach began to lurch.

Silence.

Your heartbeat was the only thing in your ear.

From the short drop off of the tiny hill-like mesa were animals? An animal on all fours . . . running from where the ward of people were standing, dozens. Then more. Dozens upon dozens. In the distance barreling down the slope.

Your eyebrows rose to your hairline, eyes widening, the thumping of your heart intensifying in your ears.

The dark and large canine-looking creatures barking and growling in the distance were bolting toward the formation of the knights. 

“CAPTAIN MUTTS!” “CAPTAIN YOUR ORDERS?! “THEY’RE HEADING STRAIGHT TOWARD US!” “TO THE FOREST!” “IT'S THE MARLEYAN CULT!” “THE BASTARDS RELEASED HOUNDS!” “HOLY SHIT!” “CAPTAIN WE CAN’T LET THEM GET THE HORSES!” “THE HORSES CAN’T OUTRUN THE DOGS!” 

“ARCHERS!” Levi roared over the knights. “DRAW YOUR BOWS!” You held tighter onto Levi’s waist seeking comfort from the inevitable attack of the mutts. They were racing closer, their eyes fixed on their prey: the knights, the horses, and you. Most of the knights moved swiftly, nocking their arrows, pulling the drawstrings taut, and calculating the distance of the threat. “RELEASE!”

Arrows darted into the sky, piercing the atmosphere and then cascading toward the mutts. Guttural howls from the canines reached your ears. Some slammed into the ground flipping in front of another stampeding canine. Their high-pitched yelps scraped your ears making you cringe. Your stomach twisted hearing the mutts’ agonizing cries as arrows landed into their eyes.

The healthy canines barged over the writhing yelping mutts, drawing nearer to the formation of knights. 

You began choking on air, too stunned to move or speak. Tears began to fill your eyes.

“DRAW YOUR BOWS! TAKE OUT THE MUTTS BEFORE THEY REACH THE FORMATION!”

Arrows flung and shot toward mutts, more cries, more canines losing their feet under them, plummeting to the ground. A crescendo of anguishing wails filled the air as they were getting closer. The onslaught of arrows rapidly being shot at the oncoming canines took down most of the callous hounds.

“PROTECT Y/N! PROTECT YOUR HORSE!” 

The first mutt to lunge at a knight in the formation was pierced by the knight’s sword. The force flung the knight off his horse. His cries are heard in your ears as he hits the ground, disappearing out of your sight.

Another mutt lunged at the neck of a horse, plummeting the horse to the ground. The knight was thrown from the horse, getting the wind knocked out of him. You saw the knight on horse directing behind, leap over the fallen horse. Another Mutt knocked over a knight, mauling at the man’s neck.

Your tears streamed down your face and you couldn’t muffle the sound of your sobs. You closed your eyes hearing the horses whining in fear, the men yelling and crying as ferocious teeth sank into their faces, the wails of the mutts as their bodies were getting sliced from swords. 

“SHIT!” Levi yelled.

Your eyes opened and then widened as Levi’s horse stumbled over another fallen horse, tossing you and Levi from her back. You screamed, flipping through the air, getting the air knocked out of your lungs as you hit the ground multiple times rolling forward and then scraping your arm. Your face against the dirt, you choked out a sob, gasping for air. 

Silence.

You gagged for air, wheezing, and your brain short-circuited not thinking. Your eyes opened, seeing grass, then you felt the tickle of the grass on your face. You trembled lifting yourself from the ground, you wiped the tears from your eyes. Your breath was constricted and shaky as you saw the blood on your knuckles. You wiped your forehead and temples, blood staining your hand. With a twinge of pain, you looked up.

A horse was stomping a malicious canine, a knight was on his feet swinging his sword against a mutt, another knight had a mutt pounce on him and you saw his sword go through the body of the mutt sticking out of its back. You looked to the side to see a knight on his horse dashing by a mutt slicing through the hound, another knight was being mauled and another knight killed the predator saving his comrade. Another knight nearby killed a mutt eating at the neck of a dead horse. A few knights with their bows shot at mutts dashing at another knight.  

You threw up on the field, decorating the grass with bile. Your stomach convulsed and tried to throw up more despite your empty stomach. You spit the leftover bile out of your mouth. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve.

You got on your elbows in an attempt to get on your hands and knees. Tears were blurring your vision, you wiped again only to see more blood on the back of your hand. You turned over and sat up, hunched over holding yourself with your arms. 

Levi with blood on his face sliced through a lunging mutt, then as if he had eyes in the back of his head, he whipped around impaling another hound. Then he kicked the mutt off his sword. Jean in the distance was standing next to his horse who was lying on the ground whining in agony. He fought off a mutt barreling toward his horse and then cut into the body of another mutt. 

Suddenly the sight of a mutt with an arrow in its eye was dashing toward its prey: you. You scream, crawling back helplessly. You choked on spit and your heart was in your throat as the large beast was running towards you. You had no sword and no fighting skills. The hound leapt toward you, and you let out a guttural scream. Then an arrow impaled the other eye, you rolled away dodging the canine’s body plummeting to the ground. You looked over your shoulder to see Connie holding a bow, then Connie reloaded his bow and turned away shooting another mutt. 

“Princess!” A hand grabbed you by the arm, you yelped as the knight was pulling your injured body. You saw his recognizable round-rimmed glasses and blonde hair.

“Z-Zeke!” You sputtered out, saying his name for the first time. He shielded you with his body as he held out his sword. You whimpered as you saw three mutts step toward you and Zeke.

“BACK!” He commanded the mutts, they growled with blood and saliva seeping from their mouths. You clung to Zeke, getting a moment to study the large black vicious canines. Their eyes were red and hungry to sink their teeth into flesh. The dog closest to you lunged toward you and Zeke swung his sword, cutting the mutt’s head off. Then Levi’s black horse came and stomped on one of the hounds, making the canine writhe and yelp. The last canine attacked the horse and Zeke stepped in cutting the hound.

“T-Thank you Zeke,” You said breathlessly. 

“Y/N!” You turned to see Levi running toward you.

“Captain she appears to be fine besides a gash in her head,” Zeke said to Levi. As Levi approached, you jumped onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. More tears spilled out of your eyes. 

“I thought we were going to die!” Levi hesitated then hugged you back with one arm patting your back. 

“The fucking mutts are gone but we’re not safe yet,” Levi said. You pulled away catching your breath for what felt like the first time. You saw where the knights were looking. The ward of humans on the flat hill were still watching. Chills ran down your spine as you realized they were watching their mutts attack and try to kill the knights. Suddenly they turned around and walked away. The silhouettes of the ward disappeared from the edge of the tiny mesa. No humans left to be seen, but the blue sky and the view of the small hill-like mesa. “They are out of dogs or won’t send any more! Check on the wounded and examine the horses! Put them out of their misery if needed! We head for the forest in ten!”        

next chapter Chapter 6: A Cascade of Wine and Water

Chapter Index Masterlist

[feyhunter78]

The Trials of Tributes pt. 3

Description: Aemond returns to his chambers, and your lack of Valyrian knowledge gets you unintentionally in a bind.

Previous chapter here!!!

You sit in a chair close to the fireplace, the sound of crackling filling the quiet air of King Aemond’s bedroom. Sir Criston left almost as soon as he saw you safely into the room, leaving you to turn the events of the day over in your mind. The king had accepted you, so your sisters would be safe, they would be able to marry who they wished, and you… Well, you weren’t sure what would happen to you.

King Aemond had said he wouldn’t force himself upon another, but you had no way of knowing if that was true. Prince Aegon was known for his depravity, and the former King Viserys clearly made the Dowager Queen Alicent lay with him even in his illness. You shivered as the image of a gaunt and rotting corpse hovering above you flashed through your mind. Surely it was a trait that passed from father to son. You bit your lip and bid yourself to be strong.

The sound of the door swinging open made you jump up and turn towards the door.

King Aemond strode in, his armor removed, leaving him in tight leather trousers, and a white tunic. He took notice of the small spread of food on the table, and reached out, plucking a grape from the plate, and eyeing it suspiciously.

You curtsied. “My king, I didn’t know if you were hungry, so I asked the maids to bring something light.”

His gaze fell onto you, and there was something heated in his gaze, it made your stomach flip, and your heart tumble over itself. “I see.” He popped the grape in his mouth, then made his way to the bathroom, shedding his tunic and folding it over his arm.

Your eyes averted instantly, cheeks warming, but you snuck a glance, curiosity winning over as he further folded it, and bent down to place it in a basket.

His muscular back was littered with scars—war wounds, you assumed, and you bit your lip as you watched the muscles flex. His hair brushed across the pale skin, and your eyes fell to the floor when he looked over his shoulder at you.

“I can take your clothes, My King, Sir Criston made me aware of the laundry.” You offered, feeling awkward as you just stood there staring at his bare back.

“Why would you need to know where the laundry is?” King Aemond turned, and you struggled to keep your eyes from dropping to his toned abdomen.

Your cheeks were on fire, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been around a bare-chested man. “So, I could do your laundry?”

Aemond’s eye closed and he shook his head. “You are not a slave nor are you a servant, how many times must I impress this upon you?” He stepped closer, taking your chin in his hand. “You are a tribute, and tributes do not debase themselves with manual labor, especially not mine.”

“What would you have me do then, My King? Surely my mere presence isn’t enough to satisfy what my father owes the Crown.”

As you looked at him, you recalled your foolish words from earlier, the king was not merely striking, even now, as you fought to keep your breathing even, fear traveling across your skin, you found him handsome.

A part of you that you believed long buried away brought forward the sinful dreams that occasionally plagued your mind. Visions of a warrior, relentless and breathtaking, stealing you away to his castle and ravishing you. His voice low, as he whispered his undying devotion to you.

“I would have you do as I ask for the next few moments, then you may ask me that question again.” He said, as he brushed by you moving towards the door, pulling a cloak over his shoulders.

A nervous looking septon entered, followed by Sir Criston who held a small case.

You didn’t know Valyrian, something you would definitely need to change, but there was nothing you could do now.

You stood across from Aemond, your hands in his, trying not to flinch as he cut your lip, then your hand. You repeated his words, butchering the musical language and when he kissed you, the taste of blood tainted what you believed would be such a magical moment.

Your first kiss, one with the most feared man in the realm, his blood painted on your face.

His hands cradled your face and his lips moved against yours with such skill, all you could do was grip his tunic and attempt to stay standing. A soft whimper slipped past your lips when Aemond nipped your bottom lip, and he pulled back with a satisfied smirk.

“Sir Criston, Septon Martis, you both may leave.” Aemond said, his eye still focused on you.

Your head was spinning, and you met his gaze, his hands dropping from your face to your hips.

“You may ask me again, issa ābrazȳrys.” He purred, his thumbs caressing the thin fabric covering your sides.

“What would you have me do, My King?” You asked once more, that feeling in your stomach returning as he let out a low hum.

“I would have you call me by my name, and I would wish for issa ābrazȳrys to keep me company as I bathe.” He bent down, brushing his nose against your cheek, the Valyrian words rolling off his tongue and sending a shiver down your spine.

“As you bathe?” You repeated in disbelief. You couldn’t take much more of this, your entire face felt as if it was going to burst into flames.

“Unless you wish to join me in the bath?” He asked, a light humor in his tone.

You shook your head quickly, attempting to take a step back from him.

His grip on your hips tightened. “Do you find me so unappealing that you wish to flee?”

You shook your head again. “No, My—Aemond, I am just—I am a maiden as you know, and this is all…a bit much…”

Aemond straightened and nodded stiffly. “Of course, my apologies. Rest, unpack your belongings, and I will bathe, then call the servants to run a bath for you.”

He left you standing there and disappeared into the bathroom.

Next Chapter here!!!

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhhaa, @pax-2735

[erbodd]

A Wolf's Eye

This little story is meant as a present for an artist I admire, who became a friend and someone I respect and care for a lot. I first wanted to draw something, but I’m better at writing than drawing. I’m no “writer” though, by any means, and probably write stories like a 15-year-old with too big a will for happy endings and sugary love.

This is based on something I used to do when I was a very bad student at school. I’d ask for some imposed terms I have to use. Not just mentioned in a description but integrated into the story in a coherent manner. When I did that at school, I would even ask for the hero of the story, and once wrote the marvellous adventures of a mouse. But for this one, I gave myself the courtesy of choosing the protagonists. One would expect Pelle and Varg, but they’re much better in their hands than mine, so I went for the pair I’m the most comfortable with.

Here is what I asked for, and the perfect answers @plusvanity gave me : 

A colour: titanium white An animal: wolf A country: Sweden An household / everyday use item: a warm blanket A season: winter A song with lyrics OR specific lyrics: For Emma - Bon Iver

-Me before starting it : This is going to be so easy, I was already planning for winter and the lyrics are so fitting! -Me after writing about 50 words : Fuck me…

______________________________________________________________________

The sunset was stretching its golden beams across the landscape. Sat on the roof of the cabin, basking in the fainting warmth of the sun, was a blonde haired man. His eyes were closed and his mind was wandering. Winter had a way of sneaking memories in there, mostly bad, sometimes good. He shook his head to push any unwanted thought away. He wanted a clear mind so he could come up with new lyrics.

Being alone and just looking at nature was a good way to do that. He would often do it as an escape, since his younger years back in Sweden, and the habit has stuck with him. However, it was less and less of an escape and he truly enjoyed these rides now. It helped that the scenery was different from what he was used to, bringing something fresh to his sore mind. Yet, Norway was similar enough to Sweden in its decor to give him this sense of home and comfort that his old home didn’t give him anymore.

He would admire the landscape, see it move and change to become what he wanted. From a warm orange sunset, he would imagine a dark blue cloudy sky instead. All those beautiful evergreens, he would picture them dead with charcoal black bark. Where there is a house, in his mind it would turn into a castle made with old grey stones and lit by torches. In a window, there would be a shadowy figure cloaked in darkness, its watchful eye towering the scene. It would be cold, rough and gloomy, just the way he likes it. Later, he would pull out some paper and sketch his visions to turn them into something more tangible. He would scrap many, but some would be true to the images in his mind and worthy of keeping.

The sound of a door opening and some steps coming from the porch underneath him tore him from his reverie.

“Pelle? It’s getting dark, where are you?” “Up here” he answered, waving his hand. “Why are you on the roof?” he asked, slightly annoyed to have to step out in the cold. “The view. Come join me” he offered, pointing at the ladder. “I don’t deal with heights very well. Can’t you come down?” “You make me come down.” he dared him.

Øystein groaned and left, slamming the door shut, enough to make the wall and the windows shake. The blonde chuckled. For some strange reason, his friend’s temper would always bring a smile to his face. He resumed his contemplation but now, his mind was blurred, like an old television that got stuck between two channels. He sighed and climbed down carefully. Night wasn’t yet covering their part of the world, so he made for the trees instead of going home.

He walked on a path he knew as it was too late to venture in any new direction. His steps were confident, each one taken exactly where he had to in order to avoid a cavity here or a stump there. This allowed his mind to wander once more, free from any other thought. It was one of these moments ; your mind is invaded by a melody, it’s nostalgic, distorted like an old record, and it feels eerily familiar even if the name eludes you. There were no words, only notes that escorted his stroll in the forest.

He stopped and blinked a few times, adjusting to the unexpected drop in daylight. It felt as sudden as an eclipse, plunging the forest in darkness right after he realised he had wandered away from his regular path, too lost in thought. He fumbled carefully, going from a tree to another, taking slow steps until there was no tree left so he had to walk blindly, both hands in front of him.

Tripping on a shrouded obstacle, he ended up with his hands and knees in the cold snow. He was about to get back to his feet when he heard a low growl. As far as he knew, there were no dangerous predators in this forest, he would have noticed by then. But the sound filled him with a sense of dread he never felt before. Daring to lift his head, he looked around and was met with two bright golden eyes surrounded by titanium white fur that almost blinded him. The creature’s outline started to appear inch by inch as Pelle got used to the obscurity. It was a wolf, a huge one, and it was only a few feet away from him. He was frozen in fear save from the slight tremor the cold gave him as it crawled into his skin from his hands and knees.

The wolf started to inch closer and closer at an agonisingly slow pace when all it had to do was pounce on him to tear him up. Pelle hoped this was a dream or an hallucination, that he got lost in the forest and was now slowly dying of hypothermia, his mind protecting him by creating this weird fantasy. The wolf came close enough to sniff him and circled him before it sat, his mesmerising gaze locked on Per.

“We trip, we fall, we get up and try again until darkness becomes light and there is nothing left to fuel our fears. Only then can we live. Only then we are free.”

His voice was deep and distant, like the echo of an ancient deity that took pity on Pelle in his dying moments. The wolf came to his side, its icy fur grazed Per’s body and it took him a few seconds to understand it was offering help. He held onto him and lifted himself up, realising the cold had numbed his legs so much that they were shaking as he straightened up. The wolf retreated into the depths, leaving him alone with his freezing body and clouded mind.

A faint light caught his eye in the distance. Unconsciously, he knew he had to go that way. Gradually, it became brighter and his path was visible. However, he kept his attention to the source, understanding his surroundings from sole peripheral vision. From an unknown shape, the light became a rectangle. A door. A strange figure appeared in its frame, it was short, had long hair and wore a cloak of sorts. It came out from this divine gateway and seemed to float above the ground. Taking his steps at the same time as the figure, Per circled it like a predator would with its prey, avoiding the light and placing himself to the side of whoever it was.

“Pelle! It’s really cold now! You’ll freeze to death!” “No, I won’t” “Fuck! Don’t startle me like that!” “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” he promised, his playfully smile hinting otherwise.

Øystein opens his arms to invite Pelle inside. He meant inside the house, Pelle understood inside his arms. So that’s where he went, sliding his arms around the Norwegian and laying his head on the guitarist’s shoulder.

“You’re cold!” “And you’re nicely warm.”

Giving up, the shorter man wrapped his singer with the blanket as best he could, shielding him from the cold.

“Come inside, please.” “Were you worried about me?” “...Always.” he answered in a whisper.

He noticed Øystein was blushing. Or was it only the cold? Pelle didn’t care, he found it cute. He’s warming up already, but from the inside, from this foreign feeling of being cared for.

In the distance, the wolf was watching. His fur so white made him stand out from the fainter tone of the snow. As the wanderer he is, the lone wolf invites to explore the trails yet unblazed. Would Per understand this sign? Would he travel on this foreign road? Only time would tell, but Pelle would not forget his fall into the uncanny valley any time soon.