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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

Text

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time.

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles.

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment.

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant.

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm.

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous.

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him.

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly.

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin�� for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this.

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs.

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away.

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole.

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight.

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes.

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight.

And neither do you.

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somaliapearls · 2 months ago

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Of Ash and Snow

Game of Thrones masterlist

🗡️ jon snow x fem!reader

genre: Slow Burn Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Found Family

wc: 2.7k

summary: After the fall of the Iron Throne, Jon Snow vanishes into the far North — a man haunted by war, death, and the ghosts of kings and queens. You, a healer who fled the ashes of the South, live quietly among the Free Folk, offering your skills to those untouched by the Game of Thrones...

warnings: Emotional trauma, Light medical detail (fever, injury treatment), grief and references to past war, Slow-burn emotional tension, Introspection, mild language, Near-death experience, Storm and survival themes, Mild injury, Internalized grief/guilt, Protective Jon

a/n: in honor of the direwolves…

PART ONE: The Ghost in the Woods

⸻

The North didn’t offer kindness.

It offered silence. Wind. Stone. Snow that fell so thick it swallowed sound and memory alike.

You came to it for peace. You found only truth.

The kind of truth that bites through boots and bone. That whispers in the hush of a pine forest and reminds you how small you are. How mortal.

But it was still better than the South.

Better than ash, than burning, than the screams of a kingdom cracking under the weight of dragons and mad kings and broken dreams.

So you stayed.

And in time, the Free Folk let you stay too.

⸻

You were a healer. A traveling midwife’s daughter who had seen more death than birth. You’d wandered after the war, offering your hands to whoever would take them — soldiers, starving towns, orphaned keeps. Eventually, the pull of the North grew stronger than your fear.

There’s still life up there, someone once told you in a smoke-filled tavern. Still wild things that haven’t burned.

They were right.

But they hadn’t warned you about him.

⸻

The first time you saw Jon Snow, he didn’t look like the stories.

He looked like a ghost.

Tall, quiet, eyes black as ravens, mouth set in a line like it had forgotten how to bend into a smile. He came with a wolf the size of a small pony and a silence that followed him like a shadow.

He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t welcoming.

But neither were you.

So when he brought in game for the cookfire one morning and sat by the edge of your healing tent, you didn’t ask questions.

You just nodded.

He nodded back.

That was the start.

⸻

It took a week for him to speak to you.

You were grinding fever-root beside the fire when he finally asked: “What are you making?”

You didn’t look up. “Tea for Gredda’s son. The fever hasn’t broken.”

A pause.

“You need snow thistle,” he said. “There’s a patch south of the old birch grove.”

You turned your head then. Met his eyes.

“You know your herbs.”

He shrugged. “I’ve spent time in the cold.”

You didn’t ask what that meant. You just stood.

“Show me.”

⸻

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes shifted.

You walked side by side through snowdrifts and silent trees. Ghost padded behind you like a silent guardian. Jon said little, but he moved with purpose — pausing to point out bear tracks, brushing frost from leaves to reveal the tiny, blue-spiked thistle.

He knelt beside it. “Here.”

You knelt too.

“Thank you,” you said.

He looked at you.

“I don’t sleep well,” he said quietly.

You didn’t know what to say. So you said nothing.

But you remembered.

⸻

He started coming by more often.

Sometimes with pelts, sometimes with herbs. Once, with a wounded raven clutched gently in gloved hands.

You stitched its wing. He stayed the whole time, watching your hands like they held secrets.

“Why did you come here?” he asked once, after a long silence.

You hesitated.

“Because the war took everything else.”

He nodded. Like he understood.

⸻

You began to learn his rhythms.

He rose early. Never ate much. Spoke only when he had to.

He helped others in quiet ways — splitting wood for the elder woman who lived alone, carrying water for the young father whose wife had died birthing twins.

But he never asked for anything.

He never let anyone close.

Except, maybe, you.

⸻

A week later

The boy with the fever stopped breathing during the night.

You were called too late.

You tried everything. Rubbed his limbs, poured hot tea down his throat, pressed your lips to his and breathed. But his little body had gone still in a way you recognized.

And you sat by his mother’s side as she wailed and ripped her own hair and called to gods who no longer answered.

You stayed there until dawn.

Jon found you at the edge of the camp, your hands trembling, still bloodied from trying to save him.

“I couldn’t—” you whispered. “He was just a child.”

Jon didn’t speak.

But he knelt beside you, took your shaking hands in his, and held them tight between his own.

“You tried,” he said.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

After that, something shifted.

You began to eat by his fire.

He walked you back to your tent each night, Ghost trotting at your heels like the three of you had always moved as one.

You never touched — not yet — but the space between you shrank.

And in the quiet, you both started to heal.

⸻

A month later

The sickness began with coughs.

Then fevers. Fatigue. Nightmares.

You’d seen illness before, but this one was different. It came fast and took strong men down in days. You worked tirelessly, boiling water, mixing tinctures, washing bedding with snow and ash.

Jon helped you. Always.

He fetched herbs. Sat with the dying. Carried water in his arms when no one else could.

But people were afraid.

And when the fourth man died, the whispers began.

“It started when she came.”

“He brought the curse back with him.”

“The South’s poison.”

⸻

One night, someone threw a stone through your tent.

It hit your bowl of fever salve, shattering it.

You stared at the mess on the floor. The herbs you’d gathered. The medicine that had taken hours to make.

And your throat burned.

When you stepped outside, Jon was already there.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at the mark the stone had left on your tent flap.

“I should leave,” you said, voice hollow. “Before it gets worse.”

He turned.

And for the first time, his voice was sharp.

“No.”

You blinked.

“Jon—”

“No,” he said again. “You’ve done more for this camp than anyone. You’ve saved lives. If they want to turn on someone, let it be me. Not you.”

His eyes burned like coals.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

Your breath caught.

And something in your chest — something long buried — stirred.

⸻

Later that night, you found a small bundle outside your tent.

Inside: dried snow thistle, clean bandages, and a strip of smoked venison.

No note.

Just the quiet way he always said: I see you. I care.

⸻

PART TWO: Beneath the Ice

⸻

The sickness was spreading.

Faster now. The elderly. Children. A mother whose lips turned blue before dusk.

Your medicine was no longer enough.

“I’ve seen this before,” you told Jon over the fire one night. “Back in the Riverlands. A fever that spread through a whole valley. It wasn’t magic—it was the water.”

Jon frowned. “The stream?”

“I think it’s fouled. Something upstream—animal remains, rot, maybe worse.”

He nodded. “Then we go upstream.”

You blinked. “We?”

He gave you that look again. The one that softened only for you.

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

⸻

The Journey Begins

You left at dawn with packs, furs, a hunting knife, a flask of broth, and Ghost trailing at your heels.

You walked for hours. Into denser woods. Up icy slopes.

The wind howled through trees like ghosts screaming.

Jon walked beside you, close but not too close.

He never asked questions he didn’t need answers to.

But sometimes, he looked at you like he already knew the ones that hurt.

⸻

You found the river near dusk. Thicker here. Slower. Choked with snowmelt.

And not far from the banks—a mass of rot.

A dead elk, half-frozen in the current. Bloated. Split open.

Jon cursed under his breath.

You covered your mouth.

“This is it,” you whispered.

He nodded. “We’ll need to burn it. And warn the camp not to use the water.”

“I can distill snow for drinking,” you said. “But they’ll need to haul it for miles…”

“We’ll manage.”

You turned toward him. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

You didn’t look away this time.

“I’m glad you came with me.”

He paused, snowflakes catching in his hair.

“So am I.”

⸻

The Storm

You set up camp in the lee of a rock face just as the wind picked up.

What began as light snowfall turned into white fury.

The sky howled. Ghost whined low and pressed against the rock wall.

You and Jon huddled under your tarp, knees touching.

“This won’t pass soon,” he said.

“How long?”

“Maybe all night.”

Your fingers ached with cold. Your breath steamed between you.

“We’ll freeze,” you said quietly.

He looked at you. Really looked.

Then he reached out, pulled you close, and wrapped his cloak around you both.

You went stiff.

But only for a moment.

Then you leaned in.

Pressed your cheek to the soft wool over his chest.

Listened to his heartbeat.

⸻

The wind screamed outside.

You felt safe.

His arms stayed around you.

Not tight. Just… present.

“I don’t think I ever told you thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?”

“For helping me. For trusting me. For staying.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, softly, “I don’t trust easily.”

“I know.”

He hesitated.

“But I trust you.”

You looked up.

Snow drifted past the edge of the rock wall, glittering silver.

And Jon Snow was looking at you like he wasn’t afraid anymore.

⸻

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Anything.”

“Why did you come here? Really?”

His jaw tightened.

And then—he told you.

About Daenerys.

About King’s Landing.

The ashes. The fire. The screams.

The betrayal that broke him.

You didn’t speak.

Just reached out and took his hand in yours.

He didn’t pull away.

⸻

You fell asleep like that.

Wrapped in furs. Ghost curled against your legs. His hand in yours.

For the first time in years, neither of you dreamed.

⸻

Morning

The storm passed. You were alive.

Jon broke camp while you tested the river’s edge for signs of contamination. The carcass was already stiff with frost, and you made a rough plan to burn it with oil once back at camp.

“We’ll need the council to help,” you said.

Jon nodded. “They won’t listen to me. Not all of them.”

You met his eyes.

“They’ll listen to me.”

⸻

Back at Camp

When you returned, the sick were worse.

You worked through the night.

Boiled snow. Burned all the tainted water. Gave medicine to the ones who could still take it.

Jon stood beside you the entire time. Silent. Watching. Guarding.

Later, when a council of Free Folk gathered to discuss what you’d found, you stood before them — not Jon.

You told them what had happened. How he had helped. How he had risked his life.

And when a man named Rurik stood and accused him of bringing southern death…

You stepped between them.

“If you want to blame someone,” you said, “blame me. I’m the one who found the rot. I’m the one who treats your sick. And I’ll be the one to walk away if I’m no longer welcome.”

The crowd fell silent.

Rurik looked away first.

And no one challenged you again.

⸻

Later

You sat outside your tent, exhausted.

Jon brought you tea. He didn’t speak.

You drank it in silence.

Then he said, quietly:

“You didn’t have to defend me.”

You looked at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I did.”

He nodded.

And then he sat beside you and let your head fall to his shoulder.

⸻

It happened that night.

Not with ceremony.

Not with firelight or music or stars.

Just two people who had been broken and bent and finally found something worth holding on to.

You had just finished binding his arm, where he’d caught it on the elk carcass.

Your fingers lingered longer than necessary.

He looked down at you.

You looked up.

And he said, softly:

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel anymore.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek.

“You’re allowed to feel this.”

Then you kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it was the first breath after drowning.

Like winter couldn’t touch you.

Like fire still lived in his veins.

⸻

It was slow. Careful. Tender.

You didn’t rush.

You didn’t need to.

When it finally ended, he leaned his forehead to yours.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispered.

You smiled.

“It’s real.”

He breathed out.

And for the first time since he crossed the Wall-

Jon Snow smiled.

⸻

PART THREE: The Thaw

⸻

Winter was cruel. But it could not touch what had begun to warm.

You and Jon became… something.

Not loudly. Not quickly.

But steadily.

He brought you herbs each morning. You left tea at his door each night. You stitched the cuts on his palms. He sharpened your knives when your hands shook with exhaustion.

Ghost began sleeping at the threshold of your tent.

The camp noticed. But no one spoke.

And for a time, it was almost enough.

⸻

The Trouble Brewing

But peace was never meant to last.

Rurik — the wildling who had opposed Jon since his return — began to gather others.

“Too much sickness. Too many southern ghosts. We followed a king once, and it led to fire.”

The words spread like frost.

You heard whispers at the well. In the tent where you treated the sick.

Some wanted to return south — to old ways, old lands. Others wanted Jon gone.

You told Jon. He just nodded.

“They’ll do what they think is right,” he said.

You slammed your cup down.

“And what do you think is right?”

He looked at you.

“I think I’m tired of running.”

⸻

The Confrontation

It came on a moonless night.

A group of five men. Faces painted for war. Knives drawn.

Jon stood outside his tent — unflinching.

Ghost bared his teeth.

You stepped in front of them. Again.

“Leave,” you said. “Or bleed.”

Rurik sneered. “This isn’t your war, healer.”

But before you could speak — Jon did.

“It is,” he said, stepping beside you. “This is her home. And mine.”

The tension broke like a snapped bowstring.

A scuffle. Quick. Brutal.

Two of Rurik’s men went down fast — not dead, but humiliated.

Jon didn’t kill. He didn’t have to.

Rurik fled into the trees.

And no one followed.

⸻

He came to you with blood on his sleeve.

You cleaned the wound in silence.

Then, quietly:

“I should’ve stopped this before it started.”

You looked up.

“You’re not a king anymore, Jon.”

“No,” he said. “I’m something worse.”

You touched his chest — over his heart.

“No. You’re a man who chose to stay.”

He stared at you.

“You’ve always had a place here. But now… I think you know it too.”

He leaned in.

And this time, the kiss was softer. Familiar.

Like something already written into the air between you.

⸻

Confessions in the Snow

Later, beneath furs and lantern light, he told you everything.

About his real name. Aegon Targaryen.

His birthright.

His exile.

“I killed her,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Because I thought it would save the world.”

You pressed your forehead to his.

“You saved yourself.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

But he held you close anyway.

That night, there was no war. No name. No fire or throne.

Just warmth.

And a hand in yours.

⸻

Spring’s First Thaw

Weeks passed.

The river ran clean again.

The sick recovered.

Children laughed in the snowmelt.

You and Jon rebuilt the garden tent together. Started gathering spring roots. You caught him humming, once. You pretended not to notice.

⸻

One night, over fire and stew, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

A flicker of a smile.

He cleared his throat.

“I want to build something. Here. With you.”

You blinked.

“Like a—”

“A life,” he said.

Simple. Quiet. Ours.”

You stared.

Then nodded.

And for the first time in either of your lives—

That sounded enough like peace to believe in.

⸻

The Hearth

The hut you build is small.

Warm.

A wolfskin rug. A pot over fire. A place to hang herbs. A window just large enough to watch snow fall.

One bed. Two cups.

And the man who once killed a queen, now holding your hand in the early morning light.

Jon leans into your shoulder.

“You’re not afraid?” he murmurs.

“Of what?”

“Of ghosts.”

You look at him. Soft.

“They live here,” you say. “But they don’t win.”

His eyes close. His brow presses to yours.

And outside, the snow begins to melt.

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #got #got x reader #x reader #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow fic #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fic #got fic #got imagine

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arafilez · 1 year ago

Text

੭୧ ⼂ TUGGED COLLAR, SHY HEARTS ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ xikers maknae line x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤfluff ㅤ𓏧ㅤ when you pull them by the collar and kiss them ㅤ warnings kissing ㅤ﹢ㅤ0.4k / mem wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ hyungz

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ KIM JUNGHOON ꒱

You feel like a total loser standing under the umbrella in the first rain of the season and only thinking about how you want Junghoon to kiss you right then and there. The weather is cool and the smell and sound of the rain-hit ground accentuates your mood as you longingly stare at the wet patches on the road.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a small smile makes its way into Junghoon’s face as he stands beside you and softly takes the umbrella from your hand. You chuckle and shake your head looking down to your feet.

“How about a million dollars?” he grins cheekily and laughter bubbles up your throat at his absurd sentence. You look at his Oreo-coloured hair and the drops of rain adorning the ends and slowly arrange some messy strands before you two start walking.

Throughout the walk under the shared umbrella, Junghoon picks up your ministrations but decides to keep quiet until he reaches your home and asks, “Alright spill, what has got you so worked up?” Your eyes widen as you nervously chuckle and shake your head again making him deadpan as he holds your gaze.

You sigh lightly and decide to tell him anyway voice getting smaller as the sentence progresses, “You know how in romantic novels and movies people kiss in the rain and well I was thinking- about- how we- no like- leave it I don-“

Your weird sentence gets cut off as Junghoon’s grips tighten on your fingers, his eyes widening just a fraction and he faces you saying, “Do it.” You gasp, face getting warm at the mere thought but he continues nonchalantly, “Well unless you are afraid.”

“I am not-"

“Then there’s no reason to back out,” he challenges and you curse yourself for getting so easily provoked. Junghoon knows he is successful when you murmur a quiet, “Fuck it” and pull him by the collar and kiss him. Almost on cue, like those cheesy movies, the rain intensifies and he takes the opportunity to lower the umbrella.

The rain hits you almost at the same time your emotion and love for him does as he grips your waist pulling you closer to him. Rain pelts down your skin and into the kiss making it perfect and messy at the same time and a fleeting feeling engulfs your chest when you run your fingers through his damp hair as his body presses to yours.

When you part, droplets rest on his eyelashes and you breathe out, “Was that cliché enough for you?” “No,” a single answer and he is pulling you by your hand and kissing you again.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ PARK SEEUN ꒱

You clutch your head and groan as for the nth time you cannot get the equations right and what doesn’t help your headache is the familiar and awful cologne that infiltrates your nose.

“Park Seeun in the library, never thought I would see such a day,” you murmur softly but loud enough for the said boy to hear making him chuckle, “You already know it’s me without even looking up, obsessed with me now Y/n?”

“In your dreams, Park,” you scoff not bothering to look up at the smirk etching his face. Park Seeun and your rivalry has always been the talk of the school and even though the boy was perceived as a sweet person with a teasing edge you refused to give him that much credit. He is annoying.

“Do you need help with that?” his voice infiltrates your thoughts and you shake your head gritting out, “No.” “Of course not, because blankly staring at the copy helps a lot,” your head shoots up as soon as that sentence leaves his mouth as you glare at him.

“Shut up,” you warn him and he sits down on the table and looks directly into your eyes saying, “Make me.” A scoff leaves your face at his new-found method to annoy you and you roll your eyes as soon as you hear him say, “But I guess you can’t just like you can’t solve simple equations.”

Rage makes everything in the next moment a blur as you grip his collars, pull him down and say, “Don’t try to provoke me.” “What if I want to?” he whispers menacingly and you don’t even know what comes over you as you take a single glance at his lips. It was one moment of slipping but Seeun caught that and his eyes widened slowly.

As soon as he locks his eyes with you he gives a slow nod and that damn stupid smirk and your walls break as you press your lips to his. The kiss is messy, desperate and you would think full of hatred but Seeun’s pillow-like lips make you succumb to your senses as his hands gently grab yours caressing them.

It’s weird and familiar simultaneously, and you hate how much you love it and miss it when you break apart and your face grows hot just thinking about what you did moments ago. You look down as Seeun lightly coughs making you leave his collar abruptly and try to fix his crumpled shirt.

His hoarse voice interrupts your thoughts as you leave his collar, “Still need help on those equations?”

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ JUNG YUJUN ꒱

Yujun is a very sweet and shy boy and you love that about him so much. But the occasional boosts of confidence he gets give him a new level of attractiveness you didn’t know he had before you witnessed it.

He is recording a video of his and Jinsik’s room for some daily vlog while you are lazing around in the bed waiting for him to finish up. For a while, you are patient till you start getting bored as he retakes it almost four times because he keeps messing up and giggles.

By the fifth take you get a very annoying idea, courtesy of spending time with Seeun, and as soon as Yujun starts the video and steadies the camera on the stand you walk by right in between him and the camera. A quiet laugh leaves your throat when you see him side-eyeing you mentally noting to cut that part out.

He keeps talking before you repeat your actions making him flabbergasted and to top it off you do it again after he keeps talking and carefully repeating his sentences for a retake. As soon as you do it for the third time, his hands wrap around your arms and pull you behind him.

You gasp lightly knowing you can never expect this kind of action from Yujun as he slowly turns to face you. “What are you trying baby?” he asks, voice low slightly hinting on the warning edge. Your eyes widen as you try to stutter out a proper sentence.

“Yujun the video,” you blink lightly looking at him and he shrugs saying, “I have to retake it anyway since a certain someone couldn’t stop walking at all, you want my attention that bad, love?”

The slight cocking of his eyebrows has you stuttering more as you try to keep your calm and reply, “Maybe, yes.” “Maybe later,” his breath fanning your face is suddenly gone as he distances himself and you stumble over nothing at the abrupt change.

“Want it now,” you exclaim as you extend your hand, pull him by the collar and press your lips to his. Taken by surprise, his eyes widen and before he can react you are leaving him breathless. A red hue streaks across his face making him stutter and blink in shock. You are not any better as you squeal in your hands lightly after your spontaneous action and he keeps looking at you with his round baby face.

Whether bold, confident Yujun or shy Yujun, both are a very dangerous species for your heart and you know it all too well now.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ HUNTER ꒱

A spray of water greets you as soon as you set foot in your garden making you whip your head towards the neighbour’s lawn. “What the,” your eyes widen as you see Hunter standing there with a water gun in his hands, and the same adorable smile etching his face. The same Hunter who was once shorter than the fence is now taller, the Hunter who left Thailand for Korea.

Before you can comprehend the situation the front gate of your house is opening and Hunter enters and asks, “’Sup loser?” Your breath feels heavier as you blink hoping you are not hallucinating in broad daylight. Hunter is here! In your garden! And puberty had hit him like a Mac truck.

“Hunter,” you breathe out after bouts of silence and he shrugs saying, “Missed me much?” Missed him? Missed him? You scoff at the question and pick up the water hose hitting him with the pipe and say, “Ya think?” A laugh leaves his lips and hits straight to your gut making all the feelings you tried to stash away float right back up.

You grab him by his collar and pull him close to you, having to look up since God knows how he became so tall. “How could you leave me like that? And before you refute one week's notice wasn’t enough. Do you know how much I have to update you on? All those school years? And- and- every other thing and it doesn’t help because your stupid face and laugh is engraved in my mind for four years you asshole, I hate you so much,” you breathe in deep as Hunter presses his mouth trying hard not to laugh.

You gasp saying, “You are laughing, you think this is a laughing matter?” and pull him down by the collar and glare at him. Hunter’s breath slows down as your faces come inches apart and for a moment you two stay quiet breaths mingling. You look up at him meeting his eyes which hold a hint of amusement and longing in them.

“Maybe yes,” he breathes out, eyes moving down to your lips and you waste no time pulling him in and locking your lips with his. And in that instant, he knew he was finally home.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ LEE YECHAN ꒱

You are so devastatingly in love with Yechan that you would cringe at yourself for being so infatuated. That would definitely explain though why you were staring at him like he discovered the earth is round while he is talking about his day.

Half-way through his habitual yapping you catch your attention drifting and shifting down to his whole attire. A few hours prior you had giggled and lightly teased him about wearing a formal suit because of the company dinner.

Now, you are cursing your old self for downplaying Yechan wearing a suit because goddamn he looked way too attractive in it. As much cliché as it sounds you do have a thing for men in suits. It just makes them way more attractive and Yechan isn’t an exception. He even had his sleeves rolled to his elbows and tie loose as soon as he came to his dorm and that wasn’t helping at all. The backdrop of his voice doesn’t help your case at all as your mind flutters away from the conversation and focuses on how plump and beautiful his lips look.

With every movement, you feel like shutting him up already and feel those lips on yours and your impatience gets the best of you when a small smile makes its way to his lips as he talks about some prank Seeun managed to pull. Before you doubt yourself you find yourself holding his collar and pulling him in.

Yechan is surprised as his lips meet yours messily while he is mid-talk and his eyes widen even more as he feels you kissing him. His mind shuts down and before he can react you are already pulling away. Heat creeps up your face as your brain finally pieces back together from the mush it was a few seconds ago.

Yechan is staring for a good amount of time before his brain processes and a red hue creeps up his neck and face. He giggles nervously as you hide your face in your hands groaning softly. But the moment is short-lived as Yechan softly pulls off your hands and places a soft kiss on your lips which you gratefully reciprocate.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤ idek why yechan was so hard to write, i had my fun with seeun's lol, junghoon is my fav ㅤ𓏧ㅤ library ㅤ xikers shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @haneagerr (beta) ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

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komohine · 4 days ago

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OK shootin my shot but it’s not rlly a WC lore based question for jaithebur more abt the two themselves…. If that makes sense

I know sometimes people with their WC oc’s they tend to put something symbolic in the cats fur/pelt.. does James or Keith have anything symbolic in their cats designs? Or are they a certain cat breed that is specific to them personally? SORRY IF YOUVE ALREADY TALKED ABT THIS 😭

i think the most obvious symbolic ish thing would be the literal red wing pattern i put into redwing’s coat LMFAO

red paladin, flying, space, you get it

for flintstorm i made his leg markings smoke like bcs i needed a way for him to not look super boring next to redwing and also because i feel like with james i generally have a smoke motif going on whenever i draw or write about him.

as for cat breeds i didnt really think of that i fear. keith was a medium hair tuxedo and james is a brownish grey shorthair tabby but with the red patch of fur i gave keith he might be considered a calico. which also makes him transgender. HOORAY!

in general with their designs i think i made flintstorm’s legs nearly double the length of redwing’s. tall ass man gets to be a tall ass cat LMFAO. flintstorm in general i draw thinner and sharper than redwing. also not super obvious but i gave redwing more fur at the scruff, almost like a mane, to represent his mullet… lmfao every time james grooms him he always struggles with that randomly long as fuck patch of hair.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #jaith #james griffin #james voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #shipping #headcanon #warrior cats au #warrior cats #crossover

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 10 months ago

Text

Hemophiliac

you are here! - ch. ii - ch. iii - ch. iv

A/N: This is a commission for @twisted-desires . I am a big fan of vampires and this will be another male!reader. The AU is... It is a little modern... But more... A form of the 50's or 60's in a way. Don't think too hard about it...

tags: vamp!male!reader x noble!riddle rosehearts, aged up au (Riddle is 20+, reader is 200+) wc: 1k+

Riddle sobbed quietly, stuffing some of his clothes into a small leather suitcase. Big round tears rolled down his cheeks as he wiped at his face with a pale shaking hand. “She’s so… Just so awful to me…” He whispered under a croaked breath. Hiccuping softly he crossed the room to grab his coin purse from his vanity, adding it to his suitcase as well. Riddle Rosehearts has always obeyed his mothers wishes. He has always done what she asks of him even if he didn’t want to. But this was something he would refuse to do.

His mother is the most well respected doctor in the country. Especially being a woman in the field of medicine while his father was off in another country for reasons he couldn’t get answers to. He wondered if the reason his mother arranged a marriage without Riddle’s knowledge was because of this. Just telling him over lunch this afternoon that he was set to marry a woman he has never met before. “Just because I’m twenty years old doesn’t mean I want to marry… She married when she was twenty three… Maybe I want to wait…” Riddle grumbled bitterly to himself as he zipped the suitcase shut and looked around his large bedroom. It was illuminated by a yellowing gas lamp chandelier high above him.

Everything he owned was selected by his mother. Clothes, books, the very bareboned decor… Even the cream and olive colored wallpaper with fern lace. He had nothing of his own that he could truly feel attached to in this large and lonely manor. It was hardly a home. It was just a place he lived in. That is why it felt so much easier to run away under the cover of the gray, cottony clouds and the blacked out moon. He sniffled away one final time before grabbing a thin necklace with a small silver cross, and his thick, red, traveling cloak. The sky was starting to rumble, and the delicate tap of rain pelted against his bedroom windows.

It was dark. The moon had vanished as he slipped past the servants quarters, down the marble stairs, and out the heavy doors of the manor. He held tightly to his leather suitcase, keeping it protected beneath his cloak as the rumbling grew louder and the rain fell harder. Riddle cautiously avoided the puddles as he raced up to the iron gate. His body was thin enough for him to slip through, but his bag was the problem. He pulled and grunted, attempting to yank the bag through the bars before slipping and landing on the soaked ground. His bag tumbled into a large mud puddle on the other side. He would be traveling even lighter than expected.

Riddle despised the dirt, but he had no time to complain. He had to leave now or be trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman he didn’t know. The young man kneeled in the softened earth, sticking his arm through the water soaked bars to pull his bag close enough to dig through. Riddle would only take his coin purse and abandon the rest. It didn’t matter. All of his clothes are things his mother bought him. Riddle rose to his feet, the small purse tight in his icy fingers as he began to walk down the lonely dirt path. No destination in mind. Only the rain and cold kept him company as the manor shrank behind him. Riddle had never done anything like this. He had fantasized about running away. Of vanishing into thin air with no traces of him ever existing. But everyone reaches a breaking point. This was his.

It was exhilarating,

This newfound freedom to wander the world as a proper adult. No one would tell him what to do. Riddle could live in the forest among the deer and the little bluebirds. He could bathe in the rivers and nap in a patch of clover. All very idealistic despite the stormy weather. But that would be for the future when he abandons the modern world for a life among the trees. For now he needs somewhere to hide from the rain. “If I seek shelter from Trey… My mother will surely find out. Pinkā is completely out of the question.” He murmured as he found himself nearing a wooded area. If he camped out in a cave for the night he would have better luck in the morning. With the moon and stars hidden it was impossible to see anything. So he would just have to pray. The foliage was thick, branches swatting against Riddle’s legs as he continued his trek. His boots continuously became stuck in the soft soil, and it became harder and harder to walk among the dark trees. Riddle didn’t mind. He actually was enjoying himself.

For the first time in his life he was able to go somewhere alone. Even if he had no real destination in mind, his mother wasn’t holding his hand. Riddle is an adult and he wants to be seen as one. As he walked, he made it to a clearing. One he couldn’t recall ever seeing near the manor in the past. A small manor, appearing ancient and gothic with its architecture. A large iron gate surrounded the area but Riddle was confident in his thin frame to squeeze through the bars. The cobblestone path clicked beneath his heels as he avoided the larger puddles. The plants all looked dead, yellowing and bone dried under the sun. Riddle walked closer and closer, feeling the chill from the sleet starting to settle into his bone marrow. Maybe the place was abandoned? He now stood at the doorstep, staring at the heavy oak double doors with a trembling fist. He would knock and announce himself. If no one answers he will just let himself in. It isn’t a crime to break into an abandoned building. Riddle will just say he was sleepwalking.

Before Riddle could muster any more courage, the door suddenly opened and a masculine frame greeted him. But something felt wrong. Riddle just hasn’t pieced together what.

#absolute commissions.#ch i #vampire au #male reader #riddle rosehearts x reader

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urmooniee · 2 years ago

Text

I ♥ YOU - RAFE CAMERON

₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

PAIRING: fem! x rafe cameron

wc: 1044

tw: CUTENESS!!

taglist

Y/N was cosily snuggled in her warm bed, covered in soft blankets. The soft glow of fairy lights adorned her room, casting a warm and inviting ambience. She held a steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands, the rich aroma filling the air as she took a sip. Outside, the world was painted in a pristine white, snowflakes gently descending from the dark winter sky.

As Y/N enjoyed her movie, her peaceful evening was suddenly interrupted by a muffled thud against her window. Startled, she turned her attention to the glass pane. Another thud followed, louder this time. Her heart raced, and she cautiously made her way to the window to investigate.

Peering out, she was taken aback when she saw Rafe standing there, a mischievous grin on his face, holding a perfectly round snowball. Y/N opened the window and shivered as a gust of cold air swept into the room.

She looked at Rafe with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, "What are you doing here?"

Rafe's eyes sparkled with amusement in the frosty night.

"I couldn't resist," he chuckled. "I thought we could have a little winter fun. Snowball fight, maybe?"

Y/N couldn't help but smile, despite the surprise and the chill in the air. Rafe always had a way of bringing excitement into her life.

"A snowball fight, huh? Well, you're on!" She quickly retreated into her room to put on some warmer clothes, determined to match Rafe's playful spirit.

"Alright, Mr. Sneaky Snowball Attacker, let the games begin!" With that, she gathered some snow and fashioned a snowball, ready to defend herself and retaliate in this impromptu battle.

Rafe's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as the snowball fight commenced. Laughter filled the wintry night air as they exchanged snowballs, creating a beautiful memory that they would treasure for years to come. Rafe and Y/N decided to make the most of the snowy night.

Amid their spirited snowball fight, Rafe was determined to land the perfect shot. He gathered a snowball, carefully shaping it into a compact sphere. With a mischievous grin, he took careful aim at Y/N, crouched behind a snowbank, preparing her ammunition.

But as he released the snowball, his aim went slightly awry. Instead of a direct hit on Y/N's snowy fortress, the snowball veered off course and, with a sudden gust of wind, smacked Y/N right in the face.

Y/N blinked in surprise, her face dusted with snow. Rafe's grin turned into a sheepish smile, and he rushed over to her, exclaiming, "Oops, that wasn't supposed to happen! Are you okay?"

Y/N wiped the snow from her face with a grin. "Oh, you're on," she declared, her eyes gleaming with determination. She swiftly gathered a handful of snow and, with a playful vengeance, started pelting Rafe with snowballs.

Rafe, not one to back down, retaliated with a barrage of snowballs. The chase was on. They darted through the snowy landscape, laughter filling the air as they pursued each other.

As they weaved and dodged, Y/N's foot slipped on a patch of ice, and she found herself teetering on the brink of a fall. Desperately, she grabbed onto Rafe's jacket, and they tumbled together into the snow, a jumble of limbs and laughter.

Rafe ended up on top of Y/N, their faces close, and their laughter subsided into a shared, affectionate gaze. With a tender smile, he leaned in for a kiss, and Y/N met him halfway. Their lips met in the midst of the snowy landscape, sealing their playful romp with a sweet moment of connection and warmth

After the snowball fight, they decided to create a snowman. They rolled three snowballs of varying sizes, stacking them to form a jolly snowman with a carrot nose and a crooked smile. It was far from perfect, but it was their snowman, and it made them both laugh.

With their snowman proudly standing guard. Hand in hand, they lay down side by side, moving their arms and legs to create beautiful snow angels in the crisp snow. The pristine white canvas was now adorned with their playful imprints.

With a mischievous grin and a heart full of love, Y/N bent down and delicately wrote a message in the pristine snow beneath her feet. She wrote the words, "I love you, Rafe," with great care.

Turning to Rafe, she nudged him gently, her eyes sparkling. "Look, Rafe," she said, pointing to the message she had written in the snow.

Rafe's eyes locked onto the message, and his heart swelled with affection. He was momentarily speechless, deeply touched by this simple yet profound declaration of love. The moonlight illuminated the message, making it shimmer like a secret shared only between them.

Rafe turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with warmth and emotion. He took her hands in his and said, "Y/N, I love you more than words can express."

As they lay side by side in the snow, their breath visible in the cold air, Rafe turned to Y/N, and with a tender smile, he leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Rafe raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, you win this round," he admitted, a good-natured grin on his face.

Y/N smiled triumphantly and playfully patted some snow off her jacket. "It's all in good fun, right?" She walked closer to the door, the cold now more noticeable. "You should come inside before you freeze out here."

Rafe nodded, brushing snow off his clothes, hand in hand, they returned to the cosy comfort of y/n's house, entering through the front door. The warm and inviting atmosphere of her room welcomed them, with the soft glow of fairy lights casting a gentle radiance over her room.

They both settled by her bedside, where the movie continued to play, but the real magic of the night was the warmth they felt in each other's company.

The two of them, now nestled together in the comfort of Y/N's room, shared stories and laughter, relishing the warmth and cosiness of the moment. They watched the Christmas movie together, the characters on the screen mirroring their happiness.

As the movie neared its end, Y/N turned to Rafe and smiled. "Thank you Rafe, this has been such a wonderful night," she whispered, her eyes sparkling affectionately.

Rafe nodded, his gaze locked on her. "It truly has been."

Their eyes met, and in that silent, intimate moment, they both leaned in for another kiss.

au/ ive been caught! yup im a hopeless romantic and I actually dislike the snow, but such things make me so happy, one day hopefully that will be me:).

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