𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍, 𝐃.𝐓

me when i get asked why i suddenly dislike a character (i can’t tell them it’s because i read a fanfic where said character made y/n’s life miserable and now i have personal beef with them)

Somerbron Lake: A Romance (Part One)

Female Main Character x Male Monster Dark Romance - Sense of dread - Creepy Neighbors - Sick husband

The white halls of the hospital always seemed to go on forever. No matter how many times I trekked them, no matter how many times I stood at the nurses’ station. The hallways were an endless void of brightness I longed to get away from. But I stayed inside them, no matter how many times I had to come, no matter how long the stays were. James was all that mattered.

His health had never been the best. Even when we first started dating in college he had his occasional maladies. After the wedding there were a few months of bliss before everything took a turn. Long stays in the white halls were nothing new. Now though, it may be a long while before I have to walk them again.

“I heard you got a new place,” one of the nurses said as she helped me gather James’ things.

I smiled at her, having come to know the nursing staff very well over the years. “I have! It's very close to the specialist James has been referred to. It’s near a lake as well, so James can fish while he recovers.”

The nurse gave a heavy sigh of relief. “It’ll be good for him to have a change of scenery.” She glanced out the window at the city skyline. “Perhaps some cleaner air will help those lungs of his.”

“That’s what we’re hoping for too.” I folded up his blanket and kept it close to my chest, looking over all the stitches I’ve made to it. “We’re lucky.”

The nurse gave me a look, a look I’m sure she’s given a thousand times in a thousand ways. How I’m able to say lucky with a straight face and not burst into tears, I’m sure she knows my tone and hopefulness too well.

“Yes. Of course you are.” She patted my shoulder. “Let me go get you an extra bag for that. Keep it clean while you travel.”

“Thank you.” I took a deep breath as she left and turned to the window. The city was all I knew. James had some experience in the country, what with his parent’s summer home. I knew this was all for the best. James would be closer to his doctor, surrounded by clean air, and better yet we wouldn’t have to remain in this hospital. He’d have a nurse come by every day to check on him.

“There she is.”

I saw James come wheeling into the room on his own. He smiled up at me, pale, frail, but still so handsome it’d take your breath away.

“There he is,” I responded in chipper joy. I went to him, kneeling down to give him a kiss. “Still in the clear?”

“Yes!” James announced brightly. He braced his hands tightly on the arms of the wheelchair, wobbling as he stood up on his feet. “The doctor said, if this keeps up, I should be back to myself by the end of the year.”

“Wouldn’t that be a miracle?” I sighed.

James shook his head. “Not a miracle, hard work.” He looked at his suitcase on the bed. “I can’t believe I finally get to go.”

I stood behind him, resting my forehead between his shoulder blades. His bones poked through his shirt, he’d lost so much weight. He’d been so burly when we first met. This gentle, hairy giant with the most handsome face you’d ever seen. Now, he was a scarecrow of his former self. Meanwhile, the stress of it all had put weight on me. I didn’t feel like the dainty swimmer he’d fallen in love with. I couldn’t even remember the last time I touched water not in a glass or bowl.

James turned and wrapped his arms around me as tightly as he could. “I love you, Lori McLeod.”

I returned the embrace, hugging him as tight as I could. “I love you, James McLeod.”

He nuzzled to my hair, chuckling softly. “Well, are we ready for this new chapter?” He stood back, looking me in the eyes. “The new house all ready?”

I nodded. “Should be. Your mother said she got everything moved in for us. By the time we get there, we should have a made bed and full fridge to take care of us.”

“See? Now aren’t you glad you married for money?” He teased.

I scoffed. “You stop saying that! It’s bad enough you got the nurses thinking I was some gold digger with all your teasing!”

James smiled, which never lost its strong allure. “I cleared it up, didn’t I? Besides, they could tell right away you were an angel.”

I just glared at him.

Kissing my forehead, James also ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m the one who married up,” he whispered into my ear.

The tears welled up and I held him again, resting my head on his chest and listening to that heart beating away as strongly as it could. Stay that way, I commanded it, stay that way.

The nurses gave us a send off, giving us cards and small packages of homemade treats to keep us satisfied on the trip to our new home. The old car was filled to the brim with what was left of our belongings. Most everything else was moved to the new home where James’ mom was getting it ready and decorated.

“What was the name of this place again?” James asked as he ate another cookie from one of the nurses. “Slumber Lake? Sombering Lake?”

“Somerbron Lake,” I corrected him. “It’s a cute place. From what I’ve seen of it I mean. Small town. Not very many people. The lake is beautiful.”

James nodded, chewing a mouthful.

“I’m glad to see you have an appetite again,” I said with relief.

“I’m starving.” He then reached into his shirt pocket. “Look what Nurse Grant gave me?” He pulled out a clear baggy filled with muted green.

“James!” I nearly swerved off the road. “Really? Pot?”

“She said it would help.” He looked over the bag. “What are you so shocked for. We did it in college.”

“I wish you had told me you had that on you!” I snapped. “If you mother sees you have that on you, she’ll-”

“Oh, hush.” He tucked the baggy back into his pocket. “What’s she going to do, have Dad take the house away?”

I remained silent, a little flustered he would spring that on me.

“It’ll be nice to relax,” he said.

“Maybe,” I grumbled.

He reached out and petted my thigh. “It’s been a while since we shared a bed together. Man and wife and all that.” He squeezed and it tickled.

“James!” I laughed. “Your doctor said-”

“I don’t want to fuck him,” he said in a low, sultry voice.

I almost drove off the road again. “James!” I was squealing with girlish giggles.

Somerbron Lake took a dirt road that was well worn by years and years of travel. The road was surrounded by large trees and lush greenery. Then, it opened up, revealing the large, sparkling lake surrounded by willow trees.

“Looks creepy,” James murmured.

I scoffed. “It does not.”

His face shifted, getting a somewhat serious glint. “You don’t think it looks haunted at all? All those trees around it-”

“Those are willows,” I chuckled. “We’ll get to go swimming! You can fish all you want. It’s wonderful.”

James kept quiet. “I’m sure when the sky clears up, it’ll look much better. The gray and clouds don’t do it any favors. It doesn’t look very swimmable.”

As we drove around the lake I slowed the car down and pointed. On the opposite side you could see a few houses along the shore. “Okay, wait for it,” I said softly. “There. That’s one. The yellow one. See it?”

James rolled down his window and leaned out. “The little one?”

“It’s bigger than it looks. But that’s it, that's our new home.”

“I didn’t realize it was that close to the lake,” James breathed out. “I can literally walk out the door to it.”

“Right?” I giggled. “We can probably get a dock built if we wanted.” I sped the car back up while James remained fixated on our little house.

We came upon the town, where the road was roughly paved. I had already taken note of the shops there, everything was pretty basic and small. There was a large general store, but if James and I wanted to get most things we’d have to drive out of town.

“Quaint,” James said.

“Huh?”

He leaned towards the windshield. “The town. It’s quaint. I guess that’s the best word for it.”

“It’s charming for sure. There’s a tool store if you want to start back building dollhouses. I think there’s also a fabric store.”

James furrowed his brow as he watched shops and faces pass us by. “Won’t have the shopping you're used to.”

“Shut up,” I sneered at him. “If anyone is the shopper around here, it’s you! Spoiled little mama’s boy.”

“Offensive!” He mocked clutching pearls.

We both laughed, coming out of town and onto a narrow little road which would take us to our new home. Along the way we passed the park, where there was a small playground and a fake beach for swimming. It was empty, save for a man standing before the swings, pushing an empty one and watching it go forward.

“That’s weird,” James muttered.

I was driving, so I didn’t get a very good look at the man. “Don’t judge. He could be waiting on his family to get there.”

No one was at the house when we arrived. But James' mom had left a note saying she’d be back by the end of the day.

“Good! We’re alone.” James smirked as he read over the note.

I was holding a couple of bags in my hands. “Well go on, use the key then.”

James unlocked the door then stopped. He looked at me, his eyes flicking up and down before a smile came to his lips. “Set those down. There’s something I should do.”

“James, no-” I tried to stop him, but he was reaching for me. He tried to scoop me up to carry me over the threshold. “James! James, wait, you’re-!”

He managed to get the door open while holding me. He stumbled, bracing against the doorframe. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

He was weak and healing, I had gained all this weight. He got me inside though, and despite his best efforts to keep me aloft, he had to set me down just barely inside the doorframe. He was huffing and puffing, frustrated with how his body no longer worked the way it once did.

I looked at him, waiting for him to raise his head again and walk inside. He didn’t look me in the eye, but he stepped into our new home. I grabbed the bags and closed the door.

“Let me give you the grand tour.” I took hold of his hand as he stood in the foyer. “It’s a beautiful place.”

But he didn’t budge as I tried to lead him. He was looking around the foyer, his eyes unfocused, still breathing heavily.

“James? Are you alright?”

Focusing his eyes, he looked back down at me. “Maybe we could rest for a bit? I trust you in that the house is perfect for us. We have our whole lives to look at it. Right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Uhm…I had your mom renovate the living room to be a bedroom. Just over here.”

“Downstairs?” James balked. “What for?”

“Well, just in case anything were to happen. It would be easier for you to-” He opened the french doors into the room and I stood there.

“I appreciate the thought,” he mumbled. “But I was looking forward to that bit of normalcy.”

I followed him into the room, which was dark with all the curtains closed. The once large living room was now sectioned off, with part of it taken up by the king bed, another which his mother had turned into closets for us both. I had asked the walls to be painted a dark color, and luckily she had listened to me. The dark green was wonderful. Our apartment had bright white walls like the hospital. I wanted to sleep somewhere dark.

“Isn’t it nice?” I asked.

James sat down on the edge of the bed. “I am not going to be like this forever,” he muttered. He looked down at his hands. “I promise you, I’m not. I’ll be better by the end of the year. I’ll be strong again. I won’t be this sick, disgusting-”

“Stop right there!” I growled at him.

There was silence between us, and then there was a knock at the door.

James huffed. “Already?”

“You stay here. I’ll go see who it is.” I closed the bedroom door behind me as I went back to the foyer. From the frosted glass I could see the person who was standing there looked quite tall.

“Hello!” She sang from the other side. “It’s your new neighbor.”

I opened the door a crack to peek outside. The woman there was tall and strong looking. She had thick arms and wore heavy duty overalls with dirty gardening gloves in the pocket.

“Hi! I’m Jane Lancaster. I live right over there.” She pointed to the big blue house that was up a road from us, barely hidden by the willow trees. “Welcome to Somerbron.” She held out her hand.

“Hi,” I murmured. “I’m Lori McLeod.” I took her hand, which was shockingly cold.

Jane shook my hand heartily. “Your mother in law has been telling me about you.” She looked into the house. “Where’s that husband of yours?”

“Resting.” I said. I found it a bit strange how she was trying to use her grip to push me into the house. “I uhm-” I then noticed behind Jane, on the road to the house, there was a man standing there. He was quite tall as well, had long string hair, and a pale, stark face where the eyes were shadowed.

“I bet it was a long trip,” Jane chuckled. She finally let go of my hand and sighed. “Well, I just wanted to let you know if you or your husband needed anything, you can sure as heck count on me.” She smiled and I couldn’t help but notice how perfect her teeth were. They were eerily white and straight.

The man had gotten closer, standing at the foot of the porch. He was holding onto the banister with both hands, which were long and bony.

“Oh, Lachlan,” Jane’s tone sounded less cheerful, more surprised. “What are you doing out this way?”

The man stepped onto the porch, and the way he moved made me think he was not of this world. There was a strange grace to him and a hindrance in the air that carried his limbs.

“I came to meet our newest resident.” He turned to me, seeming to not even acknowledge Jane’s presence. He turned to me, holding out both his hands. Tilting my head up to look at him, I saw his eyes, set deeply and wide in his head. They were the most stunning blue I had ever seen, surrounded by long, thick lashes. His cheeks were sunken, and his chin jutted out. Something about him, I’m not sure what it was, stole my breath away. I was struck by some realization or dawning as I gazed at him, and it made me uneasy.

“Hello,” I murmured. “I’m Lori.” I placed my hand into his and he took it with both palms.

“Lori,” he drew it out as if savoring the flavor. “So that’s what it is now.”

I shook my head. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” he let out a raspy laugh. “Just compared to the last owner of this house.” His hands were also very cold, much like Jane’s. Maybe I am just hot. “I am Lachlan Mortimer.”

“Nice to meet you.” I found myself reciprocating his grasp. “I’m sorry, I’d invite you both in, but my husband and I are wanting to rest a bit.”

Lachlan seemed shaken. His eyes widened and he took a step back. “I see.” He still didn’t release my hands. “Well, moving can be a difficult task.”

Jane looked Lachlan up and down. “You should introduce us to your husband when he’s up to the task.”

I looked between them. “Are you two-”

“No!” Lachlan seemed offended and Jane took a few steps away from him. “No. No, of course not.” He muttered and mumbled something else under his breath. “I am unattached, you see.”

“Oh,” I murmured. I looked to Jane who was dusting off her overalls. “Do you live nearby then?” I asked him.

“Close,” he nodded, but I got no real straight answer. “Close enough to hear you call should you ever need me.”

I chuckled. “Oh, I see.”

Lachlan let go of my hands and bowed to me. “Consider me your newest friend here. I will do all I can for you, Lori.” He said my name in that savoring way again.

“Yes, well, it was nice to meet you both,” I waved. “But I should get back and check to see if my husband is alright. Thank you.”

Lachlan smiled, revealing those almost too perfect teeth, just like Jane had. “Have a good day. I hope we will get to spend more time together as you live your happy life here.”

I smiled at him, gripping the door in my hand. “Yes. That sounds very nice.”

I shook my head, trying to shake the unsettling weight that had rested on me the moment I met Lachlan. How strange it was, because for some reason, with no explanation at all that I could give, I felt as if I knew him. From the moment I saw his eyes I could have sworn I knew him all my life. But it was impossible. I had never met a man as unearthly as he appeared. Yet still, it lingered, that feeling. I wanted to see him again.

But why?

happy womens day to everyones favorite woman

CARNAL

werewolf husband x reader | 18+ | 3k

your husband is a painter who makes a meager, but comfortable living for you both creating portraits for nobles. his love of painting stems from his adoration of the night sky and the moon. he disappears one night and returns three days later—changed, distant, aggressive, and ravenous. not long after, you discover the reason for his behaviors and face the consequences of curiosity.

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, dubcon, explicit sexual content, explicit details of genitalia (werewolf), breeding, knotting, kinda cockwarming??, mentions of feeling "bloated", cumshot on body, brief piss kink mention, size difference, brief handjob, mc gets head a few times lmao, classism, mc is kinda a shitty spouse in this, detail + prose heavy (extreme), roughly proofread — you are warned.

so, this all started when I was talking to @/peachdues about her fic and idk, knotting has just been in my head since. awesome. now it's out of my system, I hope 😭

this is also my first official new piece of writing on this blog! everything before this has been reposts of older work. hopefully it doesn't disappoint!!!

would love, love, love to hear your feedback! reblogs are so tremendously appreciated!!.🙏🏻❤️

note: this is not my personal canon interpretation of werewolves. this is just a werewolf fic, y'know?

He was the wretched thing you kept behind locked doors with the rising of each full moon.

Once, the pale moonlight had been a thing of beauty to you both; an exquisite, lustrous pearl which seemed so small pinched between your fingers, squeezed and blurred through narrowed eyes. He, on the other hand, admired it differently from you by staring adoringly at its craggy features and the wan, white halo it emitted.

By trade, he was a painter and made a meager living for you both from it. His portraits were most popular as nobles found his style palatable, brushwork concealing of all flaws that showed in their faded clothes, their tarnished jewelry, their ravaged flesh and inbred faces. He knew what they'd wanted in a painting and created these fabrications as they wished because it meant more than old bread and leathery meats for dinner.

For you, he endured such mundanity if it meant you could eat well and dress warmly and in an enviable way to the neighbors. He enjoyed your simple delight; how little it truly took to keep you happy, how easy your marriage had been up until that point. You loved him and you loved the things he provided for you.

When it came nighttime, far into the blackest hours where the world seemed seized in so forceful a hush, you made no objections when he pulled you from bed to go outside with him to view the sky. There, he painted by the orange embers of lantern light and tried to capture all the likeness of the night sky with its misty moonlight and glittering, starry veil.

Sometimes you held the lantern for him, sometimes you did nothing but sit on his side holding the paint palette and lean into his hip, leaching away warmth from his body. Most nights, you were a handsome fixture and most beloved companion, trying to squash the moon like a grape with your fingers while speaking every thought out loud.

But, one night he went out alone and did not return for three days. He had left with his easel and stretched canvas and precious paint board, yet had come back to stand in the doorway with none of it.

“Darling,” you hesitated, starting out firm in case he was inebriated, altered aggressively in some way. You looked at him as though he were some strange person. “Where are your things? Your paints? Your canvas? My love, where have you been?”

“I—I don't have much of an answer to that. I'm sorry.” Then, he strode past you to the bedroom, shuttered the windows to muffle light and sound, declaring he needed rest. “Please, let me be. I'll look for my things another time.”

Later, he was ravenous at the dinner table and ate more than you thought it’d ever be possible for one man to do. You sacrificed your own portion in hopes he'd be sated, but he only turned irritable and mute, as if he were aware nothing good would come of his words to you. At the time, you'd feared that you had upset him in some way, perhaps no longer thought you lovely and fashionable or dependable as his partner and wanted to do away with your marriage.

That would mean you could only return home to rural hardship, or to the slums in the neighboring kingdom. The world would know your unwanted status, how much of a disappointment you'd been to satisfy your own husband, and you would never know another moment of quiet luxury again.

You couldn't accept such a fate, so you bathed him carefully that night. Purposeful with how you dragged the soapy sponge down along his back, fingernails a featherlight graze between the valleys of muscle and flesh protecting his spine. You kissed the back of his shoulders, lips a smouldering touch against his neck.

Then, you felt from stomach down to his hips, swirling your fingertips against the bony protrusions and in the fragrant water before wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him to hardness. He still said nothing as he kissed your lips, tongue relentlessly pursuing your teeth to get inside your mouth, and pulled you into the tub with him fully clothed.

He fucked you deep and hard that night bent over the edge of the tub, hips pistoning up against your ass, skin slapping raw, thrusting into your wet walls at an angle that had you writhing with a face warped in equal parts exquisite bliss and agony. It wasn't until one of his hands gripped you around the neck, levering you against him, that you noticed a wound on his forearm right below where purple and green veins pulsed under his skin, translucent.

They were tooth marks—two rows of them. Crooked and sharp, arranged in a way that reminded you of the jagged spears wetted by sea spray at the base of a cliff. They looked deep, like whatever had bit him held on, yet hadn’t the intention to tear his arm off of the rest of him. The punctures were purple-red and abyssal as you studied them, vision jarred by his cock ramming you, his panting in the crook of your neck, and the bruise surrounding it bloomed a concentration of colors resembling an inkspill.

How had you not noticed it before?

“I fear what may come on certain nights from now on. When I ask it, lock the bedroom and shutter the windows from the outside. Don't ask me questions for I have no answers to give you.” He did not offer you the reassurance you had wanted, but it was enough to help you confidently stride through the days, knowing that your marriage wasn't in crisis.

Afterwards, it became imperative for you to act as someone educated because you needed to understand what was happening to your husband some nights.

It started days before a full moon: he became impatient, easy to displease, indignant upon any perceived blunder you made. He did not gorge on wine, but whatever meats were preserved in storage and what you could afford now with his inconsistent employment. You tried hiding these poor portions in thick stews with vegetables that had been infused in simmering beef stock for hours, but he was never fully sated by it.

At the same time he started to demand distance from you, he ravaged you at strange hours in your shared bed, tearing at your clothes to suck on your nipples, lap the glisten between your legs. New was his biting to leave marks and sup the blood mixed with his own saliva. More than once, he came on your body with hot, thick ropes and squirted piss on you like an animal marking territory.

When the night of the full moon arrived, he was transformed and horrifying. You had heard furniture crashing and shattering in the bedroom where he'd barricaded himself. Even his yowls throughout the evening had changed, no longer sounding like agony in the cries of the man you'd married, but something far more beastal. It came from within the chest, in the lungs behind the ribs, and was not human.

You had made the mistake only once to check in on him during this point in his shift, as you hadn't known any better. Your voice was a panicked flutter, a whisper of fear that something else might have broken through the fortress of wooden boards nailed against the windows from either side of it.

“My love? Darling, are you alright?”

He was there. You thought he was there because of the silhouette clambering across the broken remains of your shared dresser and vanity. The difference was that this thing was enormous. A creature with a bristling back, hair or spines standing out like a porcupine threatening with its quills.

It stood and was forced to hunch from the low ceiling of your house. A canine-like countenance glowered at you, red eyes partially obscured by patchy fur. Raw skin shined in the barren spots in the lantern light you'd forced into the room, and that hair didn't fully cover his abdomen nor his groin.

He was as much still human as he was this ugly beast. You'd thought to take another step into the room when he snarled and lunged towards the door. A shrill shriek pulled from your throat as you fully withdrew from the room, bolting the door shut with an iron key. He never made a ruckus against the door, and you left for the neighbor's right after, claiming that your husband had wanted space after an argument.

The next morning, your husband had somehow managed to escape the bedroom and sat in the kitchen clothed from the waist down, disoriented by the sunlight and his placement at the table. He didn't remember his transformation into the beast, but he did remember you.

Perhaps that's what gave you the courage to try to enter the bedroom the night of yet another shift. His yells of anger and pain had cooled after several hours, quieting to beastal groans and his heavy footfalls endlessly pacing the floorboards inside.

The door squealed, a call out to the darkness and creature within, and that creature responded with a growl—low, reverberating in darkness, a warning that you wouldn't be tolerated. You invaded the space carefully, meat and fish and other morsels for offering in a basket you'd woven yourself, that he had told you he thought was particularly artful at completion.

“Darling, I've brought you something. It's food. I've put fresh milk inside, too.” You caught sight of him near the boarded window, massive back rounded as he crouched low into a posture which looked as unnatural as when he tried to stand on his bent legs. “I know it—I know it won't ease your suffering, but you must still eat.”

He approached you, but it was unlike times before where he'd jump at the door to scare you away. This time he crawled towards you instead of intimidating you with his height—he wanted you to stay, and tried to appear small by dragging his long tail across the floor. The fur sounded like coarse bristles on a broomstick.

“Oh, my love. My love. My love. What has happened to you?” You moved away from the coverage of the door into the dark space, using your body to close it behind you so that he couldn't get out. You couldn't be sure how he'd behave if he could leave the house. “I'm here. Oh, you're so sweet. Look at you.”

You'd placed the basket aside neatly, making your movements obvious so as not to inspire ire, and didn't react when his long snout pressed into your abdomen. Stubble and whiskers pulled back to reveal long, stalagmite teeth which chewed mindlessly at your clothes. His damp nose nudged under your layers, pressing flush to your skin, startling you with a nasally gasp.

It was the instance where his nose left your stomach and went lower, pushing between your legs to lick you through your pants that you tried to cower, sidle out of his reach. He must've retained some semblance of himself because his arms rose to flank you at the waist, claws digging to the grain of the door, his strong snout pinning you, tongue knowing your shape even through cloth.

The fabric between your legs was wet, sticking flush to you, giving him as much nearness he could achieve without stripping off the layers separating him from your taste. The luscious imprint of you was unfulfilling, not even a teasing drop of what he instinctively knew he could have.

Your pants were removed unkindly; ripped at the waist, torn through impeccable artistry and threads and delicate fabric he had once paid for. Neither complete fear nor anger kept you silent, motionless for him to do as he pleased by yanking the pants off of your legs, but swelling curiosity. You wondered how much of your husband still remained inside this beast when the full moon was high.

The same unkindness followed him shredding through your underwear with his strange teeth, gnawing the fabric to a thin, sopping string before he could finally have you. Inhale you. Taste you with the paddle flatness of his tongue and make you squirm when his teeth skimmed that part.

“O-oh—” this wasn't like when he did it with his human tongue, as masterful as it was. He licked you with fervor you'd never felt, like he was reaching for something deep inside your viscera and blood and gore. Every subtle change of his immense nose and tongue was white heat behind your eyes, jostling pulses of electric, immodest moans, your hips driving forward on their own accord to help him find the treasure he sought within you.

Then, he stopped and hauled you to the floor with a single arm twice the thickness of that of his human counterpart. He knew no gentleness even now, dropping you onto your knees and palms against splintery floorboards which vented cool air up through the gaps, into your skin from the draft rising from underneath the house.

That cold reached deeper, seemed to lift off the ground to meet you as your husband—the beast—thrust your chest against the stiff boards and spread your legs apart with his mass. His claws sank around your hips without piercing your flesh, though their sharpness was undiminished to you regardless.

You knew agitation would not serve you here, neither would bursts of courage to escape. He would catch you with those talons, eat your insides with them and fuck you all the same.

He mounted you clumsily, then.

Enormous, coarse-haired hips grinding against your bare ass, prickling you, making you wince from where your face was nearly pressed into the wood below. You shivered at the first pass of his cock between your legs. Stiff and girthy, arched so well that you felt the moist tip drag across you, catching on spots he'd licked to flinching sensitivity, eagerly prodding at you.

The beast made a sound; a suffering groan with the tremble of his hips before he was thrusting inside of you. The sheer viciousness of his hips hammering against the globes of your ass and his heaviness forced you flat to the floor, where you reached out from the sides of your body for something to hold and grip for comfort. It was barren everywhere you touched.

Your walls were still tight around his cock even as the moments passed, growing no closer to accommodating his size than before, strokes animalistic and messy. While his fur muffled the friction of your skin, the airless dark of your bedroom was compacted with lewd squelching and moans you'd never known you were capable of making. Your noises were high-pitched and vile, paced with his hips, the curve of his cock stroking your velvety insides, and the wet suction releasing when he'd partially withdraw.

Above you, he panted with his long tongue lolling, dripping strings of saliva onto your back where they cooled upon contact and made you feel filthy. Your body ached from his weight pinning you to the inflexible floorboards, cold numbing your skin, hardening your nipples, grinding them down with each of his thrusts.

The enclosed space held an unusual smell, one apart from what you knew was sex. How sweat and salt and cum clung to the mustiness of old places. This was more pungent; earthier and heavier as it filled the room and leaked out of your hole, oozing down your thighs like nectar from a weeping peach.

You continued to let the beast—your husband—fuck you into the wood, the grain, to become an impression in the floor as nothing else could be done. But you were sore now and sure to be swollen, as you were an uncomfortable fit for him again; virgin tightness which gripped every vein and ridge in his cock.

The grinning beast bared even more of his teeth, clicking them together as he released a shuddering sound, too distant to be human but not entirely monstrous. He rutted you carnally, pushing your legs as far apart as they could go from where you were on your stomach, and went deeper inside of you still.

Something about the depth was so wrong—not meant to be, not meant to be experienced by a creature so simple as yourself. It was divine pleasure and pain, it was a threshold that shouldn't have been crossed, yet he had persevered and fucked you into screams.

His hips stuttered violently and he growled; he snarled; he whimpered like an actual beast mortally wounded. You gasped in awe at an enormity of sensations: his cum gushing inside of you, spurting out in thick ribbons to join the rest that had dried on your thighs, and his knot stretching your walls, locking his hips against your ass.

You fidgeted from the bulbous growth, clenching around it, whining wanly while he insistently humped you to burrow the knot as far as it could go. He was trying to breed you; plug his spend inside of you just as he would have had another creature of his sort. Because you were his spouse, perhaps he was only able to perceive you as his mate.

His movements soon slowed, calmed in a way of someone who'd been taken by blows of exhaustion and draped his large body across your back, prodding you with his spinose furs. There was some tenderness in how he kept his arms outside of you, bracing his weight onto them so as to not smother you. He did it to adjust his knot and half-hard cock inside you as well, unforgiving to the idea that you might have forgotten his fullness, that you were brimmed with his cum and felt bloated from it.

Nothing would come from this, only the shame of knowing you'd moaned and screamed for this beast, but not the human you'd married.

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daemon Targaryen HOUSE OF THE DRAGON S02E08 | dir. Geeta Vasant Patel

trying to use the internet in 2023 be like

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"