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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers.

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment.

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse.

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter.

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle.

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.”

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.”

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.”

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him.

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection.

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense.

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had.

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering.

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long.

Knows what can hunt you.

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.”

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!”

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here.

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves.

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt.

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money.

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable.

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat.

Turn back.

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin.

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs.

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other.

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat.

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time.

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place.

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard.

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath.

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it.

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head.

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper.

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed.

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had.

The Ghost.

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal.

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it.

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air.

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips.

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat.

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up.

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts.

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale.

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh.

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you.

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes.

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley.

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop.

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor.

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes.

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances.

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog.

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help.

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold.

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here.

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward.

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey.

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches.

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time.

Eyes like a burial mound.

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads.

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense.

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage.

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages.

But the Ghost isn’t even there.

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.”

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward.

Where did it go?

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear.

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it.

Those eyes.

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state.

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears.

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do.

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close.

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh.

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage.

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough.

“H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!”

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him.

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering.

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back.

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction.

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise.

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity.

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival.

So run you did.

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson.

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage.

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape.

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar!

But the house was different.

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade.

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches.

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly.

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.”

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this.

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves.

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened.

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering.

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live?

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently.

This would be your sanctuary for the night.

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not.

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers.

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink.

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly.

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings.

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?”

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt.

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.”

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!”

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop.

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive.

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view.

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?”

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen.

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door.

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force.

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.”

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back.

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring.

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees.

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul.

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches.

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do.

The beast patrolled the glade.

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away.

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront.

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork.

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here.

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really.

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action.

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart.

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor.

Your neighbor the Werewolf.

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him.

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented.

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined.

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside.

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.”

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate.

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling.

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors.

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider.

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.”

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug.

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting.

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.”

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums.

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others.

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.”

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion.

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.”

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.”

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath.

An embarrassing giggle meets air.

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room.

You wake up to the sound of the door opening.

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality.

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches.

All sound ceases.

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting.

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers.

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently.

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up.

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form.

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.”

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes.

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways.

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlized, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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bigtreefest · 3 months

Text

Fic Rec Masterlist

*This list is constantly being edited as I read more that’s so good I feel the need to share

Fluff 💞| Smut 🔥| Angst 🧊 | ST’s Favorite 🌟

Bucky Barnes

Series

🌟An Offer by @wntrs0ldier

I Thought You’d Never Happen to Me by @nickfowlerrr

Van Helsing Retold 🧊by @gaysindistress

New Tricks by @sebstanwhore

The List by @srgntjamesbuckybarnes

Catch Me if You Can by @buckyalpine

Treat You Better by @notafunkiller

Wedded Bliss by @gutsby

I Think He Knows by @delicatebarness

One-Shots

Wrapped Around Him by @angrythingstarlight

Back Again by @delaber

Are You Bored Yet? By @pellucid-constellations

Curiosity Killed the Cat by @queers-gambit

My Everyday by @pellucid-constellations

Traitor (technically a 2-shot) 🧊🔥 by @insomniumstella

Details by @soulgazingwithbucky

When we are Older by @buckys-wintersoldier

Hell Hath no Fury Like a Farmer Scorned by @eat-limes-bitches

You Know Just What I Need by @sinner-as-saint

Right Here by @ellemj

I Hate You by @ellemj

My First and Only by @buckyalpine

Bake Nights by @jobean12-blog

Steve Rogers

Series

Reckless 💞🔥🧊 by @kinanabinks

The Gemini by @rogersideup

One-shots

With You by @buckets-and-trees

I’m So, So… Sorry by @ronearoundblindly

Stucky

Series

The Brooklyn Boys by @buckets-and-trees

Backstage Pass by @luxeavenger

Mafia!Stucky by @myfictionaldreams

The Fuckboy Committee by @kinanabinks

Ari Levinson

Series

Highways & Heatstrokes (trucker AU) 🔥 by @oh-my-damn

🌟Bedrock and Blueprints by @ronearoundblindly

Sweet Renegade by @cevansbrat0007

Being in Love (ex Bucky) by @imtryingbuck

Pearls & Sunflowers by @chase-your-dreams-away

Flamingo King by @onsunnyside

One-Shots

Stoner sex 🔥 by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

I’ll Wait, Angel by @buckyscombatboots

Jake Jensen

Series

One-Shots

A Helping Hand by @buckymorelikefuckme

Curtis Everett

Series

Live Is Short So Make It Sweet by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

I Know I Should Know Better by @krirebr

Dream Come True by @thezombieprostitute

One-Shots

Andy Barber

Series

Like I’m Gonna Lose You (with Ransom Drysdale) by @paperweight91

One-shots

Ransom Drysdale

Series

Precarious Agreements by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

The Root of All Ransom by @ronearoundblindly

More Than This by @krirebr

One-Shots

Afterglow by @stargazingfangirl18

Johnny Storm

Colin Shea

Sprawling Multi-character AUs

Lucky Charms by @yenzys-lucky-charm

We’re All Monsters by @krirebr @paperweight91

Come Hell or High Water by @imaginedreamwrite

#Bucky Barnes #Steve rogers #Ari Levinson #Jake Jensen #Curtis Everett #fic rec Masterlist #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Steve rogers fanfiction #Ari Levinson fanfiction #Jake Jensen fanfiction #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #Curtis Everett fanfiction #stucky #stucky fanfiction #chris evans #sebastian stan

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gaysindistress · 7 months

Text

Van Helsing Retold - masterlist

pairing: Vamp!Bucky Barnes x Vamp Hunter!reader

status: complete

Summary: Under the cover of night, vampires and their hunters have been at war for centuries, never letting their bloodshed reach the light of day. That is until the wife of a powerful vampire leader, Steve Rogers is murdered and he demands revenge. Y/N Van Helsing is the target of his crusade and she comes face to face with his right hand man, Bucky Barnes.

warnings: Vamp!Bucky, cursing, vampires, death,, violence, angst, fluff, murder, violence, weapons. Each chapter will have it’s own warnings as well and please read at your own risk!

gaysindistress masterlist

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written so that anyone to see themselves in her.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #vampire bucky barnes #vampire #vampire!bucky x reader #vampire au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel #van helsing retold Bucky

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jo-harrington · 1 year

Text

Heaven - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie had written off ever finding his person. Yeah he could fool around and have some fun, but at the end of the day no one would look at him the way he wanted them to. Until you came along and, in the most unexpected way, changed his life forever.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: Fluff, Love at First Sight, Soulmates(?), Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Implied Sexual Encounters, Implied Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Abandonment, Biblical and Other Literary References

Note: Set before Hell, we have our introduction to Reader/OC for my Van Helsing AU/Kas!Eddie series, As Above, So Below. Once again, this can be read as a stand-alone, but if you're planning on reading the eventual series, you might want to read the prequels.

That being said, this fic and the subsequent fics/chapters in the series will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find the As Above, So Below masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it. Made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand."

—The Business of Heaven, Daily Readings from C.S. Lewis (1984)

March 1984

When Eddie met you, he had all but given up on finding love.

He had heard it all before.

He was young. He still had the rest of his life ahead of him. Maybe love wasn't in Hawkins. He just needed to have patience.

But it stung to watch the others receive affection, care, and understanding when he waited. Wanting, deserving, but never receiving.

Until you walked into the Hideout, wet and weary after a long drive to an unfamiliar place in unforgiving conditions.

You weren't some spectacular beauty, or otherworldly siren, or heavenly angel that he would expect in a fantasy novel or a DnD game. You were, quite frankly, a mess. But as you turned and nodded your head along to the music, Eddie swore his heartbeat was louder than Mickey's relentless assault on the drums.

He approached you at the end of the set as you sat at the bar nursing a cherry coke and circling want ads in the classified section of the Hawkins Post.

He asked you if you liked cheese fries before he even said hello.

And the laugh you made was loud and honking, but it was nevertheless perfect.

You were a disaster made, he hoped, just for him.

June 1984

“The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise,” Eddie muttered as he traced the words etched into your forearm. “That from the Bible?”

"Yeah."

“That’s pretty badass.”

While all of his classmates were dressed in their best clothes—their caps and gowns—being celebrated by the fanfare that befitted the class of 1984, you and Eddie were spread out in the back of his van in your underwear, studying each others tattoos after a day of swimming and skipping rocks at Lover's Lake.

It was a lazy kind of day.

You had sensed his anxiety in the days prior, when you asked about the end of the school year, about his plans after graduation. He initially wasn't going to tell you that he wouldn’t be graduating. He tried to skirt around it. But somehow you knew.

You always knew. Because you knew him.

You suggested a day out, just the two of you. Something special. As opposed to the many "dates" he had taken you on where his friends ended up tagging along. You promised you didn't mind, but he would have liked to kiss you freely without some doofus making lewd noises in the background.

But your idea had been perfect.

Graduation was played up to be some kind of achievement, something special. But how could it be when you were surrounded by a hundred other kids who all knew the same shit you did. Probably didn’t even know it, actually; they were just good at remembering it for a little while.

How could that feel special?

But this? Learning about you? It was more important than math or science or some other useless bullshit.

Knowing you—loving you—was the most special thing he could ever achieve. And he was proud to say that he was getting straight A’s.

“Listen," you started as Eddie pressed a kiss to your skin. "I know all of the love-thy-neighbor-Jesus shit is pretty lame. But…I don’t know, some things are cool.”

“Care to elaborate?” he asked.

“Some of the Saints…reliquaries, catacombs, the Book of Revelation,” you shrugged. “You can kind of choose what you want to believe in, I guess.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point of organized religion?” He huffed and rolled onto his back, pulling your arm across his torso so you could rest your head on his shoulder and your body could drape across his comfortably.

"Isn’t what the point?" You fished the sharp pendant of your necklace from between your bodies and laid it on his bare chest beside his.

His was simple, a guitar pick he'd caught at the first concert he ever attended.

Yours, intricate, a silver cross with flowers and vines intermingled around the arms. Hyacinths, you told him once. As though he knew what they were. But he made a mental note to try and find them for your birthday, since you seemed to like them enough to have a necklace with them.

“Well, it's organized. That you all believe the same…I dunno. Stories? Lessons?” He rambled on as his hand gestured absentmindedly.

“It's all just…rules made by old men,” you scoffed. “Some stuffy guy in the Vatican says…I don’t know…don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back and earn a one way ticket to hell? And I’m supposed to believe it?”

“That’s just a superstition.” He paused for a moment and snorted. “Kind of ironic that I, a supposed devil worshiper, am telling you this, Miss Catholic School.”

You rolled your eyes at him but still smiled.

“Pretty sure if someone knows more about Satan between the two of us,” you giggled. “It’s me.”

“Shhh, you’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

July 1984

The 4th of July fell on the most perfect day.

It might have rained a little earlier that morning, but Eddie had certainly slept through it, and it made way for perfect skies and just the slightest slickness to the grass as he and the boys ran around the open fields surrounding Weathertop.

The van was full of fireworks, and Jack's mom had set them up with sandwiches and a few coolers of iced tea and lemonade. Mickey brought the beers. Eddie had the good sense to invite some of the younger guys too, which meant Gareth's mom had sent him along with a few extra pies she had made.

Apple, Strawberry Rhubarb, and Cherry—Eddie's favorite.

His mouth watered for the tantalizing summer feast, but he craved you more.

You were a little late to the party, having worked the opening shift at Bradley's, but before long your clunky, hand-me-down Marquis pulled up alongside his van.

"The freezers went down at work," you called to the boys. "So I have, like, a hundred boxes of bomb pops. Can I get some help before they melt? I have no A/C, so it’s hot as Hell."

It had just reached the height of the day, and the boys whooped and tripped over each other to get to the sweet, icy treats.

"In the backseat," you reminded them. "Not the trunk."

“Why don’t you let me take a look at your car?” Eddie asked, snaking his arms around your waist.

“To fix the a/c? If you want.” You shrugged but beamed at him. “It was my grandpa’s car. It’s on its last legs anyway.”

"At least let me look at the trunk." Eddie offered and you rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away from you playfully. "What? Then you wouldn't have to shove, like, a hundred boxes of bomb pops in the backseat."

"I swear, the trunk is just rusted shut at this point," you supplied with a laugh. "There's no use."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he pouted. He knew you knew when he was fishing for a kiss, but you gave in to his pouting anyway and immediately chased after his lips to plant one on him.

That night after the feast is consumed and everyone is enjoying the fireworks, Eddie couldn’t ignore the feeling that things were about to take a turn for the worst.

His closest friends would be gone soon, off to college and leaving him behind. His band practically broken apart, dreams shattered, if not for Gareth and Jeff.

Everything was changing.

And the only constant he could count on now was you.

He couldn’t help but worry how long it would be before you'd leave him too.

October 1984

The cicadas chirped and buzzed wildly. A mourning dove that had nested on top of the trailer in the spring and was still there and cooed restlessly, calling for a mate that had left it behind. The cheap window units Wayne had gotten from the hardware store ages ago chugged and clunked away to keep the trailer just on the side of cool enough to wear clothes.

They were sounds of summer, not fall, and most certainly not Halloween. But it was an unseasonably, disgustingly hot week, and it did nothing to help Eddie get into a chilling, haunted mindset as he planned a special one-off campaign for Hellfire on the 31st.

His repeat senior year hadn’t started off too well. The teachers were unforgiving, the students unkind. But he had promised Wayne he would try.

Things like the band and Hellfire certainly made it bearable.

You made it bearable.

You’d been working a lot of nights lately, but still made time for him and promised him special incentives and treats if he did well in school.

If he showed up on time for a week, you could have a sleepover at your apartment. Pass a test with a grade above a C, you’d tell him a secret.

He hadn’t gotten quite so good of a grade on a test yet but he had written a killer essay in English and he had negotiated your participation in Hellfire for Halloween, since the roster was slightly lacking this year. It hadn’t even taken much negotiation, really; you were just as excited to learn everything about him as he was about you.

So you’d spent a lazy Sunday afternoon with him as he explained the mechanics of the game and helped you create a character.

“…I forgot to mention if you do pick a rogue, you have proficiency in de—what’re you looking at now?”

He’d paused his lesson to grab some drinks, and when he returned, you were frozen in place, staring intently at a page in his players guide, brow furrowed. One of your hands clutched the book tightly, and the other touched the words on the page almost reverently.

He set your sodas on the nightstand and then glanced over at the book.

“Ah, we hadn’t gotten there yet,” he laughed and flopped down on the bed. “Tsk, tsk, reading ahead. But don’t worry, paladins are really cool. They pledge an oath to a deity—devote their whole lives—and then get this…divine ability so long as they uphold it. They can heal or even smite—”

You slammed the book shut at that and Eddie jumped in shock. You refused to look at him for a moment, rubbing your hands over the cover of the book in contemplation, before you looked up at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I think I’ll be a rogue,” you nodded. “That sounded really cool.”

“A-are you sure?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat and sank down into his pillows. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, nuzzled him slightly, and shoved the book back into his hands. “So what else do I need to play?”

November 1984

Eddie woke abruptly to frantic banging on the front door of the trailer.

It had been raining when he went to bed, which usually helped him sleep. At first he thought the storm had just gotten stronger.

Until he heard your voice.

You had abandoned the front door in favor of the side door near his bedroom. You tripped over the bowl he left for the stray cats and swore viciously. He chuckled tiredly until the banging started again and his heart seized in his chest.

You weren’t knocking. Your hands were practically slapping at the door.

“Please, God, please, please.” He could hear you muttering desperately.

He kicked the soft comforter off and pushed himself out of bed to get to you. As soon as the door was open you crashed into his chest, your arms wound around his waist, and you sobbed. Great, broken sobs that made his heart break.

He was about to put his arms around you, to soothe you and ask you what was wrong, when he smelled it.

Smoke. Fire. Acrid and cloying, engulfing you.

He looked down and was shocked. You were filthy; covered in dirt and soot and muck. The edges of your clothes and the ends of your hair were singed. You were visibly shaking.

"W-what happened?" Eddie asked frantically, prying your arms from around him, trying to see if you were hurt. He froze at the sight of blood caked on your hands and wrists. His stomach churned when he noticed the streaky stains it left below your nostrils. "Are you ok? Are you hurt? What happened?"

You simply shook your head and collapsed back against him.

He couldn't help the fear that overtook him, but he stayed strong as he pulled you into the trailer. As he got you into the shower and washed...whatever happened off of you. There were no cuts or burns or bruises. He tried to ask again, once you had calmed down enough that the tears fell silently and the only sounds you made were an occasional hiccup.

The next morning you were fine. You told him there was an accident at Bradley's. But there was no report on the news or in the paper. The building was fully intact. All of the staff were present and happily employed. You had no problem going back to work; in fact, you did so with a smile on your face.

Eddie never asked.

Because he knew you had secrets.

You never told him.

Because he never got a better grade than a C.

A month after that night, though, Hawkins National Laboratory was shut down and abandoned.

January 1985

"...can't I have anything for myself. It's unfair." Your muffled voice pierced through his dreams and pulled him into awareness.

He had been a light sleeper after that night in November, especially when you stayed over. You muttered in your sleep sometimes; it would wake him. You'd shift just far enough away; that would wake him too.

You had never had a full-on conversation before, though.

"Sins of the father, and sins of his father before that. Blah blah."

He blinked the bleariness from his eyes and watched as you paced at the foot of his bed. You wore nothing but your necklace. The cross swung wildly as your arms gestured and when you turned on your heel to continue your endless back and forth. Your voice was hushed.

It was half of an argument with an unseen adversary.

“I need a break…I know I haven’t been at this for long, but I’m sick and tired of it already.”

He vaguely wondered if you were hallucinating. A bad high. You’d always been reluctant to smoke with him but he had insisted tonight. After tangled limbs and quiet declarations in the sanctuary of his bedroom. Words of worship whispered to one another. The buzz beneath his skin had felt foreign and he figured the weed could mellow it out.

Maybe it had the opposite effect on you.

But then Eddie felt it.

As awareness settled over him, he felt an unseen, suffocating presence. It felt like the days where the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, only this time...the weight of the entire universe, every atom and every molecule, every moment--past, present, and future--existed all at once in his small bedroom and crushed him flat on his bed.

You continued on your one-sided rant and he didn’t know how you managed to move so freely when he felt so trapped, pinned in place by the weight of it. He tried to get your attention but he couldn't move, couldn't breath.

In the corner of his eye he swore he could see it. Blazing fire and wings and eyes.

He gasped and looked but saw nothing there. Still, the suffocating weight closed in on him further, pressing and squeezing, crushing him. And fear gripped him tightly. He wrenched his eyes shut and for the first time, probably in his life, he prayed.

He begged for it to go away.

Because if it didn't. He was going to die.

The bed shifted with your weight as you crawled to him and as soon as your hands reached him, he could breathe again.

“Eddie, oh my god please, are you ok?” You asked frantically, cupping his face in your hands. “Please say something.”

He gasped for air and sat up, clutching your hands to his face. You were his lifeline, his savior.

He closed his eyes and a million thoughts raced through his mind.What the fuck was that? Are you ok? Maybe he had a bad high, not you? Was it a nightmare? What the fuck was that?

February 1985

Your goodbye was expected. But that didn't mean it didn't cut him straight to his core.

You had been waiting for him one Friday night after Hellfire; he had driven the guys home only to find you waiting outside the trailer. Your car was packed with your belongings, similar to the way it had been the night you had stumbled into Hawkins.

He felt like vomiting as soon as he saw you.

You fed him some story about a sick, dying grandmother. How your mother had left a message on your answering machine begging you to come back home.

"She needs me," you told him.

"I need you," he replied desperately.

You couldn't do much more than shake your head and break down in tears.

"I'll come back," you promised. "It won't be long. Just wait for me."

In hindsight, he wished he had screamed and cried and begged you to stay. He wished that he had offered to go with you. Chicago wasn't that far. Wayne would have been mad, but then...Eddie would still have you.

Eddie was a good liar, though. He could fool anyone if he tried hard enough. He could even lie to himself.

He smiled and nodded and pretended to understand.

"Sure," he agreed. "I'll wait."

Your eyes started watering and you pulled him into the tightest hug. He wrapped his arms around you numbly, and as he did, he vaguely remembered some bullshit myth--

How humans were created...conjoined together. 4 arms, 4 legs, a head with two faces...but the Gods feared their power, split them in two. Condemned them to spend their lives apart.

--And he wished that he had some sort of secret, divine power to meld himself back together with you. Because surely, you belonged there with him. And if he concentrated on squeezing you just right, you would simply fuse together and you would never be apart again.

Life didn't work that way though.

You reluctantly pulled away from him and pressed a wet kiss to his lips.

Before you got in the car to drive away forever, you took off your necklace and pressed the cross into his hand. It practically burned.

"Don't lose that," you told him. "I'll be back for it."

He closed his fist around it and nodded, unable to trust himself with words.

He watched as you drove away, stayed standing outside until he couldn't see your tail lights anymore.

He let himself in the trailer, glad that Wayne was still at work--

You'd be back. You promised. You loved him. He loved you. You told him almost everything. You brought him hope. And care. And you made him feel complete. You'd be back.

--as he threw your necklace into the furthest corner of the room.

As he screamed in agony.

“Life moves very fast. It can go from Heaven to Hell in a matter of seconds.”

—Eleven Minutes, Paulo Coelho (2003)

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #As Above So Below

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hellcatinnc · 3 months

Text

Character Birthday Masterlist

This is as many birthdays as I could find for all the games I have played and anime's I have watched. Trust me there are more characters but some have no birthday dates posted. I will update this list as I go but you can always find this on my pinned post to come back and check the birthday calendars for each. I did want to do a calendar itself for each month but when so many have the same birthdate I found this harder to do so chose to just do a master list instead.

There was so many birthdays I had to start a 2nd list here is the link to the 2nd one HERE

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

January

1st Natsume Asahina - Brothers Conflict

1st Yuito Sumeragi - Scarlet Nexus

3rd Wataru Asahina - Brothers Conflict

6th Herlock Sholmes - Code Realize

7th Saibara Kamui - Paradigm Parodox

9th Thoma - Genshin Impact

10th Yukichi Fukuzawa - Bungo Stray Dogs

11th Satoru Watabe - Stand My Hero

11th Eisuke Ichinomiya - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

12th Gary - 100 Sleeping Princes and the Kingdom Of Dreams

13th Hades Aidoneus - Kamigami No Asobi

13th Victor - Mr Love Queens Choice

14th Kosuke Misaki - Tomo-chan Is A Girl

16th Vlad Garfunkel - Phantom In The Twilight

18th Henri Lambert - Piofiore Fated Memories/1926

19th Edgar Allan Poe -Bungo Stray Dogs

21st Sirius Dieke - My Next Life as a Villainess

21st Rui Sagisawa - Nil Admirari no Tenbin

23rd Camus - Uta no Prince-sama

27th Urie Sogami - Dance With Devils

28th Kou Mukami - Diabolik Lovers

29th Kanato Hibiki - Maji Kyun! Renaissance

31st Mozu - Bustafellows

February

2nd Lyney - Genshin Impact

4th Gin Akutagawa - Bungo Stray Dogs

5th Takamasa Saeki - My Forged Wedding

8th Allan Melville - Cupid Parasite

9th Abraham Van Helsing - Code Realize

11th Alhaitham - Genshin Impact

12th Tsukito Totsuka - Kamigami No Asobi

13th Merenice - Cupid Parasite

14th Ren Jinguji - Uta no Prince-sama

14th Hatori Otani - Stand My Heroes

15th Arashi Spring - Scarlet Nexus

17th Soryu Oh - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

17th Fubuki Spring - Scarlet Nexus

20th Tifalia - Radiant Tale

21st Ririchiyo Shirakiin - Inu x Boku SS

22nd Kei Okazaki - Collar X Malice

22nd Yoshikazu Miyano - Sasaki to Miyano

22nd Monet Tsukushi - Magic Kyun! Renaissance

22nd Misuzu Gundo - Tomo-chan Is A Girl

22nd Louis Asahina - Brothers Conflict

26th Sophia Ascart - My Next Life as a Villainess

28th Light Yagami - Death Note

March

1st Ai Mikaze - Uta no Prince-sama

1st Ryuunosuke Akutagawa - Bungo Stray Dogs

2nd Raeliana McMillan - Why Raeliana Ended Up at the Duke's/M

3rd Ukyo - Amnesia Memories

3rd Yuki Itose - Sign Of Affection

3rd Lindo Tachibana - Dance With Devils

3rd Naomi Randall - Scarlet Nexus

6th Rafayel - Love And Deepspace

7th March 7th - Honkai Star Rail

8th Carol Olston - Tomo-chan Is A Girl

9th Mayuzumi Shion - Variable Baricade

18th Tsugumi Kuze - Nil Admirari no Tenbin

19th Ion - Radiant Tale

20th Sakami Laito - Diabolik Lovers

20th Takeru Totsuka - Kamigamin No Asobi

21st Kanato Sakamaki -Diabolik Lovers

22nd Ayato Sakamaki - Diabolik Lovers

25th Rintaro Tatewaki - Magic Kyun! Renaissance

25th Shiden Ritter - Scarlet Nexus

26th Kamisato Ayato -Genshin Impact

27th Keith Powell - Sugar Apple Fairy Tale

31st Yusuke Asahina - Brothers Conflict

April

1st Kyosuke Tsuduki - Stand My Heroes

1st Scarecrow - Bustafellow

1st Avi - 100 Sleeping Princes and the Kingdom of Dreams

1st Kodama Melone - Scarlet Nexus

2nd Masato Hanzawa - Sasaki and Miyano

3rd Noah Volstaire Wynknight - Why Raeliana Ended Up Duke's/M

4th Canus Espada - Cafe Enchante

8th Yagami Nayuta - Variable Baricade

8th Rowan - Dance With Devils

9th Kiro - Mr Love Queens Choice

10th Takatoo Tokio - Paradigm Parodox

11th Otoya Ittoki - Uta no Prince-sama

11th Zen Wistaria - Snow White With The Red Hair

12th Toma - Amnesia Memories

12th Ota Kisaki - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

13th Kagerou Shoukiin - Inu x Boku Secret Service

14th Jinnia - Radiant Tale

15th Jirou Ogasawara - Sasaki and Miyano

15th Hayato Ozaki - Nil Admirari no Tenbin

15th Himari Momochi - The Demon Prince of Momochi House

16th Baileu Ton - Phantom in the Twilight

17th Xiao - Genshin Impact

17th Lori Asahina - Brothers Conflict

17th Enomoto Mineo - Collar x Malice

19th Miyo - My Happy Marriage

22nd Yakumo Sumeragi - Scarlet Nexus

23rd Orlok - Piofiore

24th Ruki Mukami - Diabolik Lovers

24th Masaomi Asahina - Brothers Conflict

25th Baizhu - Genshin Impact

29th Chuuya Nakahara - Bungo Stray Dogs

29th Balder Hringhorni - Kamigami No Asobi

30th Diluc - Genshin Impact

May

2nd Ichiyou Higuchi - Variable Barricade

4th Tsugumi Nazar -Scarlet Nexus

5th Atsushi Nakajima - Bungo Stray Dogs

5th Shougo Ukawa - Nil Admirari no Tenbin

9th Akane Kinoshita - Loving Yamada Level 999

9th Aoi Nanamori - The Demon Prince of Momochi House

12th Mamiya Ayumu - Paradigm Parodox

13th Kaito Sumeragi - Scarlet Nexus

15th Karuta Roromiya - Inu x Boku SS

17th Leo Cavagnis - Piofiore

17th Radie - Radiant Tale

17th Impey Barbicane - Code Realize

18th Aki Myojin - Sweet Punishment

18th Gorou - Genshin Impact

21st Rosso - 100 Sleeping Princes and the Kingdom of Dreams

23rd Sosei Arakida - Stand My Hero

26th Luke Bowen - Phantom In The Twilight

28th Kaname Asahina - Brothers Conflict

June

1st Ikki - Amnesia Memories

1st Kotaro Yui - Stand My Hero

1st Arataki Itto - Genshin Impact

2nd Shiki Natsumezaka - Dance With Devils

5th Ibuki - Paradigm Parodox

5th Nagi Karman - Scarlet Nexus

6th Anubis Ma'at - Kamigami No Asobi

8th Sasazuka Takeru - Collar x Malice

9th Natsuki Shinomiya - Uta no Prince-sama

9th Syo Kurusu - Uta no Prince-sama

10th Kasane Randall - Scarlet Nexus

11th Lynette Mirror - Cupid Parasite

11th Eita Sasaki - Loving Yamada at Lv999!

14th Renshou Sorinozuka - Inu x Boku SS

15th Anne Halford - Sugar Apple Fairy Tale

17th Shuumei Sasaki - Sasaki and Miyano

19th Osamu Dazai - Bungo Stray Dogs

23rd Cyno - Genshin Impact

23rd Erika Shinohara - Wolf Girl & The Black Prince

24th Katarina Claes - My Next Life As A Villainess

25th Shirayuki - Snow White With The Red Hair

26th Shu - Bustafellows

26th Seto Narukami - Scarlet Nexus

27th Gilbert - 100 Sleeping Princes and the Kingdom of Dreams

28th Nicola Francesca - Piofiore

30th Shuichi Hishikura - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

July

1st Gemma Garrison - Scarlet Nexus

2nd Ema Asahina - Brothers Conflict

4th Nathaniel Hawthorne - Bungo Stray Dogs

4th Kyouya Sata - Wolf Girl & Black Prince

7th Fuuto Asahina - Brothers Conflict

7th Il Fado de Rie - Cafe Enchante

7th Tomo Aizawa - Tomo-chan Is A Girl

8th Gonzaburou Tashiro - Sasaki and Miyano

9th Kaveh - Genshin Impact

7th Alice Ichijo - Scarlet Nexus

13th Mitsumori Ichiya - Variable Barricade

13th Reiji Kotobuki - Uta no Prince-sama

13th Kazu - Variable Barricade

13th Joe Sumeragi - Scarlet Nexus

16th Gill Lovecraft - Cupid Parasite

20th Tartaglia - Genshin Impact

23rd Yuma Mukami - Diabolik Lovers

24th Junichirou Tanizaki - Bungo Stray Dogs

24th Limbo - Bustafellows

26th Gilbert Redford - Piofiore

30th Michizou Tachihara - Bungo Stray Dogs

30th Rishe Imgard Wertsner - 7th Loop

August

1st Hikaru Asahina - Brothers Conflict

1st Apollon Agana Belea - Kamigami No Asobi

1st Taiga Hirano - Sasaki and Miyano

2nd Saint Germain - Code Realize

6th Tokiya Ichinose - Uta no Prince-sama

7th Toujou Hibari - Variable Barricade

8th Ignis Carbunculus - Cafe Enchante

10th Mitsunari Baba - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

15th Louis Anjo - Magic Kyun Renaissance

16th Hanabi Ichijo - Scarlet Nexus

20th Alan Stuart - My Next Life As A Villainess

20th Geordo Stuart - My Next Life As A Villainess

22nd Vilio - Radiant Tale

23rd Tomitsuka Ryou - Paradigm Parodox

26th Victor Frankenstein - Code Realize

27th Kenji Miyazawa - Bungo Stray Dogs

29th Reiji Sakamaki - Diabolik Lovers

29th Zange Natsume - Inu x Boku SS

30th Doppo Kunikida - Bungo Stray Dogs

September

5th Yanagi Aiji - Collar x Malice

5th Zayne - Love And Deepspace

10th Maria Campbell - My Next Life As A Villainess

12th Kagero Donne - Scarlet Nexus

13th Albedo - Genshin Impact

14th Tasuku Kuresawa - Sasaki and Miyano

16th Douglas - 100 Sleeping Princes and the Kingdom of Dreams

17th Dante Falzone - Piofiore

17th Teika Ichijoji - Magic Kyun - Renaissance

17th Kasuga - Variable Barricade

17th Araki Mihaya - Paradigm Parodox

19th Yukinami - Paradigm Parodox

19th Hisui Hoshikawa - Nil Admirari no Tenbin

21st Mamoru Kishi - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

21st Akito Yamada - Loving Yamada Lvl 999!

22nd Subaru Asahina - Brothers Conflict

23rd Dionysus Thyrsos - Kamigami No Asobi

23rd Kent - Amnesia Memories

23rd Tsuki Aoyama - Stand My Hero

28th Rindo Kaoru - Cafe Enchante

29th Ranmaru Kurosaki - Uta no Prince sama

Octomber

7th Makoto Tsuduki - Stand My Hero

10th Banri Watanuki - Inu x Boku SS

10th Luka Travers - Scarlet Nexus

15th Paschalia - Radiant Tale

16th Xavier - Love And Deepspace

18th Shu Sakamaki - Diabolik Lovers

18th Shizuru Migiwa - Nil Asmirari no Tenbin

19th Hoshino Ichika - Collar x Malice

21st Ranpo Edogawa - Bungo Stray Dogs

24th Loki Laevatein - Kamigami No Asobi

24th Arsène Lupin - Code Realize

26th Sakunosuke Oda - Bungo Stray Dogs

28th Azusa Mukami - Diabolik Lovers

29th Kaedehara Kazuha - Genshin Impact

30th Helvetica - Bustafellows

31st Cecil Aijima - Uta no Prince sama

31st Junichiro Kubota - Tomo chan is a Girl

31st L Lawliet - Death Note

November

4th Subaru from Diabolik Lovers

4th Mary Hunt - My Next Life As A Villainess

4th Kyouka Izumi - Bungo Stray Dogs

8th Ritsuka Tachibana - Dance With Devils

11th Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Bungo Stray Dogs

11th Misyr Rex - Cafe Enchante

15th Lucien - Mr Love Queens Choice

15th Karen Travers - Scarlet Nexus

17th Rem Kaginuki - Dance With Devils

20th Zafora - Radiant Tale

21st Thor Megingjard - Kamigami No Asobi

23rd Wriothesley - Genshin Impact

23rd You Hattori - Stand My Hero

28th Luke Foster - Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

30th Shin - Amnesia Memories

30th Kaeya - Genshin Impact

30th Kyoka Eden - Scarlet Nexus

December

3rd Isurugi Taiga - Variable Barricade

3rd Ukyo - Asahina - Brothers Conflict

5th Tauryu - Phantom In The Twilight

7th Gojo Satoru - Jujutsu Kaisen

7th Akiko Yosano - Bungo Stray Dogs

12th Yang - Piofiore

16th Wataru Frazer - Scarlet Nexus

17th Aoi Suminomiya - Magic Kyun Renaissance

18th Neuvillette - Genshin Impact

18th Yuu Kusakabe - Wolf Girl & Black Prince

19th Soushi Miketsukami - Inu x Boku SS

20th Isaku Senagaki - A Girl And Her Guard Dog

20th Itsuomi Nagi - Sign Of Affection

22nd Keiya Uto - A Girl And Her Guard Dog

23rd Akira Kougami - Nil Asmirari no Tenbin

24th Shiraishi Kageyuki - Collar x Malice

25th Challe Fen Challe - Sugar Apple Fairy Tale

25th Akira Kagiura - Sasaki and Miyano

25th Misa Amane - Death Note

28th Keith Claes - My Next Life As A Villainess

28th Arnold Hein - 7th Loop

29th Masato Hijirikawa - Uta no Prince sama

31st Zhongli - Genshin Impact

31st Hyuga - Paradigm Parodox

31st Tsubaki Asahina - Brothers Conflict

31st Azusa Asahina - Brothers Conflict

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aviradasa · 4 months

Text

Welcome to my masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

{Picture from Pinterest}

Shows:

The umbrella Academy

Supernatural

The walking dead

Miraculous ladybug

How to train your dragon (all spin-off shows)

The dragon Prince mysterys of Aaravos

Once upon a time

Hazbin hotel

Helluva boss

Movies

Van helsing 2004

Hellboy 1 and 2

Labyrinth 1986

The MCU as a whole (Marvel cinematic universe)

Same with the DC universe

Avatar 1 and 2

Pirates of the Caribbean (all movies)

Games

Sally face

Call of duty

Skyrim

Legend of Zelda breath of the wild/ tears of the kingdom

Assassins creed 2

Stardew valley

Books

Creepypasta

(Work in progress I’m reading a lot more recently so give it time any book suggestions are welcome.I’m a huge fantasy fan!!!)

Bands:

Ghost

David Bowie

Mcr

(I’ll add more here once my will to live dies again.)

Characters I will write for:

The umbrella academy:

Luther

Diego

Allison

Klaus

Five

Ben

Viktor

Lila

Marcus

Fei

Alphonso

Sloane

Jayme

Supernatural:

Sam

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Dean

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Castiel

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Lucifer

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

(I'm only on season 5 so if you want more characters let me know and I'll do my best!)

The walking dead:

Rick

Daryl

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Glenn

Maggie

Michonne

Negan

Carl

Rosita

Abraham

Ezekiel

Carol

Miraculous ladybug:

Marinette

Adrian

Luka

Julika

Nino

Alya

Chloé

Kim

Sabrina

Jagged stone

Meeting the kids jagged stone x fem!reader HC

Rose

Nathalie

How to train your dragon:

Hiccup

Astrid

Ruffnut

Tuffnut

Snotlout

Fishlegs

Heather

Eret

Dagur

The dragon Prince, mystery of Aaravos:

Callum

Rayla

Claudia

Viren

Soren

Janai

Aaravos

Love long lost Aaravos x Fem!reader pt 1

Love long lost Aaravos x Fem!reader pt 2

Love long lost Aaravos x Fem!reader pt3

The sight of two stars Aaravos x Startouched elf! Reader

Nyx

Ibis

Amaya

Corvus

Gren

Terry

Zubeia

Once upon a time:

Emma Swan

Regina Mills (the ‘Evil’ queen)

Mr.Gold ( Rumpelstiltskin )

Mary Margaret Blanchard (Snow white)

Captain Killian ‘Hook’ Jones ( Captain hook)

David Nolan (Prince charming)

(work in progress)

Hazbin hotel:

Charlie

Vaggie

Angel dust

Husk

Nifty

Alastor

Lucifer

Rosie

Vox

Velvett

Helluva boss:

Blitz

Blitzø x male!reader HC

Blitzø x Gn!Reader HC

Moxie

Millie

Loona

Van Helsing (2004):

Dracula

Aleera

Marishka

Verona

Gabriel Van helsing

Anna valerious

Velkan valerious

Carl

Hellboy 1 and 2 (live action 2004-2008 movies)

Hellboy

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Abe

Liz

John

Prince Nuada

Different characters react to you stoned/couch logged

Princess nuala

Labrynth 1986

Jareth the goblin king

Marvel:

Peter Parker

Thor

Loki

Tony Stark

Dr, Stephan strange

Wanda

Bucky

Natasha

Nick Fury

Bruce banner

Steven Rodger

DC:

Bruce Wayne

Barry allen

Oliver Queen

Clark kent

Robin

Starfire

Raven

Cyborg

Beastboy

Joker

Harley

Poison Ivy

Catwoman

Avatar 1 and 2

Jake sulley

Naytiri

Neteyam

Lo’ak

Kiri

Miles Quaritch

Javier “spider”

Aonung

Grace

Pirates of the Caribbean:

Captain jack sparrow

Captain Hector Barbossa

Will Turner

Elizabeth Swan

James Norrington

Bootstrap bill turner

Davey jones

Lord Cutler Beckett

Calypso ( Tia Dalma)

Sally face:

sal fisher

Larry johnson

Ash

Travis

Call of duty:

Ghost Mw2 and 2009

König

Soap

Price

Graves

Skyrim:

Cicero

Astrid

Arnbjorn

Farkus

Vilkas

Aela

Balgruuf the greater

Legend of Zelda Botw/totk:

Link

Zelda

Mipha

Daruk

Revali

Sidon

Urbosa

Kass

ganon

Assassins creed 2:

Ezio

Stardew valley (Sdv):

Alex

Elliot

Harvey

Sam

Sebastian

Shane

Abigail

Emily

Haley

Leah

Maru

Penny

The wizard

Caroline

Dwarf

Jodi

Kent

Krobus

Robin

Pierre

Sandy

Ghost:

Papa Emeritus 1 (primo)

Papa Emeritus 2 (secondo

Papa emeritus 3 (terzo)

Papa emeritus 4/cardinal copia

Swiss

Aether

Mountin

Phantom

Aurora (we have the same name irl lol)

Rain

Cirrus

Sunshine

Cumulus

Sodo

Dewdrop

David bowie(going by era and current stage persona):

Ziggy stardust

Aladdin sane

The thin white duke

Major tom

David bowie

My chemical romance

Gerard way

Party poison

Mikey way

Kobra kid

Frank iero

Fun ghoul

Ray toro

Jet star

I will add Other characters to any of these lists if you would like to request a character go on ahead!

What I will write/Rules:

Rules:

No bullying or harrassment to anyone or groups of people in the comments. BE NICE TO OTHERS

No homophobia

No racism

No hatred

What I will write:

Fluff

Angst

Smut

Lemon

Info about Aviradasa!

I go by she/they

I have a cat named Nyx!

I am Demiaroace

I love horror movies with my whole life!

I have a tendency to obsess over shows/movies for undetermined periods of time 🤣

My favorite colors are Purple, red, pink, and black

My favorite singer is David bowie!

I can't choose a favorite band cause I love to many!

The movie Labyrinth by Jim Henson with David bowie and Jennifer Connelly Is my favorite.but Van helsing 2004 is a close second

PS. When requesting please be specific to what fandom/character you want(I will do crossovers.) just so I can make sure to get everything right for ya!

29 notes · View notes

nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 ! michael langdon masterlist

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x ooc brides of dracula GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST

o.oi :: too bad, so sad !

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon smut #michael langdon #michael langdon series #cody fern #american horror story #ahs: apocalypse #brides of dracula inspired #brides of dracula

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zoeysdamn · 1 year

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Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader |Part.1

Summary: Recently released from juvie by a court’s order, you go back to Nevermore academy to meet with the school board who had negotiated your parole in exchange for a very special mission. Trying to put your bitterness aside, you reluctantly agree and meet the infamous Hyde. What could go wrong with Tyler Galpin, after all?

Warnings: swearing, light violence

A/N: Might be some OOC, but I had so much fun writing this! Also, I made the reader and Tyler being a year older than the usual gang (Wednesday, Enid and co.) for both plot reasons and bc it sounds legit to me (it’ll make reader and Tyler between 17 and 18 - end of high school - and the other between 16 and 17). And I took some liberties and extrapolated a lot of information we don’t exactly have, such as the school board etc. This is fanfiction after all, let’s try things!

[Masterlist] [Prologue]

Being born with a significant family name comes with perks: destiny already chosen, power coming with the name and ancestors' history, people already knowing you without ever meeting you, due respect. Well, if someone asked for your opinion, they would learn all of this was pure bullshit.

As a Van Helsing, traditions had always ruled your existence, crawling their way in every aspect of your life. The mission of monster hunters started by your ancestor Abraham Van Helsing left no doubts in everyone's mind; before you could even talk or walk, it was obvious that you would learn how to throw a knife before losing your baby teeth, know all of the family's bestiary like the back of your hand by 10, and go to your first hunt for your 12th birthday. It was obvious that the family heritage and monster hunting duty would carry on with you. But then, your parents had a change of heart, and got you enrolled in Nevermore. Needless to say, the arrival of a Van Helsing at the very place creatures were supposed to be safe wasn’t pleasant, not even to you. The news of your return must’ve been even harder to swallow.

“Principal Weems is expecting you in her office,” informed Vlad, the fencing team coach as you got out of the car and grabbed your luggage.

He had been asked to pick you up from the detention center and bring you back to the academy. You had almost laughed at the irony of the situation – a vampire charged to be responsible for a Van Helsing – but had refrained yourself. You had to keep your sarcasm for Weems and the school board. Some students around you gave you curious looks, but you ignored them. They probably were younger or hadn’t recognized you yet.

With coach Vlad on your tail, you made your way to the principal’s office, encountering a few shocked faces from students around your age. Their astonished faces brought a smirk on yours; so they hadn’t forgotten about your last stay here completely. Good.

When you entered Weems' office, the whole school board was there, watching you like hawks. You remembered them vaguely from the last time you’ve been at Nevermore, an old vampire lady who looked like a Victorian character, a middle-aged gorgon whose sunken cheeks made him more severe than he was, a ginger and long-haired witch, and a dashing blond medium who reeked of fake smiles. The odd yet powerful bunch you owed your freedom to, much to your displeasure.

“You’re late,” pointed out the vampire bitterly.

Her frontal attack made you snort, “Sorry your highnesses, got lost in time while murdering a bunch of students in the way,” you said with a mocking over-exaggerated bow.

Your mocking comment made her purse her lips in annoyance, so her colleague Gorgon took over before she snapped something unlady-like, “I suppose you’re aware of the reason for your presence here, Miss Van Helsing?”

Shrugging slightly, you nodded, “I’m to be the bodyguard of the new student/murderer or something like that. Can’t imagine how much it must hurt your pride to have to call me back here.”

The uneasy and irritated tension in the room just became heavier at your words; none of the people here wanted you here, not even you. Yet, you didn’t have a choice.

“So,” you began to get this meeting started – the sooner into it, the quicker out of it, “what exactly are my missions?”

Glad you addressed the question, the ginger witch cleared her throat and invited you to sit with a sign of the hand, “Due to a court’s decision, the school is to welcome the Hyde responsible for Jericho’s murders. This is the occasion for us to restore a good reputation for Nevermore, should we succeed in his reinsertion smoothly.”

“That’s where you need me,” you completed for her, slightly surprised by her brutal honesty.

The witch nodded, “That’s where we need you,” she repeated. “Given your specific…skills, you’re the most designated person to supervise him during the school year.”

“For his own safety or yours?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

The blonde medium scoffed, muttering something along the lines of “what would he need protection”, but his colleagues ignored him and the vampire carried on. “Both, Miss Van Helsing. It’s in everyone’s interest that this experimental reinsertion works.”

“You do realize that you’ll drop a guy who can kill in a school full of people who hate him? How exactly do you expect this to be a success?”

The blonde medium gave you a lopsided grin, “Well, that’s why you’re here now, aren’t you? To prevent some unnecessary trouble from happening.”

You snorted loudly, “Ah, and I’m the most designated one to play peace keepers of course. I have no problem with handling the Hyde if things go out of hands, but for your students, ask the teachers do to their fucking job.”

Principal Weems, who stayed silent until then, spoke up.

“The teachers will take care of the students, I can assure you. Your sole mission is to make sure that Mister Galpin doesn’t represent a threat to anyone.”

“And to neutralize him if he does become one,” quipped the Gorgon, eliciting a nod from everyone else.

Their sudden agreement sounding like a discussion-closer made you frown. There was something that still didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay spill,” you irritably said, “why me? Who bribed you into this idea?”

All the members of the board got up without gracing you with any answer, bid their goodbyes to Weems and made their way to the door.

“Answer me,” you called them from your seat, “which fucker had the brilliant idea to use me as a political lifeguard?”

“You should thank them for once, Miss Van Helsing,” said the vampire lady as her colleagues got out of the room, “they gave you an unexpected occasion to redeem yourself.”

You whipped your head in Weems’ direction as the door closed behind the board.

“Do you know who suggested this deal to the court, yes or no?” you asked her bitterly.

“I do,” she nodded, “and as a sign of good faith, I’m going to tell you. Your parents had made this suggestion.”

With a loud groan you slumped deeper into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumbled, “of course they did. Always sticking their noses in someone else's business.”

“They’re your parents, Miss Van Helsing,” reminded Principal Weems with a harsher voice, “they’re doing what they believe is best for you.”

“Exactly,” you snapped bitterly, “what they believe is best for me. They don’t fucking know me, and this is only a political move for their stupid pacifist campaign.”

Weems sighed loudly at your angry reaction to your parents’ mention, then straightened up.

“I’m not going to dig into your family business any further, but you’re one of my students again now, miss Van Helsing,” she said calmly, “I’d appreciate it if you'd keep your flowery language out of our exchanges from now on.”

Rolling your eyes at her, you agreed, “Fine, whatever.”

“Excellent. Here is your school schedule, your dorm room key, and Mister Galpin’s file.”

Getting up from your chair you grabbed the documents and started to browse through them. At your dorm assignment you raised an eyebrow.

“A single room? To what do I owe this luxury?”

Weems gave you a tight polite smile, “Considering how you value your personal space I thought this could be an olive branch in your direction.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, “this is also to prevent any potential roommate from trying to kill me in my sleep, right?”

The slightest nod of her head gave you confirmation. Well, whatever the reasons you were glad you had a room for yourself.

“What about Tyler?” you asked, searching through the documents Weems gave you, “is he also in a single room?”

To anyone else, your question could have been framed as an interested one; but Weems knew it was only you gathering all the information you would need to supervise the new student.

“No, he’s been paired with a student a year younger than the two of you,” she said. “He should be stopping by any moment now.”

As on cue, someone knocked on the door. At Weems’ invitation to enter, a lanky teenager wearing a beanie and with nervous eyes entered the room.

“You uh- you asked to see me Mrs W?” he stuttered anxiously.

You watched him carefully, analyzing every single one of his movements and his physical traits. In a handful of seconds you could easily guess he was a Gorgon. Old habits of a hunter didn’t die easily. The weight of your watchful gaze sent shivers down the boy’s back, even if he tried to ignore you the best he could. Thankfully Weems cut short his uneasiness.

“Y/N Van Helsing, this is Ajax Petropolus, one of our Gorgon students. He’ll be Mister Galpin’s roommate for this school year.”

Internally, you applauded the decision. It was a smart move to assign him a Gorgon roommate; their dorm would be the only place you wouldn’t be able to watch over Tyler, if he tried anything his roommate could stone him. Clever.

The hand you offered him to shake made Ajax slightly jump.

“Nice to meet you,” you said flatly. “Don’t worry I don’t bite,” you said at his evident nervousness, “at least not you this time.”

Despite the uneasiness coursing through his veins for being so close to a known monster hunter, Ajax shook your hand, “N-nice to meet you too.”

Weems glared at you for your teasing but cleared her throat, “Mr Petropolus has agreed to take part in this reinsertion program, and he’ll give you information if you need it. I thought it was important for the two of you to meet.”

You rolled your eyes but then turned to the nervous Gorgon with a serious look, “For how long can you stone people?”

“Uh- two hours mostly,” he said nervously, and you nodded.

“That should be enough if you ever need to stop him as a last resort. Are you afraid of him?”

“I…yeah a bit.”

“Good,” you deadpanned, “then you’re not half stupid as I thought. Good luck with getting any sleep this year.”

Ajax threw a last glance at Weems that motionned to him he could leave the room. The boy had never fled a room so quickly.

“What?” you said at Weems’ new glare.

“Could you please refrain yourself from scaring every single student in this school?”

“Is either that or they hate me, can’t help myself,” you shrugged matter-of-factly. “So, when does that Tyler Galpin guy arrive at Nevermore?”

“Glad you asked Miss Van Helsing,” smiled Principal Weems, “you’re coming with me to pick him up from the detention center this afternoon.”

“Great,” you snorted, “a road trip with the Principal. Lucky me.”

Weems only kept her polite smile. That made you think about something you didn’t quite catch yet; noticing your starring, the principal raised an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t quite get how you survived to your allegated death,” you wondered out loud. “I clearly remember reading your obituary. Very touching, by the way.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line, not looking very fond of this traumatic episode. “The shapeshifting abilities had allowed me to change my body’s composition to handle the poison that had been administered to me,” she explained carefully, which made you raise an eyebrow in turn. You did know the theory of shapeshifting, but never heard of a case like that. “Unfortunately the dose I received was too strong to remain in this corporal form, so I had to adopt another body and lay low for some time in order to heal.”

You nodded in understanding, “Explains the faked death. You’ve got more guts than I thought, I'll give you that.”

“Get out of my office please,” sneered Weems.

With a mock salute you got up from your chair and gathered the documents and the key to your room. As you went to the door, Weems called you out.

“I’ll meet you at the entrance at 2 pm, when you’ll have retrieved your uniform.”

You froze in place and whipped your head in her direction, “Is this a fucking joke? The uniform? At least tell me you gave me the boy’s version and not that fucking skirt.”

“Rules are rules Y/N,” she smiled, not even half sorry about it.

“Aww c’mon Principal Weems,” you smirked bitterly, “it’s the 21st century now. A girl can wear pants, I swear it’s socially acceptable now.”

“Good day Miss Van Helsing,” she said flatly.

Opening the door of her office you huffed loudly, “And people think Van Helsings are the old-fashioned one.”

With that, you slammed the door. This was going to be a long, long year.

A few hours later you stood in front of the detention center in your uniform, and a deep frown on your face. Although you had absolutely refused to wear the skirt outside of the Nevermore grounds and wore jeans, Weems hadn’t said anything. As long as you were here to do your job, the shirt, tie and blazer would suffice. Leaning against the car hood as you wait, you mind-absently played with your favorite sliding knife, twirling it between your fingers. Standing stiff next to you, Weems glared at you on the side.

“I thought the non-weapon policy was quite clear,” she seethed between her teeth.

“You want me to do my job correctly, yes or no?” you shrugged, “And there was nothing about a non-weapon rule in that deal.”

Scoffing lightly, Weems readjusted the lapel of her coat, “Be discreet about it then. No need to make a scene.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a mock salute, pocketing the knife as the heavy door of the penitentiary opened.

Surrounded by two officers a curly brown-haired teenager approached, clinging on the strap of his bag for his dear life. His brown eyes were shifty, always avoiding looking at someone else. The red scars on his cheeks contrasted with the freckles and the frightened look that belonged more to the golden boy he must have been. Shoulders hunched, you almost thought he was about to cry. You repressed a roll of eyes; playing the frightened card, pathetically classic.

“Thank you gentlemen,” smiled Principal Weems politely, signing the release forms, “we’ll take it from here.”

The officers gave your pair a wary look – the tall, blonde, impeccably dressed woman, and the angry-looking teenager, hunching and glaring at everyone – but then shrugged and walked away without giving it much more thought.

“Hello Mr Galpin,” said Weems with her usual politeness, “it’s great to finally meet you in person.”

“Principal Weems I– it-it’s really an honor to join Nevermore, thank you so much for giving me a chance I–”

“This is Y/N Van Helsing,” she cut his rambling short, slightly turning in your direction, “she’ll be your tutor throughout your reinsertion year at Nevermore academy.”

Tyler turned in your direction, eyes wide in surprise and wet with tears. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, like he was afraid you’d tear him apart. Good.

“I’m a glorified bodyguard,” you specified while extending your hand to him. As soon as he grabbed your hand with his shaky one, you harshly tugged him closer. The sudden proximity of your faces made him blush slightly, along with the surprise caused by your unexpected gesture. Mouth barely inches from his, you locked your eyes with him.

“Listen here and listen closely Galpin,” you hissed lowly, “I’m here to make sure you won’t fuck this up. If you ever slip away from this good boy path they want to follow, even the slightest, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes without a sweat, is that clear?”

Through all your speech, your hand had been gripping his harder and harder, until your knuckles were white. Still, you could feel him shiver under your palm. He looked at you with fearful eyes, and at your dark and very much serious glare, nodded obediently.

“Wonderful,” you breathed out before releasing his poor hand.

Just before he pulled back, you thought you saw a glimpse of something else in his eyes. Like amusement, or cruel excitement. But given it was only for a split of second before the fright filled his look once more, you brushed it away. The second after, he was putting some distance between the two of you, giving Weems a dreadful look like begging her to come to his help. The Principal only sighed loudly and gestured to the two of you to get inside of the car. While she sat in the driver seat, you followed Tyler on the back of the car, where you’ll be able to watch him more closely. The proximity didn’t seem to make it at ease, given he practically pushed himself completely against the door to put the more distance he could between him and you. On the other hand you were quite pleased by that effect you had on him, even if the frightened little mouse behavior didn’t quite fit right with you. There was something off coming from this over-exaggerated mood of his, but it was yet too soon for you to say if he was playing this role consciously or not. You’ll have plenty of time to observe him after all.

At the end of a very awkward car ride – where only Weems spoke, in occasional short sentences giving Tyler some practical information about his stay at Nevermore – you all got out of the car. After making sure she wasn’t needed anymore, Weems left you to give Tyler a tour of the school grounds. Fortunately, most of the students were in class for the time being, so you won’t have to deal with angry teenagers yet. The last look Weems gave you before leaving the two of you at the quad was very clear: it was a first test, for Tyler and for you. For all answers, you rolled your eyes at her and turned to Tyler.

“Let’s go,” you groaned at the terrified-looking boy, “I’m gonna give you a tour of the place.”

Not expecting you to walk away so quickly, Tyler stumbled behind you trying to catch up as you pointed out flatly all the major locations of the school.

“S-so, you’re also a student here?” he stuttered, trying to engage in a discussion. “I didn’t think they…well you know, they’d trust me to be alone with another student…”

The snort you let out was bitter, “That’s why I’m here, pal. They don’t trust you, I’m here to do the dirty work if shit goes wrong.”

The thought of that didn’t seem to put him more at ease. “You’re gonna watch me for the rest of the year? Like- like all of it?”

“I’m literally back in this shit hole only to bodyguard you,” you groaned in confirmation. “Trust me there’s a thousand other places I’d rather be right now, so suck it up and deal with it, Whitney Houston.”

As he stayed confused at your words, Tyler noticed a bunch of students in an adjacent corridor glaring at your odd pair, eyes throwing daggers and hushed grumbles undoubtedly bitter. At first he hung his head low in shame, but then he realized that the hatred glances were probably more meant to you. It was confirmed to him as a passing by student muttered a “fucking bitch” under his breath, not giving a single glance at Tyler. Taken aback by the unexpected violence, Tyler looked at you, even more surprised by the evident lack of reaction. Not even a slight frown on your face, you carried on your tour.

“You- uh, don’t seem to be the popular type,” he chuckled nervously.

“No shit,” you said with a roll of your eyes as you reached the boys’ dormitory, “I’m a Van Helsing, meaning most of my ancestors hunted theirs, and let’s say I’m carrying out the family legacy.”

Tyler almost choked on his own air, “You hunt monsters? And you’re in a school for outcasts??”

Sliding the key in the door lock of his room you gave him a playful wink and a grin over your shoulder, “What, you think I volunteered for this job because of your pretty face? I’m the muscles here pal, don’t get your hopes high.”

Swinging the door open, you were welcomed by the sight of Ajax jumping on his feet nervously. The poor boy must have been plagued with anxiety all day at the prospect of his new roommate's arrival. The two boys glanced at each other shyly, looking more frightened by the other’s presence than anything else. You sighed loudly, pulling them out of this tetanized rabbits staring contest.

“Ajax Petropolus, Tyler Galpin,” you said, pointing out one then the other of the teenagers. “Tyler Galpin, Ajax Petropolus your roommate.”

“It’s uh- nice to meet you,” said Tyler with an outstretched hand.

Ajax eyed it warily before carefully shaking it, “Yeah…nice to meet you too I guess?”

“I will have my own room in the girls’ dorm, but Ajax can stone you if needed,” you said matter-of-factly, eliciting a dumbfounded look from Tyler.

“Stone me?”

“Oh yeah, I’m a Gorgon,” clarified Ajax with a small nervous laugh. “Medusa and all that, y’know?”

While Tyler stared at him with eyes wide like saucers, you turned to Ajax and outstretched your hand to him.

“Phone,” you said sharply.

The Gorgon looked at you in surprise, “What? Why? What do you want to do?”

“Browsing your internet history and sending it to your mom,” you snickered before rolling your eyes at his mortified expression, “I’m gonna put my number in it, what do you think?”

This didn’t make him react either, if anything he was even paler than before. So you sighed and reached for his pocket to pick his phone and quickly saved your contact in it.

“Here,” you said while putting it on his desk, “if anything happens you can reach me immediately.”

“O-oh,” finally let out the Gorgon with a shaky breath, “that’s why you wanted to– yeah I mean of course.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, which made him stutter even more. His awkwardness amused you but you really, really wanted to take a nap right now. So you turned to Tyler, who fidgeted nervously with the strap of his bag.

“I’m gonna let you settle down here, dinner is at 7 I’ll pick you up. Don’t be late, or your stay at Nevermore will be much shorter than expected, understood?”

He nodded his head and you didn’t wait any longer to get out of the room, leaving the awkward tension-filled room.

Walking through the corridors and ignoring the either surprised, frightened or dark glances on your way, you made a mental list of all the documents you’ll have to ask from Weems. Sure, you weren’t really happy about this situation, but it was a job like any other and you intended to do it properly. Meaning you needed to know everything about what happened at Nevermore since you had left the academy two years ago.

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice the figure of another student coming straight in your direction. It was only when they willfully bumped their shoulder into yours that you realized they were right in front of you.

Repressing a groan you looked up at them with your best glare, which turned into a mockingly delighted grin when you realized who it was.

“Aaaah Yoko, what a pleasure to see you again!” you cooed with evident sweet-laced venom in your voice, “love the gloomy blind vampire look, really looks better than the acne.”

“What the fuck are you doing here Van Helsing?” she seethed between her pointed teeth, “Has a deathwish?”

“Only on Thursdays,” you countered cockily with a wink.

That only seemed to anger her more, “I thought that it was clear that you weren’t welcomed here anymore. You’ve been stupid to come back after what happened.”

“And yet,” you mused as you cocked your head to the side, “I never was welcomed in the first place, was I? Even if you definitely made things much more pleasant if I remember correctly…”

The vampire growled and before you could even blink her hand shot at your throat, ready to claw it open and pinning you against the wall. But as quick, your own hand shot up, grabbing her wrist just as her acerated nails were about to reach your trachea. Back on the wall you chuckled darkly. No matter how hard she tried to claw at you, you kept her hand in an iron grip.

Tsking in a patronizing manner you gave her a lopsided grin, “Now, you know I’m into that kind of things, but I’m not sure that you’re looking for a rebound hookup with me, are you Teethy?”

“Don’t,” she growled, “You’re not ever calling me that again, you bitch.”

“Awww, loved you too,” you grinned, “by the way, how did your coven take the news? That you slept a Van Hel–”

Her hand tried to grab you again but your grip on her hand only tightened, “They don’t know and they never will,” she spat angrily, “and we weren’t dating.”

You gave a doubtful nod of the head, “Mmmmh yeah never said that, but we kinda did tho. But what would I know, I’m really not one who gives two shits about what my family thinks of me, right?”

Yoko didn’t respond but rage was painted all over her face, a thick vein ready to pop out of her forehead.

“Is that why you came back? To loathe at me after what you did?”

You scoffed and forcefully shoved her hand out of your way, pushing yourself off the wall, “Don’t flatter yourself Teethy, you’re not that special. I’m here for business, nothing more.”

Yoko snickered, “What, this Galpin son of a bitch? What are you now, his personal bodyguard?”

“Easy now babe, you know green doesn’t suit you,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “it does look fantastic on me though, I should know I wore it for two years.”

“What’s your point?” she spat, her patience running short.

“Don’t imagine things,” you said flatly, “I’m only here to make sure that Tyler guy doesn’t mess things up and neutralize him if he does. That’s what I’m doing best after all,” you shrugged. “As soon as the year is done I’m getting the fuck out of this shit-hole.”

She narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously but didn’t say anything more. Getting this as your cue, you started to walk past her to resume your way to your room.

“Soooo, if we’re done here with the empty threats I’m gonna leave your lovely blood-sucking company okay?”

“You’re not gonna last,” she warned you, but you only continued to walk.

“Big fucking news,” you called over your shoulder, “I live to disappoint!”

“No one will ever help you,” she continued.

“Boo-hoo, so sad!”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of!” she finally shouted. That made you stop and you turned to her, an eyebrow raised up. Yoko had a wicked smile on her usual composed face, “Maybe if we’re lucky you’ll just kill each other.”

Staring at her silently for a few seconds, you then let out a snort.

“Well, good news he doesn’t know what I’m capable of either then.”

At 7 sharp, you were in front of Tyler’s door, waiting for him to answer your knock. You had previously texted Ajax of your arrival, and the poor boy had fled the room as soon as you had informed him you were entering their dorm. He had crossed way with you, eyes avoiding yours at all cost and walking the fastest he could. This made you chuckle slightly, but now you weren’t as amused. If Tyler didn’t respond in the next few seconds, you would blow up his door. Thankfully for him he opened the door just as you were about to lose patience. He looked just as frightened and lost as earlier.

“Hi,” he said in a small voice, “am I on time?”

“You are. Luckily for you,” you observed sharply. “Let’s go.”

He hurried behind you like a lost little boy, following you closely.

“Is there going to be…everyone at the dining hall?” he asked nervously.

You hummed in response, “Nevermore in all its glory. Even the school board if we’re unlucky enough.”

Tyler gulped loudly, “Do they…do they all know what I did?”

“I don’t know pal,” you said with an exasperated sigh, “Probably yeah, I’m not a fucking reporter here.”

And then something you didn’t expect happened: Tyler sobbed. He legit broke down in tears in the middle of the empty corridor, hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, “I’m so sorry for everything that happened, I didn’t want to do any of this.”

At first his reaction slightly took you by surprise. His pathetic display of emotion, full of tears, sobs and shivers was a heart-breaking sight. Even the tremors in his voice could make you shed a tear. But instead, you snickered bitterly.

“OKay that’s enough,” you rolled your eyes, “no one cares about your guilty moods.”

“But I’m so sorry, I truly am,” he sobbed, voice heavy with tears, “I never wanted to do that you have to believe me—”

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt you harshly pulled him down to your height, forcing him to lock his teary eyes in your.

“I don’t believe you,” you seethed, “not about your crimes, for all I bloody care those people are dead anyway. But I’m not buying your little act of the redeeming good boy so cut the fucking crap.”

For a millisecond, Tyler looked so frightened he might have convinced you. But then a wicked grin completely whipped away his tearful expression and his eyes darkened. His mouth morphed into a monstrous, pointy gash with a growl and big clawed hands snaked around yours. Just before his mouth completely turned into the monstrosity that had killed so many people, you headbutted him violently, smashing your forehead against his with all of your might. The unexpected shock definitely took him by surprise and he tottered back, gripping his head with both hands and groaning. The sneaky move had stopped his transformation instantaneously and you didn’t lose a second ducking down and describing a circle with your leg, tripping him off his feet. He crashed loudly on the ground, and before the next groan left his mouth you had jumped on him with a dagger against his throat and a hand gripping his wrist. Straddling him with a knee burying deep on his plexus, your other feet pinned his left arm on the ground.

Breathing heavily, his face had become human again, a few inches from yours, close enough for your breaths to mix together. Some of your hair brushed against his forehead but this apparent intimate atmosphere was radically changed by the cold sensation of your blade against his throat. The slightest twitch of his jaw made you press it harder and almost draw blood, which made him chuckle.

“Well well well,” he rasped in a mocking voice, “That’s not very nice”

“I’m not here to be nice,” you said flatly, “I’m just good at doing my job.”

Tyler let out a low chuckle, “Guess you have it in you after all, doll.”

The light scoff you let out didn’t soften the pressure of your blade, “Guess you still have to learn about consent,” you countered back. “Touch me like that again and I’ll fucking kill you on the spot.”

The grin Tyler let out had nothing to do with the previous crying image he gave you earlier, “What makes you think you’d actually manage to do that?”

Quick as ever a gun suddenly appeared in the hand that was previously tightened around Tyler’s wrist. Barrel pressed against his forehead, he grinned even harder than before.

“Cute toy, had a few more?”

You cocked the gun, the click echoing in the corridor, “I’m sure you’ll love the silver bullets, pretty boy. Should be keeping you down for enough time.”

“Mmmmh, and then what? Gonna slay the monster and burn the house?”

You nodded your head matter-of-factly, “Been there, done that. Routine job really, you’re not that special honey.”

Tyler chuckled slowly and mockingly raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright then, I’m willing to play along. But only because you’ve asked nicely.”

You tried to repress the amused smirk, “I literally have a blade pressed against your throat.”

Tyler shrugged, a smirk still plastered on his face. This made his scars on the cheek look even more ominous. So you leaned even closer to him, whispering in his ear.

“If you ever try to pull this shit again on me, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes, understand?”

With a feral grin, Tyler looked more pleased than ever, “Game on, doll. Game on.”

[Part.2]

A/N: More Ajax screentime? More Ajax screentime. And yesssss bisexual reader bc the raging bisexual in me is simping for that krkrkr

Plus, I love soft Tyler, but you know what’s better? Switch Tyler between soft and feral cocky bastard because yES. Originally I planned to make the Van Helsing reader insert a Xavier x reader story (with some differences in the plot of course), but I’m glad I’ve switched to Tyler. First, it’ll be a more interesting story (I think), and I love to explore writing for other characters! (as long as I’m comfortable with it that is ofc).

I wanted to finish writing chapter 2 before posting this, but eh couldn’t resist krkrkr

If you got the reference from ‘The bodyguard’, I love you

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist:

@igotanidea @officerrrfriendly @beggingforxavierthorpe @aliciahlewis

Usernames unfound by Tumblr:

@spiceyhotsherbet

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin fanfic #tyler galpin imagine #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #Van Helsing! Reader #no beta we die like men

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courtingchaos · 5 months

Note

I'm soooo thrilled for all the Gator stories that you'll come up with (no pressure though!) I also want to ask if you can recommend some of your favorite writers on here. Eddie, Steve, Gator I don't care. I read your masterlist up and down and I love every single thing and I trust you to have great taste. it's hard to find rare treasures sometimes with the very popular blogs being reblogged so overwhelmingly.

thank you for sharing your work with us 💜

So for one, I’ve been hanging on to this because I was trying to get a good sampling of people and also because I was being a little lazy and forgetful. Anyways, on to the recommendations.

I have a lot more Eddie than I have other ones but that’s because he’s baby boy and the very specialist of them all.

@jo-harrington has Freaky Friday, Store Manger Verse, and an amazing Van Helsing (2003) AU that she’s working on that just blows me away with every new thing I read for it.

@storiesbyrhi Burning Yarrow series is DELICIOUS and is also super in depth and well researched and just ugh. It’s so good okay?

@dr-aculaaa who has a mixed bag of Eddie and Steve, but mostly Steven. Their Sunday Morning stuff is literally made of butter and cinnamon sugar it’s just so good.

@chestylarouxx has just so many things. So so so many. There’s a vampire Eddie that makes me go insane and then she has this Rockstar Eddie that is unlike any other Rockstar Eddie I’ve seen. It’s VERY good and VERY angsty and it just really hits the soul right.

@bettyfrommars has Nightmare Factory AND Gargoyle Eddie which makes me also go insane. I’m jumping around in my cage thinking about her work. She also has a biker Eddie series (that also features a biker Steve. Yum.)

@eddiemunsonbignaturals who wrote this disgustingly sexy piercing Eddie thing. If you read all my stuff and liked it, you will for sure like their work too. Like, I think about this fic at least once a week.

@deadboyfriendd Everything they’ve written but especially Cochise. Just go read it. Wild West. Eddie Munson.

@somnambulic-thing also has a vampire Eddie BUT THEY ALSO HAVE a musician Eddie who is the best boy. He’s so full of life and I also think about him whenever I listen to my psychedelic metal playlist for some reason.

For Gator things I haven’t personally found a whole bunch of writers but @wroteclassicaly has a nice little bathroom romp that she wrote a while ago before the show aired that I really like (also she has some little blurbs about him being an asshole).

This isn’t everyone because I would just give you a list of everyone I follow at this point. However these are a few of my favs and what I’ve been reading recently because I got a bad brain and it’s been hard to keep up with my TBR list. I hope you find something in this mess!!!!!!

And thank you again so much for reading, I really appreciate it ❤️❤️❤️

#asks!

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6lostgirl6 · 2 years

Text

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ⸸ 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖔

𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓:

𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 '𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴.' 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘐 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘: 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄

⛧ 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 18+ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒘, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓.

⛧ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈, 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒎𝒆.

⛧ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆.

⛧ 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔. 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎.

⛧ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒅.

⛧ 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔.

⛧ 𝙍𝙀𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎: CLOSED!

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 3 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔, 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 0 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆-𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 3 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆.

3/3 𝙎𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨, 0 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙫𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚

⛧𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖘 𝕴 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗:

⛧ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔

⛧ 𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑻𝒆𝒅'𝒔 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆

⛧ 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌

⛧ 𝑫𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝑽𝒊𝒛𝒍𝒂

⛧ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘 (1994)

⛧ 𝑽𝒂𝒏 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 (2004)

⛧ 𝒀𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒋𝒂 (𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓)

⛧ 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔

⛧ 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒃𝒂𝒍 (𝑵𝑩𝑪)

⛧ 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍

⛧ 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒔

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚:

⛧ 𝑷𝒐𝒍𝒚𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒚

⛧ 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒄

⛧ 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕

⛧ 𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

⛧ 𝑺𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕

⛧ 𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒆

⛧ 𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆

⛧ 𝑨𝒃𝒖𝒔𝒆

⛧ 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚:

⛧ 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

⛧ 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚

⛧ 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒆

⛧ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒕

⛧ 𝑷𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂

𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝑶𝑪 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

232 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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