caviar.

all his life, ever since he was a boy, there have been whispers. ugly, they'd called him then, back before he'd taken up the sword for lord price and earned himself a few scars, burns, and deep gouges over the years. nowadays he's built himself a brutish enough reputation on the battlefield to keep others opinions of his looks relegated to mere whispers when he leaves the room- but he hears them all the same.

monstrous, hideous, unbearable to look at.

not that he minds, really. when others in his position would opt for a mask, he instead shows his face and bares his teeth- not as a smile, but a threat display, like an animal would. he keeps his coal-dark stare long and unblinking, his lip permanently curled in a sneer bisected by purple scar tissue. he's grown to like the way lords and ladies alike look away, eyes growing wide and averting his gaze as he comes into their sight. enjoys the slight wrinkle of disgust on the noses of the more haughty nobles, who like to pretend they're not just a few hours of torture in price's dungeons away from looking just as mangled and hideous as he does.

so when word reaches him that lord price has arranged a marriage for him, he knows what it is. it's a punishment, a humiliation for your family, some lesser lord whose ego outgrew his rank and needed to be cut back without bloodshed. you'll be used both as a hostage and to humble your father, the pretty maiden lady given to the monstrous captain of lord price's guard- a reminder to any other upstart lordlings to mind their place, lest their own beloved children be given off to a kingdom-renowned brute like simon.

he doesn't meet you until the wedding day, and when he catches that first glimpse of your wide, terrified eyes behind your veil, lord price's words ring in his head.

"-and when you break this one, i'm sure it won't be long until we can find you another."

except seeing you here and now, trembling before him as the maester reads aloud from his book, he realizes he doesn't want another. he likes the way your eyes keep darting to his face and then away again, as if you're working up the courage to hold his gaze. you're trying so hard to be brave, and fun as it is to watch you tremble in front of him, what he likes even more is the way you're pretending not to.

you're so pretty, with big soft curves and hands that have never seen a hard day's work. you smell vaguely of expensive perfumes and oils, your braids tight and even, and everything from the rounded shape of you to the quality of your dress looks like a luxury. no wonder your father got cocky, he must be doing well for himself if he's got a big soft daughter like you.

the maester's words wash over him, a droning background noise drowned out by the flurry of thoughts racing through simon's head. you're his now, and the knowledge that he can do as he pleases with you (with impunity!) makes him feel a bit mad with power. you have so many soft bits that are just begging for him to sink his teeth into, to pinch and grab and smack at will. when he puts his cloak on your shoulders, all he can think about is digging his fingers into the fat of your thighs, the jut of your hips, the plushness of your ass.

it takes all of his strength and self-discipline not to consummate the marriage right then and there.

the feast afterwards is boisterous, and simon wastes no time pushing the limits of propriety by ordering a servant to take your chair away, insisting you sit on his lap as he hand-feeds you. poor thing, you try so hard to stutter out your objections about what's proper, what custom dictates- but what you haven't learned yet is that none of that means anything to simon. he'll do whatever he bloody wants and only stop if lord price tells him to.

"go on, love. starvin' over here. your turn t'feed me now." he rumbles in your ear, squeezing your hip hard enough to make you squeak. he's watched the way your shoulders have slowly climbed up to your ears, the way you can't bear to look at him, or even anyone else. you're humiliated, being forced to sit on the lap of an ogre and call him your husband.

simon's never been harder in his life.

slowly, tentatively, you hold up a small piece of bread to his mouth- squeaking and flinching when he suddenly snaps his teeth like a dog. the volume of the conversations around you temporarily dims as the rest of the castle observes your plight for a moment- before immediately reverting back to merriment. sure, they all feel sorry for you, but not enough to actually do anything about it.

it isn't long before your lady mother breaks down in tears and is hurriedly escorted out of the great hall by your siblings and a few of her ladies of the court, followed behind by your father after a few moments when he gives the excuse that he's going to check on her.

neither of them look back at you.

neither of them return to the festivities that night.

one by one lords and ladies stop by to give their carefully-worded well-wishes, all of them speaking directly to you alone, save for lord price and his men. unlike the other lords and ladies, none of them bother mincing words, and it amuses simon to no end to watch a big girl like you still try to shrink yourself down as much as possible.

"bet the bonnie lasses at the brothels will be glad tae hear the news the big brute's off the market." ser john mactavish jokes, and simon flexes his grip on your thigh.

"don't you listen to him, love. whores never took my coin anyways- said no gold was worth beddin' a monster." he places a kiss on your cheek, relishing in the way you go stock still and just take it instead of trying to pull away. he leans in closer and whispers. "you'll be doin' for free what i couldn't get even the most desperate slags to do for pay."

"have you decided if you'll do the bedding ceremony?" asks ser kyle, with a mean looking glint in his eye. it's one thing, making a pretty girl like you marry an ugly mug like simon, it's entirely another to have a crowd watch him mount you like the dog he is. the murmur of conversation near the table comes to a hush as every ear turns simon's way.

"you lot just want to see if my cock is as mangled as the rest of me." simon rebuffs, laughing. "ain't nobody's gonna see my wife's pretty cunt but me, yeah? i'nt that right, love?"

he gives your thigh another squeeze, spurring on a furious nod. it's so obvious that you're trying not to cry, he can tell you're biting at the inside of your cheek to try to keep yourself together.

poor thing, being forced to bear the brunt of this humiliation when you'd done nothing wrong, and your cowardly father leaving rather than truly looking at the consequences of his boldness. were he still here, maybe simon would consider the ceremony- but he'd meant what he'd said. that pretty pussy of yours is his property now, and fuck if he won't guard it like a dog with a bone.

"speakin' of- i'm takin' the missus to my chambers. leg's gone numb and i'm lookin' t'get my heir and my spare made as soon as i can. up, you." he commands, patting at your hip and chuckling to himself over how obediently you rise. you make no fuss about letting him lead you out of the feast and away from all of those watching eyes, the ones that stare at you with pity and him with disgust.

like a woman headed to the gallows, you follow him through the castle to his chambers, arms wrapped around yourself and head hung low, biting at your own lip. briefly, simon thinks about how wasted all your training to be a member of a royal court is- the way you wait until the door to his chambers closes before you allow the tears to silently cascade onto your cheeks is really quite impressive. come to think of it, you've done very well all night. simon imagines that any other girl would have been wailing and sobbing throughout the wedding- but not you. not his brave, pretty, soft wife.

"look at me." his cock throbs at the way you obediently turn to face him- he'd been prepared to grab your jaw and make you, but it's much nicer to have you comply on your own. "if you're cryin' thinkin' i'm gonna kill you- don't."

the shock on your face is delicious. he can see in the candlelight, the way the tears are gathered against your lower eyelid, ready to fall at a moments notice while the gears in your head churn, trying to figure out if he's tricking you or not. your mouth hangs open as you wordlessly try to find the words- or any words, really- to help you express your surprise.

"i don't kill people f'free anymore, and unless lord price decides to declare war on you, specifically, you don't have nothin' t'worry about." the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. "but if your blubberin' is 'cause you've got yourself one pig-ugly husband, well. ain't nothin' you or i can do about that, so you may as well have y'self a good cry about it now and get it over with."

he reaches out, scarred fingers gripping your chin as his thumb runs gently over your bottom lip, stretching it down, down, down, until it snaps back up into position.

"go on, love. cry. sob to your heart's content, right here on my bed. mourn for all those hideous babies you'll be pushin' out." he taunts, crowding your space until you back up, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. two big hands push at your shoulders, causing you to fall back with a squeak.

"pop your tits out." simon orders as he pulls at your skirts, not bothering to even fully undress himself as he fumbles with his trousers, fishing out a fat, ugly cock that's already dripping onto the bed. it looks angry as it bobs up and down in the air, clearly struggling under it's own weight.

"it'll fit." simon tells you, as if reading your mind. "tits, love. if i have to get 'em myself, i'll ruin your pretty dress."

"i think you already plan on that." you say with a sniff, wiping at your eyes before you begin to pull at your laces.

"oh, she speaks!" he taunts. "and here i thought the only words you knew were weddin' vows."

there's barely enough time to glare at him before he brings his hand down to the neckline of your dress and pulls, tearing it open down the front. on instinct you raise your hands to protect your face, gasping in shock as simon pulls at your gowns, fabric loudly tearing as he yanks it off of you.

suddenly you find yourself bare, spread out on a pile of very expensive scraps of wedding dress, body exposed to the most disgusting brute of a man you've ever seen in your whole life.

not even a lifetime of etiquette classes and courtly manners could help you school your face as you look up at him.

"you hate me?" he chuckles,

"i hardly know you, ser." you reply, bitterness discoloring your otherwise polite remark.

"you'll hate me soon enough. know that." he warns with a cruel smirk, fingers flexing into the plush fat of your hip as his eyes flit down to stare at your exposed core. "you're a proper lady, yeah? you know how this works? anyone tell you what t'do?"

"i- i was told not to struggle." it feels as if your heart stops in your chest as you watch his eyes widen and hear him take an audible sucking breath.

"you could." he says, sounding lost in thought. "you could try and fight. could scream and scream and scream, and nobody would come f'ya. because you're mine now."

he stares at you for a moment, absent-mindedly biting at his thin, scarred lip as he mulls something over.

slowly, he nods to himself.

"yeah. want you t'struggle. t'fight. c'mon, softie, won't hurt you back- well. not too much, anyway. just wanna play a bit before we get down t'fuckin'." he leans down, hard cock pressed against your soft stomach as he whispers in your ear. "tomorrow you can tell the ladies of the court how you tried to keep your honor. how you fought, but i still forced you. don't bother me none, love. everybody knows i take what i want. you tell 'em oll that, and when your belly gets bigger with my heirs they'll look at you with pity instead of disgust."

the weight of his words, of everything that's happened today finally sinks in as you feel his cock twitch against your stomach- you're his wife now. this horrible man who delights in your discomfort and unease, this brute with dirty fingernails and an even filthier mouth is who you're tied to for the rest of your life.

he taps your cheek- not hard enough to hurt, but it's certainly enough to startle a terrified squeak out of you.

"go on, girlie. scream. scream loud enough f'your lady mother and lord father to hear ya. let 'em know exactly wot they put you through. give 'em somethin' t'think about on the carriage ride home- how their pride cost their pretty, soft daughter everythin'. if your old man hadn't run his mouth, they could've married you off t'some fancy little lordling, someone with softer hands and a nicer face. instead, you're here, waitin' t'get your cunt stuffed by the likes o'me." he grins down at you as he sits back up on his knees, and it feels like a threat.

his low, rumbling chuckle is cut short with the sudden snap of his teeth, and instinct kicks in- something in your hind brain that's assigned him the role of predator and you of prey- and you try your best to scramble back away from him, legs kicking out and arms flailing as you try and fail to escape. simon's head tips back, a mean laugh echoing through your chambers, and likely reaching out through the windows for others to hear as well.

"yeah, like that." he says, sounding pleased as he wraps a large, dirty palm around your ankle, his cock leaking and bouncing in the air as he avoids your kicks and settles himself between your legs. "now scream- or do you need my help? more than happy t'help you scream, love."

"no- don't-!"

"louder."

"please, ser, don't- please-"

"thassit." he shoves his ruddy prick inside of you, startling a pained yelp from behind your ribs, echoing off the stone walls. your new husband wastes no time, setting a brutal pace from the get-go, the loud slap of skin on skin intermingling with your warbled cries for him to please stop, which only serves to make him tip his head back and groan, a wicked smile carving it's way across his scarred face.

you try your best to bear it, to close your eyes, think of england, or perhaps imagine it's that beautiful knight you'd seen at tourney, ser garrick, whom you'd only met once but thought was so handsome-

a broad hand smacks across your face- not hard enough to injure, but enough to sting and shock another yelp from you.

"look at me." he orders, hissing through his teeth. the smell of red wine on his breath makes your nose wrinkle. "don't you pretend i'm someone else. this is the brute that's fuckin' you, this is the ugly mug you're married to, this is the man whose babies you're gonna carry. and you'll bloody carry 'em, as many as you can, 'til death do us part."

god, it feels like he's hollowing you out, gutting you like so many stags and boars primed for being feasted upon. simon looks hungry, too, the way his lip is curled in a hungry sneer as he pants above you. a heat begins to build in the core of you- but it's hard to say if it's the starting of arousal, or merely friction burn.

all you can do is lie there and take it, whimpering and pleading all the while, just like he seems to want you to. every please stop and no more ser seems to goad him on, grinning down at you with a pleased smile that sends a shiver of fear down your spine.

"fuck, yeah, love the way you squirm under me." he pants, slapping at your tits with a loud crack of skin-on-skin. "c'mon, softie. fight me a bit. scratch me up. let 'em oll know you didn't let the brute take you without a struggle." he growls at you, snapping his teeth at you playfully.

your hand flies on it's own accord- airborne before you can even think about it- and it startled a shocked gasp out of you as you feel your own fingernails rake across his already marred face.

oh no oh god oh no oh shit shit shit-

simon stills for mere moments before groaning loudly, his grip on your hips flexing painfully as he empties himself inside of you, cock pulsing against your core. it's over, you did it, and while it wasn't pleasurable, sweet, or even nice- you made it through to the other side all the same.

simon doesn't bother pulling out, instead opting to collapse on top of you, pinning you with his considerable bulk as his cock softens inside of you. cooling sweat sticks to you, and you hope to god he can't see your nose wrinkled in disgust when he turns his head to plant a big, wet kiss on your cheek.

"never had m'self a girl who was conscious before. think that was the best fuck i ever had." he says, patting at your flank like you're his favorite horse. it's hard to tell if he's kidding or not- but as you listen to him chuckle to himself in the dark, you suspect he might not be.

That’s what keeps running through his mind as he walks through the forest, backpack slung over his shoulder.

He had been hunting them for days. They had matched on a dating app and he had convinced them to meet up for a hike through the woods near his home. Although they don’t know it was near his home. They don’t know that he intends to hunt them or what he intends to do with their body after they are dead.

But he knows.

He knows and the thought of it makes heat pool in his stomach and his cock twitch in his jeans. He had always fantasized about this scenario, like an intrusive thought he's had lingering in his subconscious, something to think about late at night when he lays in his bed in his cabin out in the woods alone. So when his dear friend Ves came to him and told him of Sleep and what had happened he was more than willing to join in on the fun.

Oh and what fun there is to be had.

~

You wake slowly, the sun filtering through the trees to light the small grotto you had hidden in. You aren't sure how many days you'd been running. You just know you're exhausted and you need to move. It isn't safe to stay in one place for very long. He could catch up at any time. And god only knows what his plans beyond that are. You stand up, not bothering to brush the dirt and debris off of your clothes before you continue your unexpected journey through the woods. You climb your way over a hill, weaving through the dense trees as you try to remember anything useful from your days in the Scouts.

Nothing.

You can't shake the feeling of someone watching you from a distance. You're sure it's nothing but paranoia. Aren't you? You shake your head, trying to get rid of the feeling, clear your thoughts, focus. These woods can't go on forever, right? If you just keep going you'll eventually find something, some one, a way out.

A scream echos through the air.

You freeze. What could that be? An animal of some kind? Did this psycho send out other people to hunt out here? You walk towards the scream. Probably not the wisest choice you've ever made, but you thought maybe you could help or at least whoever it was wouldn't have to die alone. You enter a clearing, looking around to see if anyone was there. Despite the feeling of eyes being trained on you from every angle you didn't see a single person. Only a grey fox sat on a boulder in the middle of the circle of trees. You watch the fox and it watches you in return. Its dark eyes subtly glow as it stares you down. You're trying to convince yourself that the glow is a symptom of your exhaustion but the longer you look at the vulpine in front of you the less sure you are that it is an ordinary fox.

Wait.

It has six eyes?

You blink. That can't be right. The fox lets out another cry, a mix between a human scream and the wailing of a injured creature. It makes your hair stand on edge. Goosebumps cover your arms as you take a step back and your back hits his chest. Your heart leaps in your chest as you turn to look up at the man who you had matched with on the dating app. The man who had been hunting you for days.

"That's enough running now."

~

"She's dead," Vessel had said, "She's dead and I killed her."

He didn't need to be specific. II knew who he was talking about. Vessel had been stuck in an abusive relationship for so long, unable to get out due to financial and emotional reasons. II had never blamed him for it; he only wanted his friend to get out of the situation. He didn't exactly expect what would come after. Vessel told him about how after he had killed her and done… things to her corpse he was visited by an ancient deity called Sleep. Sleep told him that They had chosen him, that he would be a part of something great. Vessel was nervous. He didn't want to be alone again.

"So, kill someone and fuck their corpse to join the weird Sleep cult?" II asked bluntly.

"Wh-I mean yeah that's the idea but it's -" Vessel had started, II already downloading Tinder and putting together a profile.

"Cool, cool, cool, cool. So like I downloaded Tinder, do you think they'd be fun to kill?"

~

The stone is hard and cold beneath your body. You don't know what had happened after you blacked out, you just know now you're laid out on the slab of stone the fox had been sitting on. Or at least you assume that must be the case because you can't see clearly. Your hands are bound together with rope behind you. You can't even feel your legs. You felt disoriented, unable to tell up from down.

"You aren't supposed to be awake yet, Dove. Suppose the dose wasn't quite right then," he murmurs softly, "You shouldn't be able to feel anything yet, which is good for you. It would be real painful if you could feel how bad I've fucked you up." He sounded amused by this. Which only made you wonder.

"Wha…what have you done to me?" you ask, your voice breaking with fear you hardly feel. Everything is so fuzzy. Your vision starts to clear and you're finally able to observe your surroundings. You tilt your head to see him siting between your legs, the curved knife in his hand covered in blood. Your blood. That's when you notice the gaping wound between your legs, your clothes cut through and discarded. Blood is seeping from what remains of your pelvis, soaking everything. Nothing familiar remains. Black dots appear in your vision and your head falls back again. Your eyes flutter closed. You hardly react as you feel something cold, wet, and metallic against your neck. The knife.

"That's it. Just lay back and be a good little hole to fuck," he growls. You can just barely feel his hips coming down on yours in a repeated motion, the weight of his chest on top of yours. You struggle to take another breath, your chest shutters, a metallic taste floods your mouth. There's a sharp pain, then nothing.

~

"The brain is usually the first organ to begin autolysis," Vessel's voice echoes in his mind as his pace picks up. He's that much closer to what he wants. He slides his cock into the perfect hole he had carved into their body. He groans, pushing the knife deeper into the throat. He feels the way the chest shuttered its final breath. He feels his mind light up; he doesn't need to hold anything back. His thrusts grow more erratic. He feels the blood all over his skin, slick and warm. He knows he doesn't have forever before the body would start to grow cold and he can feel his release coming closer. Just a little more.

"Oh…fuck yes," he moans, his hips stuttering as he comes into the cavern of flesh. He pushes himself away from the body, taking a moment to catch his breath. He wants more, needs more. His thoughts are a crazed blur as he crawls around the slab of rock so his hips line up with the skull. He removes the knife, tossing it to the side. He takes the head and tilts it back so the jaw opens wide. He shoves his cock into the new hole, groaning at the feeling. So soft, still warm, unresponsive. His hips jerk forward, unable to wait any longer. He's eager to come again, shoving the skull down on his cock over and over. He doesn't care when the teeth drag along his shaft. He is more focused on reaching his climax then anything else.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck," he mutters as he feels the pleasure of his release flood over him. Watching as his cum pools out of the sides of the lips, the corpse unable to swallow, all fluids pool in the mouth - it was glorious. Covered in blood and cum, he'll remember this moment forever.

"My Second… You have shown your devotion..."

A voice echos through his mind. II looks up and sees the six-eyed fox sitting nearby, its eyes trained on him. This must be the form Sleep chose to visit him in. He shifts, pulling away from the body and putting his pants back on.

"I can be with Vessel now, right?" II got straight to his point. Nothing was going to stop him from loving Vessel. No abusive dead girlfriend, no dead body laying in the middle of a forest, no god was going to stop him from being with his love. He made damn well sure of that.

"Yes…if that is what my first desires as well, I will not stop you in any way," the voice replies. The fox looks off into the distance for a second before darting off. II shrugs. He did what he needed to do. He turns to gather his things, taking one more look over his handiwork before he wanders off in the direction of his home.

He couldn't wait to tell Vessel the good news.

~

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