TW: Trigger warnings will appear at the top of each part, so far this one has zero!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
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Rime of the Frost Maiden Series
Dead dove: DO NOT EAT
TW: The Trigger warnings are at the top of each post, please please make sure you are comfortable reading this type of fiction. I cant stress that enough.
18+ MINORS DNI
Part 1 - With You
Part 2 - The Stranger
Part 3 - Games Night
Part 4 - The Dream
Part 5 - Living After Midnight
Part 6 - Heartless Heart
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Oneshots
Dangerous but worth the risk - Billy Hargrove x fem!oc
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Feedback welcome, much appreciated as it will be so useful in helping me create better stories for you guys in the future!
Suggestions/Requests welcome - what’s on your dirty/fluffy little minds?
Im working on making refs for every mask and outfit that's been worn throughout sleep tokens time so far so that I never have to scroll through my camera roll to find drawing refs. Here's the eia refs, absolutely feel free to save and use 😊❤️
Hi, Storm! Ugh- Leave it up to a few fools to dampen a parade. Piss in the museum. Really lick someone's birthday cake. I'm so sorry the idiots took it upon themselves to go out of their way and harass you about something so trivial and dumb. [I specifically mean the "incest" thing, not God of the Gaps as a whole.] Like seriously, get a hobby. 🙄
I'm glad it didn't kill your motivation to write though. I will promptly be joining the AO3 wait list because not talking about this fic is more difficult than teaching a worm to fly. I've actually been meaning to make an AO3 account for a while now but went "Ouuuugh I need an inviiiite? That's sooo embarrassiiiing. 'Like- please lemme in the club I just wanna read fanfiction.' Ouuuugh." :P
Question: Will you still be sending notifications on tumblr when a new Chapter drops? Or is the taglist donezo now?
Yeah, tell me about it. I’m so glad you’ll be joining AO3 though, that honestly makes me so happy to hear. Not being able to read your insights would’ve sent me straight to the psych ward, swear down, hehe. And yeah, it’s such a bummer that AO3 has the invite system, but when I signed up it only took a day or two to get off the waiting list, if I remember right. Unfortunately, I won’t be tagging anyone anymore, however (!) the GOTG masterlist is still up here, and I’ll keep updating it.
Chapter seventeen, The Proof Is in the Pudding, will be posted next Friday (10.31).
Thank you so much for your support. It really means the world that you, and so many others, feel that I haven’t disrespected anyone. It’s such a relief to know I wasn’t being delusional, hehe. I really appreciate you and thank you again!
Warnings: MDNI. This chapter contains 🌶️, angst, hurt.
Part 4
Vessel’s POV
The evening was sweet when he stepped outside into the smoking area of the venue, door closing behind him and muffling the sounds of celebration behind him. He felt as he always did, like an imposter. A fraud waiting to be discovered like some dirty secret. To be splayed open, picked apart and laughed at. It was doing his head no good to be around people praising him, blowing smoke up his arse while he plastered on the pretence of gratitude.
You were there. With III as always. He couldn’t help but be jealous of the easy way that III carried himself, confidence in a frame similar to his own, not burdened with self loathing, self doubt and anxieties that plagued his sleep as much as his waking moments.
But you were different. More unobtrusive. You never praised overtly nor criticised with malice. You were just there, providing silent support when needed. He felt that aura around you when he first met you, when you were introduced to them by Kadeem from Loathe. Highly recommended and seasoned in long global tour schedules.
He barely took in the words that III spoke, smiling when it felt appropriate to do so. His head was too full of noise, he needed distraction. With III disappeared inside, it was just the two of you staring into the black void of night that overlooked the city, lights twinkling below like stars. The weight of your eyes wasn’t lost on him, around you he felt the trail of them across his skin like a physical touch because he longed to break his rules for you. Though quiet, he is extremely observant. He knows all about you, your hobbies, your passions. His mind so lost in thoughts now that he almost missed the softly spoken praise directed his way.
“Hmm?” He turns to you, his eyebrows slightly raised as he realises he’s been lost in his own head. “Oh! Thanks. Yeah it was pretty mental, wasn’t it?”
His eyes roved over you, taking you in for the first time this evening. Properly at least, not a stolen glance that he dare not let linger. He almost laughed when he realised what the print was on your t-shirt. It made him realise that your quiet nature was a reflection of his. You and He were cut from the same cloth and the conversation flowed easier after, he welcomed it even.
He hadn’t meant to kiss you, not physically anyway. It was a mere thought that rattled about in his head when you spoke, his own mouth weaving phrases into flirtation, an intrusive thought echoing behind his teeth.
Kiss her. Taste her. Kiss her. Taste her
The moment he his lips met yours, his body tensed expecting for you to laugh, to pull away with a giggle of his name like he was just a fool you had be placating. When you didn’t, it ignited a flame within him. You were kissing back and all the lust, desire and the yearning rose from the pit he buried it in, no longer able to contain the primal urges that surged through his blood like a viral sickness.
He wanted more.
He needed more.
The taste of you on his mouth was driving him to distraction. The distraction he sought. He felt frenzied, frayed at the seams. On edge every time he had to pull away, ever the one who abided by the rules but there you were looking at him like he was carved from marble, a God made flesh for you to feast on because your eyes were hungry. He saw them darken, the way your cheeks flushed ever so slightly, lips kiss swollen and parted as your eyes subtly trailed over him, drooling for him.
It boiled over when he pressed your body against the wall outside, away from prying eyes, unable to take these chaste encounters. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Every taste, every touch had him keening against you, achingly hard in his jeans as the fabric rubbed against his sensitive frenulum, tugging at the foreskin until he was leaking.
And, oh, how you moaned into his mouth when his hands explored your body experimentally. Touching, teasing, mapping the expanse of your topography to memory. His lips chasing yours for more needlessly because you were just as eager, hands pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He felt himself throb the moment your tongues entwined, his grip on your waist slipping to the plump of your bum and grinding against you. The way you moaned his name against his lips then broke him apart, made him have tunnel vision as you both agreed, in body language, that you were going to do this. Going to go back to one of your hotel rooms, tear each other’s clothes off and screw this burning need from one and other.
The moment the door clicked shut behind you both the silence was deafening. Suffocating. Like diving into deep water only to sink further into the inky blue black of oblivion. He tried to focus on you. The heat of your body under the skim of his fingertips, teasing down into your knickers with a tremble. Every kiss that once was a beautiful ascension into lust became angered, repressed emotions bubbling to the surface as he tried to tamp them down, smother them with you. Only you.
Wet. So wet. Hot and syrupy over his fingers as he slid them between the seam of you, pressing against the entrance before sliding back to smear the wet across your clit, eliciting the most sinful of sounds from your throat. He clung to that, greedy for every taste, every whispered plea until your body arched in silent requisition as he ground shamelessly against your hip. The condom felt cold against the scorching heat of his cock, enveloping him in a tight grip as he briefly thought about how hard he was, how ruddy the tip was straining against the latex.
His breath caught in his throat at the wet, tight suck of your cunt enveloping his tip, sinking him deeper, letting it press in deep was euphoria. His eyes rolled back while his hands drifted to your hips to steady you, to stop you, he wasn’t sure. Mind screaming for more, to move, to ride him. And you were so beautiful when he opened his eyes, looming above him looking the way you did, eyes screwed shut in bliss, lips wetted and parted in silent gasps. Everything she never did. He briefly glanced down to where you were joined and had to look away, biting his lip to stave the orgasm that threatened to rocket up his spine right then and there.
You were soaked. Coating his cock with syrupy slick at that left spider silk strands between your bodies as you rocked your hips, letting him feel just how tight you were around the pulse of his cock. There was no way to stop it, the moment you rolled your hips again, the hottest groan pouring from your lips like honey. His gripped you tighter, gritting his teeth in a vain attempt to halt it but you flexed around him, milking it out of him regardless. His mind went blank as he felt it spurt inside the condom, kicking up and throbbing, his balls drawn up taut with the intensity, shuddering under you. He almost whispered her name, it was heavy on his tongue and filled him with a nauseating shame that made his head spin. He could picture her laughing at him.
He barely heard your words, felt your hands on his skin like claws. Bile rising in his throat as he moved on auto pilot to grab his clothes and leave. He had to get out. Sure he was making a fool of himself. Sure that you would never look at him the same way. He barely made it back to his room before he found himself sinking to his knees, clutching the porcelain of his hotel room toilet until his knuckles went white and his stomach ejected everything he drank this evening. He heaved and retched until there was nothing left, slumping back against the cold tiles, sweat making his T-shirt cling to his back.
Each and every time he saw you after, he avoided your eyes. Couldn’t bare to see the sneering of pity, of disappointment or worse - ridicule. He was terrified you’d told someone. His self-loathing, paranoid mind made him believe that everyone knew, that everyone was mocking him behind his back. In the restaurant of the hotel he hadn’t meant to lock eyes with you, it was like there was a gravitational pull between you and when your eyes met he swore he saw it. Pity. It made his chest cave in, shoulders slumping forward as he made his way to the far end of the room, avoiding his band mates, to grab a coffee and something to take back to his hotel room to eat. Of course you were with III, you’d probably told him the whole bloody lot of it, had a right laugh over it at his expense.
So when you’re knock came at his door a few night later, it almost took him by surprise. Almost. But deep down he knew you, what you were made of and it wasn’t any of the nasty things that plagued his mind and made the wolves close in, circling for a fresh blood. No. You weren’t like her. So he spilled his guts, he laid it out for you, splayed himself open and let you pick at his bones, piece by piece you sewed him back together, tracing the stitches with your honeyed tongue. Words of reassurance. Affection. The rhythmic beat of your heart under his head, scent of you like white jasmine, sage and smoke comforting. Not her scent. You’re not her. He lets his eyes slip closed, basking in the warm silence.
