#forth now and fear no darkness

[the-rebellious-soldier]

They're doing what we knew they'd come for. They're trying to codify an abortion ban under the 14th amendment. Use this link to find your representatives and demand they stop this bill every way they can. Remember they work for us and our power to speak is one we cannot let them take away.

The way we get change is by speaking up.

[redeemingvillains]

the black lake - mattheo riddle

summary: mattheo is hogwarts' triwizard tournament champion, and he's proven that he can crush the competition. but when the stakes are raised, and you're involved, nothing will get in his way.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this was was so fun to think about! lots of references to goblet of fire! lots of swearing, matty is not a happy camper in this one. enjoy ♡

Obviously this boy would put his name in the Goblet of Fire (all of the boys did) and there would be a lot of feelings about him being chosen as the Hogwarts champion, lots of accusations about him rigging the selection (he probably did). But he'd definitely crush the competition, especially when he had the right motivation...

ˋ°•*⁀➷

It's the morning of the second task, the day crisp and frosty, creating puffs of air as Mattheo huffed in exertion, marching down to the Black Lake surrounded by his friends. Suffice to say, he was pissed. It was fucking frigid outside and he hadn't seen you all morning, the combination enough to set him dangerously on edge.

You'd told him you'd come spend the night with him, and if nothing else you always ate breakfast together, so when you didn't show up last night and you were nowhere to be found this morning he was furious that you'd blown him off. Now he was spending his entire walk from the castle to the lake ruminating over it, piling on every perceived slight over the last few days, including the way he saw you talking to a group of guys from Durmstrang in the Great Hall yesterday, causing him to involuntarily curl his hands into fists at his side.

His friends walked beside him, surrounding him in a sort of semicircle, but moving in complete silence; they knew better than to try to say anything to him when he was in a mood like this. Before long, Pansy came running to meet them, nearly out of breath as she said, exasperated, "I couldn't fucking find her. She's not anywhere in our dormitory, in the library, I don't know where she's gone." Concern and frustration laced her voice as she looked at the group and then up at Mattheo.

This wasn't like you.

You had been Mattheo's #1 supporter throughout the whole tournament, helping him prepare, cheering him on, jumping into his arms the moment he'd defeated his dragon, and generally always glued to his side. In fact, you were always glued to all of their sides, the group of you being nearly inseparable, so having you missing made all of the boys feel shifty and on edge as they looked at one another.

Fear bloomed in Mattheo's chest. And the feeling of fear when it came to you did not sit well with him. He didn't want to feel afraid, to feel vulnerable when it came to you, so he opted to shove the feeling down, keeping instead with anger which was much easier and more natural to him.

"I don't have time for this" he muttered, quickening his pace as they all scrambled to keep up with him.

The biting wind whipped through his dark curls and stung his cheeks as he stood on the platform above the lake, staring into the middle-distance of the dark and choppy waves. Students and staff alike were cheering and shouting their encouragement for their champions, but he was completely zoned out, his mind bouncing back and forth between your lingering absence and the task ahead of him. He only perked up when Dumbledore's loud voice rang out over the crowd.

"Welcome to the second task!" it radiated.

"Last night something was stolen from each of our champions, a treasure of sorts—"

Mattheo's heart plummeted so fast into his stomach that he subconsciously grasped at his chest. A treasure? There wasn't a thing he owned that he valued enough to call a treasure, not a single thing in his life that held that much weight... except you. You were undeniably his treasure. He looked back into the murky water of the Black Lake... it couldn't be... he thought ... surely they wouldn't... as Dumbledore's voice continued.

"—These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie on the bottom of the Black Lake—" Mattheo's stomach lurched with what little breakfast he'd been able to eat as his eyes shot to Pansy's in the crowd in enough time to see her clasp her hand to her mouth as she pieced the situation together.

"—In order to win, each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface. Simple enough. Except for this. They will have but one hour to do so and one hour only. After that, they'll be on their own. No magic will save them."

Mattheo's feet were moving before Dumbledore said another word, sprinting towards the water because fuck this stupid tournament, and fuck the geezer for thinking he could take you away from him, that he could put you in danger.

"You may begin at the sound of the cannon."

BOOM!

Mattheo heard the blast as his body hit the water, diving headfirst into the waves without bothering to cast a spell, without a care to what he'd find within the foreboding depths.

The cold shocked his system, but his heart was hammering for plenty of other reasons as he pulled his body through the fierce current, his strong arms and legs working against the waves.

For a minute he was surrounded in dark nothingness. He could feel rather than see that he wasn't alone in the water, occasionally sensing something moving on either side of him, but he didn't have time, you didn't have time for him to care. His lungs started to burn and he pressed his wand to his neck, casting a spell frantically so as not to waste another second.

After swimming at an impossible pace for so long he wondered if there even was a bottom to the lake, he heard an ethereal sound, like singing and changed course to swim towards it, which brought him to a large clearing where he could see merpeople swimming around. The few nearest him whipped their heads toward him, surprised at his presence as they turned to face him fully. He dared them, dared any fucking one of them to come near him, welcomed it actually, a chance to take out his rage, but they steered clear, perhaps sensing it would be a losing battle despite the tritons they carried and their razor-sharp teeth.

He swam on, his muscles straining, aching with the exertion of pulling his weight through the thick water at such an unwavering and desperate pace, but the feeling faded, drained from him, as four distinct figures came into view, four bodies, tethered and floating in the water, their hair moving eerily around their faces, their bodies stiff and still, like corpses.

He identified you immediately and he swam harder and harder until he was close enough to touch you. He brushed a hand against your cheek; your skin held a blueish tint and your face was expressionless, void of the smile that you always had for him, that reached your eyes, that lit up your face, the absence of it was enough to make his eyes sting in a way that had nothing to do with the brackish water.

He grasped your stiff form, the resistance of your body against his continuing to mess with his mind as he sent a spell to sever the rope that secured you and tried not to think about how rigid you felt in his arms.

His ability to breath underwater didn't matter for shit, because he was certain he didn't breath the entire way back, climbing harder and harder as he carried your weight with him, desperate to reach the surface, desperate to save you, thinking the entire time how fucking foolish he'd been to spend even one second mad at you today.

Finally, he could see the light of the surface, the grey clouds in the sky reflecting in the waves, and after a final series of strong kicks he broke through the current.

Immediately, he felt you come alive again in his arms, spluttering and coughing as you grasped for him.

"M-Matty!?" you said hysterically, the cold and fear in your voice setting his heart in a vice as your eyes fluttered open and you looked around in confusion at your surroundings. "What happened?! Where—?!"

"—It's okay, you're okay, you're safe" he said, pulling you against him, keeping you both afloat even as you rocked in the waves and he gasped deeply for air.

"C'mere, c'mon" he said, swimming with you in his embrace towards the platform, anxious to get you out of the freezing water.

The crowd had erupted into cheers when you'd breached the surface, and they were announcing that Mattheo was the champion by a long shot, not having been in the water for more than 20 minutes, the other champions still completely unaccounted for. But hearing talk of the competition and seeing everyone's ignorance about the whole situation as they clapped and smiled was pushing him to his limit as he hoisted you up to Pansy who greeted you with a thick towel.

Mattheo pulled himself out of the water, barely taking time to wrap a towel around his shoulders before grabbing three more and pulling them around you. You laughed under the heavy bundle, even as your shivering continued uncontrollably. "I-I'm okay, I-I'm okay" you said, trying to reassure him, even as you noticed that he wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Buncha fucking idiots" you heard him muttering as he rubbed your arms before he stooped down and swept you off your feet bridal style, one hand around your waist, the other holding on to your legs. The crowd cheered again, erupting in a sigh of "awws" at the gesture until he began barreling towards them.

"Matty?" you asked, concerned, "Where are we—?"

"—Anywhere but here" he growled as people began pushing each other to get out of his way.

"Mr. Riddle!" McGonagall chided, chasing after you both as you watched her from over his shoulder, urging him to stop as a couple of other professors followed in pursuit.

He veered towards the raised platform where the headmasters were seated, coming to a brief stop in front of Dumbledore who had stood to his feet.

"You are out of your fucking mind!" Mattheo spat at him.

Several people around you gasped, even Igor Karkaroff had the wherewithal to look surprised, impressed even, before Mattheo walked away, marching right off the platform and back towards the school as the entire crowd watched you go.

You could tell Mattheo was tired, beyond tired, physically, emotionally; you could feel his arms shaking against your weight.

"Matty, I can walk, it's okay" you said quietly, but he wouldn't let you go, wouldn't set you down, wouldn't even respond to you or meet your eyes. So you resigned yourself to resting your head on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck which seemed to relax him a bit.

He carried you all the way to his room, making his way to the bathroom where he finally set you down and immediately began running you a hot bath. Wordlessly, he found a towel and a set of his clothes for you to wear, placing them at the edge of the tub before leaving without a word, closing the door gently behind him.

You looked anxiously at the closed door, aware that something was very very wrong, but also acknowledging that he might need a minute, and that you still couldn't feel the tips of your fingers or toes, so you resigned yourself to the hot water.

It felt heavenly, as did washing the muck of the lake off your skin and out of your hair. You reveled in the smell of his soap, like cedar and evergreen, but you were too anxious to sit there any longer than necessary, quickly pulling on his sweatpants and sweatshirt that engulfed your frame as you toweled your hair dry and pushed the door open.

Mattheo was seated at the edge of his bed, still dripping wet, his body shaking noticeably as he stared at the ground. He glanced up when he heard you, visibly relaxing a bit as he took in your warm, rosy cheeks and your soft smile, his mind flashing for only a moment to your unsmiling rigid form floating in the water, trying to reconcile that version of you with the one in front of him.

You approached him slowly, moving to stand between his legs as you took his face in your warm hands, tilting it to look at you. He had a strained, puzzled expression on his face as his eyes drank you in before his hands came to rest on your waist.

"Babe—" you started.

"—I love you" he said.

Your heart somersaulted over the words you'd never heard him say before as you let out a small breath, your hand moving to cover your mouth in shock as your eyes widened.

"I'm-I'm a fucking wreck for you" he continued, laughing humorlessly as he shook his head. "Today... really fucked me up. I thought I'd lost you, I thought..." he paused, getting quiet "...The way you looked down there, alone, miles under the water, surrounded by all sorts of shit" he shook his head harder like he could unlive the memory of it all.

"I should have told you sooner, because I've known for awhile, for a long fucking time, but I've been too scared to say it, too scared that you don't remotely feel the same way, but that doesn't matter anymore, nothing fucking matters other than you hearing me say it, today, every day, I love you, YN." His eyes met yours finally, wide and sincere. "With everything I've got, I love you."

"I love you too!—" you whispered, and the words were barely out of your mouth before he pressed his cold lips to yours, pulling you into him so tightly you let out an involuntary squeak as your arms moved to wrap around his neck and he fell backwards onto his bed, continuing to mumble against your lips "Iloveyou, loveyou, I loveyou", smushing your kisses with his affectionate words until you were laughing with joy, the sound finally reassuring him that you were his, and that you were okay.

♡

@kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf, @sleepiibunniiii, @darlingshecried, @girlblogging777, @foivetimesacharm, @clar2aa, @broadwaybaby123, @slytherinscreamqueen

[nanamiskentos]

★ 🐚 🫧 GONNA' MATCH MY FREAK? jujutsu kaisen. 呪術廻戦.

prologue ⋆ ★ getting down and nasty with some fine men? yes, please.

pairings ⋆ ★ sukuna, toji, geto, hajime, choso, gojo genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab/she+her!reader, making it fít, trueform!sukuna, against a wall, créampíe, bréeding, ríding, temple séx, mild mention of smoking (geto), unintentional public séx, óral (f), inappropriate use of jujutsu (electricity), backshóts, mentions of voyéurísm

word count ⋆ ★ 5.1k a/n ⋆ ★ going thru it 😝 was gonna add noritoshi kamo because he's my #bias #ult but i wasn't sure how to write him yet...

RYOMEN SUKUNA ៹ the king of curses

"now yer' just being stubborn," the blush-haired demon is grousing, dark nails clawing at the bare juncture of your hip, as though he's trying not to let his gaze leer downwards. to linger where your bare cunt is straddling over both his tattooed cocks. hefty, and weighty against the meat of your thigh.

"i can take them, 'kuna, know i can," and it's got sukuna sighing at your stubborn nature, as though he's not already being plagued by the most delightful visions of you swaying those delightfuls hips as both his tips swab at your entrance. oouh, tempting, tempting indeed.

you're already getting ahead of yourself, positioning your leaking folds over the first cock, the one stacked on top of the other, letting the fat tip snag at your gummy walls, and fuck, sukuna genuinely fears he may just be in love when you give him those insufferable, pleading doe eyes, "can y'help me fit them in, 'kuna?"

oh, can he ever. sukuna's ducking his face into the crook of your neck, nipping at the shell of your ear, so you can't see the warm flush painting his cheeks, hands heavy on your waist as he gently props you up, two arms wrapped in coils around your torso, and two softly positioned underneath your shaking thighs.

slowly, carefully, lowering you down. angling you just right, so your cunt eagerly begins to swallow him up. slick already drooling and painting treacly strands over his cock, trickling down to the base of thick, curled pink hair that gathers at his groin.

"haahh," you're sighing, lips parting in a way that makes sukuna feel like someone just hit him with a shovel, dumbfounded at the sight of you, only you, "bigger than i thought, 'kuna."

and the king of curses won't admit in, no, he's loathe to lower himself thus, but his heart (and his cocks) only swell at the praise, the knowledge that you're still just so eager to take him, to ride him on his throne, his kimono opened bare across your pretty form so he can lave sharp, stinging kisses over your chest.

"t-taking it so well," sukuna bites out, doing his best to fight the crack in his gruff tone, for the sake of his dignity. or at least, that's what he tells himself, never mind at how he feels lightheaded from the way your cunt is almost kissing the base of his cocks now, and the sound is absolutely filthy, echoing through out the empty hall. all damp sloshes of pre that's leaving smears over your innermost walls.

he has to focus over the buzzing in his ears to catch your sweet words, a hand coming to rest on the back of your head, tilting you closer to him, "mhm, yer' sayin' something?"

you're nodding, breathless and hazy, steadying yourself now in his lap, groping at the little divot that's already formed where his tip(s) now lie, "does it feel g-good for you?"

sukuna stares at you, half-clouded with the tight heat of your pretty, swollen pussy swallowing him up, "what?"

you're pawing at his chest, nails digging into hardened skin, grazing over dark tattoos that have lasted a millennia, "wanna know if 'm making y-you feel good, 'kuna."

oh, he's in love with you. ryomen sukuna is absolutely, foolishly, pathetically head-over-heels for you. his pretty, little woman that's balanced on his hips, rocking yourself back and forth to feel that glorious friction against your sweet spot.

ugh, fine. just this once. dignity be damned, for he's got you.

a large hand cups your jaw, resting against the curve of your neck, as crimson eyes bore into you, "you are what i want, brat," and sukuna means it, planting a heavy kiss against your lips, "just you, just like this. couldn't be b-better."

"you're getting soft." gentle, teasing as you watch watercolour flush paint pretty pink over sukuna's handsome features. for someone who fancies themselves a rather stoic king of curses, a fearsome sorcerer that can command life and death, he does a poor job of hiding how just how much you undo him.

a low grumble erupts from sukuna, gripping at your hips, pulling you closer to him in a way that you feel his cocks jostle within you, brushing against that sweet, sweet spot, "careful, there. don't wanna' break m'favourite human." yeah, you know that idle threats means that you've really got him blushing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ៹ the sorcerer killer

"heh, thought you said we were gon' get on the job," toji's guffawing even, but that smug expression quickly flitters away when your wandering, wanting hands are feeling him up. gripping at his pectoral muscles that strain against his black, tight top.

"we are on the job," you fiercely gasp against his mouth, feeling that rough scar twitch against your skin, "jus' need you, that's all."

you can see stone-green eyes flick upwards, heightened senses scanning for any intruders, any unwanted peepers to this show that he's about to put on, before kicking the rusted, weathered steel door closed. sealing you in this storage closet with him.

"so," toji simpers, and you know better than to trust the faux-concern on the assassin's face, "what does she need help with?" large hands patting at the clothed juncture of your thighs, running up the thick band of your holster, "couldn't even wait till we shot the damn' bastard, and took home a niceee paycheck."

you push at him, arms using as much as force as you can muster but it does very little to move this solid block of a man. but toji's clearly humouring you, letting you shove him against the reinforced, but worn-out walls, "how 'bout i give you an advance for the job?"

toji's wrapping a muscled arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he's nudging against your lips, "hah, a little taste then?" tugging at the waistband of your pants, "don't mind if i do."

and before you can even take a second to blink, he's whirling the two of you around. balancing you with inhuman levels of strength against the wall, so your ankles dangle in the air. quickly hooking against his waist, while toji thumbs at your underwear, eager to slide any remaining fabric away.

"stay focused now," toji murmurs, "got a big stretch for ya', heh."

and fuck, he wasn't exaggerating. you've never gotten used to it, the way his thick, girthy shaft melds into you, swabbing at the swollen, dripping walls that toji loves to call home. you're not sure if you're losing your mind, but you swear, you truly swear that you can feel the pulse of that one, angry vein that runs along the underside of his cock (yeah, you're pretty familiar).

"ngh –" you babble, "s-so big, fuck," your mind's gone entirely blank, grasping for the right word to encompass just how enrapturing toji's cock is, "so deep."

toji seems to like that, cheeks flushing the most adorable shade of peach and pink that he seems desperate to hide and deny, "y-yeah? deep in ya'?" he's rustling you in his hold, eager to hit bullseye on your cervix, to see you rolling your eyes to back of your head as you take him.

and if toji tears his gaze downwards, he can see your puffy folds parted, inches stuffed into your cunt. painting such a pretty sight that if toji were a less jealous, lecherous man, he'd hire a photographer to come capture the sinful view. hmm, maybe the new paycheck can go to a camera? oh, yeah, he's havin' ideas.

"t-toji –" you mewl, hands grasping at the firm curve of his pectorals, defined and taut underneath the fabric that stretched across his chest, "that's it, hah, jus' what i needed."

"mhm?" toji chuckles against the shell of your ear, "got so fucked out on the job, needed me to come take care of you like t-this?" he can feel your legs trembling in his hold, turning to mush and quivering, as he batters hit after hit against your mound. he shifts, readjusting himself for the right angle so...

plap! each smack of his heavy, laden sack rings throughout the abandoned storage room of this fuck-ass hideout, repurposed for something far more pleasurable. brows furrowed, sweat dripping down tanned skin as toji squeezes his eyes shut, feels every cell in his body unravelling (or well, something like that, he's not a scientist) as your tight cunt swallows him up, takes him apart.

"hnngh, fuck, girl, look what you're doin' to me," toji gasps, rocketing his hips to dig as deep as possible, cock twitching and practically sending s.o.s signals despite this being the first round of many.

he knows he's close, knows that tell-tale tightening in his groin will only lead to him shooting ropes out, so he pulls you in for a filthy, clashing kiss, "where do ya' want it? gon' have to tell me quick, – dunno' how long i can –"

"inside," you murmur, sounding as breathless as toji fushiguro feels, legs deliciously arched against his back, "want it inside, toji." whimpering the most beautiful, sweet groans against his ear.

toji wishes he was a stronger man, he truly does. wishes that he had some restraint, and sense but the very second your mouth parted to form those syllables, he felt the world go blank. ropes upon ropes of thick, cloying seed stuttering out of him, making the assassin feel off-kilter, "think it took, doll?" toji scoops some of the creamy release against your sloppy cunt, "or wanna' try one more time? or two?"

GETO SUGURU ៹ the worst curse user

"eyes on me, pretty," geto's panting, glossed lips parting, and you can see just how affected he is, that soft tremble of his mouth giving away the cracks in his composure.

but are you shocked? well, nah. you've learnt there are several ways to undo geto suguru, to unravel him until he's a trembling mess and your favourite way is to plant your hands on his bare chest, and rock your hips until the two of you are seeing stars.

and god, you feel as though your mind is turning to a sludgy mush, a faint whine building up between your ears until you realise that the sound is coming from your own parted mouth. geto's got a hell of a package down there, and he sure knows how to use it. every tilt of your pitching hips has his fat tip swabbing smears of silky pre against your inner walls, "mhm – feels s-so good, sugu', fuck!"

it's quite a sight, this you know. you had managed to paw off a decent swathe of geto's thick robes, still stained with a splash red that you're not eager to identify. pooling the silk on the cool tiles underneath the broad man. the taper of his broad, solid thighs keeps you well balanced as you crinkle your nose, plucking the lit stub from geto's smoky mouth. tossing it onto the tiles of the temple, so the flame patters out in the stained, warm glow of this sanctuary.

"hey, i was enjoyin' that," geto glowers, violet eyes subdued into a mauve, lustful haze, and you dig the very tips of your nails into the meat of his shoulders, opting for a harsher, sharper angle to slap skin against skin.

"enjoy this, instead," your eyes roll and fall to the back of your head as geto's grip on your hips tighten, almost bruising in the most delicious way possible. but a large, calloused hand travels further along, coming up to cup the underside of your tits, tweaking and pinching appreciatively. predictable, like an ant to some honey.

"heh, q-quite a sight," geto purrs, watching how your captivating form writhes and shakes. knowing that it's solely due to his thick shaft working inches into you, hitting spots that you weren't even aware of, "always so perfect for me, pretty."

you lean down, capturing his waiting lips in a sloppy, heavy kiss. a clash of your eager tongue against his, teeth sinking into plush lips. geto seems to been hit with a spark of some new idea, for he's suddenly pushing you back, murmuring a gentler kiss against your lips as an apology.

manoeuvring his broad frame so he's sitting up now, with you still balanced in his lap. the change in the nasty angle is so prominent, for his cock feels deeper than ever before. each thick vein scraping and pulsing against the walls of your swollen cunt, leaving no surface unclaimed.

"s-suguru, 'm there, right –" the sentence leaves you, mouth parting in a wordless, mindless oh! for the fat, creaming tip of his cock must have brushed past that delicious patch, that g-spot, and it has you trembling, climax washing over you in the most, delicious pulsing waves.

but geto suguru never lets up, never lets his best girl off the hook that easy. he doesn't stop bucking muscular hips up into you, sticky skin slapping over and over again in an addled cacophony of pleasure, determined to have you fall apart all over again. and he needs it to be asap.

"g-gorgeous, heh," he's tapping fingers against your cheek, pushing and pulling at your mouth, "what did i say about wanderin' eyes? keep them on me, love. need ya' to be lookin' at me when i split you apart."

"fuck, 'm feelin' –" you almost sob from the pleasure, crystalline tears pooling at your lashes from the sheer overstimulation. geto's cock absolutely heavy and weighty in you, kissing at your walls, and pecking your most sensitive spot.

"yeah, yeah, i k-know," geto gasps, feeling his own orgasm knocking on the door, thin strands of wispy cum already beginning to shoot out, but he's determined. a man on a mission, so a wide hand reaches in between the tight space, slapping sloppy circles against your sensitive clit in a way that has you sinking teeth into the side of his thick neck.

he's looking at you expectantly, like he knows exactly what's arriving. and when. long fingers twirling at your sloshy cunt, flicking over your throbbing clit, "three," he murmurs, "two..."

"and one –" geto's climax hits him at the exact same time, the hypnotising pulse of your pussy practically sucking any restraint out of him. translucent ropes of cream and ivory pumping into you, until you can only lay limp and boneless in his arms, with him still sprawled against the floor of the temple and...oh.

"suguru, baby?"

"hah, yeah," oouh, geto sounds ruined. his voice a rock-salt rasp, still quivering from the earth-shaking climax.

"did we leave the temple door open? and aren't all your guests meant to be arriving today?"

HAJIME KASHIMO ៹ the god of lightning

"tch', thought you said you weren't gonna move, silly girl."

hajime's been going at it for hours, now. well, you can't truly be sure for the world has become slow and hazy, but it certainly feels like an eternal passage of time, rife with that familiar, cloying buildup of pleasure shaking your abdomen.

you're whining, glossy and reddened lips being gnawed and worried into, aching fingers curling into loose strands of cyan hair that's come loose from the knots that hajime seems to favour, "i k-know. but it's –" you squeal when sharp fangs bite at the inner flesh of your thighs, "it's so much, and i've already –"

the sorcerer fixes you with that piercing stare of his, that disconcerting gaze of jewel-cerulean that is a direct shade match with his soft hair, "you've what? finished already? twice? thrice?" the man's getting cocky, you murkily wonder, scraping the tip of his tongue against your throbbing clit, "that's the point. but 'm waiting for something else, y'see."

you can only what else he could possibly want from you, for hajime's got you splayed out for him. bare thighs spread across the edge of the clean bed, the heat of your cunt sensitive even to the cool chill of the air, as he continues to kneel in between your legs. humming, murmuring, as he toys with your slick, sweet folds.

but you know one thing for certain, hajime is a man who will never accept defeat. he's competitive as fuck, and he shows it in all aspects, but especially when it comes to pleasuring you.

"look at you," hajime's cooing, pink mouth blooming a vivid magenta, painted a mirror sheen of your arousal, "jus' falling apart from my mouth? already?"

turquoise hair bunched around hajime's shoulders, falling over his white robes in thick, silky swathes, as he wraps his lips right around your sensitive bud, cheeks hollowing to suck. slender, wiry fingers littered with scars trace mindless circles around your entrance, pushing at your gummy walls until he's the one sucking in a breath.

"heh, s-so tight," hajime mutters, bestowing a filthy kiss upon your cunt, all sloppy and so loving, "have half a mind to just fill you up instead, have ya' pressed under me." he seems dazed by the way that you're still taking his fingers so readily, never mind the six orgasms that he's ripped from you already.

and you would be lying if you said you weren't desperate for the thin but lengthy curve of his cock, pressing up against your cervix as he was so prone to doing when he had you in a tight mating press.

"why don'tcha, then, 'jime?" you're mewling, hands moving away from his sea-green hair to paw at the thick padding of his ivory robes, "want y'in me so, so bad." you're all but sobbing, for hajime's delighted with how you're taking a third finger, and he's crooking the digit up. searching, searching for that sweet spot.

"patience, woman," the rough pads of hajime's fingers swirling thick arousal back into every cranny and divot of your walls, "hmm, 'm gonna' try something." he's grinning now, face splitting into an electrifying smile that you are all too familiar with, "just need to relax for me, sweet thing." pulling sodden fingers out of your cunt, ignoring your needy cries at the sudden loss of sensation.

you can practically feel how restless the sorcerer is, bruising the fingertips of his left hand into the fat of your thighs, amused at how they leave gloss-streaked smears over the skin. but the other hand is slowly stroking at your folds, teasing as hajime takes joy in watching your hips buck up continuously, desperate for some stimulation.

and that's when you first feel it. it's a little jolt at first, something stronger and almost harsher than what you're accustomed to. you can't even help the wanton, candied moan that falls from your lips at how the pins-and-needles quickly turns pleasurable, and how hajime's eyes have become aglow, cursed technique ever so delicately ramping up.

"hahh, 'jime," you're not even sure what to say, to cry out and hope that the words are able to form themselves, and not fall out in slurred groans of pleasure, "more, m-more!"

the sensation is warm too, each small spark sets you alight. far more heated than the cool tips of hajime's fingers that you're used to. and you're certain that you can attribute the involuntary twitching of your leg to the small, controlled electricity being channeled through hajime's skin, each pinch at your clit having you arch your back in the most filthy, whoreish of ways.

"aha," hajime angles a finger in you once more, resuming that gentle push-and-pull pace that he's kept for hours, so the messy pop! rings in your ears each time that he glides away and bottoms his fingers out once more, "i think 'm getting the hang of this, wouldn't ya' say?"

you must look absolutely out of it right now, for hajime's cursed technique is running jolts and buzzes through you in such a way that you know jujutsu was never intended to be used for. tongue falling out of your mouth, whining, as you squeeze your eyes shut. feeling the pace pick up, and hajime's fingers hit bullseye when they brush that spot.

"there, there, t-there, 'm gonna –"

you faintly catch the satisfied, thrilled look on hajime's face when you climax, spraying all over his chin. droplets of clear release that he's eagerly digging into to lap up, hah, you know he's glad to have achieved a victory like this, exhilarated just from achieving your pleasure. tongue sloppy as it works you through a mind-numbing orgasm, slick dripping over his faintly-tanned chin.

"see, i knew y'had it in you," hajime's standing up now, and you bite back a bratty comment about how a four-hundred year old sorcerer was able to stay on his knees for so long, gulping as you see him reach for the loose ties on his martial pants, "and i wanna' see something else now."

CHOSO KAMO ៹ the death painting

"are you sure, my love?" you've barely even touched him, and choso already sounds ruined, tremors wracking his sensitive form. he's beautiful like this, broad-shouldered and thick with hardened muscle. a dark curtain of inky, clingy hair falling around his face as he looks down at you, from where he's hovering with his beefy arms on either side.

"i'm sure, cho," you whimper, inching your legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling him in and closer to where your hot, glossy folds are practically begging for his touch. or rather, for his cock — all his glorious inches that beam an angry, sensitive shade of scarlet.

choso brushes his nose against yours, as intimate as he always is, "jus' don't wanna' hurt you," thick tip snagging against the very entrance of your glistening, winking hole, "tell me if it's too much."

"i will, oh, i –" the air is punctured from your lungs, like your very breath has been stolen away from you in the most searing kiss. that first, initial stretch of choso's cock in you is nothing short of delicious and eye-opening. he's always like this, so intoxicating and sweet, and mindful of how the body of a human may differ to that of a half-curse such as himself, so he's running a thick hand against your abdomen, soothing as he bullies another inch into you.

"not too much, love?" choso gasps out, spellbound by your tight, loving grip, and he thinks he's already lost his mind, hand kneading at the sudden divot that's formed under your skin, from where his cock is settling.

"mhm, mm!" you shake your head, unable to speak from the instant swipe of his cock against your sweet spot already, determined not to wantonly start moaning and gasping in his ear before he's already bottomed out.

choso's worried thumb comes up to swipe at your lower lip, pressing into the kiss-stricken flesh, "hey, i like hearing you. always sound so pretty." pressing his lips to your mouth again, as though he could stay there forever. like this, with you. in you.

"ahh, cho, 's good, really," and you're telling the truth, for his thick cock is rendering you senseless, and so in love. nails lightly clawing at his peach-toned skin, certainly leaving small, crescent marks that you know will make choso flush later. raking your nails down as choso finally, finally bottoms out with a pop!

the sound of skin slapping and sliding against skin makes you flush, your arousal practically drooling out of swollen folds, as thin strands delicately balance between your hips before snapping into creamy puddles, creating an absolute mess underneath you.

"it's like i can feel all of you," choso groans, silky ends of his dark hair tickling your cheek, "and yer' so, so pretty," he's gnawing at his lips, blood-hued, fucking you absolutely stupid on his endowed cock. hitting you with solidified rams against that rough, sensitive spot, drawing senseless, pleasured sounds of your gaping mouth.

choso's weaving his hand in between the two of you, determined to reach for your glistening, throbbing clit. to run sloppy, mindless shapes over the bud that make the most filthy sounds, that soft and pulling sound of your translucent slick sloshing over choso's broad hand.

"you gotta' finish," choso heaves, hauling you a little closer to him, so he can do his very best to draw circles around your clit, despite the slick making it nigh impossible for his fingers to stay on course, "gotta' see you fall apart f'me."

and what a glorious sight for choso's eyes, to see how your lips moisten and part. eyes tight and shut, brows drawn together like a bow releasing a quiver of arrows, he thinks he'd be content to stay like this forever. to have your body tremble underneath him, orgasm painting over you in the most gentle shade possible, hips bucking further into him.

"wait," choso looks almost sheepish now, ears a glowing shade of berry-red, kissing away the last tremours of your climax, "can i turn you around? wanna' see how you look from the back."

GOJO SATORU ៹ the strongest

"w-what? here?" gojo groans, but god, he's never one to complain. hard for him to even find one fault in the world when you're straddling his thighs, looking so lustful and dazed above him.

you're nodding, lips pressed into a frown that gojo immediately swipes away with a kiss, "been wantin' you for days, 'toru." hands already pulling aside his haori, digging into the soft bands of his white pants, "always soo busy, everyone's takin' your attention."

oh. you're needy. and gojo's not ashamed to admit that he loves to play into it. loves to see how his pretty wife's brows furrow and lips part when she's desperate for him.

he snickers, looping a muscular thigh in a way that he's able to flip the two of you over. splaying you out on all fours for him, him only. your knees digging into the soft mats in the training rooms that gojo's certain he locked when you dragged him in here.

he's biting at the shell of your ear, rough hand slithering up your top to cup at the fat of your tits, "y'do know that everyone's on me because they wanna' check in about my fight with sukuna." rocking you back against his tight bulge, "and i did say i would face...him before the twenty-fourth."

"you're the s-strongest, – fuck, that's so –" hah, gojo's already a step ahead of you, sheathing both girth and length into your drooling pussy, leaning back to admire the way your swollen folds snatch and eagerly swallow him up, "and you're always trainin', i was getting lonely."

"my, my," gojo purrs, running a large, broad hand down your spine, slamming your hips back into his so the white curls at the base of his cock kiss the heart-shaped juncture of your ass, "if i knew m'wife was this jealous, i'd have brought ya' in to train with me." gojo's figuring that life's kinda short, and he's gotta live a little — revving up six eyes without any shame, desperate to see the curve of his cock drill home into your tight cunt.

you squeal when he rams his thick, rosy-toned tip deep into your sticky, slimy walls. and for each squelch! when he pulls out, there's a coating of gloss that drips from his cock, entrancing the white-haired man, "well, we're kinda' training now, s-satoru."

"heh, you're right, wifey," gojo decides to take it all the way, looming his frame over you so the tight weave of his dark tee presses against your back, his chest firm enough against you that it bows your back down in the most pleasurable arch, rummaging his cock all over, "see, what would i do without ya'?"

if you crack open bleary, hazy eyes, you can make out the cracks and fissures that run deep in the walls here, plaster splitting apart to reveal brick underneath. wondering, vaguely, whether it was the force of gojo's cursed technique tearing apart the foundations of this building. but it doesn't make you shudder, no, what truly makes you quake is the smack! of gojo's palm against the fat of your ass, and his thick, muffled groan against your ear.

"can't believe i've been neglecting ya', sweets," gojo whines, churning at your pussy in determined rolls of his hips, "and her, too, of course." he's got you bent at such a determined angle, that you're not sure whether you can muster the energy to even tilt your head back. but you certain that the hot drops that quickly cool upon your shoulder are leaking from his stormy eyes, prickling at his long-white lashes. gojo's always been so sensitive during sex, always so easily riled up and undone.

he doesn't let up on the place, continuing to smack the fat head of his cock against your cervix, as though he's desperate to not miss the right spot to spill thick wads of buttery release, and you know that gojo won't, not with those superhuman, heightened senses of his.

"close? close? is m'wife –" gojo hoarsely rasps, "are ya' close? because i think 'm gonna pass out, ouh, yeah. snatching me way too good, heh, been missing out on this training," already pussydrunk and babbling as he tends to do, running his mouth at the same pace at which he's slamming his cock into you, "you know i lo –"

gojo's never one to withstand a rude interruption, not even when its his own orgasm snatching the words out of his mouth, so even as steaming, slick strands of his climax pump themselves into you, he's mouthing and kissing at your neck, gently pulling you up from all fours to balance your arms wide, splaying your thighs wide apart — all while he's still filling you up, "love you, love you so much, i fuckin' love you."

[lady-lauren]

❥ SHANKS X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: forced orgasms, some yandere vibes, dub-con to be safe, very inappropriate use of conqueror's haki, power dynamics (captain/crew), praise, creampie, Shanks is so mean but so good and I would die for him

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

“You’re gonna cum for me, darlin’, even if I have to take it from you.”

The weight of his words curl around your throat like a vice, blood pumping in your ears you until can barely hear his boisterous laugh. 

The smile he gives is so cheshire, so oddly genuine, it makes a shiver of fear run down the back of your neck. Perhaps it’s actually pleasure, but the emotions are too entangled for your brain to piece apart your state of mind. 

He’s not letting you go this time, not until he gets what he wants. 

“Shanks,” you plead, nails gripping into the black fabric of his cloak, “we shouldn’t, you’re my captain, and I—”

“And your captain knows what’s best for you. Promise.”

The playful lilt in his voice is disarming. 

He always lures you in so easily, and usually you can squirm away, calm your raging heart and pretend like you’re not the object of his desires. Because you shouldn’t be, you can’t be, you’re honor bound to serve him as your captain and you refuse to let lust cloud your relationship to Shanks. He helped make you a pirate. You’re more than a mistress.

Yet he’s already stripped you bare for him tonight, easy work for one of the most powerful men on the seas.

Warm lips press into your cheek as you turn your face from him, gritting your teeth as you deny his kiss.

Shanks chuckles in the face of your defiance, squishing his fingers into your cheeks to make you look at him. 

“You know, you really are cute, thinking you can stop me. Besides, don’t you want to follow Captain’s orders, hm? That’s why I picked you—you’re so loyal, always willing to please. But you should please and be pleased.”

His eyes close with a sincere smile, the pink scars nearly shining in the firelight of his room.

Perhaps you do forget sometimes how weak you are compared to him, to the man who can cut down enemies with a single gaze. 

Trapped between his colossal body and the wall, you have nowhere to run, no way to slink off and keep only ghosts of his touches. He’s going to make you feel every moment.

“Want me to show you how good I can make you feel?” 

“Trust me, I know, I know how good you’d feel, but I can’t—”

“You have no idea.”

Somehow he feels closer, as if the sun-kissed skin of his chest from his parted shirt is already blending into yours. He is darkness clouding over you, engulfing you.

He cups your chin with his hand, big fingers spilling down onto your neck. He slants his mouth over yours before you can protest, moving plush lips until you can’t help but moan. Spiced rum, aged and smooth, greets you when his tongue slides between parted lips. He kisses like a dance, like a back and forth that he leads.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and you don’t have to ask why. You sense his conqueror’s haki in the air before you feel the power lick at your skin, dragging and pulling and hot. 

“Cum for me.”

Lightning quick, your tummy tightens, the pleasure centers of your brain on overload as he overtakes you. Desire boils down to your cunt like a poisonous liquid heat, unbearable, sinful, yet so, so blissful as your pussy flutters and you fall over the crest of orgasm. 

“Fuck! Oh, fuck you, fuck, fuck…” Your eyes squeeze closed as the ecstasy is literally ripped from your body, like he somehow sunk his hand inside your core and extracted all the delight he craves. 

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

You can’t help but nod, because yes, it does, as if pleasure is bursting like supernovas underneath your skin. Your hands are clinging to him, one around the back of his neck, the other beneath his shirt, like you can’t help but be closer to the source of your heat.

“Shanks, I…” your tongue is so thick in your mouth, searching for words you can’t think of.

“Now imagine just how fucking good you’ll feel when you do that on my cock.” 

“Please, oh, god, please.”

His famous laugh greets your ears and you’re almost knocked back to the reality of who has you in his grasp. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You’re in his bed before you know it, eyes glassy at the sight of his naked body. You knew he’d be beautiful, but the actual view of him, on his knees, pumping his cock in his hand while between your legs has you whining.

“What’s going on in your pretty little head? Tell me.” 

“I…want you, so badly, and I-I’m sorry for pushing you away. I never—”

He shushes you, takes his hand from his cock so he can brush the back of his finger across your cheek, “You were just doing what you thought was right. Didn’t wanna just be my plaything, did you? I know you wanted to be my strong little pirate, but you can be both.” 

“Promise?” 

“Swear it.” He grins like a little boy as he mockingly draws an X across his heart with his finger. 

How can someone so deadly be so adorable?

Your instincts are flaring again, telling you to run, that once he sinks his claws into you, you’ll only ever be his. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, especially not with how good it feels when he buries his hand between your thighs, fingers playing in your wetness. 

Shanks is equal parts messy and methodical, swirling his fingers around in your slick folds before rubbing his thumb over your already sensitive clit. You cry out, back arching and nails digging so deeply in his pillows you swear you hear fabric rip.

“Think I made you wet enough to take my cock already, don’t you?” 

To prove his point, he slides his slick-drenched fingers between your lips, letting you taste yourself. You nod your affirmation as you suck against his skin, his eyes shining as you wrap your tongue around his fingers.

You eye his cock between his legs, preening at the thought of having him inside you. His cock is pretty, fat, already leaking and veins straining beneath silken skin. Red curls crawl up his toned stomach and you nearly drool around his fingers. 

All you ever wanted was to be a pirate, but the sight of your captain’s cock has you content to be a whore.

“Been dreamin’ about you in my sheets ever since I found you, darlin’. Knew you were the one for me, my perfect girl.”

“Oh please,” you gasp as he draws his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down to your tit so he can pinch your nipple, “you know what praise does to me, Shanks.”

“Of course I do,” he sing-songs, grasping his dick and pushing his tip between your folds. He presses in, a cant of his hips shoving his cock halfway into your dripping hole. Your head falls back at the stretch, cooing at the feel of him. 

Shanks is clearly done chasing you, mindset moved to capture, to take. He bottoms out and immediately starts moving, grinning as he watches your pussy lips drag along his length. 

He wolf-whistles at the sight, making you flush with a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride. “Look at that pretty fucking pussy. So slutty already for me.”

Strong fingers push your thigh back, spreading you wide as he starts his pace. 

“Now,” Shanks clicks his tongue against his teeth, “let’s see what it feels like when I make you cum around my cock.” 

“You don’t, ah,” you gasp as his cockhead prods against a soft spot, “h-have to make me, I’ll—” 

“Shh, I’ll take care of you, baby. Let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

There’s no time to think, not with how fast he acts, a simple look into your eyes has you shattering until you scream. The pleasure claws from your depths all over again, more intense now that your cunt has his fat cock to convulse around. You suck him in deep as you fall, bliss blooming over every nerve ending. Your toes curl, your nails cut into his shoulders, your stomach nearly hurts from the twisting of your orgasm. 

“God damn, you feel so fucking good when you do that, get so tight around me.” 

“Sh-Sha—mhm, fuck,” you try to protest, to say something, but the way his body moves into yours is like the mesmeric waves, lulling you into a headspace of drifting euphoria. 

He’s all over you—hand in your hair, tongue sliding down your neck, lips sucking at the fat of your tits, teeth scraping along your curves. He’s all encompassing, snaking his arm behind your back until you're pressed against his thick chest and rocking with every thrust.

The orgasms have made you numb, all you feel is pure carnality, like now you just exist to fuck and be fucked.

For a moment you wonder if he’s still forcing it on you, but you decide you don’t care. He’s the only one who can make you feel like this, haki or no.

Shanks brushes his nose down your cheek, lips hot and wet as he kisses your skin, “Touch me, baby, be with me.” 

Like puppetry, your hands trace his musculature, taking note of how his shoulders roll with every push and how his abdominal muscles stiffen whenever your cunt spasms from pleasure.

You kiss over the freckles on his shoulder, down to the thick bicep he no longer wraps in bandages. 

He groans as your lips get close to where his arm used to be, a purr from deep in his chest like you’re too close to something vulnerable.

“Gonna take from you again, darlin.’ Gotta feel your cunt suck me dry.” 

“N-no I can—I can do it, I can cum for you, promise.” 

“Mhm, where’s the fun in that when I can just make you?”

His hand snakes around your body, letting you sink into the bed free of his hold. He teases your clit just because he can, because he likes watching you wiggle and writhe and whine beneath him.

You suck in a sob, “Please, just a little more, more, and I—”

Shanks’ haki feels like the warm licks of familiar fire. He burns because you let him too close, stared too long at the flames. 

You’re sure he purposely brings the assault of his conqueror's power on slower, lets it bleed and blend with the ecstasy building from the sensitive pressure on your clit. 

This crest is bigger, fuller, like you’ve been thrown from the Red Force into the toiling dark ocean. Only it’s boiling, scorching and tugging the pleasure from deep within your belly. 

“Oh god,” you throw your head back and whine, “too hot.” 

Shanks groans deep from his chest, fingers pausing on your clit as he feels you cum around him. His thighs shake, cock twitching and throbbing. Mean fingers dig into the softness of your belly like he’s clinging to sanity, holding himself back just enough to be in control. 

“One more, baby.”

He starts thrusting again, a slow grind into your depths that has red curls kneading into your clit. You feel him in your guts, your heart, like the beat of blood in your veins. 

“C-can’t, god, can’t, please.” Please no. Please yes. You’re back in an entanglement of emotions where no way is up, the sun still so far from underneath the waves.

Shanks buries his face in your neck, red hair fanning like embers across overheated skin. 

He sucks at your pulse, flesh between his lips, “yes you can, my good girl. For me.” 

You’re slammed into a new atmosphere, floating for seconds before being dragged back down, down to where you feel details of your name whispered against your throat and the pulsing of a thick cock as ropes of cum spill into tight, gummy walls. 

“Fuuuucckk, oh g-god, Shanks, hurts, so good, shit—”

You babble until your mouth runs dry, anchored by your captain’s bruising grasp on your hip. He has you flush against his body, heavy breaths syncing as you both float up from hell.

It’s like waking up from a dream when he starts kissing you, all feather-light and reverent. He sits up and his lopsided smile seems so sincere. 

“So proud of you, really thought you were gonna pass out there for a second.” He laughs playfully, blowing a stray red hair from his face. 

All you do is whine and shift your sore hips, gasping at the feel of his cock still hard and deep inside you. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before he pops his dick out—your heart beats are too erratic to count as seconds. 

He sinks praises into your skin, kissing down your breasts, your belly, making you jerk when he kisses the mound of your pussy. 

His breath is hot on your clit. That feeling has your mind shattering like porcelain, a sharp smack centering you straight back into reality. You sit up and stare at the scene before you, sharp-eyed prey watching a predator in the forest. 

“Shanks, no, please, for the love of god—” 

“No no no no, it’s okay,” he coos from between your legs, eyes closing and head cocking to the side as he smiles, “I’m not gonna take this one from you. Promise. Gonna let you do it all by yourself, nice and slow.” 

It’s easy to forget that Shanks is a bad liar when he shoves his pretty face down to eat his cum from your pussy. 

[prythiansprincess]

i fear we need more like.. manipulation best friend enzo. maybe this time it’s his best friends sister? like theo’s twin sister who’s a gryffindor. 🙏🏻

— honey, are you coming?

NAVIGATION //��inbox. tags. writing. library.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: honey (are you coming?) by maneskin.

author’s note: ask and you shall receive. you guys know I can't say no to manipulative best friend! enzo. even better if he's being a sneaky little shit to get with his mate’s sister behind his back 🤭

forbidden.

that's what you were. as theo's twin sister, enzo was perfectly aware that you were off-limits, but no amount of threats from his best mate could ever keep him away from you. the temptation was too strong and enzo simply couldn't resist.

enzo always got what he wanted.

and what he wanted was you.

so he bided his time. enzo knew that theo would never let him near his precious baby sister unless he played the part. the protective best friend: a confidante, a companion, and a constant shadow that threatened bodily harm to any prat stupid enough to even breathe the same air as you.

this little act of his worked like a charm. over time, theo wrote enzo off as harmless. your older brother let his guard down enough for him to find an opening. soon, the two of you became inseperable. you confided in him. you told him your thoughts, your fears, your insecurities. enzo knew anything and everything about you.

you trusted him.

theo trusted him.

everything was going according to plan.

"my brother has officially lost it! I mean, the audacity of him to ban me from dating when he has a new girl in his bed every other night is beyond me." you ranted, pacing back and forth in enzo's dorm. "he's such a fucking hypocrite."

"you know he means well," enzo consoled, his brows furrowing in concern. "theo may not show it in the best way, but he's just trying to be a good brother."

you rolled your eyes. "you always take his side."

"that's not true and you know it. i'm always on your side, honey," enzo drawled, reaching out to rub your hands between his. "in this case, though, I can hardly blame theo. I mean, what the hell was mclaggen thinking when he asked you out? he's not good enough for you."

"you say that about every guy that asks me out, enz."

enzo looked up, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. "because it's true," he declared. "no one will ever be good enough for you."

you sighed. "this is exactly why i'm convinced that i'm going to die alone."

"you won't be alone," enzo said cheerfully. "you'll have me."

you rolled your eyes fondly, but softened as enzo tugged you between his legs. "now come over here, pretty girl. I think you just need a good cuddle to help you get sorted."

enzo watched as you climbed in beside him. his quidditch jersey that you had claimed long ago barely reached the top of your thighs and as the fabric skimmed your soft skin, he couldn't help but feel ridiculously jealous of the article of clothing for having the privilege of touching you.

but he'd soon rectify that.

you squealed as enzo pulled you closer, pressing your back into his solid chest. behind you, enzo hummed in satisfaction as you cuddled closer. his large hands gripped your hips while he positioned you right where he wanted you. with your arse pressed against his front, enzo released a throaty groan that made you shiver.

"are you cold, honey?" enzo whispered, his voice a dark and seductive caress.

you barely managed a nod before enzo's large hands traveled underneath the hem of your shirt, his warm touch making contact with your soft and supple skin. the callouses on his hands felt rough in contrast, but you found that you really didn't mind. you just wanted him to touch you more.

"you're freezing, sweetheart," enzo drawled. "do you want me to warm you up?"

"y—yes please."

enzo caressed your thighs, kneading and massaging your legs as you melted into his touch. you sighed in satisfaction as he shifted, dragging his hands higher and tracing circles on your hips. the skin to skin contact felt so good, but you wanted more. you needed more.

as if reading your mind, enzo flattened his palm against your stomach, burying his nose in your neck as you hummed in approval. the two of you had always been touchy and affectionate, but he was well aware that he was currently walking a very fine line. your reaction encouraged him to push a little further as he brushed his knuckles against your ribs and teased right below your bra.

enzo toyed with the hook of your bra. "do you want me to take this off?" he asked innocently. "I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, honey."

you blinked, face heating as his words settled in. "o —okay, enz."

the swiftness in which enzo unhooked your bra had you reeling. you only realized it was off when he carelessly tossed it behind his shoulder. squirming in anticipation, you felt a familiar ache building within you as enzo continued stroking your back. his knuckles traced a line down your spine, your frustrations mounting as he touched you everywhere except right where you wanted him.

you whined as enzo kissed your shoulder. “enz…”

“yes, honey?”

“I — I want…”

“what is it, pretty girl? use your words. you know i’ll do anything you ask.”

you barely had time to think before the words slipped out. “touch me, please.”

the neediness dripping from your lips made enzo smirk. this was exactly what he planned. “where do you want me to touch you, sweetheart?”

enzo moved his hand higher and cupped your tit. “here?”

you groaned as he slid his hand down to your arse before squeezing gently. “or maybe here?”

your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head when he slipped his hand down your panties, palming your warmth as he trailed kisses down your neck. “right here?”

enzo circled your clit, eliciting a shameless moan from your lips. “I think I found the spot.”

as he rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves, you arched into his palm, eager for friction. “spread your legs, sweetheart,” he whispered before gently nibbling on your ear lobe.

you teetered somewhere between pleasure and logic. the voice in the back of your mind expressed its concern despite your desire to ignore it and give in. “enz — I don’t think — we shouldn’t do this.”

“why not?”

you turned to find enzo looking at you, his warm honey eyes now sharp with lust. “because we’re friends,” you reasoned. “best friends.”

“so? who better to get you off than me? I know you like the back of my hand and I’d like to make you see heaven with my fingers.” enzo paused, scanning your face. “unless you don’t want that.”

“I — I do. but what if my brother finds out? he’d kill you.”

“don’t worry, pretty girl. theo will never find out. i’ll take good care of you.” enzo teased your slit and licked a stripe along your neck. “now spread those fucking legs for me, honey.”

you obliged, spreading your legs wide as enzo filled you with his fingers. your pussy squelched as you sucked him right in, covering him in your juices as he fingered you relentlessly. as warmth spread in your core, you chased after the feeling and rode his hand.

“that’s it, sweetheart. ride my fingers just like that. use me to get yourself off. that’s what friends are for, right?”

“best friends,” you responded cheekily.

“best friends,” enzo repeated before making you cum all over his fingers.

you hadn’t even recovered from the first orgasm before he brought you to the edge again, soaking his hand with your juices as you gripped his bicep and left nail marks in your wake.

enzo grabbed your chin and gave you a dirty, filthy kiss as he tugged your soaked panties off. as he pulled his boxers down, you gasped at the hardness pressed against your arse. you wanted him so bad you felt fucking dizzy with the force of it, but the worries couldn’t help but linger.

“wait, enz — what if this ruins our friendship? what if things are never the same again?”

enzo pulled back and stroked your cheek. “i’d never let that happen, honey. don’t you trust me? I always take care of you, don’t I?”

“of course I trust you.”

“do you want me as bad as I want you?”

“fuck yes. obviously. I just —“

“you just need to stop overthinking things,” enzo countered. “if it makes you feel better, I’ll only put the tip in. nothing less, nothing more. I promise, sweetheart.”

you bit your lip as he teased his tip between your folds. “okay. just the tip, right?”

“mhm,” enzo said as he pushed past your folds. “just the tip, honey.”

even with his slow and shallow thrusts, you could feel your pussy stretching to take more. enzo cursed as your warmth hugged around him, warm and welcoming, beckoning him further in.

“fuck, you feel so good. been dreaming about this for so long, y/n.”

the way he slid the tip of his cock in and out of you was torturous. you clawed at his arms, gasping and moaning as your pussy clenched. now that you knew what enzo felt like, you wanted more. you wanted all of him.

“enz, oh gods. I need more. please.”

enzo smirked. “yeah? you want your best friend to stuff you full? gonna beg for my cock, sweetheart?”

“yes, yes, please. I need you to fill me up. wanna feel all of you, baby.”

without a word, enzo flipped you over and positioned you in his lap. he laid back on his pillow and watched with lust blown eyes as you lowered yourself on his cock. every delicious inch filled you to the hilt, stuffing you full in the best way possible.

biting your lip, you began to rock your hips to a steady rhythm. you gasped as enzo tugged you down to him, his lips crashing against yours in desperation. his moans were shameless as you bounced on him. enzo squeezed your arse as you picked up the pace, riding him hard and fast.

“take it, honey. it’s yours.”

“oh god, enzo i’m gonna cum —“

enzo held your hips in place and thrust up, fucking into you as his thumb circled your clit. “come on, pretty girl. give it to me. cum all over my cock.”

his filthy words broke you, sending a wave of pleasure that nearly knocked you off kilter. enzo fucked you through the orgasm, his warm honey eyes sticky and golden as he drank in the sight of you losing control. he didn’t stop even when you creamed him from base to tip.

instead, enzo flipped you on your back and continued pumping in and out of you. “don’t wanna stop, honey. you feel too fucking good. I could do this forever. tell me I can, baby. tell me I can fuck you any time I want.”

“oh fuck,” you moaned. “yes, yes, gods. you can fuck me whenever and wherever, enzo.”

“that’s right, honey. I don’t give a fuck what your brother says. he’ll never find out anyways. this’ll be our little secret, right?”

dazed, you licked your lips and nodded as enzo hiked your leg over his shoulder and thrusted deeper. “our little secret.”

[beliscary]

as a theoden stan--

[inklore]

— qimir x f!reader why would you run from him after everything he's shown and given to you. you are supposed to be his perfect acolyte. crafted for him. contents: p in v, over stimulation, semi yandere qimir | wc: 559+

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. How many positions he has put you in. How many times you have begged him for a break, to rest, to catch your breath, to stop the throbbing between your thighs that only gets worse the more he fucks you. 

The more the underside of his cock rubs against your swollen clit. His fingers digging into your thighs as he holds your squirming thighs apart. The force taking over when he grows tired of holding you open for him. 

“Please.” You whined. 

“You sound like you didn’t cause this.” The lack of empathy on his face only makes it worse. Only makes your skin burn and gather sweat, barely filling your lungs. The underside of his cock pushing back and forth through your slit, wet and loud in your eyes. “You did this to yourself.” His words mock you just as much as your arousal does. Evidence of how many times you’ve come, of how your body is spent and can’t stop giving itself over to him. Letting him pull, take, and use you. 

The more his mouth sucks at your clit, the more his fingers curl up inside of you and press against your walls, the more you gush around him. His eyes on yours when you declare you can’t come anymore, and he pulls another from you. 

He allows your fingers to dig into his hair to try and push him away from your swollen cunt. The corner of his mouth pulled up when the flick of his wrist has your hands unable to move. 

Making a show of how powerless you truly are against him in so many ways. So many ways that should fill you with fear. Should anger you. But only heat your cheeks in the opposite effect. The reasons as to why you ran from him long forgotten, long regretted, long praised and thanked by the haze of pleasure, want, the need to rest—to be devoured by him. 

An overwhelming feeling of not being whole, not being able to be put back together unless it’s by his hands taking you apart in the first place. 

His fingers dig into your wrists, your knees pressed against his chest, pushing your ass up from the bed enough to have his hips driving deeper, harder, against it. The tip of his cock hits that part of your pussy that no longer aches when he’s this deep. When your walls are this swollen and fluttering around the thickness of him. 

His mouth leaves bites against your jaw, “are you going to leave me again?” You shake your head, tears sting your eyes, your body spent and overstimulated yet still pulling him in. Still aching for another release and to be awarded his. 

He groans against your cheek, “all I’ve shown you, given you, and you run from me. What happened to my good little acolyte?” His dark eyes look down at you, a hand at the crown of your head, thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your skull. “Are you still my girl?”

You’ll feel pathetic later, no matter how fast your head nods. A sick swoop of joy shoots through your stomach when he smiles down at you. His kisses, once rough, hard, and demanding, now filled with a passion fueled gentleness that makes you come again. 

[lostwrlds]

(✩) kind of into the idea that izuku poses as your best friend and always tells you that you can take whatever you need from him. so that he can always have access to you.

because he always wants to support you. he’d do anything for you! no matter the hour or the day, as long as you were happy and needed him. deku likes that role, no matter how ridiculous your wants and needs may be because he likes that he’s the only shoulder you rely on or only person who you turn to. he’s possessive in taking care of you, hiding dark thoughts and desires for more under starlight freckled smiles and airy laughs and comforting touches that go beyond just being friends.

then, his gentle smiles and unwavering support faltering when you get your first boyfriend.

how is he supposed to take care of you now, what, when there’s someone else by your side — doing everything a boyfriend should. izuku supposes he’ll should grateful — they’re not some narcissistic asshole taking advantage of your sweet soul.

but that doesn’t make the jealously go away. make his possessiveness disappear into nothingness. he’ll find a new way to be the one you lean on.

izuku will be the one who calms your worries when you express fears of being too inexperienced for your current partner. izuku will be the one who teaches you how to wrap your pretty, plump lips around cock and how to use your tongue just right. izuku will be the one to show you what it’s like to have your pussy at, tonguing at your clit and sucking on your folds so you’re ready for what it feels like. izuku will be the one to fuck you open, plow into your virgin hole in different positions all for the sake of preparing you for another man’s dick.

it’s izuku that you think about while underneath your boyfriend during your first time together. you can’t get his touch out of your head, the way his fingers possessively pulled you up to meet earth-shattering thrusts, the way his cock carved its shape along your sticky insides and the way he sounded — panting and huffing praises into your ears.

it’s izuku’s name you whisper when your boyfriend finally makes you cum because you’re picturing him above you with sweet eyes and soft reassuring smiles. it’s izuku you call with dread filling your system after a gnarly fight with your boyfriend and a back and forth of ‘me or him.’

izuku is the one who comes over to comfort you, tell you that you need no one else aside from him. and it’s always going to be izuku, he’s made sure of that.

RIGHTS RESERVED © LOSTWRLDS 2025. the content seen here belongs to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[dark-moonlust]

Tentacle Trouble PART 1

Pairing: Tentacle monster x human f!reader

Summary: you decide to explore a cave that is surrounded by stories of a tentacle beast. You find exactly that, get pounded in all holes and bred.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, dub-con, dark monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, p in three holes, HEA. Don’t like, don’t read.

Find the series here.

The dimly lit cave echoed with the roar of the ocean.

You ventured deeper, drawn by the stories of the creature that dwelled within its depths.

You were determined to uncover the truth.

You didn’t expect to find a monster. These were baby tales.

But your were wrong. So very wrong.

The presence lurked and watched you and before you could escape, thick, slick tentacles trapped you. Your clothes were ripped and tossed away, slimy tentacles roaming your body, their weight keeping you a captive. You found yourself being lifted, suspended in the air while wriggling appendages wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping your limbs wide apart.

The creature emerged from the shadows, its body a huge round mass of tentacles, each one glistening with a strange slickness. A huge head, and at its core were three glowing eyes, deep blue, like the ocean sea. They seemed to reach into your soul.

“Holy shit!” You gasped, unable to believe your eyes. “I’m so fucking dead.”

A husky voice filled your mind, you realized it came from the monster. “No one shall hurt you, little human. You are here now, your life is mine, your little holes are mine,” it drawled. “I will mate and love you endlessly.”

“Fuck you, you perverted—”

“What a filthy mouth.” A sharp slap against your ass made you gasp in surprise. “Quiet, noisy human.”

You shrieked and moaned as he repeatedly slapped your ass, pausing a little to caress your sore bum before delivering more smacks. No matter how much you wiggled and screamed, you couldn’t be set free. The slimes moved on to slap you pussy, finding it delightfully slick and plump.

You thrashed at each blow, the slaps were light but awakened a strange pleasure inside you.

You hated your treacherous body.

The monster didn’t seem pleased with your thrashing so he pushed one thick tentacle into your parted mouth. It plunged down your throat, stretching your lips and causing you to gag. Moist suckling noises resounded as it fucked your throat, thrusting back and forth until you no longer fought the creature back.

Gluck… gluck… gluck… gluck.

The cave echoed with your lewd slurping sounds as you were forced to swallow the sweet nectarine liquid dripping from his tentacle. Each drop aroused you, invading your system and intoxicating it with desire. In seconds, you were soft and pliant, more than eager to let him have his way with you.

“That’s more like it,” you heard his voice in your mind. “Beautiful human. My little mate.”

“What—hmm,” you gulped down more liquid, “is it?”

The monster’s voice rumbled through you. “That, my little one, is my elixir. It shall make you immortal and prepare your body for me. It is an elixir that only I, the master of these depths, can produce.”

You struggled to speak, a shiver running down your spine. Immortal elixir? It terrified and intrigued you. You looked into the creature’s eyes, asking for answers.

“Only my mate is deserving of my elixir. Now hush, do not fear.”

More tentacles came out of his body, of various shapes and lengths. They travelled over your flesh, leaving trails of slickness wherever they touched. It made your shiver. One tentacle slithered up your inner thigh, brushing around your pussy before slipping inside your depths. Shivers of pleasure ran through you as it fucked you while another slithery appendage rubbed your clit round and round.

Two more tentacles snaked over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your pouting rosebud. You squirmed and cried out around the tentacle fucking your mouth when the pulsating appendages slipped past the tight entrance of your asshole. The fit was tight but the tentacles were incredibly slick. Slowly, oh so slowly, they filled you up, inch by inch, until they were buried deep in your guts.

“Mnn…mnhaa!" You breathed through your nose at the way you felt, all holes filled.

When the tentacles started to thrust, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The tentacles were all over and yet, you felt no pain, just blinding pleasure. You willingly surrendered to the feral ravishmest. The cave filled with the symphony of your high-pitched cries and the furious plap-plap of tentacles filling your body.

The creature’s rhythm grew faster, the tentacles working in perfect harmony.

By now, you had two tentacles buried in your cunt and three more crawling up your ass. The one fucking your throat hadn’t receded and kept feeding you its delectable elixir.

The insistent fucking brought you to a shattering climax. Your body tensed and you cried out around the thrusting appendage in your lips as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over you.

The creature didn’t stop its pounding.

Your voice continued to echo through the cavern. The slimes in your ass pistoned fast and hard but the ones in your pussy stopped and pressed against the entrance to your womb. You tensed, the pressure causing you to wince. You felt a soft pop, followed by the heavy weight of eggs. One by one you felt them as they were deposited deep inside you.

“Ugh .. ungh—" you whimpered and came hard, the walls of your cunt contracting around the ovipositor. Your whole body spasmed as the creature bred you and made you its mate.

It felt like hours later when the slimes exited your holes. The intensity subsided, but your belly was bulging with his brood. The creature gently lowered you to the ground, its tentacles wrapping protectively around you. You lay there, spent and satisfied, your mind reeling from the unbelievable experience.

The creature’s glowing eyes regarded you with a strange, almost tender curiosity. “You did well, my mate. Took six of my eggs on the first try. I am proud of you. Sleep now, little one. I will take care of you. Forever.”

And you did, your eyes shutting as you let go in his embrace. You had found what you needed, a new world of pleasure and otherworldly love.

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you and max find a stray puppy at the circuit and decide to keep him

warnings | fluff, lighthearted romance, pet adoption

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

The day was ending at the circuit. The sun was no longer beating down with such intensity, and the wind was starting to stir up little whirlwinds of dust on the asphalt. Beside you, he walked with his hands in his pockets, his jumpsuit tied around his waist, and his torso covered by a dark t-shirt, clinging to his body from the sweat of the day. He glanced at you every now and then, smiling as if he couldn’t help it.

"Today, you weren’t as harsh with your critiques," he said, nudging you with his shoulder.

"And you weren’t as stubborn with the adjustments," you replied, nudging him back.

That was how it was with him. A constant back-and-forth of playful jabs, shared laughter, and glances that lingered just a second longer than they should. You loved that warm, comfortable tension that had grown between you two without anyone saying it out loud.

And then you saw it.

A little ball of fur trembling beside a spare wheel, with big, shiny eyes looking up at them in fear. The puppy was small, skinny, and clearly frightened. Its ears were drooping, and its back was stained with oil.

"Is that a puppy?" you asked, stopping dead in your tracks.

"Where?"

He walked over with you, crouching down beside you. The puppy backed away slightly, but didn’t run. He extended his hand slowly, letting the animal sniff him. Then he looked at you with an arched eyebrow.

"So, what do we do now?"

You were already taking off your hoodie to wrap it gently around the little dog.

"We take him with us."

"We?" he repeated, although he didn’t try to stop you.

You smiled at him.

"Of course. It’s a joint project. Like the car."

He looked at you like you were the most unpredictable and fascinating thing in the universe.

"This is crazy," he muttered. But he helped you put him in the car.

That night, in his apartment, the puppy was settled into an improvised bed made from towels and an old t-shirt (his, by the way) on the floor. He said it was temporary, that they’d only look after him until they found a shelter or a responsible adopter.

But you weren’t fooled.

Days went by. The puppy—an energy whirlwind of mischief—started following him around the place, biting his shoelaces, sleeping on his feet while he reviewed plans, and barking every time you tried to steal his attention.

"He’s jealous," you told him one time, after the puppy stepped in between you two while you tried to kiss him.

"He’s not jealous," he replied with that arrogant tone of his. "He’s just marking territory."

"Yours or mine?"

"Both."

A week later, you found yourself in a pet store. You’d gone in for dog food and a leash, but instead, you found him in the bed section. He had one in his hands. Black, with blue and red details. The Red Bull logo embroidered on the cushion.

"Seriously?" you teased, leaning against the shelf.

"It’s stylish," he said, without looking at you. But he had that sly smile that he wore when you caught him doing something sweet.

"Stylish or patriotic?"

"He’s part of the team now," he declared, shrugging.

"‘He’? I thought it was temporary."

He looked at you. One second. Two. Then he murmured:

"His name’s Turbo."

You were taken by surprise. You smiled so wide it hurt your cheeks.

"Turbo, huh?"

"It fits. He zooms through the hall like a bullet and eats my racing gloves like they’re fuel."

"You’re in love with that dog."

"I’m doomed," he said, but he said it smiling.

That night, Turbo ended up sleeping in the middle of the two of you, on the new bed, even though you both swore he wasn’t allowed up there. And you, with your head resting on his chest, listened to how his breathing synced with yours.

"What if we train him to be our lucky charm?" you asked, playing with the cords of his hoodie.

"Turbo as the team’s official mascot?"

"With his Red Bull bed, I think he already is."

He chuckled, that low, husky laugh you loved so much.

"I guess this ‘joint project’ isn’t so bad after all."

You looked at him. And whispered softly:

"We could adopt more things together."

He fell silent for a moment. And then kissed your forehead.

"Yeah. We could."

...

"This is a terrible idea," he murmurs, as he tries to put the harness on Turbo.

"It’s a great idea," you reply, adjusting the collar with the tiny tire keychain you bought for him.

"What if he eats a wing or barks at the team principal?"

"Then he becomes a legend."

He looks at you with that mix of exasperation and affection that only you seem to provoke. As for Turbo, he wags his tail as if he doesn’t understand the drama. Because for him, any plan that involves being with you both is perfect.

The paddock is livelier than ever when you arrive. Mechanics, engineers, drivers, press personnel… all the usual chaos of a race weekend. And in the middle of it, the three of you, walking as if you were a strange but perfectly assembled family.

Turbo doesn’t take long to attract attention.

"Is that a dog?"

"Does he have a Red Bull bed?"

"Who brought him?"

"Is he an official mascot?"

You can’t stop laughing. He walks with a serious expression, but you notice how carefully he holds the leash and how he watches so no one steps on Turbo’s paws.

"Don’t get too attached," you whisper in his ear. "They say temporary things don’t stay."

"Shut up," he replies, without looking at you, but with a smile on his lips.

In the box, Turbo settles beside you, watching every movement with his attentive eyes. You gave him a pair of earplugs adapted to his size, and even a small bandana from the team. Everyone stops by to greet him. Some pet him. Others bring him treats. One mechanic even tries to teach him to "shake paws."

But the moment Turbo steals everyone’s heart is when he jumps into the race car for the last practice of the day. You’re sitting with Turbo on the ground, and the puppy, as if he understands the ritual, sits up straight, staring at the track. When the car starts with that dry, vibrating roar, Turbo doesn’t bark. He doesn’t get scared. He just tilts his head, as if he knows that this is his person.

"Did you train him?" someone from the team asks.

"No. He’s just in love."

And you’re not just talking about the dog.

When he returns to the box, sweaty, helmet in hand, and that smile that only appears after a perfect lap, the first thing he does is not talk to the engineer.

It’s crouch down beside Turbo.

"Did you see that, boy? P1. We did it."

Turbo licks his face, and he doesn’t complain. You cross your arms, watching them.

"You swore you wouldn’t spoil him."

"I’m not spoiling him. I’m just… celebrating with him."

"Sure. With kisses and everything."

"He does it with you too."

You laugh, and when he gets closer, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Jealous of the dog?"

"I’ve always been jealous of your engines."

"We can share them," he murmurs. "Just like Turbo."

Hours later, when the night falls and the track is quiet, you and he walk through the empty paddock. Turbo walks between you, with small, happy steps.

"Admit it was a good idea," you say.

"I admit it."

"That’s all?"

He stops. Looks at the puppy, then looks at you.

"It’s the best spontaneous decision we made. After you, of course."

"Was I spontaneous?"

"No. But unexpected. Like him."

Turbo lies down on the ground, yawning. And you know that this scene—you, him, and Turbo—is the closest to a home you’ve felt in a long time.

"Do you think they’ll let us bring him to the next races?" you ask.

He puts an arm around your shoulders.

"I don’t know. But if they don’t… I’ll quit."

You look at him, laughing.

"Do you love him that much?"

He looks down. At you. Then at the puppy.

"Yes, both of you."

[nosyp]

Twisted Desires

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N = Contains spoilers, read at your own discretion. Don't blame me if you learn smt before watching season 2 <3 (also yes im reusing pics)

Warning = Smut🔞, Murder, Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Captivity, Isolation

Pairing = Front man (Hwang In-ho/Player 001) x reader

Summary = You found out your boyfriend, In-ho, joined the squid game. As you watched the game unfold, you can’t help but feel the growing tension between you two, especially as the stakes get higher and your bond grows darker.

Word count = 2.1k words

There was no. fucking. way.

Your boyfriend, Hwang In-ho and frontman, actually joined the game. You watched intently as he walked through the gap between the two groups of people. One was on the ‘O’ side and the other on the ‘X’ side. He was the last to vote since he was player 001. The voting went from the last player to the first. 

He paused at the table, eyes moving back and forth from the two buttons in front of him. The silence was intense, heavy. Then, his hand moves to the red button… what the fuck? No, actually… he didn’t press it yet. He halts, his hand still in the air. You can see his head turning to the blue button… and he presses it, making the count bump up an extra one. Of course he did. 

At the end of the vote, the ‘O’ side won, which means that the game will continue. The opposing side looked clearly frustrated. I mean, you couldn’t blame them. This game costs their lives if anything. 

Soon, the speaker announces: “The lights will go out in… 3… 2… 1”

Then, the lights shut down, darkness consuming the room. The screen showed the room with heat detection, you could now only see red silhouettes of the figures. Carefully, you inspected the figures and spotted a familiar one moving. The door to the room suddenly opened and the figure passed through the threshold. 

Not long after, you suddenly got a call on the corded phone. The ringing of the phone echoed through the room. You hesitated to pick it up, carefully locking eyes onto the device. Your hand grazed the keypad of the phone, and you picked it up.

“Hello?” you ask the other voice.

“[Name],” his voice crackles through the phone, low and cold. “Are you watching?”

You can hear the slight rustling on the other end, but it’s not enough to make sense of what’s happening. The silence starts again before he continues, “I need you to stay quiet. Don’t try anything funny.”

You can feel your heartbeat picking up pace as you strain to hear any background noise. The weight of his words presses on you. “I’ll be with you again. Soon.”

You knew the man was crazy, but you hadn’t expected something like this… or maybe you did. He often spoke about ‘joining for fun’. There was nothing fun about the whole thing though.

“I don’t think I can really go anywhere,” you respond, still able to hear the rustling in the background.

“Good.” he says before hanging up. The phone call closed with a long beep. 

This bitch somehow managed to find a way to dictate your life, despite being trapped in a game surrounded with many other people. Honestly, he’d probably find some other way if he couldn’t call you. 

The next few days, you watched as he blended into the crowd of players and played his own game. Surprisingly, but also unsurprisingly, he managed to survive game after game. Though, he probably wouldn’t have died even if he lost. The fear of the other players, the chaos, the high stakes, it unnerved you. 

The worst part about it was his calm, cold demeanor only grew more unsettling as he navigated the games with ease. There was no doubt in your mind that he was doing this for his own amusement, but you couldn’t tell what his goal was. Was he playing to win, or was he just having fun with the entire ordeal? Either way, it made you sick.

Every day, you were forced to watch from the sidelines, your mind consumed with thoughts of what might happen to him… or to you. You still hadn’t heard from him since that last phone call, but you could feel his presence in every corner of this twisted game. His control over you, over everything, was absolute. The way he operated, making sure his every move was calculated, was nothing short of terrifying. He was always somehow one step ahead, he could always predict future movements with precise accuracy.

He hadn’t just entered the game to survive, you swore he had entered it to manipulate it. You could only wonder what his true intentions were as you waited, trapped in this nightmare. Every moment you spent here, unable to escape, only added to the sickening realization that no matter what happened, you were always going to be his pawn. A toy in his little game.

The door suddenly clicked open, and in came two of the triangle-masked men. They hadn’t said anything and just stood near the door. 

“What do you want?” you ask, shattering the silence of the room.

“Boss asked us to ensure your safety ma’am,” one of the men replied.

“I don’t need your fucking protection. How many times do I have to say that?” you spat fiercely. You didn’t even know if they were enjoying the torment with the boss or just doing their job. You’d probably guess the latter but the choice of workers this year was… very peculiar. Most of the people were nut-jobs, taking up weird & dangerous jobs prior to joining the ‘squid game’. 

“Boss insists,” the other states, like you didn’t know.

You roll your eyes at the response and just sent them a deathly glare. “I honestly never wanted this… and I highly doubt you wanted it either,”

Silence followed, none of them responded. 

—

It was supposedly nearing the end of the whole operation and it started to get interesting. Seong Gi-Hun, or player 456, had hatched a plan to attract the guards and when they got close enough, he would attack. The others, including your boyfriend, joined the plan.

The fight was already brutal. A purple-haired guy was already brutally stabbed to death by a fork and so many of the other players met the same fate as well. Blood was splattered all over the walls and floors, you couldn’t even imagine how long the cleaning’ll take. 

The situation started to escalate as it turned into a gun-war. The masked group was obviously having the upper hand, they had more manpower and resources. Honestly, you admired Gi-hun’s bravery. He probably knew this was a high risk mission, the whole thing would have some amount of sacrifices.

One-by-one, they took down the masked men and it seemed like they actually had a chance. But you knew In-ho probably wouldn’t let that happen. And as you expected, he took down the two men with him. It didn’t take him long to flee the scene and go back to hiding behind the scene.

The door opened, and in came the infamous leader.

“So… you’ve had your fun… what now?” you speak up, interrogating him.

He pauses, stops in his place, you can see it from the reflection on the screen. His gaze flickers to you, he was still in his green outfit with blood all over him. “Hmmm… I need to go back to being the front man,”

You turn your head towards him, giving him a small smile, not of gratitude or anything though. “You put up quite the show… who knew you could do all that?” you say teasingly.

“You really don’t know me at all, do you honey?” he responds, with just as much tease in his tone as you.

Hearing his tone, you got up from the sofa and grabbed a napkin from the table. One step after the other, you slowly got closer to him and wiped the blood off of him. 

“How sweet of you,” he says. “What changed?”

You stop after hearing the question. It was true, just a second ago you were angry at him. And it all just dissipated in thin air, what is happening to you?

“Nothing, just missed my boyfriend,” you giggle. “You should go change now.”

“I think we have time…” he says, his hand grabbing a hold under your thigh. He lifts it up and wraps his other one around your waist.

“W-what…? For what?” you ask curiously.

“You’ll see,” he says, his lips brushing over yours.

Before you could even process what was happening, In-ho’s grip on you tightened. His hands were firm on your body, pulling you flush against him with a strength that left you breathless. Without a second of hesitation, he crashed his lips onto yours, silencing any protests you might’ve had. The kiss was wild, needy, like he couldn’t get enough of you. And before you even realized it, your legs were wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as though you needed his support.

You felt the weight of his arms around you, supporting you, guiding you, and suddenly, it was all too much. His breath was ragged against your lips as he tugged you closer, the heat of his body mixing with yours.

His touch was possessive, but so tender in the way he gripped your skin. Every second, every movement, was loaded with unspoken words… his desire, his lust, his need for you, but also something darker, a reminder of who he was in this twisted game. Yet, all you could think about in that moment was the pull between you, how his presence seemed to drown out everything else.

You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest, syncing with your own, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no game, no chaos, no twisted rules. This time… it was just him and you.

It was almost dizzying. The way his lips moved with an intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, giving in to the urgency of the moment, your hands threading into his bloodstained shirt as you pulled him even closer. And just as quickly, he deepened the kiss, a growl vibrating in his chest, pulling a desperate moan from you.

It was messy. It was raw. It was everything that you shouldn’t want, but couldn’t stop yourself from craving more of him.

“Don’t think,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, just how you like it. “Just feel. Feel me.”

His words fell onto deaf ears as you numbed against his touch, His lips trailed down to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making your breath hitch in your throat. You clung to him, desperate for more, for any scrap of his attention, but your head was spinning.

“In-ho…” you managed to breathe, barely able to form words, your chest heaving as he kissed his way back up to your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin in that familiar, possessive way.

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained desire, it was something more than that. He was desperate for you now. His hands roamed every inch of your body, tracing the lines, memorizing every curve as if he needed to own every part of you. “You don’t need to say anything. I know what you want.”

He spoke like he had all the answers, and in that moment, he probably did. The way he held you, the way he moved with such authority, made it impossible to do anything but give in to him. To him and this chaotic, twisted connection you shared. Maybe you weren’t any better than him.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him back to you as your lips crashed together again. It wasn’t gentle this time. The kiss was rough, hungry, full of tension and need. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you in a rhythm that only seemed to escalate the fire burning between you. His breath, hot against your mouth, sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning against his lips.

You felt his smirk before you heard it. “You’re mine, [Name],” he muttered against your lips. His words were a command, a promise, and you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at the sound.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. “You want me, don’t you? Want me more than anything else right now. Tell me you want me,”

His hands were on you again, pressing you deeper into him, and in that moment, there was no escaping him. No escaping the pull of his dark, twisted affection.

You didn’t answer, not with words, but your body told him everything he needed to know. He hummed in satisfaction and you let him explore you even deeper.

[mv1simp]

requested : dark mafia max!!

Devilish ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

Girl who you tryna call, it’s a quarter past four, can’t nobody hear you scream right now

The Leeuw of Holland - or Mad Max, as he was referred to in his teen years - is well known for establishing his father's control over most of Eastern Europe. No one would dare to stand up to him for fear of losing their head - until you, the sweet daughter and lawyer of Monaco's mayor - who's determined to protect her small city from the Verstappen familia by putting the Leeuw behind bars.

Leeuw = Lion in Dutch

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, mafia boss! Max falls for mayor’s daughter! Reader, reader is also a boss ass bitch, kidnapping, violence, explicit mention of murder/dead bodies/mutilation, nothing towards reader cuz maxie is a simp 🥰 9.5k WC omg my longest yet

You feel a shiver run up the back of your spine from where you stand in the high court. Knowing exactly who’s dark gaze is raking down your body, taking in your small figure that's stylishly dressed in a tight Chanel dress and matching heels, you deliberately keep your gaze fixed forward. The judge looks like he's about to have a heart attack, sweat dripping down his forehead as he glances back and forth between you - the fiercely passionate lawyer who'd presented the numerous charges on behalf of her father, the Mayor of Monaco - and to the tall, Dutch man who sat watching you with a cocky smirk. The blonde’s large thighs spread wide and the Leeuw of Holland, as he was famously named, looked far too calm for a man who'd just had 76 counts of murder brought forward against him.

You'd had no idea who the Dutch Lion was when you two had first met. You'd just returned with your law degree from college in America, only to find things in a state of disarray in the idyllic city of Monaco. Your father had always struggled to maintain his citizen's safety as the Mayor as the neighbouring Leclerc and Sainz familias battled for territory - but in your absence the now established, much bloodthirstier Verstappen familia had seized control of the profitable area. Monaco's location served as prime real estate to ship all the drugs and black money a criminal could wish for to the rest of Eastern Europe, and Jos Verstappen had personally sent his own son and underboss - Mad Max - to secure your father’s territory.

You'd head rumours, of course, even all the way abroad in the States, of this Verstappen heir. He was known for his rage and callous violence that earned his nickname, the perfect hitman for his cold, calculating father. You’d thanked your lucky stars you had never come face to face with him, because you were sure he would kill you - or worse, you think with a shudder - if he came across the Mayor of Monaco’s daughter. But after coming back home for the last two months and finding things in such upheaval, you became more determined to do right by your family’s citizens. Your mother - who had passed away when you were young, at the hands of a Sainz thug - had been very passionate about helping those who couldn’t protect themselves, so you always lived your life in a way you knew she would be proud of.

So that’s why you spent endless days poring over the city’s legislature and laws, overturning laws that had made civilian’s finances and livelihoods hard and submitting proposal after proposal of new laws that were severely harsh on crime. The locals quickly noticed the change from the Mayor’s office, and you became idolised as Monaco’s princessa.

Your father, bless him, although his heart was always in the right place, he had gotten too old to go head to head with the gangs, choosing to bargain with the gangs instead and buy his citizen’s safety that way. You argued that it was only a matter of time before Jos Verstappen showed up at your family’s doorstep to demand more and more from the city of Monaco - until he owned it himself. You were determined to catch him, or even better - catch his son, the one who’d inherit the Verstappen empire, and put a stop to this rapidly expanding mafia before it grew out of control. Your dedication to do right by your people inspired your father to once again champion for the safety of his city.

And for a while, everything seemed to be flowing smoothly. You’d set up many a new school, local trade centres and businesses, and even medical clinics by using money redirected from paying off the gangs to keep your citizens safe. Life was thriving for the first time in a decade in Monaco. You’d even found your own small peaceful spot of solace in the chaotic city, behind one of your new clinics where a collection of streetcats would assemble. You fed them dutifully, coming daily in your lunch breaks and laughing delightedly when you saw one of them had kittens. But one day when you’d been late due to a court hearing, you’d been surprised to see that the cats had already been happily munching on some freshly ground tuna meat. It was good quality too, very expensive to come by these days, your keen eye noted from being born into the luxury of a Mayor’s daughter. You smiled sweetly and fondly patted the purring cats’ ears. Someone else found you too adorable to resist too, hmm?

From then on, whenever you’d come feed the cats, you’d always look around curiously, wanting to see if you could find that person - but you never did. And then, one day, you stumbled across an impossibly cute scene of a tall blond man, clearly broad shouldered and muscular even though he was casually dressed in a hoodie and jeans. He was warmly laughing as he held one of the cats in his arms while another yowled at his legs, wanting to also be picked up. Oh! You clapped your red manicured hands excitedly as you ran over, all sense of stranger danger forgotten as canoodling with streetcats wasn’t really a common mafia thug activity. The man’s head had slightly tilted towards you as soon as you had appeared on the other end of the street, but he turned to greet you fully as the sound of your dainty Chanel heels clicks against the pavement. You’d energetically started talking about how nice it was to finally meet whoever had been spoiling the cats, wasn’t it so cute how there were even kittens now? But when you finally drew your eyes away from the purring feline in his thick arms, you couldn’t help but blush at the curious blue-eyed gaze on his handsome face.

You introduced yourself, apologising for being rude, and after setting down the cat, he took your small hand in his own much larger, warm palm. You flushed again as he raised it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss in a very traditional Monaco fashion, introducing himself as Emilian. You formed a quick friendship with him, eager to talk to someone your age after spending so much time with stuffy politicians all day. You find yourself excited to run into the gorgeous blonde on your lunch breaks, to laugh about some of the playfights you’d witnessed between the cats, or other times talk passionately about the current state of government affairs. Emilian, like many of the jaded younger generation, held a strong disdain for your father’s office and its weak position towards protecting citizens. In a somber moment you’d both realised you’d lost your mothers to the hands of the Sainz familia. But you passionately argued for your cause, remaining fiercely loyal to the goverment office of Monaco, spending your lunch hour easily talking about the many legal and restructuring plans you’d been working with the council to establish that had already improved so many household’s livelihoods. Emilian couldn’t help but quirk his attractive lips as he leaned a head on his palm, content to watch you animatedly talk for hours. The two of you sat across the waterfront, enjoying a late afternoon danish pasty in the lazy Monaco sun. When you’d turned the conversation to him, curiously asking what exactly he did, he dismissed it as per usual, vaguely mentioning something about working in the security business.

You eyed him suspiciously, imagining that like many young men in the area he’d turned to dabbling in underground business to support his family. It always started as selling the occasional party drug for profit or working as hired muscle for a night, sure, but you’d seen innocents with good hearts get sucked into the murderous world of gang violence too often. You definitely weren't just going to sit by and let someone as gentle and sweet as Emilian fall prey to it - the man had 3 separate albums on his phone dedicated to the stray cats, for God's sake! You told him this earnestly, even gently brushing your hand across his as you offered him a job as a bodyguard instead. Your father had been making more public appearances lately as the public perception grew positive of the Mayor’s office.

Emilian had hummed, contemplating, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing at where your small palm had grasped onto his much larger one. Then he’d reached across the cafe table to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, making a pretty blush spread across your caramel sun-kissed skin. So cute, he’d said, his lips quirking into a gentle smile. You promptly forgot all about what you’d been trying to convince him on as your eyes drifted down to his lips instead, the rising fluttering of romantic feelings swirling in your stomach. He’d gotten a phone call then and sighed, telling you he’d see you later, leaving after another kiss to your fingers. You’d pouted, feeling like you were crushing a lot harder on the handsome blonde than he was on you.

Next time when you met him, though, the only feeling you had was panic and fear as you saw him slumped against your stray cat’s alleyway, blood quickly oozing from a stab wound to his abdomen. You’d forced yourself to hold back a scream and avoid attracting attention in the quickly darkening evening, grabbing a hold of Emilian’s soft jumper and tugging him with you to your clinic. He’d held firm, far stronger than you even with a goddamn knife wound that was bleeding so much, oh my god-

He told you to leave, because whoever had done this was likely still in the vicinity, would see you two walking into the clinic and then would target you too. You hissed at him that he was crazy if he thought you would ever abandon him like that and if that’s what he was worried about you’d take the back alley route to your downtown apartment then! He’d finally given in, now looking paler from the blood loss and making you internally freak out. As you guided him into your cute 2nd floor apartment, all warm lighting and trailing pot plants, he smirked and murmured that if this was all it took to get you to invite him back to your place, he’d have gotten stabbed a lot sooner.

Shut up, you’d blushed, setting him down on your bathroom floor and grabbing your extensive first aid kit. Secretly though, you were glad that he still felt well enough to make jokes like that. You miss how his ice blue eyes intently watch you compress his wound, relieved that it hadn’t gone too deep into his body to injure his organs, and biting your lip with concentration as you slowly stitched the wound. Later, when you’d been nursing a glass of whiskey to settle your nerves, your many lamps casting a glow across your face, you’d answered his questions about how you learnt to fix an injury. You told him about how powerless you’d felt when you’d seen your mother be stabbed to death in front of you, how your child sized hands couldn’t stop the bleeding and you had never wanted to feel so useless ever again.

You hadn’t realized your mind had wandered back to that memory, triggered by Emilian’s own blood that you’d scrubbed thrice over from your own hands tonight. When you felt his warm hand run across your clenched ones, soothing the tension, your for eyes focused back to look at his contemplative gaze. You’d never thought you’d see the handsome man sitting in your apartment like this, now shirtless as you’d thrown his bloodied one away. You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling shy despite the desire coursing through you, secretly glad he had declined your offer of your pink pastel knit to cover up with so you could enjoy the view of his broad, muscled shoulders.

Tilting your head back up to look at him, Emilian murmured that he was indebted to you, that you would always be under his protection. His words send a flutter through your heart, although frankly you're not sure how he was meant to protect you when you were the one with access to security resources as the Mayor's daughter. But still, his words have an undertone of assured confidence to them and you find your eyes drifted down to his lips again. You're ecstatic when he breaks the tension and finally leans in, giving you what you'd been wanting for a few weeks now as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and soon you're sweetly moaning into his mouth and grinding onto his skilled, thick fingers that have slipped into your jeans and pulled your panties to the side. He brings you to bliss within minutes, and you can't resist pressing yourself closer to him as you come down from your high. You want to make him feel good, too, but your hands accidentally brush against his stab wound and you don't miss his low, painful hiss. Pulling back immediately, you apologise profusely, worriedly looking over his bandages again to make sure there was no bleeding. He chuckles, telling you he was fine, you were very welcome to continue?

Flushing, you told him that you'd had a slip in judgement and were not going to put his already hurt body through any more accidental pain tonight. He pouted rather cutely as you stood up, grabbing some spare blankets and pillows for him to stay on the couch. Not having your hands on him was far more painful than the stab wound, he says teasingly, making you blush. You felt a little embarrassed at how quickly things had progressed tonight, unable to keep your head on straight around the handsome tall Blonde in front of you. You give him a firm goodnight, but just before you enter your bedroom, you turn to shyly tell him that you’d like to return the favour and make him feel good when he had healed. Grinning at your cute, blushing face, Emilian’s ocean look eyes look at you fondly as he lowly murmurs that he’ll look forward to it, shcatje.

That night you dream about handsome men in mysterious alleyways, who pin you to the wall and pepper your neck with soft kisses that turn hungrier and hungrier. You’re gasping and asking for more, please, please as his strong hands roughly palm your ass, your tits-

You wake with a start in your now empty apartment, Emilian’s name on your lips. Late morning light floods through your windows as you curiously notice the empty sofa, where a blanket is neatly folded up. Your face brightens when you see a note, that reads sorry I left without a goodbye kiss, schatje, the cats were getting possessive.

Rolling your eyes at his usual mysterious antics, you toss his note into the bin. But you’re humming as you went about your morning routine, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing the attractive blonde later on. But oddly, Emilian hasn’t been in your usual spot that afternoon, and you look around with concern as the cats meow at your feet, wanting to be fed. When he isn’t there the next day either, or the day after, you’ve started to get very worried now, wondering if something had gone wrong with his wound or worse - the man who had stabbed him had decided to retaliate with more gang members this time. You’d been thinking about it so much that you decide to the police station that day and asking the chief to look for the Dutchman who's found his way into your heart.

It turns out that Emilian’s safety was not something you needed to be concerned with. Because the one who has been in danger was not the mysterious blonde, but instead you, who had unknowingly caught the attention of many mafioso in the area by protecting him. You realised this when you came home from your visit to the police station, only to find your front door unlocked. You'd barely taken a step inside when you’re pushed against the wall by a heavily pierced man you’d never see before. The mocking silver pendant that he wore around his neck, of a horse rearing, signified his alliance with the LeClerc familia. You’d been unable to control the tears running down your face when he'd painfully begun choking you, demanding to know where the hell Max was. When you’d tried to tell them you had no clue what he was referring to, he just tightened his harsh grip on you to slam you against the wall again. You cry out in pain, bruises already forming along your delicate hands from the intruder's grip, as you keep trying to plead and explain you didn't know who they were talking about. A part of you knew there must be some link between this Max they were looking for, and your Emilian - but you sure as hell were not going to tell these criminals a single thing.

You swallow your fear and try to bargain with them, offering money, access to shipping resources, security - all things you could provide in your role as the mayor's daughter, you insisted. But they laughed it off, confusing you when they said currently, you were the most sought after bargaining chip for the gangs in Southern Europe. And everything had faded to black then, after one of them pressed an acidic smelling cloth over your nose.

When you woke up, hours later and with a pounding head, you're in an unfamiliar room. You groggily sit up, and find yourself instantly alarmed by the thick ropes tied tightly around your wrists. At least they hadn't tied your legs, too, you think with relief, sitting up in the dark room - only to come eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. Ah, that explained it - apparently they thought you were such a precious commodity they'd assigned someone to literally guard you with a gun. You're still confused, unsure why suddenly these street criminals seem interested in kidnapping the Mayor's daughter. Everyone knew who really held the power in Monaco - the Verstappen familia.

You get your answer then, when the sound of gunshots start filling the air from outside your room. You look up in alarm, and your guard eyes the door warily. He growls at you to not to move an inch as he leaves to go investigate, closing the door behind him. You flinch as more and more gunshots fill the air, accompanied by screams and yells. And then, when it becomes eerily silent for minutes on end, you wonder if this is your chance to escape amidst whatever chaos was going on. You're nervously peering around the hallways, finding yourself in a creepy, abandoned looking mansion - somewhere probably on the outskirts of the Monaco township, if you had to guess. Moonlight is the only thing lighting the way as you try to quietly navigate your way out of the winding hallways. It's strange, there had been so any gunshots but you had yet to see a single person anywhere-

And that's where you saw it, around the next corner. Scattered haphazardly throughout the hallway, illuminated by moonlight shining through the large window, lay body after body, all freshly dead with expressions of terror still on their faces. And then, soft murmurs from the opposite end of the hallways, as three men rounded it - and you finally find your missing Dutchman. Emilian? You whisper breathlessly, half reassured to find him alive and half confused at what he was doing inside a property that clearly belonged to the LeClercs. He stops abruptly, halting the two men behind him as he stares at you with a look of pure relief. He was dressed so differently to his usual casual attire, too, with his blond locks slicked back, wearing a fitted white shirt and dress pants, and an expensive looking black overcoat that highlighted his tall, broad frame. You'd looked puzzled at the large watch on his wrist - a renowned luxury brand you recognised from the many elite charity galas you'd attended. Well out of the yearly income someone like Emilian would make in...what had he said? Security?

You're so perplexed at the sudden appearance of the half a million Euro worth watch that you don't even notice the sleek gun in his hand, until he's raising it up and pointing it straight at you. Don't move, schatje, he murmurs, his deep voice carrying across the hallway. And those ocean blue eyes of his that you'd fallen in love with were now ice cold, without a trace of any human emotion behind them. Your own doe eyes widen in fear, tears gathering, because you have no idea who the man standing in front of you is, just who you’d fallen in love with - and now he's going to kill you. You don't even get time to flinch when he's pulling the trigger. But to your surprise the bullet never hits you. Instead, you hear a thump behind you - and turn to see a body fall to the ground, his own gun that had been raised towards you clattering across the floor.

You'd stood frozen in fear, silently shaking and willing yourself not to pass out from the sheer amount of blood that pooled onto the floor, staining your pretty white Chanel heels. And then a tall figure is at your side, guiding you away from the horrifying sight with a large palm in the small of your back. His warm hands making quick work of the ropes that still bind your hands. His familiar voice is murmuring to you gently that you he was here, you’re safe now, schat and no one was going to hurt you again. You’re finally pulled out of your frozen shock when you feel his touch. You look down at large palms softly rubbing the red marks on your skin from where the rope had dug into your skin.

You're outside now, standing in the moonlit gravel in front of the eerie mansion, with an equally haunted looking garden around you. The chill of the night time air helps you start clarifying your racing thoughts. I don’t think Emilian is your real name, you begin. And for a casual security hire to wear a Patek Philippe watch...who are you, really? You finally ask, your voice surprisingly firm despite fear coursing through your veins. He sighs, draping his thick black overcoat over your shaking figure, the clothing completely dwarfing you.

You’re a very smart woman, liefje, he murmurs lowly, his intense gaze studying your face. He tells you that he's sure you've probably already figured it out by now. Releasing a deep breath, you recount his Dutch origins, clear as day in his deep accented voice and blonde locks, and the fact that he obviously had an established presence in one of the mafioso gangs. Most likely the Verstappen familia, then. He was high up enough to have command of his own group of men, the ones you now spotted through various windows, no doubt cleaning up the piles of dead bodies in the house. He watches you with a small grin on his face, enjoying how even if this frightening situation you were able to gather evidence and form a logical conclusion. And when you told him your theory - that he was not Emilian but Nicolas Hulkenberg, left hand man to Jos Verstappen, he chuckled, telling you almost fondly that you were so close. He was in the Verstappen family, and he was high up in the chain of command - but Nico's my cousin. He'd probably have a hissy fit at being confused with me, the handsome blonde in front of you mused. The new information sends a jolt through you, because even though your knowledge of the gangs is not extensive, if this man was Nicolas Hulkenberg's cousin, then...

Max Verstappen. Your breathless voice gives away the fear rising within you as your doe eyes widen in shock. You instinctively take a step back as the infamous underboss of the Verstappen familia takes a step closer to you, tilting his head like a lion eyeing up his prey, looking very much like the Dutch Leeuw he’s famously named for. Max Emilian Verstappen, he corrects, saying that most people didn't know the middle name - making it a useful nickname in public.

It's certainly more discreet than Mad Max, you reply hotly, rage and betrayal now replacing your earlier fear as you realise just how deceived you'd been. The man standing in front of you was no innocent citizen, or anyone to be protected. No - he was set to inherit the richest and most powerful gang family in the continent. Max's ice blue eyes narrow at your hurt expression, at the tears that are now running down your cheeks as you tell him what as absolute psychopath he was, to use and manipulate you into helping him, just because - you gasp, sobbing uncontrollably now - just because I'm the mayor's daughter? And you wanted to know about my redevelopment plans!? Max's heart aches at seeing you so upset, and he softly tells you it wasn't meant to be like this, you weren't meant to find out so unexpectedly. All of the heated looks and sweet words he’d spoken to you were real, because he’d fallen in love with you, too. But those Leclerc bastards had gotten their hands on you, wanting a bargaining chip and thinking you were something disposable to be used and tied up - A dark expression has taken over Max’s face now, storm clouds in his steely eyes. He'd let your captors off far too easily, he says menacingly. A shiver runs through you as you remember that the man standing in front of you had earned his title not just through family blood, but with his status of a deadly hitman with the highest kill rate this side of the globe.

Well, never mind, he drawls nonchalantly, his observant gaze not missing the fear in your sweet doe eyes that you tried desperately to supress. He was sure the Leclercs had gotten the message that you were not someone they could touch so casually. You were under Max’s personal protection, after all - he was indebted to you. Like he predicted, your Monegasque pride didn't take the offer from your political enemy kindly. You tell him to fuck off, Verstappen, you didn’t need his protections and he could just stay the hell away. He laughs at the fire in your brown eyes that’s returned in full force, glad you no longer had the lost, glassy stare he’d found you with earlier. Refusing to let him drive you home, you demand he hand over the keys to that S Class Mercedes parked in the driveway that you assumed was his, given the outrageous price tags and the bulletproof glass. He presents them to you with a smirk, watching you take off after shooting him a furious expression over your shoulder.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight ever again, not after you’d been hurt. You didn’t know about the guards he had assigned to you at all times, but you did receive a package a few days later. Unboxing the black and white designer wrapping, you tried to remember if you’d ordered something and forgotten about it. But when you see the identical Chanel heels you’d been wearing the night everything had happened, a new pair to replace your old, blood stained ones, you knew exactly who had sent them to you. You shove the box to the back of your closet and scowl as you continue about your research of collating the list of charges to bring against Max Verstappen.

So now, a month later, you see him for the first time since your kidnapping. It’s in the courtroom where you confidently list our your extensive evidence condemning the Leuw of Holland - who’s intense gaze you can feel raking over your well dressed form. You’re stunned when the judge, who’s sweated through his wig and gone through 3 jugs of water from all his nervous gulping, anxiously says that he finds the accused, Max Emilian Verstappen, not guilty. You knew that the Verstappens were powerful, had connections in every place and access to unlimited money - but to buy off the judge of the Monaco Supreme Court, really, Max? Have you no integrity? You hiss at him, much to the shock of onlookers as they see the Monaco Princess go toe to toe with the son of the Verstappen Familia. Good to see you too, schatje, the Dutch Lion croons at you, enjoying the frustrated blush on your face from his sweet nickname. Can’t say I’m a fan of going to jail for offing a few bastards, no. Besides, those Leclerc goons definitely deserved it for putting their hands on my woman. You gasp, stammering out your response as he catches you off guard. You were not his woman, and he had no right to call you that-

Sure, whatever you say, schat. He’d given you enough space - over a month, and he missed having you by his side every day. You’d gotten your revenge with this whole dramatic court case - one that he would never have allowed anyone to go so far with, slitting their carotids well before any court date was set. Now, it was time for Max to have his fun with you again, and this time he doesn’t have to hide behind the mystery facade. Wear that pretty little pink nightdress you wore for me that time I stayed over, hmm?

You flush prettily again, giving him a venomous glare before storming off. Cute, he thinks as your heels click on the marble floor. He admires the view of your lush ass in the tight pencil skirt you wore. He’s thinking about what colour lingerie he should have sent to you to match the heels you’d worn today, all dressed up for him - when the Mayor of Monaco approaches him. Your father looks very suspicious as he shuffled from side to side, asking Max if he would like to join him for a drink that evening.

Max watches him stoically, agreeing to a meeting only out of respect for him as your father. Otherwise, he wouldn’t care less about the puppet leader of Monaco. Everyone knew who the real power lay with, after all. So he isn't surprised when the pathetic excuse of the man who calls himself your father offers you up as a trade in exchange for the return of some of the power the Verstappens have stolen. Your father had heard the rumours of how infatuated the Verstappen heir had become with the Princess of Monaco - and was happy to just hand you over. A political marriage, of course, so that your father was guaranteed to have a familial link into the powerful new family. And if Max was no longer interested in you, then your father was sure there would be no shortage of buyers in the Leclerc and Sainz families who had become aware of the new princessa thrown into their game.

Max narrowed his ice blue eyes at the pitiful father figure in front of him, his attention finally caught with this new threat to your safety. And from your only living family member, no less - the one who you'd painstakingly resurrected from political ruin. God, the Mayor of Monaco was almost as bad as Jos. But then again, Jos had never pretended to be something he was not. Your father, on the other hand, was someone who you loved and cherished dearly. It would break your heart to see him hurt - even though he was now trying to sell you off to become a mafia bosses's wife without your knowledge.

Good thing your daughter got her fire from her mother, the Verstappen heir says coldly, his voice commanding enough that it makes the Mayor gulp nervously. Since her father clearly has no balls. Max doesn't respond well to threats - he much prefers making them, instead. And although he wanted to do nothing more than leave a bullet inside the Mayor's chest, he wouldn't touch your father out of respect for you.

So instead, when he gets word that evening of another secret hit out for you, he takes this as the oppurtunity to take you under his protection - permanently. He wouldn't allow your father to marry you off to one of the many ruthless mafiosos in the region. This time, the abduction attempt comes from the once powerful Hamilton-Rosberg family who were trying to restablish their hold after Max Verstappen himself had tobbled them from the inside. You'd impressed Max by fending off the first few attackers with the handgun you now kept at your bedside, injuring them but avoiding any critical areas as you ran out your fire escape. Good girl, Max thought with pride as his men relayed the situation to him over the phone. But you'd not expected the attackers waiting for you at the end of back alleyway. You were out of bullets, and closed your eyes in resignation as you prepared for what you were sure would be a nasty end...

When that infuriatingly attractive, confident Dutch voice appears at your side. Missed me, schatje? Max Verstappen makes quick work of the men who dared to attempt laying a hand on you. This time he rips one of their heart out, rather gruesomely, before shoving it inside the dead man's mouth. A very clear warning to all others who went after you again - since apparently the massacre at the Leclerc mansion had not been enough.

You're snifling and shaking when Max returns to your side, your back firmly to him to avoid seeing the horrific sight. And when he sighs softly again, draping his familiar, warm coat over our shoulders, you ask him if he was here to kill you, too. You'd realised that many of Max's enemy gangs had started to come after you, hoping to use your connection to the Verstappen heir against him. Of course, for a man as coldly efficient and powerful as Max - it made sense to eliminate any source of weakness to his status. But the enemy Dutch Lion you'd somehow fallen for suprises you once again. Brushing a stray curl behind your ear, and wiping away the tears now gathering in the corner of your wide eyes, Max gently murmurs No, schatje. He was going to marry you.

Shock courses through you, as you gasp at his unexpected confession. But then everything is going blurry, and the last thing you remember is his ocean blue eyes, looking into yours with their familiar warmth and intensity. The next time you wake up, you're in Max's private jet, somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. You’re panicked, trying to angrily demand that he take you back, but whatever drugs he’d had given to you make your efforts futile. You’re slumping tiredly against his broad shoulders after a few minutes, his strong arms around you, falling into a deep sleep as he murmurs reassurances that he was doing this for your own protection.

And when you wake up again, he’s made sure that it’s goddamn near impossible for you to run away. Because he has you on a godforsaken large private island of the Sicilian Coast, a beautiful place surrounded by turquoise beaches and dotted with ancient temple ruins mixed in amongst trendy Italian boutiques. It’s the sort of place you would normally be enraptured by - but in the week you’ve been here you’ve been plotting escape attempt after attempt.

Of course, you’d argued with Max every night when he returned from whatever shady business he’d conducted during the day, taking his private plane. You put your law degree to good use with the heated debates over the dinner table as he watched you with an adoring grin, finding your ever present energy and passion captivating. It had made you flush and look away from his gorgeous eyes. You stabbed into the deliciously flavoured lobster pasta in front of you, hating how your stomach did backflips when Max looked at you in this way. Your heart and brain felt like they were at odds with one other constantly, torn between the gentle, cat loving Emilian you’d fallen in love with and this protective, commanding Max who you couldn’t deny your growing desire for. Confidence greatly suited the Dutch Leuw, who now came back to the mansion he kept you in dressed in a black suits and wristwatches that was no doubt worth the combined income of a middle class family. But at dinner, with just the two of you over the flickering candlelight each night, enjoying the Italian summer air, he’d be in those cozy soft tees and loose linen shirts you’d always liked because of how they showed off his broad arms. Meanwhile, you pointedly only wear the plainest and drab outfits you could find in the luxurious walk in closet you’d been given. You’d gotten shocked as you opened each drawer in the room, finding it filled to the brim with designer clothes and luxury bags and heels, all in your favourite brand and colours and with matching jewellery in gold - as if it had been curated specifically for your tastes. At least he had the decency to give you private living quarters, you supposed. One night over fresh seafood paella he teasingly asked if you didn’t like all the clothes he’d had ordered for you, schat, because he can have more delivered? You scathingly tell him to stop being such a stalker, did he even know how creepy it was to find all your favourite items in that closet when you’d never even told him about them?

Blue eyes darken at your bratty note, but you aren’t nervous of Max anymore - even through the Leuw of Holland had been notorious for terrorizing your hometown streets. You’d realised that for some reason or the other, you were more precious to him than you’d ever imagined. It made you hesitate and wonder if maybe there was some truth to the romantic feelings he’d confessed to having for you, the night of the Leclerc mansion bloodbath. Forgive me for wanting you to feel comfortable here, schatje Max responded coolly, drinking from his whiskey glass. You argue back that a girl couldn’t possibly feel comfortable if she was kidnapped and help captive by a man who had technically led to her family’s ruin. And if you expect me to get dressed up for you, so that you can have your way with me…you can forget it! You retort angrily, face flushing.

Now smirking into his palm, Max assures you that despite his reputation, he promises to be the perfect gentleman. He’d never lay a hand on you…not unless you begged him too, first. His cocky tone made it clear he thought you found him impossible to resist. The playful look in his gorgeous blue eyes makes you bite your plush lips as you remember the last time Max had placed his large palm on your very willing body in an intimate way. After all, you'd sounded so sweet when you kept moaning for more when you came on my fingers within minutes, remember schat? The blonde teases you, clearly also thinking back to the same night you were. Standing up abruptly, you hotly retort with a Last time, I'd also been asking for Emilian, not Max Verstappen, before dramatically flipping your thick curls and storming off. The Dutch Lion watches you go with an amused chuckle, once again enjoying the view of your curvy ass even despite the horrid pants you were wearing. Same man, schat! he calls out to your retreating back, to which you respond with a well mannered middle finger in the air.

Your game continues like this over the month. As the days pass, you start to become more relaxed with Max. You still get flashes of the cold eyed Mafioso heir when you catch him on the phone angrily discussing a business deal, or when you spot a fleck of red on his pristine white designer shirts when he returns from being out. But your heart gets confused when you also see the gentle and caring Emilian when he's with you, who chooses to make your favourite breakfast every morning despite the full staffing in his mansion, who feeds and walks the dogs he has running around his gardens and plays with the snarky housecats. And when you'd woken up in the middle of the night crying in terror from the memory of seeing all those bloodied dead men in the Leclerc mansion, Max had been the one to hear your cries and storm into your bedroom. He'd taken you into his broad, warm arms, and you'd buried your sobs in his neck as he murmured reassurances of how you were safe now, you had nothing to ever worry about with him at your side. When you'd woken up the next morning, finding Max's toned chest underneath your cheek from where you'd both fallen asleep in your bed, a bit of your drool on his shirt, your heart swirled with conflicting emotions. You hated how safe and protected you feel in his embrace, knowing that this domestic bliss lifestyle with one of the most handsome and richest men you've ever met was something he'd kidnapped you for.

Still though, as you get more comfortable, you negotiate for more freedom with Max. You're an excellent lawyer, and now that you were temporarily out of your political position, you were going crazy sitting inside the mansion or walking it's beautiful gardens everyday. Max hadn't allowed you to go anywhere else without him at your side, his intense gaze eyeing any potential threat that approached the pair of you. Not that anyone did - the aura the Dutch Lion radiates was so powerful you kept wondering just how you'd thought he was some soft-spoken young citizen needing your help and guidance. So when Max reluctantly agrees to let you go outside without him - it's with the rule of 5 trained bodyguards at all times, of course. You roll your eyes but let them trail behind you as you terrorise the multiple designer stores dotted on the large island with Max's black Amex. It was the least he could do considering he had basically abducted you, you think with a smirk, as you watch the total at just the jewellery store alone add up to over half a million Euro. The Verstappen security guards nervously sweat behind you.

However, their boss has no such qualms. Max lets you spend his money however you wanted, thinking you were finally starting to accept his offer of marriage and coming under his permanent protection. So you surprised him a few weeks later when you finally made an escape attempt. The island was actually much bigger than you'd initially thought, and you found there was a small population of a few thousand elite, rich Italians living on the other side. That's where you headed too that afternoon, having picked a day where Max was away on business. You escaped the watchful eye of your bodyguards and ran towards the first policeman you saw. Confessing that you'd been kidnapped, and you needed help urgently to get back to Monaco where your father was Mayor, you'd been relieved when they guided you into their policecar with concerned looks. You thought they were going to help get you on a plane back to your hometown - but to your shock they drive you back the Verstappen mansion. With a sinking feeling you realised that the influence your captor had went beyond anything you could have thought possible.

You had barely managed to get away for an hour - in fact, Max hadn't even landed back in the island yet. When he did arrive that evening, having been told by his men of what you'd attempted that day, he strides into his private living room to find you. He dismissed everyone standing guard, and for the first time since you'd come here you note that he actually looked annoyed with you. You shuffle your hips nervously, from where you're seated on the low chaise. To your embarrassment, the policemen had even put a pair of handcuffs on you that Max's guards hadn't bothered removing, and they clink noisily in your lap. The handsome blonde towers above your seated figure, tilting your face up with his firm hand as he glowers at you. He's angry, and he lets you know it, telling you how stupid it was of you to compromise your safety like this, did you even know how hard it had been for him to find out when he'd been 3 hours away by plane and couldn't protect you!? Logically, you know that you should feel terrified of having pissed off a cold hearted man like Max Verstappen. But you're tuning his words out, instead biting your bottom lip at seeing him get so passionate over you. You couldn't deny that despite everything, the man in front of you was so attractive with his muscular, tall build and gorgeous light features - just your type, and the object of many a dirty fantasy in the last few months. Even after you'd found out his true identity as a Verstappen - not that you'd ever admit it to him.

But of course, Max's keenly observant gaze doesn't miss a thing. He sees it all - the way you press your thighs together, the delicious thickness easy for him to enjoy with the ridiculously overpriced Prada miniskirt you're wearing. So tiny that at this angle, with his much taller height, he catches a glimpse of your white lace panties - which are soaked straight through to reveal your dripping pussy. He smirks, knowing there was a far more effective way to punish you now. He gets his confirmation when he leans down to huskily murmur in your ear how much of a bad girl you'd been, how he clearly needs to teach you a lesson, thoroughly, so you don't disobey him again. You blush prettily, tits heaving with the gasp you let out as your eyes become dazed thinking about finally letting Max have his way with you, giving up all control and letting him take over, would feel like - after months of agonising tension.

He has you right where he wants, and he doesn't let you forget his promise. Not until you're begging me to touch you, remember liefje? he whispers darkly, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he leaves you pouting in frustration to go take a shower. He'd figured you'd angrily brood over his teasing for a few days, but when he emerges from the bathroom, he finds you sitting on his bed. Max looks especially mouth watering in grey sweats and dripping wet, tousled blonde locks and his broad, muscular chest. Rubbing your plush thighs together again, you hold up your handcuffs, innocently telling him you were only here to get free, nothing else, of course! The raw strength he uses to break the cuffs open with just his large hands has you holding back a breathless whine. God, this man was so insanely attractive, and you weren't going to be able to resist him much longer.

That's why you play back at this teasing game, making sure he's watching you with narrowed blue eyes and crossed arms, biceps swollen, as you strut through the shared door to your own bedroom. You leave the door wide open as you rustle through one of the many overflowing drawers - picking out a sheer La Perla pink nightie with matching lace panties. And when you nonchalantly hum as you make your way back to his rooms, shutting the lights off and leaving the warm bedside lamps on, you slip into his inviting comforter. He watches your whole show with a clenched jaw and unamused expression, telling you that you were playing with fire, schat.

You bat your thick eyelashes at him innocently, tossing your dark curls over your shoulder as you deny any mischief. Just in case I get any nightmares, of course! He doesn't buy it for a second, but still reluctantly slides in next to you. You remain on your best behaviour, reading a novel you'd picked out and ignoring Max, who was trying his best to ignore the skimpy outfit he knew you had underneath the covers and focus on the budgeting spreadsheet open on his laptop. After all, mafia gangs still had to keep track of their finances.

And then, just when he lets his guard down for a second and is typing away, you begin your revenge. Your book is tossed to the side and your manicured hands are running over your sensitive body, squeezing your juicy tits and rubbing your aching cunt through the sheer lace. The Leuw of Holland is left powerless for the first time in his adult life as the covers fall away, exposing your tempting caramel skin, contrasting with the pretty pink lingerie he’d bought for you. Your brown doe eyes are half lidded with desire as you watch him swallow at the tempting display in front of him, his hungry eyes honing in on the way you played with yourself. When he asks you what the fuck you were doing, his voice low and deep, you tease him more by saying he'd never said anything about you not being able to touch yourself, right? Maybe you’d let him touch you, too, if he was the one begging-

He growls like a literal lion, then, making you giggle as he watches you with a desperate look in his eyes that’s making you even more turned on. He gives up when you slip the sheer fabric down over your tits, showcasing your pretty tanned nipples that pebbled in the night air. Liefje, he groans, pressing his lips to your thick curls and his large hand to a rapidly hardening erection, please let me touch you, let me take care of you…

His husky voice sends shivers down your already warm skin, and you can’t deny your need for him any longer either. Wrapping a delicate hand around his much bigger wrist, you slowly guide him over your body, making his intense gaze go dark with desire. You brush his thick fingers over your pink lips, where you teasingly flick your tongue out and make him groan, then down across your neck so he can admire how pretty you look with his hand as a choker, then over your bouncing tits as you breathe deeply. He can’t resist pinching a cute nipple, this time making you moan, but it’s still not where you need him most. And then you’re guiding him over your soft tummy, over your plush hips, and then-

Oh, fuck schatje. Max's intoxicating, accented voice moans into your ear, making you drip even more for him. You’re so wet for me, this sweet pussy needs me to take care of it so badly, hmmm? You whine breathlessly, nodding impatiently as his long fingers brush against your swollen cunny. You’re dripping through your skimpy panties, which are practically stuck to you now. The attractive blonde next to you has no inhibitions about manhandling you easily, ripping the scraps of lace off and tossing the ruined hundreds of Euros to the side. Bringing your slick cunt to his lips, he licks them attractively as he stares up at your blushing face with hungry eyes. You stammer nervously, never having been eaten out before, but he couldn’t care less. He dips his skilled tongue into your soaked pussy, inhaling in your addictive sweet scent as you gasp and moan. His strong hands lock your rocking hips in position as he fucks you with his broad tongue, lapping up the sweet juices your cunny gushes out for him. You’re in tears from how amazing it feels, especially when he buries his large nose or a thick finger knuckle deep, and soon you’re intertwining your pink nails in his blonde locks as he once again makes you scream in name in pure pleasure. This time though, he’s much more satisfied because you’re desperately moaning his real name. Oh, Max! Please!

Days later, when you and him have formed a legal agreement of sorts, where you accept his protection against the ongoing threat of rival gangs and he agrees to let you resume your legal career, you fly back to Monaco with him at your side. He slid a hefty diamond engagement ring onto your finger, and you’re still shocked by how pretty it looks, glimmering in the light. Still, it was only temporary, you had no plans to actually marry the man. A union between the Princess of Monaco and the all consuming Verstappen Mafia heir who’d been responsible for stripping her city of its livelihood was a cursed match!

So when you excitedly run straight to your father’s home when you land, the Verstappen bodyguards in tow as per their boss’s instructions. You fling the doors open, shouting for your papa. The mayor of Monaco looks up in shock, thrown back a bit when you jump into his arms and tell him you missed him dearly, had he been keeping safe? He’d delighted you are safe of course, and tells you so numerous times over dinner, and then later when you two are poring over the city redevelopment plans. You’d been away for over two months now, and a lot had to be caught up with in your absence.

But when he continues that really, when he’d made the offer to Max he’d half expected to never see you again - after all, the Dutch Leuw of Holland was known to be ruthless. When you freeze, papers falling from your hand as you look at him in shock, he realises that your fiancée had never actually disclosed to you the circumstances under which he’d decided to make you his wife.

This whole time I thought he’d kidnapped me, like a madman…but really he was protecting me from you, wasn’t he? Because you were ready to sell your daughter off to whatever man would be the highest bidder? None of the pathetic excuses that come out of your father's mouth are enough to fix the trust that had been broken. Your heart had broken that night, and you’d left your family home and vowed to never look back, tears running down your face. Max had taken one look at you and taken you into his comforting arms, shushing your cries and murmuring that you were not alone, he was your family now, his home was now yours as well. Or rather, multiple properties, it might be more appropriate to say.

This time, you willingly return to the darkness, and you accept his offer of marriage, of protection, and of partnership, and he takes yours delicate hand in his when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful cream gown that same month. Like your now husband had noted when he'd first met you, you were a smart woman, the perfect wife to the likes of the heir to the Verstappen mafia. You understood that if the reigning government council couldn't resist the criminal takeover, it would be better to join them instead. But not with the pathetic bribing the Mayor had done, comprising his citizen's safety and then his own daughter's.

No, your style was far more ambitious than his. You'd gotten your fire from your mother, after all. So when the Princessa of Monaco married the powerful Verstappen heir, your citizens hadn't known what to expect, rumours flying of the whole thing being a forced arrangement. But when you and Max have eliminated both your fathers out of the way and claimed the city of Monaco for yourselves, you're quick to resume it's political redevelopment and advances in healthcare and education whilst running the largest drug smuggling ring in Europe in the underground canals. You had to get the funding from somewhere, and driving neighbouring gang's businesses into the ground to support your own local one seems a good a cause as any. This time, under your partnership, it's done in a much safer way for your citizens, and you firmly believe the means justify the ends.

And time passes in the now flourishing city. The handsome Dutch Leeuw is often seen out for lunch by the beach, laughing with his beautiful new wife in his arms. The power couple of Monaco, your citizens say, admiring your union of the darkness and the light.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEWWWW this was a long one my dearest readers I am so sorry for the wait life has been crazy!! was a bit overwhelmed with work but max winning the sprint was enough to revive me thank you for waiting! lmk what you think! dark max simps do not worry I have many garbage pieces coming your way hehe

[gianna-z-xdx]

!LT!simon! x !reader! cw: pure fluff part one !here!

The room was quiet now. His breath warmed the back of your neck as his arm rested securely around your waist, large, calloused hand splayed across your stomach. You froze—not out of fear, but confusion. Your body tensed at the sudden closeness, but somehow…you didn’t want to pull away. Not yet.

Simon said it meant nothing.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

Your heart pounded hard in your chest, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it. Your fingers clenched the thin blanket as you tried to make sense of it all. You had known Ghost to be cold, distant, a wall of unreadable emotion and steel discipline. Yet now…here he was, curled around your body like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being even a foot away.

“You still awake?” he murmured lowly, voice husky from sleep.

“…Yeah,” you whispered.

There was a pause. Then, without lifting his head, he spoke again.

“You always this bad at sleeping?”

“Not always,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just…when I’m sharing a room with someone. Especially when that someone is my lieutenant.”

That earned you a soft huff of a laugh from behind. “I’m not that scary.”

“You kind of are.”

Another silence.

His grip on you didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened slightly—barely noticeable, but enough to make you feel grounded. Protected.

And then, so quietly you almost missed it, he muttered:

“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned slightly in his hold, enough to look back over your shoulder. His eyes were open now, shadowed by the darkness, but even in the dim lighting from the hall slivering under the door, you could see the vulnerability in them. The tension in his jaw. The war going on behind that skull mask of his, even when it was physically absent.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you said, more honestly than you’d expected.

You felt him go still.

Then, softly, almost too softly to believe it came from him: “Good.”

A few more minutes passed in silence. His breath had slowed, but he wasn’t asleep. You could tell by the way his thumb rubbed idly across your hip, back and forth like a silent confession.

“You didn’t have to hold me like this,” you said.

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

This time, the silence wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate.

“Because,” he said after a long pause, “you looked like you needed it.”

You didn’t respond to that. Because maybe…he did too.

Eventually, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body curled around yours, your eyes began to flutter shut.

—

The next morning came too quickly.

You stirred before he did, limbs tangled in a way that made it nearly impossible to move without waking him. His face was relaxed, softened in sleep, no skull paint, no mask, no cold demeanor—just Simon. And for a second, you let yourself stare.

It was stupid to think he looked peaceful. But he did. And worse, he looked safe.

You’d barely begun to ease away from him when his voice cut through the silence, low and rough.

“You move like a damn tank.”

You flinched slightly, freezing. “…Sorry.”

Simon let out a low grunt and sat up slowly, brushing a hand over his face and down his neck. His dog tags clinked softly against his bare chest, and your eyes caught the light sheen of a scar trailing down from his shoulder.

He noticed you looking, but didn’t say anything.

“You alright?” he asked instead, voice still laced with sleep.

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks…for last night.”

He paused at the edge of the bed, back still to you. “Don’t make it a habit.”

It stung a little more than you expected. You nodded stiffly, swinging your legs over the bed and standing to gather your things for the day. The room suddenly felt colder.

But before you could leave, Simon's voice stopped you again.

“…But if you need it again… I won’t say no.”

You turned, surprised. He didn’t meet your eyes. He was focused on lacing up his boots, but his shoulders were tense. Almost nervous.

You didn’t say anything. You just nodded and walked out, the smallest smile tugging at your lips.

—

The next few days passed in a strange rhythm.

You and Ghost—Simon—shared the room in a kind of quiet balance. You didn’t bring up that night. He didn’t either. But something had shifted.

He started waiting for you before meals. Not obviously—just leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, saying things like, “You done yet?” or “Hurry up.” But you knew.

He started bringing you an extra protein bar without asking. Offering you the seat closest to the wall when the mess hall was full. And one night, after a rough training op in the rain, he handed you a towel without a word and watched you from the corner of his eye as you dried your hair, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips.

He wasn’t good at talking. But his actions spoke louder than any words.

Then came the third incident.

You’d just come back from a mission. Exhausted, sore, and dirty. As you opened the door to the shared quarters, Simon was already there—clean, towel slung over his neck, leaning against the dresser.

He took one look at your face and didn’t say anything. Just walked over, grabbed your vest, and helped you out of it without a word.

It was intimate. Too intimate. His hands were careful, lingering for a second longer than necessary as he brushed your shoulder, knuckles grazing your cheek when he removed your comms piece.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard. “I think so.”

“You sure?”

You hesitated. “Would it matter if I said no?”

He stepped closer. Close enough that his breath fanned over your face. His voice dropped.

“Yeah. It would.”

The air grew heavy. Your eyes locked.

You were the first to break it.

“You said this meant nothing,” you whispered.

He didn't move. “Maybe I lied.”

His eyes searched yours. For resistance. For fear. For something. But you gave him none of that.

Just a soft, whispered: “I know.”

And then, his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Firm. Desperate like he’d been holding back for far too long.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers clutching at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned low in his throat as he deepened the kiss.

Whatever restraint he had been clinging to—it snapped.

And so did yours.

(to be continued...)

holy crackers!! this is for everyone asking for a pt 2🤍 love all of yall❤❤

tags for pt 2:

@quest4cabbage

@babygurl97

@brown-girl-szn

@s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[webslinger-holland]

Being the Hero | Bob Reynolds from Thunderbolts*

Summary: Being stuck in the bunker forces everyone to work together in order to get out. And one of them ends up kinda being the hero.

Warning: Thunderbolts* spoiler alert, just some swearing and teasing from Walker

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4 k

Type: Mini Series

Story Masterlist

Peering up into the dark, empty elevator shaft made all of them realize just how hard it was going to be getting out of this place, especially since none of them could see the top. The bunk was at least a mile below the surface of the earth and now the challenge was getting out.

"So none of us fly?" Yelena wondered curiously. She looked around at the group of misfits she'd literally just met not ten minutes ago. "What...do we all just punch and shoot?"

Walker, being his cocky self, stepped forth wearing a proud smirk. He sent a wink Y/n's way, which only caused her to scrunch your nose in disgust.

"Don't worry; I got this," Walker reassured everyone. He really wanted to show off that super soldier serum those scientists gave him, because he somehow managed to jump inhumanly high up through the elevator shaft.

With eyes transfixed on the mass of darkness above them, it only took a few seconds for them to see the super soldier falling back down to their level and landing hard on his backside.

"You should try that again," Ava suggested.

Yelena couldn't wipe the massive smile of amusement from her face. Bob, with hands clasped together and covering his mouth, looked the most concerned. And Y/n simply rolled her eyes at his weak attempt to escape.

"We're pretty far down here," Walker groaned in pain. Yelena giggled to herself as Walker pulled himself to his feet.

"Okay, okay why don't you--," Walker was speaking to Ava. He pointed up and down rapidly. "...walk up through the walls or whatever and then just throw us a rope down."

"Yeah," Yelena agreed.

"Well, first of all, someone other than you would have to ask me. And second, of all I have to know where I'm going because I've never been able to hold it for longer than a minute. So I'd just get lost in an ocean of dirt and then I'd be crushed to death. Alright?" Ava spewed out.

"Just a minute?" Walker seemed unimpressed.

"Oh, shut up." Ava scoffed.

"What about you?" Walker now pointed to Y/n who only stood across from him. All heads turned to look at her expectantly.

"What about me?" Y/n wondered curiously. Her eyes briefly flickered to Bob who stood beside her, only to catch him hastily looking away from her.

"Couldn't you just...manipulate us to go..." Walker pointed up the elevator shaft. She narrowed her eyes in slight confusion. "You know...up?"

"Uh no, I can't make you 'go up' because I don't have telekinesis; I have osteokinesis." She quickly corrected him.

"Oh right," Walker acted as if he knew what she was talking about.

"Which means I could just break every bone in your body and leave you here for dead, but then again, I'd still be stuck down here so we're back at square one." She was growing more frustrated with him by the minute.

"Okay," Walker nodded slowly. He backed off mostly from fear. "That's fair."

"Oh my god, we suck." Yelena groaned and placed her hand over her head.

"Uh...I have an idea," Bob suggested timidly.

Ever so shyly, Bob directed everyone into the middle of the elevator shaft with their backs nearly pressed together. Naturally, when Bob tried to move Walker slightly to the left, Walker threatened him with:

"Don't touch me; just tell me where to stand." And Bob held his hands up in defense.

Moving Yelena and Ava only caused them to stare at Bob questionably. When Bob shifted to stand in front of Y/n, he gently placed his hands on either sides of her arms to move her. She stared up at him with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips, which only made him blush and turn away.

"Then we just..." Bob fitted himself to stand besides her. "Link arms."

Everyone rather reluctantly listened to him and laced their arms together. Standing awkwardly in a circle with backs pressed together, each of them waited for something to happen.

"Now what?" Yelena asked.

"We climb," Bob stated plainly. "One step at a time. We keep our backs together to keep us from falling."

"It's not a bad plan," Y/n confessed quietly. Bob's head snapped towards her and he perked up happily. "We can at least try."

Now, after climbing for about twenty minutes, all of them were probably ten feet off the ground. The shear pressure that kept them from falling was the task of keeping their backs pressed firmly together and moving at the same pace.

Walker, always wanting to take charge, instructed them when to take a step with their right foot and when to step with their left foot. They were already growing tired of the same notion, but none of them could let up unless they wanted to fail.

"Ew, which one of you is wet?" Yelena asked in slight disgust.

"I--I run hot," Bob spoke from beside her. "Sorry."

"Someone's got a weird, hard butt." Walker complained.

"That's not my butt, it's my suit." Ava corrected him.

"Well, you need to get a new suit." Y/n suggested because she also felt how hard the suit was against her side. "Something softer, maybe more comfortable."

"Oh, pardon me for the inconvenience. I only spent my entire life in labs, hooked up to machines so I could create this physical cage to keep my material body from disintegrating at all times. Yeah, I'm really sorry about that." Ava spat.

Yelena began to chuckle across from her. "You don't want to start the whole sob story game. I win. Enslaved, child assassin over here."

"Well, you were just a kid, so..." Walker's voice trailed off.

"Oh, so that's a good thing now?" Yelena challenged.

"I'm just saying it might be nice to know that you didn't really know any better," Walker responded and Yelena stopped.

"Thanks; I feel way better," Yelena said sarcastically.

"Does it really matter? We were all experimented on at one point or another. So why don't we just shut up for once and work together so we can get out of this mess?" Y/n spoke over them.

There was a brief moment of silence that fell over them. They'd even stopped climbing.

"I--I like that plan," Bob confessed. Y/n let out a small sigh and hung her head low.

"Thank you, Bob." She nodded in acceptance.

All of them lifted their heads to look up the rest of the length of the empty elevator, grunting and panting from the energy they were exerting. They felt disheartened to find that they were still only staring up into the darkness and couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

There came some point in which none of them knew how long they'd been climbing or how high up they were anymore. None of them were able to see the ground beneath them, but none of them could see the exit either.

Their legs were growing more sore with each passing minute and their backs ached from how hard they were pressed together. A light sweat had taken over their bodies.

"This is crazy. I can't even see the floor," Ava peered down and Bob shut his eyes tight.

"Can we not talk about how high up we are: I'm just not great with heights," Bob requested.

"Hey, I think I see the door," Walker looked up to spot the opening of the elevator.

Trying to peer around one another, the majority of them could see what Walker was talking about. They shuffled slightly to secure their footing against the wall. Now, they were tasked with trying to figure out how they were all going to get up there.

"Ah...okay, okay. Now what?" Yelena asked once again.

"Uhm, I guess one of us should go," Ava glanced down at her left to see her arms hooked with Y/n's and then to her right where she was linked to Walker. "First?"

"Then the other four immediately fall," Yelena exclaimed in disbelief.

"Shit," Walker cursed to himself, especially with them being so close to getting out of this mess.

"Sorry. I guess I didn't really think this far ahead," Bob apologized.

"Hey," Y/n nudged him slightly in the side so that he'd turn his head and look at her. "It's alright. We'll figure something out."

"Genius plan, Bobby." Walker rudely interrupted them. Bob stared ahead of himself.

"Always making things worse," Bob mumbled quietly, but Y/n managed to hear him.

Ava's boots began to scrape against the stone walls. Her heart felt like it was about to plummet along with her. "Oh, these bloody boots. I don't think I can hold this much longer," Ava confessed.

"Hand me your baton. I can reach it," Walker suggested to Yelena.

"What? No way! You're just going to leave us," Yelena scoffed in disbelief.

"Please don't do that," Y/n requested. She instinctively reached down to grab Bob's hand and squeezed it tightly. He felt the tips of his ears growing red; he was just thankful nobody could see him. "I don't want to fall to my death today."

"Okay, spin us round and I can latch us on," Yelena spoke while glancing towards the opening again.

All the while, Bob began to feel the irresistible tickle growing in his nose. His mouth parted just as the tension was starting to build. He shook his head with the hopes of being able to shake the sneeze off.

"I'm not spinning us around. Okay? Somebody's gotta go first," Walker said loudly.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!" Bob shouted over them. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, fighting every possible nerve in his body.

"What the hell is happening?" Yelena asked with wide, confused eyes.

"Growing up somebody told me that you can stop a sneeze if you confuse your brain, I always just yell cucumber." Bob hastily explained to them.

"Okay?" Y/n seemed slightly confused.

"I have to sneeze. But if I sneeze, you know then I'm gonna loose control," Bob stated.

Each of them felt the sudden pressure of needing to get out of this predicament otherwise they were undoubtedly going to fall. With Ava's boots scraping, Y/n beginning to slide down slightly, and Bob fighting the urge to sneeze, they were running out of time and options.

"This is insane. Okay? I can get us all out of here; I just need to go first," Walker was the only one with a clear shot of the opening.

"No, no, no, no. There's gotta be another way," Ava suggested while peering over her shoulder.

"Oh no," Bob said to himself.

With his head raised back, Bob felt the tickle in his nose returning painfully and his chin quivered as he fought the urge.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!" The three girls yelled with every hope of helping him not sneeze.

"Just give me the thing; I've got it," Walker reached behind him, grabbed the baton from Yelena's back, and launched himself to grapple for the opening.

In doing so, the rest of them began to fall down the elevator shaft. Ava, thinking quickly, grabbed her knives and drove them into the sides of the wall to stop her descent. Yelena grabbed onto her backside and quickly leaned backwards to extend the wire from her wrist.

Falling rapidly head first, the wire wrapped itself around Bob's ankle to stop him from falling any further and he instinctively grabbed onto Y/n before she was able to fly past him.

Both of them, hanging upside down with their chests pressed together, held onto one another like a lifeline. That horrible feeling of falling now leaving their bodies and they were allowed to catch their breath in slight relief.

"I got you, I got you," Bob panted reassuringly. He ignored the pressure of the blood rushing to his head and focused all his attention on the girl in his arms. "It's okay. I've got you," Bob sent her a small smile.

"Bob," Y/n stared at him in complete disbelief; her hair raised comically since she was upside down with him. "Y--you caught me."

"I did, didn't I?" Bob smiled. He felt a small swell of pride in his chest. "Couldn't let you fall."

"I--I don't know what to say," Y/n confessed. Though she was going to say more, but Bob had to stop her. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away from her.

"Hang on," Bob excused himself. He produced a small sneeze. "Sorry."

"Bless you," Y/n smiled back to him.

"You guys okay?" Yelena called down to them.

Meanwhile, Walker managed to find a long rope to throw down to them which allowed them to climb out of the elevator shaft. He held onto the rope tightly and helped each of them out.

"Selfish prick," Ava was mostly annoyed with him as she climbed out.

"Yet you're all safe," Walker commented. Yelena pulled herself out of the elevator shaft. "I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety and ensure all of yours. Pretty ungrateful if you ask me," Walker added.

Peering down into the depths of the elevator shaft, Walker spotted the last two of them who were still climbing the rope. He let out a small scoff.

"You gonna make it, Bobby?" Walker wondered and Bob only glanced up at him. "Look at you being the hero, saving the girl and everything."

Now Bob really turned red in the face upon hearing that. He stayed put and watched as Walker helped hoist Y/n into the opening. She stood tall beside him and brushed the imaginary dirt from her own suit.

"Bet that just makes you swoon, him saving you like a damsel in distress," Walker teased her by bumping her shoulder and Y/n sent him a warning glare. "Bit scrawny, but he's cute." Walked added.

"Shut up, Walker." Y/n rolled her eyes and walked away from him.

With a hand coming up to grab the opening, Bob was practically shaking from all the effort he put into climbing up the rest of the rope. He couldn't help but glare up at Walker who enjoyed watching him squirm a little.

"Looks like you might have missed arm, leg, and chest day." Walker teased one last time.

When Walker offered his hand and Bob clasped onto it, that's when Walker's world faded to black unexpectedly.

PART 2 HERE

[mill3rd]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME MOON

synopsis. in the solitude of an undisturbed manor, a tangled bond between a girl marked by a dark legacy and a mysterious vampire unfolds. haunted by a painful secret she barely understands, she finds herself drawn to him—an enigmatic guardian who sees what others cannot. as tension rises within her family and the night reveals hidden truths, their connection becomes a dangerous battle between desire, fear, and survival, forcing them both to face what lurks beneath the surface and decide what they’re willing to lose for each other.

tags and warnings. body horror, mythical and fantasy creatures, blood, remmicks a silly guy who dabbles in danger, remmick and his saviour complex, stereotyping amongst creatures, emotional and familial conflict, not angsty for once (lie we only do angst round here partna), kinda fluffy, remmick is really off putting, this was inspired by another post and some requests

wc. 14k

© MILL3RD 2025 — all rights reserved. mature content. please do not steal my works

remmick had passed through a tight knit community, full of wealth and harmony. he’d heard tail of a family that had been rooted here well before the 16th century. generations lived and died in the manor beyond the orchard. he had to take a look for himself, figure out what he was dealing with, maybe try and gain control and root his own found family in these very parts.

he wandered through the orchard, his footsteps soft on the grass until he came across a tree with a swing hanging low. settling onto it, he swayed gently back and forth, eyes fixed on the house beyond. even under the first quarter moon, draped in a thick fog that swallowed the light, the manor stood imposing and alive. its sturdy bricks, darkened by time, held three solid floors—and maybe a fourth, if the attic windows weren’t just for show. a greenhouse clung to one side, its lantern flickering weakly before fading as its occupant departed. the house breathed with life, full of warmth and laughter—a family woven together in quiet happiness.

remmick admired the house for a moment longer before three children burst out from the shadows, their laughter bright and wild in the cool night air. they moved with a speed that was almost too swift, their footsteps light and sure—a clear sign the family within wasn’t entirely human. before he could slip away, they spotted him, their eyes gleaming with mischief as they clumsily but determinedly surrounded him, cutting off his escape.

the three children came bounding up to remmick, their footsteps light and quick like whispers on the grass. their eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and mischief as they closed the distance, circling him with unrestrained energy.

“hey, mister,” the smallest one piped up, tilting her head with a cheeky grin, “what’s your name?”

remmick’s lips curled into a crooked smile, “they call me remmick,” he said smoothly, his voice low and teasing, “and who might you speedy three be?”

the tallest girl crossed her arms, a playful challenge glinting in her eyes, “we be the fastest runners in the orchard. bet you can’t catch us.”

he chuckled, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise, “oh? a challenge already? careful, or i might just take you up on it.”

the third child, a boy with wild curls, leaned in, sniffing subtly, “you ain’t from ‘round here, is you? you smell… funny.”

remmick winked, the corner of his mouth twitching, “funny how? like cinnamon and danger?”

“not funny haha… funny weird,” the girl replied with a coy raise of her brow.

“weird?” remmick leaned closer, his gaze sharp but amused, “i prefer intriguing but tell me—what secrets do you little orchard ghosts hide?”

the smallest child exchanged a glance with her siblings before smirking, “maybe we’ll tell you… if you’re nice.”

“now that’s tempting,” remmick murmured, voice softening, “i’m a great listener. maybe i’ll stick around and find out.”

the tallest girl’s expression hardened slightly, “just don’t try anything weird, ‘kay? our family don’t take too kindly to strangers.”

remmick’s grin deepened, eyes glinting with something unreadable, “noted. but maybe i’m exactly the kind of stranger you need.”

suddenly, the main door burst open and a taller figure rushed down the steps with urgent strides. you moved with the same quickness as the children, closing the distance in moments. three names were called—mara, sloane and orion—with urgency. your eyes scanned the trio before locking onto remmick. he could hear the steady rush of your blood, the pounding of your heart, and feel the way your muscles subtly shifted—tense but beginning to relax, ready for whatever came next.

“alright, you three,” you announced, keeping your voice light but firm, “auntie talia’s doin’ bed checks. if i get reprimanded for yous being out again, i swear i ain’t taking the fall this time.”

that did the trick. their faces dropped into guilt, and they scrambled to leave, muttering apologies under their breath. then, in a cheerful, too-casual chorus, they turned back and called out:

“bye, remmick!”

remmick felt the chill in your blood like a sudden drop in the air. his eyes studied your serious expression, the worry unmistakable. your form matched your face—arms crossed tightly over your chest, legs set shoulder-width apart. you weren’t completely defensive, but far from careless, radiating a tense calm that kept him on edge. actually, he thought it made you quite attractive. clearly, you were one with undying loyalty.

“you got business here?” you asked, voice low and steady, eyes narrowing as you sized him up. every instinct in you prickled, like a storm gathering just beyond the tree line. he shook his head slowly, offering a casual shrug that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“not at all,” he said smoothly, “just passin’ through. new to the area, saw a swing, ain’t realize it was in your front yard. my apologies, miss…?” he trailed off, waiting for your name—but the hesitation in his voice felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, sizing you up.

you ignored the bait, cutting straight to the point, “you part of anything? any groups, clans…” your tone carried weight—a challenge wrapped in calm steel.

remmick caught it immediately. he shook his head, voice tightening with a flicker of offense, “miss.”

he took a step back, hands rising in a peaceful gesture, “hand on my heart, cross it and hope to die—i mean no physical, spiritual, or mental harm. especially the discriminatory kind. no way.”

you sized him up, eyes sharp and steady, “why’re you really here?” you asked, voice low.

remmick’s smile flickered, like a candle in the wind. fierce, beautiful, and not easily fooled. he swallowed the pull in his chest, “like i said, just passing through,” he reminded, “but i guess fate’s got a funny way of introducing itself.”

you crossed your arms, skeptical, “passing through or looking for something?”

he ilaughed softly, a hint of something darker beneath the sound, “maybe a little of both. people say this place has a history—roots that go deep. i’m curious.”

your gaze didn’t soften, “curiosity can get you hurt.”

remmick nodded slowly, the weight of his own thoughts settling. curiosity’s dangerous—especially when it’s about her, “maybe. but sometimes, the risk is worth it.”

you took a step closer, voice low and steady, “just remember, some risks don’t come with second chances.”

he met your gaze, the smile slipping into something more serious, “i’m learning.”

remmick’s gaze flickered down to the obsidian pendant resting against your chest. his breath hitched as a darker thought slipped in — the curve of your neck, the way your collarbone peeked beneath your shirt. what would it feel like to trace that line, to see if you’d shiver?

he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself, “learning’s a dangerous game too, but sometimes the stakes make it worth the trouble,” he said, voice low and a little rough, hiding the pull in his chest.

you narrowed your eyes, unamused, “i’m not in the habit of handing out chances.”

he smirked, stepping just a fraction closer, letting the tension thicken, “maybe i ain’t askin’ for chances. maybe i’m offerin’ you somethin’ else. somethin’ worth the risk.”

you were enough to give him a pulse back, the phantom feeling of it quickening raced inside him. she’s fire and ice, and god help me if i’m stupid enough to get burned.

you held your ground, eyes never leaving his, “you should go, remmick. while i’m still in a generous mood.”

he chuckled softly, the sound curling at the edges, “guess that’s my cue, then.”

he took a slow step back, hands raised in mock surrender, “you got bite… i like that.”

“don’t get used to it,” you reply coolly, but there was the faintest tug of a smirk at the corner of your mouth.

his gaze lingered for just a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else—or maybe commit your face to memory—before turning toward the orchard, the fog swallowing his figure with every step.

“see you around,” he called over his shoulder, voice low and amused.

you didn’t respond.

remmick slipped back into the orchard, weaving between the trees as the fog clung thick around him. his thoughts kept circling you—someone fierce, with a fire that didn’t back down or bend. the more he thought about it, the harder it became to focus. could he gain control over that wild spirit? maybe. or maybe he’d let you keep that edge—it only made the pull stronger, the tension more intoxicating. it was a dangerous kind of fascination, one that stirred something dark and undeniably electric inside him.

would you bare your teeth the closer he got to your core? would that fire in your chest flare into fury, daring him to come closer, to test the edges of your control—or would something in you shift? would you soften, just slightly, enough for him to find a way in, to press up against all that tension you held like armor?

he couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you. about the way your gaze didn’t flinch, the way your voice had weight and warning. it thrilled him. not in a sweet, romantic way, but in a way that lit something reckless beneath his skin. he wanted to see if that heat in you burned just as bright up close. would you stay fierce, push back, make him work for every breath between you—or would you yield, slowly, inch by guarded inch?

he didn’t want obedience. he wanted resistance, the kind that made every moment feel earned. he imagined it—your defiance, your fire, your control barely slipping. would you let him see that part of you? or would he have to tear it from your clenched hands, dig into the marrow of you just to taste the truth?

either way, he wasn’t looking for softness. not really. but the idea of watching you flicker between fight and surrender—that stayed with him, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

remmick’s thoughts drifted to the obsidian strung around your neck, the way it caught the moonlight like it was forged from the night itself. any creature worth their salt knew what that meant. grounding. restraint. a tether between the beast and the bones it lived inside.

he’d been around—across continents, through cities older than most bloodlines—and never once had he seen someone wear obsidian casually. that stone wasn’t for decoration. it was for control. survival.

you wore it like a warning, like a lock on a door too dangerous to open. and that, more than anything, intrigued him. because if you needed that kind of restraint... he couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you didn’t use it.

his boots sank softly into the orchard floor as he moved, every step muffled by moss and fallen leaves. the air was thicker tonight—heavier, laced with that same scent he couldn’t stop noticing, the one that clung to you like smoke to skin.

remmick paused at the edge of a clearing, gaze lifting to the house beyond the trees. windows glowed like distant lanterns, warm and pulsing. life radiated from inside—laughter, footsteps, the occasional bark of a dog or scrape of a chair.

but his eyes weren’t on the house. they were on the pendant in his mind, the image of it nestled against your collarbone. obsidian. it made him curious. no—hungry.

a family like yours didn’t welcome strangers easily. and yet, somehow, he’d slipped past the first gate. just barely.

he smiled to himself, slow and knowing.

“let’s see how deep the roots go,” he murmured.

then, with a hand brushed against the trunk of an old fig tree, he melted back into the orchard’s shadows. watching. waiting.

back at the house, the wind shifted.

you stood in the upstairs hallway, staring out a narrow window that overlooked the orchard. the fog hadn’t cleared. if anything, it pressed tighter against the land, swallowing the trees until they looked like silhouettes drawn in ash. something in your chest tugged—a slow, sour pull that wouldn’t ease.

your pendant was warm against your skin. not hot, but pulsing. responding.

you didn’t like that.

behind you, the floor creaked softly. it was one of your sisters, barefoot and half-asleep, rubbing her eyes. she mumbled something about needing water, but you hardly heard her. your focus stayed out there, on the dark line where the trees met the field.

he was still close. you couldn’t see him, but you felt it.

downstairs, the front door was locked, bolted in three places. but that meant very little. doors didn’t stop what came through the orchard, not for long

you turned from the window, catching your reflection in the glass—tense, tired, eyes sharper than you meant them to be. this wasn’t over. not even close.

and tomorrow night, the moon would be fuller.

remmick slipped through the orchard under the cloak of night, the fog wrapping around him like a shroud. the moon hung low, its silver light filtered through the dense mist, casting eerie shadows that danced between the gnarled branches. the house loomed ahead, silent and stoic, its dark windows like watchful eyes.

he paused near the swing, fingers brushing the worn rope. the silence pressed in on him, heavier than before. no laughter, no footsteps—just the soft rustle of leaves.

his mind churned, thoughts tangled between fascination and frustration. you with the obsidian pendant—the fierce fire behind your eyes—haunted him more than he cared to admit. you were a puzzle wrapped in danger, and every step closer only deepened his intrigue.

he wasn’t here for greetings or excuses. no, he was here to stake his claim, to test the boundaries of this quiet world. and maybe, just maybe, to see if you’d let him in.

remmick’s eyes caught a splash of color at the base of a nearby tree—speckles of water hemlocks, their petals a silky white against the dark earth. the flowers were put together and tame, standing out naturally, just like the woman who lived here. without thinking, he bent down and carefully gathered a small bouquet, fingers brushing the soft petals. a quiet gesture, but one full of meaning—bold, but simple, impossible to ignore.

remmick stepped closer to the house, the fog curling around his boots as he approached the front door. he raised his hand and knocked—firm, deliberate, no hesitation. no welcome mat lay beneath the door, a quiet sign of caution. smart, he thought, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. this wasn’t a place that invited strangers in easily. good. just the way he liked it.

remmick heard soft shuffling on the other side of the door—several voices, one mature and steady, the others light and childish. the heavy, weathered door creaked open slowly, the knock trembling with the motion. a warm glow spilled out, illuminating remmick’s face as your silhouette stepped into view. behind you, the three children from yesterday peeked around your legs, their curious eyes wide. all of you were draped in nightgowns, the softness of the fabric catching the light, a striking contrast to the tension lingering in the air.

“mister remmick!” the trio called out, their voices bright as they stepped forward eagerly. you quickly raised a hand, blocking their way, your eyes narrowing sharply at him. remmick didn’t flinch—if anything, a crooked, tender smile played across his lips, unshaken by your warning.

you glance down at the trio, your voice firm but gentle, “yous go on up to bed. i’ll be up there soon myself.” mara, sloane, and orion let out a collective sigh but begin their slow, reluctant climb upstairs. you shift, blocking the doorway with your body, leaning against the frame as your eyes lock onto remmick’s, “why’re you back? i wasn’t exactly friendly.”

remmick shrugs, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, “i brought you flowers.”

he extends the bouquet toward you, but you instinctively recoil. his smile falters for a brief moment, “you don’t like them?” you swallow, keeping your voice steady, “funnily enough, i do—er, they are pretty… but i’m allergic.”

remmick’s smile softens, a hint of genuine regret in his voice, “would’ve picked you something else if i’d known.” you wave a dismissive hand, cool but casual, “don’t worry about it, probably wouldn’t have accepted them anyway.”

he scratches the back of his neck, his stance shifting uneasily as his eyes flicker behind him, scanning the shadows like he’s looking for something—or someone. tough crowd, he thinks quietly, the challenge only making him more intrigued.

you cross your arms, eyeing him, “what’s the point of coming back?”

remmick shrugs, voice smooth like a slow drawl, “i figured it’s polite to check in. plus, places like this... well, they tend to keep their groundin’ spirits close.”

you frown, unsure if he’s joking or not, “grounding spirits?”

he nods, almost like it’s obvious, “yeah. keeps things steady when the world gets shaky. you can feel it here—that pull, that hum beneath everythin’.”

you shift your weight, suddenly aware of how close he stands, “you know a lot about this place?”

he smiles, a little too knowing, “i pick up things. better safe than sorry.”

you huff, humourless, “ain’t nothing safe here at night, i can assure you.”

remmick smirks, eyes flickering over your pendant, “that’s a striking necklace—where’d you get it?”

you shift, wary under his gaze, “family. been with us for generations.”

he nods slowly, voice low, almost knowing, “some things are better left undisturbed, huh?”

you meet his eyes, a flicker of suspicion rising, “maybe. depends on who’s asking.”

remmick nods slowly, stepping back with a lazy sway as his gaze drifts over the manor, taking it all in, “be careful with that. they break real easy.”

you give a short nod, voice flat with boredom, “right.”

then his eyes snap back to yours, glowing faintly. a flash of gold turned red, “i’m serious.”

you catch your breath, dismissing the warning. stepping firmly inside, you cut through the air, “you need to leave. now.”

“thought we were havin’ a good one on one,” remmick says, his frown mocking, almost playful.

you shake your head, voice sharp, “i know what you are. you don’t belong here.”

remmick raises a brow and chuckles darkly, “well, guess i blew my cover—peachy keen, huh?” he runs a hand down his face, smirking, “but you ain’t exactly ordinary yourself. this beautiful family o’ yours? yous somethin’ else. more than human… or maybe less.”

"i think we’re perfectly normal," you hiss, voice urgent and clipped. your arm shoots out, finger aimed dead at his chest, "now, if you don’t turn around in the next five seconds, i’ll scream loud enough to wake the dead. my brothers’ll be out here with rifles loaded full of silver, and that’s if my daddy doesn’t get to you first."

remmick lifts his hands, instinctive, and eases back down the stone steps. your gaze pins him in place even as he retreats. he knows you mean it—every word, every edge in your voice. but beneath the threat, he hears something else. the rush of your blood, not with fear, but with thrill. it’s eager, alive, and it unsettles him more than any weapon could.

the door shuts, and the light cuts out almost immediately, leaving the manor in total darkness. remmick stares at the door for a few seconds longer before turning away and heading back down into the orchard.

you’re out later than yesterday. remmick knows because he can smell you before he sees you. you wander the evening by yourself carrying two full paper bags. it’s the time where the sunlight dims, making way for not quite the moon but the darker sky that comes before just as the clock tower strikes four and remmick is more confident going out while it’s still predominantly daytime.

you sense him before he can fall into step with you—an instinct, like the shift in air pressure before a storm. you stop short, the weight of your bags swinging slightly as you whip around to face him. your jaw is tight, nostrils flared, every inch of you drawn sharp.

“you need to leave me alone.”

the words hit with force, but remmick doesn’t flinch. he barely pauses. his gaze drops to your arms, full to the point of imbalance—paper bags creasing under your fingers, a book clutched against your hip, a jacket slipping from the crook of your elbow.

he lifts an eyebrow, then says, calm as ever, “looks like you need help.”

his tone is maddeningly casual, like this is a normal conversation, like he hasn’t followed you three blocks without invitation. his eyes linger too long—not in a way that’s leering, but in a way that suggests he still doesn’t understand he’s not supposed to look at you like that. like you’re something soft, not someone already burning.

"i’ve managed this far,” you say with a shrug, arrogance tucked into the lift of your chin. the bags shift as you adjust your grip, rustling like they’re protesting too, “i’ll be fine. it’s just the orchard.”

your voice lands cool, dismissive, but your cheek betrays you—caught gently between your teeth, tongue pressing against it in a motion too practiced to notice. a nervous habit you’ve adapted to.

remmick moves before you can stop him—smooth, unbothered, like he’s done it a hundred times in his head. his hand slips between your elbow and the worn paperback balanced against your hip, sliding it out with an easy finesse. the cover bends slightly under his fingers, but he doesn’t fumble.

before the protest even rises in your throat, his other hand catches the edge of your jacket just as it slips from your arm, pinching the collar like it’s something delicate. like it matters to him, somehow.

he holds both items up in one hand, smug like he just pulled off a magic trick.

“you’re juggling them like you’re in a one-woman circus,” he says, cocking his head, “i figured i’d step in before you started tossin’ flaming knives.”

the smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it—just the corner, just enough for him to notice. and of course he notices.

“there it is,” he grins, voice a little softer now, “knew you had a smile somewhere under all that pride.”

you look away, cheeks warming, but don’t ask for the book back.

you carry on in silence, the only sounds the crunch of gravel beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of shifting bags. the sun dips low behind the trees, casting long, reaching shadows that stretch across the path like fingers trying to catch hold of something.

you notice how remmick keeps drifting—edging toward the shadows as they lengthen, then stepping back into the light, only to veer sideways again as if testing the boundary. it’s subtle at first, like he’s just restless, but then it happens again. and again.

the way he keeps dodging the shifting light, weaving in and out like the shadows are playing tag with him, starts to amuse you. there’s something oddly graceful about it, like he can’t help but move with the world around him.

you don’t say anything—just watch from the corner of your eye as he side-steps a narrow band of light, lips pursed like he's pretending it doesn’t matter.

he catches you staring once, eyebrows lifting, but he doesn’t explain himself. just smirks and keeps walking.

night finally settles by the time you both reach the patch of water hemlocks. in the dim light, they look almost spectral—tall, pale stalks rising from the damp earth like they’ve been summoned rather than grown.

the ground has replaced them. where remmick had pulled them from the root, there's no sign of disturbance—no broken stems, no torn soil. they’ve returned, impossibly upright, as if his hands had never touched them.

the air is colder here. wetter. thick with the hum of unseen things.

you veer off instinctively, avoiding the patch the way remmick avoided the sun. not rushed, not obvious—just a quiet, deliberate drift to the side, like your body knows better than to draw a straight line through something that remembers.

he follows you, quiet and steady, until you get to the swing.

it creaks gently in the wind—an old thing, strung up between two thick trees, swaying like it remembers someone long gone. you hesitate, eyes fixed on it, before turning to him.

“this is where we part,” you acknowledge, voice even,“thank you for holding my things for me.”

remmick doesn’t hand them back. instead, he frowns like you’ve skipped a step, like the script you’re reading from isn’t the one he memorized.

“i’d feel better if i walked you to your door,” he insists. there’s a grin on his lips, but it doesn’t soften the flash in his eyes—sharp and unnatural, catching the moonlight like it’s being reflected from something deeper beneath his skin.

this is his hour. his quiet, silver-lit kingdom.

you shake your head, a firm motion, grounded and unshaken, “i’m fine.”

he sighs, not in defeat but in that low, deliberate way people do when they’re choosing patience.

“you sure your family’d be alright with you coming home alone? i imagine they’re worried—out this late ‘n all.”

you nod, slow and sardonic, “they’d be angry if i let a man walk me to my door. a white man too? gosh, they’d be devastated.”

remmick chuckles at that, the sound low and amused, “ain’t no need to bring skin into it,” he murmurs, stepping forward, “i’ll leave.”

you barely register the movement—he’s already there, draping your coat around your shoulders with a strange gentleness, fingers grazing your collarbone for the briefest moment. then, smoothly, he slides your book into the coat’s too-small pocket.

“‘s a tight squeeze,” he notes, tapping the fabric lightly, “but it works.”

you blink, thrown. something in you reacts before your thoughts can catch up, and you step back. not far, but enough. your eyes stay locked on his, even as he starts to turn, the shape of him shrinking with each step away.

then, just before the dark takes him, he pauses.

his voice carries, smooth and unsettlingly warm.

“why don’t you relax every once in a while?”

a beat.

“y’know… let loose?”

the question lingers—heavier than the coat, heavier than the night. it lands somewhere in your chest, quiet and unwelcome.

obsidian pulses against your sternum—deep and slow, like a second heartbeat pounding beneath your skin. the pressure builds until it stings, sharp enough to catch your breath, sharp enough to burn straight up into your skull.

your vision wavers, focus slips. the world around you blurs at the edges.

his question still echoes, though you know he didn’t expect an answer. it wasn’t a request—it was a warning dressed as something lighter. and it lingers, clinging to you like fog.

you don’t stay to give it weight.

you turn, quick and ungraceful, the coat tugging against your shoulders as you rush toward the distant glow of your home—toward warmth, toward safety, toward anything that isn’t him.

behind you, remmick doesn’t follow.

he stands by the swing instead, the old ropes creaking like his presence alone adds extra weight. he watches you go, his silhouette unmoving, half-shadow, half-man.

and remmick hates to see you go.

he leans against the tree, hands resting in his pockets, but there’s tension in him now—quiet, tightening. he feels it between you two: something rising, slow and certain, like a tether being pulled from both ends. it tugs at him, coils around his thoughts, curls into the corners of his mind where reason and instinct starts to loosen.

he doesn’t wonder if you feel it too.

he knows you do.

he saw it in the flicker of your eyes when his fingers brushed your skin, in the hesitation in your step, the breath you held too long. but you resist it—of course you do. he can almost hear the echoes of your childhood, the lullabies laced with warnings.

your mama, smoothing your hair back with a soft hand, whispering stories that taught you to run from anything with teeth that smiled too easily.

your daddy, watching the dark like it had a name, warning you about men who lingered too long after sunset. men who watched. men who waited.

men who weren’t quite... men.

remmick exhales, low and amused, though there’s something sharp behind it. he understands. he doesn’t fault you for it.

but god, he loves to watch you leave.

remmick blinks, disoriented, the haze of sleep clinging to him like smoke. he exhales hard, jaw tight, chest rising with the effort of a breath that won’t settle—like he's been holding it for hours. maybe longer.

sunlight streams in, golden and merciless, striking the window directly. the thick velvet curtains hold it at bay, just barely, the edges glowing with a warning heat. if even a sliver found him, it would devour him whole—set him alight from the inside out, blistering skin and boiling marrow.

he’s sweating, though his kind doesn’t run warm. his skin, usually cold to the touch, is damp, sticky, clinging to the sheets of the bed he’s claimed—borrowed, stolen, it hardly matters.

his muscles twitch under the heat, beneath the weight of something he can’t name. he pants, trying his hardest to catch a breath that isn’t there, that will never come.

fever burns where it shouldn't.

with a low growl, he drags his claws back—retracts them carefully, deliberately—then runs a hand through his tangled hair, pushing it off his forehead. the gesture is more human than he wants to admit.

but even in sleep, you haunt him. not like a ghost—no, ghosts whisper. you sear.

you blaze through his mind, bright and consuming. insatiable. you leave no part of him untouched. not even in dreams.

remmick falls back onto the bed, the mattress groaning beneath him as he stares up at the ceiling—unseeing, unraveled. the room is quiet but his mind isn’t.

the dream clings to him, vivid and too real, like the echo of heat after lightning strikes. he can still feel it: your hands at the nape of his neck, soft and deliberate, fingers curling just enough to ground him, hold him in place without force.

your thumbs ghosted over his cheekbones—light, reverent, like you were memorizing the shape of him. like you didn’t know whether to worship or destroy.

it’s the contrast that undoes him.

you, always so sharp with your words, so ready to draw a line in the sand and shove him back behind it. and yet—yet—the version of you in his dream was anything but cold.

the way you leaned in, voice low and intimate, a question wrapped in a challenge, a lure:

“how do you want me?”

those four words slither through him now, slow and burning. enticing. cruel.

because they weren't yours. not really. but he wants them to be. god, how he wants them to be.

you don’t know it, but he yearns for you in ways he doesn’t have language for. it’s not just your face he memorizes, or the way your voice drops when you’re trying not to feel something. it’s everything underneath. everything you work so hard to bury.

you think you’re a mystery, and maybe you are—but to remmick, you’re a promise. not of love, not of safety, but of truth.

he sees it in your eyes when you think no one’s looking. that flicker, that fracture.

the way your calm is a performance, a costume stitched too tight.

he wants to see you shed it.

he wants the parts of you you think would drive someone away. the parts you’ve been taught to fear in yourself.

the monster behind the manners. the howl behind the hush.

you wear your control like armor, but he doesn’t want your composure. he wants what writhes beneath it.

he wants the blood-warm rage, the hunger you won’t name.

the darkness you flinch from, even when it’s your own reflection: let him see it, tear it open, dare him to run; he won’t.

he’s not afraid of the creature you’re hiding—he’s afraid you’ll never show it to him.

later on, remmick lingers by the swing. he wouldn’t say he’s waiting for you, exactly—but he knows you plan to sneak out tonight. don’t ask how. he just knows.

the stars are bold overhead, casting a silver spotlight on your rebellion like they’re in on it too. the night feels too loud to be secret, too still to be innocent.

and then—there you are.

you slip from the side door of the conservatory, all quiet grace and calculated risk and veiled by the mist supplied by the night. you move like you’ve done this before: down the worn stone steps, past the edge of the flower beds, and into the darker stretch of the orchard behind the manor.

remmick tilts his head, eyes narrowing with interest.

you’re not dressed for mischief, not really, but there’s purpose in your stride.

he doesn’t call out. doesn’t announce himself.

instead, something in him shifts—and he follows.

the orchard is veiled in fog—soft, rolling, deliberate. it clings low to the ground, weaving between the tree trunks like it belongs there, like it has always belonged. moonlight filters through the canopy in fractured beams, catching on the mist and turning the world pale and blurred, as if he’s stepped into a dream someone else forgot to finish.

remmick moves quietly, his steps silent on the damp grass, eyes fixed on your distant figure. the fog swirls around your ankles as you walk, each motion leaving a trail in the silver haze. the trees bow slightly under the weight of dew, their silhouettes gnarled and noble in the half-light.

everything smells faintly of apples, moss, and old magic.

he breathes it in.

up above, the stars are clean and sharp, watching with impassive eyes. no clouds, no wind—just the hush of the orchard and the shape of you, drifting deeper into it like you’re following something only you can hear.

he feels it again, that pull—gentle but undeniable.

not just toward you, but toward this moment. this place. this stillness.

and though he’s meant to linger in shadows, he feels no threat here. only curiosity. only want.

he keeps his distance, for now.

watching, listening. waiting for whatever comes next.

you stop at a clearing, lowering and laying back in the grass. your curls fall unevenly in your face and flatten behind you. your eyes study the moon, its phase nearly at its fullest. your irises glint in time with the stars.

you stop in a clearing, the fog parting around you like a breath held too long. slowly, you lower yourself into the grass, careful at first, then surrendering completely as your limbs sink into the damp earth. your curls tumble across your face, stray strands catching in the corners of your mouth, while the rest fan out beneath you—dark against the silver-lit green.

above, the moon looms heavy and round, nearly full, its light cold but comforting. it casts a glow that doesn’t warm, only reveals—peeling back shadow from the edges of the trees, tracing soft white outlines on your skin. the stars are scattered behind it like shattered glass, sharp and far and endless.

you stare upward, unblinking.

the moon’s face looks worn tonight. older. like it understands.

it hangs there not as a witness, but as a companion—quiet, distant, and impossibly close. its slow cycle feels like your own lately: always almost whole, always missing something. the stars, meanwhile, blink in and out of view, like they’re trying to keep time with the ache that’s been dragging at your chest these past few weeks.

there’s a rhythm to the sky tonight, and somehow, your sadness fits into it—neatly, effortlessly. the melancholy in you doesn’t feel like a burden out here. it feels like it belongs. like the moon carries a little of it. like the stars shoulder the rest.

for once, you don’t try to push it away.

you just feel.

behind you, the grass rustles—subtle, but enough. your body reacts before your thoughts do. you sit up sharply, curls clinging to your cheek, and turn your head toward the sound.

he’s there. remmick.

your shadow—chosen or cursed, you're not sure anymore. he stands at the edge of the clearing, half cloaked in mist, half bathed in moonlight. unmoving.

his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering, unreadable. there’s no pretense in his stance, no apology in being caught. if anything, he looks like he wanted to be seen.

waited for it.

your expression falters.

you don’t speak, but your body betrays you. your pulse picks up, quick and stupid, rushing hot beneath your skin. you feel it in your throat, your fingertips, your temples.

and still, he just watches.

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t flinch. just sees you like he always does. too well, too much.

you don’t have it in you to be mean right now and remmick senses it. senses the tension in your being, the pain in your soul. he wants to save you, take away your pain. his fangs ache inside his gums, threatening to give way. but he has control. it’s almost hypocritical how he encourages you to let loose, lose control when he keeps himself so composed around you.

he keeps his distance and for some reason it hurts you more. usually, you would’ve been glad that he hadn’t forced some unexpected affection on you but tonight is different.

“you shouldn’t be out at this hour,” remmick advises, voice low, almost teasing, “you’ve got no clue what roams around here.”

you roll your eyes and turn back around, pulling your knees to your chest, “i know you roam around here. can’t seem to leave me alone.”

he shrugs, easy and unbothered, “that much is true. still doesn’t explain why you’re out here.”

you glance up at the sky, voice softer now, “i’m stargazing. i come here sometimes when there’s… nowhere else to be.”

“you wanna tell me about it?” he asks, gently.

“about what?”

“c’mon.” his tone dips lower, not quite pitying, but knowing, “you and me both know you ain’t out here just to count stars, sweetheart.”

you don’t answer right away. the silence settles between you like a blanket—heavy, but not unkind.

“my ma wasn’t happy last night,” you begin quietly, eyes still on the stars, “kept me locked in the house all day, goin’ on and on about how i came home smellin’ like rot.”

you pause, the memory sharp in your chest.

“said it was the stench of death. somethin’ sick clingin’ to me. accused me of doin’ things i’m not supposed to. said vampires don’t mix with our kind—and there’s a reason for that.”

your voice doesn’t crack, but it’s close, “like i’ve done something wrong just by bein’ near you.”

the fog curls a little tighter around your ankles. the night doesn’t feel as quiet anymore.

“i guess she was right to assume,” you mutter, voice low and bitter, “but i don’t know why she assumed.”

you glance back at remmick, your gaze sharp despite the quiet in your tone.

“i ain’t messin’ with you. in fact, i don’t even know why you keep followin’ me around.”

you look away again, jaw tightening.

“would’ve told her the same damn thing, but…”

a humorless laugh slips out.

“i think she’d tear me apart if she knew i’ve been around a vampire this long. maybe even with her bare hands.”

the silence that follows feels like it holds its breath.

remmick shifts his weight, slow and deliberate, but he doesn’t move closer. doesn’t dare break the fragile space between you.

“i follow you ‘round ‘cause you don’t run,” he explains simply, almost like it’s obvious, “you glare, you grumble, but you don’t run. not really,” his voice softens, “and maybe i like that.”

you scoff, but it’s half-hearted, “so you’re just hangin’ around ‘cause i’m not scared of you?”

he tilts his head, eyes catching the moonlight. “you should be,” he suggests, not unkindly, “but no. that ain’t it.”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical, “then what is it?”

he considers you for a moment, the way you hug your knees and keep your mouth sharp so nothing else slips out.

“you’re a storm bottled up,” he says finally, “and i’m just… curious what you sound like when you crack open.”

you shake your head, looking away, but your voice is softer when you answer.

“you’re playin’ a dangerous game.”

“maybe,” he murmurs, “but so are you.”

your fingers curl into the damp grass as you stare ahead, unsure whether you’re more rattled by his words or the way they settle so easily in your chest—like they’ve always belonged there. like he’s always seen more than he should.

“you don’t know nothin’ about me,” you mutter, though there’s no bite to it. not anymore. it sounds like a warning, but mostly to yourself.

remmick hums low in his throat, a quiet sound that vibrates in the night air.

“maybe not everything,” he admits, “but i know enough to tell yous carryin’ more than you let on.”

you glance at him, only briefly, and the way he’s looking at you makes your throat feel tight. steady, unflinching—like he’s not afraid of the things hiding behind your silence. like he wants to find them.

“it ain’t safe,” you say quietly, “bein’ around me.”

“funny,” he says, with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “i told you the same thing ‘bout me many times.”

that gets a flicker of a smile out of you, unwilling and soft. it fades just as quick, but it was there. remmick catches it—and says nothing.

instead, he steps closer, slow and careful, until he’s just at the edge of your space.

“you want me to go?” he asks, voice low, real.

the question hangs in the air, honest and unpressing.

you don’t answer right away. because part of you does. and part of you really, really doesn’t.

you rise suddenly, a sharpness in your movement that startles even the stillness around you. there’s purpose in your stride as you cut across the clearing, fast and tense, your eyes locked on the ground like if you look up, something might break.

“don’t come back,” you say, firm but not loud. the words fall heavy between you, “don’t look for me. i mean it.”

you don’t glance at remmick—not once. but he watches you. watches the way your jaw tightens, the way your hands ball into fists like you’re holding something in that’s on the verge of spilling.

then your pendant flares—an obsidian throb against your chest—and pain flashes across your face. you flinch, hand flying up to clutch at it, a soft hiss of breath escaping through your teeth.

remmick steps forward instinctively, concern cracking through his stillness, but you’re already backing away. already turning.

“i mean it,” you echo, voice thinner now. and then you’re gone—disappearing into the orchard, swallowed by the mist and shadow, leaving behind nothing but the scent of wildgrass and a tension that won’t let the night settle.

remmick stays rooted where you left him, jaw clenched, hands at his sides.

and for the first time in a while—he doesn’t follow.

the orchard closes around you like a secret, branches knitting tighter overhead as you push deeper into its belly. the fog thickens, wraps around your ankles, your wrists, your throat—like it wants to keep you here, like it knows something broke back there.

you don’t let yourself cry. not yet. not for him.

the pendant still burns against your chest, a steady throb that echoes the tremble in your pulse. it’s a warning, it always is. and tonight, you listened—too late, maybe, but still.

you told him to stay away, you meant it… didn’t you?

behind you, the clearing stays silent. remmick doesn’t follow. you don’t hear his footsteps, don’t feel the way the air shifts when he’s near. and somehow, that hurts worse than if he had. worse than if he’d argued.

because it means he heard you.

and worse—it means he believed you.

somewhere beyond the trees, your home glows dim through the fog, a quiet reminder of everything you're meant to be. everything you’re not allowed to want.

and still, part of you lingers in that clearing—beside him. part of you waits.

you slip through the orchard like muscle memory, like a shadow retracing its steps. the air is colder here, closer to the edge of the property. the fog grows denser, clinging to your skin like sweat, blurring the trees into vague silhouettes. your breath comes shallow, not from fear—but from restraint.

because all you want to do is turn around.

you told him not to follow. you told him to leave you be. and he did. you should be relieved. you should feel powerful. in control… but you don’t.

you feel hollow—like you left something behind in that clearing that isn’t coming back. like maybe it never truly belonged to you in the first place.

your fingers graze your pendant, now cool against your skin. the pain has passed, but it’s left a phantom ache in its wake. like it took something from you in return.

it happens all at once—quick, sharp, merciless.

your foot catches on a gnarled root and you stumble, catching yourself on the trunk of a twisted apple tree. it groans beneath your touch, heavy with fruit that no longer ripens.

that’s when it surges.

a violent, unnatural heat erupts from the obsidian, sinking straight through your skin like a blade dipped in fire. it spreads fast—an inferno trapped beneath your ribs, licking up your throat, curling around your spine.

you gasp—or try to.

but the sound snags halfway up your windpipe, like something unseen reached down and ripped your voice out before it could escape.

your mouth opens, a desperate cry locked in the cage of your lungs. it claws at your throat, dry and rasping, but nothing comes out—just a hoarse, broken rasp that dies in the fog.

your knees hit the earth with a dull thud.

your fingers claw at the pendant, trying to tear it away, to stop whatever this is—but it won’t budge. it pulses again, harder this time, and you convulse around it, shuddering as the pain tunnels through you like it’s searching for something.

you don’t understand.

you’ve worn this pendant since you were a child. it’s always been heavy, always been strange—but it’s never hurt.

now it feels alive.

angry and hungry.

your vision blurs at the edges, fog mixing with tears, and the world tilts sideways—but you don’t fall. you just kneel, trembling, silent, and swallowed by something you can’t name.

and for a flicker of a moment, you wonder if he’s still back there—if remmick is still watching, still waiting, just beyond the veil of fog.

but he’s not. you asked for this.

so you straighten, grit your teeth, and walk the rest of the way home in tied agony.

alone.

like you were taught to, like you were supposed to.

remmick lingers just beyond the edge of the orchard, where the trees begin to thin and the manor's silhouette bleeds into the mist. the light from your room glows faintly through the conservatory windows, filtered through fog and glass. soft, amber, human.

he shouldn't be here. not this close. not after what just happened.

but he can't tear himself away.

he's leaning against the gnarled trunk of a tree, arms crossed tightly over his chest, trying to anchor himself—trying to make sense of what he felt back there in the clearing where you’d left him.

it wasn't just pain, it was memory. your memory.

and something else, buried deeper. a pulse of ancient power that recoiled from him like it knew what he was. like it despised him for it.

his throat burns with a cry that would never come.

he shuts his eyes. for a moment, he can see you crumpled in the dirt, lips parted around a scream that never made it out. he could’ve helped you, but he didn’t. remmick’s stomach churns with bile as he imagines you over and over again. he regrets it none, but your pain was shared. the pain he watched you endure in an agony of solitude. but the worst part wasn't your silence—it was your eyes.

how lost they looked. how far from yourself you'd drifted.

and now you were back inside, hidden behind brick and stained glass, surrounded by people who would never understand what really lives beneath your skin. who would hate you more if they did.

remmick exhales, slow and ragged, you ain’t the only one carryin’ somethin’ monstrous.

he runs a hand through his hair, then lets it fall to his side.

you told me not to follow, he thinks, dragging his fingertips along the bark of a young apple tree. it's soft and damp beneath the pads of his fingers—vulnerable. like skin that’s never been touched before. like you, pretending you don’t want to be seen.

but after tonight?

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, like that’ll make his his pulse pound against the walls of his ribs once more. it doesn’t.

his boots crunch through the grass and fallen petals, the orchard dense and drowsy under the weight of the full moon. he walks the path like it belongs to him, like it was carved by his own hands—and in a way, it was.

how many nights has he wandered this route to the swing? nine, maybe ten nights of longing that he hasn’t experienced in so long.

how many times has he stood beneath your window, letting you reject him in silence, letting your silhouette keep him warm?

he presses his palm flat to the next tree, breathes in the cool rot of early fruit.

“you got no clue what you’re askin’ me to do. not really,” he grins at the glow emanating from your window.

leave you alone? pretend i ain’t see the way your body curved in that light, didn’t feel the heat radiating through that cracked-open window like a heartbeat?

nah, you wan’ed me to see. you left the curtain open, the lamp on. you gave me enough to starve on, and now i’m jus’ ‘posed to pretend i’m full?

remmick laughs under his breath, but it’s bitter, sharp.

you don’t get to ask for distance and drip affection in the same breath. not with him, not when he knows the way your mouth trembles when you lie.

he reaches the swing and lets it sway as he brushes past it, hand grazing the rope.

a small part of him wants to wait here again. the faithful ghost. the shadow you can always count on to never knock, never demand—just exist at the edges of your world.

but tonight? tonight the ache is louder than the patience.

and he’s done pretending crumbs are enough.

he tilts his head, eyes flicking toward the glint of your window through the trees. your silhouette moves, just for a moment. a turn of the shoulder. the stretch of your arm. just enough.

it’s always just enough.

“you told me not to follow,” he murmurs to the dark, voice low, private, like a prayer or a promise, “but sweetheart…”

his jaw tightens.

“…after tonight, i don’t think i can stay away.”

not when you keep acting like you don’t want him there, not when everything about you says otherwise. not when he’s already so far gone, he’d burn down the whole orchard just to see your face up close.

so every night for five nights, remmick stands in the treeline—still, watchful, half-swallowed by the orchard's hush. he tells himself it's patience. restraint. a courtesy. but it isn't. not really. it's calculation.

because he wants you.

not just the glimpse you allow him—your silhouette framed in golden lamplight, the flash of your thigh as you move past the curtains, the long slope of your back when you lean over something unseen. no. he wants more. all of you.

and he plans to have it.

you think you’ve shut him out. think those words—don’t come back, don’t find me—were enough to keep him at bay. and maybe they would’ve been, if you hadn’t left the curtain drawn. if you hadn’t left the light on. if your shadow hadn’t started moving slower, more deliberate, like maybe you knew exactly where he was standing in the dark.

it’s a game now.

one you’re playing too, even if you won’t admit it.

every movement you make behind that glass, he studies like scripture. he knows the way your arms cross when you’re lost in thought. the dip of your hip when you lean on one leg. the subtle shiver in your spine when you peel off a sweat-dampened blouse.

and he imagines.

god, how he imagines.

he knows you want to be good. knows you’re holding yourself back out of loyalty or fear or guilt. that your mother’s voice is louder in your head than your own. but he also knows the way your breath hitched the last time he touched your hand. the way your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

you don’t hate him, you’re terrified of what you feel for him… and that’s all the opening he needs.

he won’t storm your door. he won’t demand. remmick’s smarter than that. he knows how to wait, how to wear down your resolve with silence and presence, the promise of heat just beyond reach. every night he lets you feel him at the edge of your world—watching, wanting, waiting.

not forever.

just long enough for your walls to crack.

because eventually, you’ll open that window. maybe just to speak, maybe just to ask why he keeps coming back. but that’ll be the start. the door he needs. and once he’s in—truly in—he won’t leave with scraps.

he’ll have the real you—the one behind the curtain, the one with the sharp tongue and aching heart, the one who trembles when touched, who burns beneath the surface.

remmick doesn’t just want your body. no, he wants the monster you keep caged, the fire you deny yourself, the truth you’re afraid to say out loud…

he’s not watching to admire; he’s watching to learn, to predict the moment you’ll break.

and when you do—when your breath stutters and your hand reaches for that latch—he’ll be ready.

because he’s not here to leave empty-handed. he’s here to take what’s already his.

the morning of the sixth day comes slow, cruel.

sunlight seeps into your room through the curtains, warm and gold, but it does nothing to soothe the fire torching in your chest.

the obsidian pulses just beneath your skin—deep and anchored to your sternum like it’s burrowed there, latched on. what began as a dull, bruising throb the night before has bloomed into a full-bodied torment.

your breath hitches with every heartbeat. your hands shake uncontrollably. you lie curled in your bed, limbs twisted in the sheets, damp with sweat—drenched, really. your nightclothes cling to your body, soaked through, your skin fever-hot but your blood feels cold.

your teeth clench as another wave hits, searing down your spine and wrapping tight around your ribs. it’s like being wrung out from the inside—like something ancient is pulling, dragging, testing. your fingers dig into the mattress, fists twisted in fabric, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood just to stop from screaming.

but the worst part is the stillness of the house. how no one comes.

until she does.

the door creaks open, slow and deliberate, and your mother’s silhouette fills the doorway.

she doesn’t rush to you. she doesn’t speak, not at first. you gasp, chest heaving. your vision blurs.

“mama,” you whisper, voice like gravel. your throat is raw. it hurts just to speak.

she walks in like nothing’s wrong. composed, hair pinned, face unreadable as always. she stands at the foot of your bed and folds her hands.

“you crave the uncraveable,” she notes. flat. final. with defeat.

you blink through the blur, eyes wide. your lips tremble.

“make it stop,” you rasp, “please, mama, i—i can’t—”

“yes, you can.”

your mother watches you with that same stillness she always wears when things go wrong. like she's seen this before—like she's endured it.

she doesn’t flinch when you writhe beneath the sheets, doesn’t blink at the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes or the way your hands tremble like snapped branches.

her voice is calm when it finally comes.

low. clipped. deliberate.

“this pain,” she says, “it’s not punishment. it’s temptation.”

you choke on a breath, eyes wide and wet as you clutch at your ribs, as though you could claw the stone out yourself.

“you’re yearning for something,” she goes on, “something you cannot have… and the pendant knows it. it was made to protect you. from yourself but also to keep your bloodline pure. clean.”

you groan as another bolt of fire drives down your spine, curling your toes. your muscles seize.

“this is a test of will,” she tells you, voice like steel beneath velvet, “it burns because you’re still tempted. it stops when you stop wanting.”

you whimper. you want to scream, you want to tear the obsidian from your chest and throw it out into the orchard.

but more than anything—more than escape—you know who you’re thinking of and that’s the real sickness.

your mother leans forward slightly.

“you let go of what draws you in, and the stone will quiet.”

you can’t even lift your head, can barely breathe but her words stick.

they lodge themselves into your ribs, right beside the burning stone—it stops when you stop wanting.

you don’t know whether it’s anger or sadness or indifference in her voice. maybe it’s all of them. maybe it’s none.

“this is a test,” she continues, “a test of willpower. of loyalty. you endure this, and it’ll never touch you again.”

another pulse crashes through you, sharper than before. it’s like glass grinding through bone, like your own heartbeat is trying to rip you apart.

you curl inward, fetal, fists pressed to your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out—raw, guttural, ugly.

“i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” she repeats, firmer this time.

you sob into your palms, forehead pressed to the pillow. your body jolts again, like a live wire snapping inside your muscles.

she steps forward, kneels beside the bed, but she doesn’t touch you. her hands stay folded in her lap.

“breathe through it,” your mother advises, “do not fight it. and do not let it win.”

but it is winning. it’s claiming every inch of you, every cell.

and still, you clench your teeth. sweat drips down your temple. your nails cut half-moons into your palms.

because she’s still there. watching. expecting.

and if this is the fire that forges you—you’re going to survive it. or die trying.

that night, the moon hangs like an omen—round and watching, flooding the orchard with that sickly, silver glow. the conservatory is too still, your skin hot and prickling beneath your nightclothes, the air thick like something is about to snap.

you don’t plan to go anywhere. your mother’s words still echo like a curse in your chest: endure it. it’ll pass.

but it doesn’t. the ache remains. duller now, but coiled tight behind your ribs. like it’s waiting for something.

then comes the knock. sharp, deliberate, right against the conservatory door.

you freeze.

not him. not tonight.

he knocks again.

you’re storming down the stairs before you realize, hair loose, jaw clenched, barefoot against the cold marble. you fling the door open with a snarl already caught in your throat.

“what part of leave me alone didn’t you understand?”

remmick stands in the fog, arms crossed, that usual lazy look gone. there’s tension in his jaw too—something dangerous.

“you look like hell,” he notes, instead of hello.

you glare, “you don’t get to comment on that.”

“you been locked in this damn house for nearly a week. i thought—”

“you thought wrong. you always think you know what i need.”

he steps forward, “i know that thing around your neck is killing you slowly and ain’t nobody inside that house doin’ anythin’ but watchin’.”

your hand flies to the pendant like he’s physically touched it.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap.

“i do,” he bites, his voice rising, “i can smell the pain on you. you think your mother has all the answers? she’s feeding you fear, not healing. you’re hurtin’—”

“so what?” you shout angrily, baring your teeth like a hunted beast, “that don’t mean i want you to fix it. why do you even care? why do you keep showin’ up like i asked for this?”

he goes still. then, low and sharp: “‘cause i can’t stay away.”

you flinch like he’s struck you. your chest seizes and the pendant pulses.

“i never wanted you here!” you scream, stepping out onto the stone patio, “you ruin everything. i was fine before you—”

he grabs your wrist. not hard, just enough to stop you, “don’t you walk away from me like this, screamin’ at me like i ain’t mean shit to you,” he demands, his voice rough now, “you ain’t thinking straight—”

you yank your arm back, your face flushed with fury. your mind is overflowing with the pain of your pendant and your father’s warnings and the control your mother has over you with her judgement and the feelings you don’t want to have for remmick. it makes you sick and dizzy and you almost feel like you’re playing tug of war but in this case, you are the rope.

you slip on the slick stone step and you stumble forwards.

remmick reaches for you, but you’re already going down—knee smacks the step, elbow grates the edge. your chest hits the bottom step with a jolt, and the pendant—crack.

the sound is sickening.

the obsidian splits beneath you.

you don’t even have time to react before a heat erupts from the stone like it’s been holding in the sun. your back arches upwards, a scream caught in your throat—but it doesn’t come out. nothing does. your voice is swallowed, choked, crushed by invisible hands.

remmick’s voice reaches through the haze, distant and warped, yelling your name like it’s the only thing that matters.

you don’t respond… you can’t.

the moon slips through the clouds, casting silver light across the patio. it lands on your hunched form like a spotlight, exposing every tremble, every shallow breath. remmick stands still, watching you—concern etched deep into his face. there’s fear in his eyes now, not of you, but for you. because whatever this is, it isn’t normal. it isn’t right. and it’s getting worse.

remmick hears you grunt, a guttural sound torn from deep inside—like you’re fighting to hold back vomit. your body convulses violently, heaving and gasping for air that won’t come. then, a scream rips free, a sound so raw, so pure in its torment, it pierces the night: pure excruciation.

your back arches sharply, ripping through your nightgown with a sound like tearing flesh. bones crack and snap, shifting and stretching in impossible ways—longer, thinner, grimly warped. muscles strain, stretched tight across exposed bone, sinew twisting and coiling like dark cords. tufts of coarse hair sprout wildly, but barely mask the unnatural, writhing changes beneath your skin.

remmick’s stomach churns violently, a sickness foreign and fierce overtaking him. he’s seen centuries of horror, but never this—a primal, unsettling transformation that twists his gut with nausea.

and then it’s done.

you rise—towering now, nearly two feet taller. your jaw unhinges grotesquely, stretching wide to reveal jagged rows of yellowed, broken teeth, uneven and sharp, glistening with thick, viscous drool that drips in slow, heavy globs. the sight is monstrous, raw, terrifying—and utterly alive.

and in some sick, twisted way, he believes you are more beautiful than ever—raw and untamed, stripped of every mask and pretense. here you stand, pure and primal, a creature shaped by the night itself. a powerful beast, fierce and wild, born to rule the darkness.

it’s tense as you lean down, your snarl curling into something more guttural, masking the growl clawing up your throat. drool spills freely now, thick and glistening—years of suppressing your true self have left you starved, feral, aching to give in to instinct.

remmick doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t run.

he just gazes up at you like a man witnessing a god—wide-eyed, awestruck, the stars reflected in his pupils. his lips part, a faux breath caught somewhere deep, but nothing comes out. no warmth, no fog in the air. just stillness. a reminder that he is inhuman.

now you are both raw—bare as bones, pure as sin.

your snout twitches. you inhale sharply, deeply, catching a scent far richer, far more alluring than the vampire before you. your gaze cuts toward the orchard, nostrils flaring. something delicate waits out there—something trembling, alive.

you pull back, your heavy limbs tense with anticipation.

remmick watches, dazed, as you leap forward—claws slicing into the damp grass, propelling your massive form into the dark. you vanish between the trees, the sound of your stride echoing long after the orchard swallows you whole.

and it seems the commotion has stirred the manor—its old bones creaking with sudden life. the first to burst through the doors are your aunt talia and uncle, faces drawn tight in alarm. remmick recognizes the names; you’d mentioned them once, maybe twice, in passing.

talia storms forward, eyes blazing, her nostrils flared and fists clenched at her sides like she’s ready to strike the night itself. her voice cuts through the dark, sharp and commanding—“lucius, get roxanne. now.”

lucius hesitates only for a breath before disappearing back into the house.

and then—more footsteps. faster, heavier. your mother and father rush into the scene, breathless, disheveled. your mother’s eyes go straight to the torn fabric on the patio and the broken pieces of obsidian that glint faintly in the moonlight. your father scans the orchard, hand instinctively going to the blade tucked at his hip.

remmick doesn’t move. he stays rooted in the shadows behind the wall, watching them all with a gaze like ice—unblinking, unreadable. waiting.

roxanne steps in fast, her expression unreadable but her pace all urgency. talia’s already waiting, pacing in place like a caged animal.

“that damn vampire,” talia spits the moment their eyes meet, voice low and sharp, “i knew he was trouble the second she started acting strange.”

roxanne doesn’t immediately reply—just scans the mess: the snapped twigs, the broken pendant, the churned-up ground.

“you think he did this?” she asks quietly, but there’s no softness in her tone.

talia scoffs, “please. you know what he is. even if he didn’t cause it, he’s the reason she’s rebelling.”

roxanne exhales through her nose, slow, “no. not rebelling. changing.”

talia whirls on her, “don’t get poetic with me, rox. she was fine before he came around.”

roxanne’s eyes flick to the darkened orchard. she doesn’t respond. remmick hears her coo at the younger children before telling the older children to get the others to bed.

remmick swallows hard, “fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the roots. he doesn’t want to intervene—not yet—but the urge claws at him. it’s not about heroism or guilt. it’s control. it’s instinct. it’s her.

and whether she wants him there or not, he knows it’s better if he keeps watch. keeps close. just in case.

the town had no warning. no omen. just blood.

you moved through the fields first—silent and low. the livestock never stood a chance. sheep were torn open like paper dolls, cattle gutted clean down the middle. the ground drank it all, soaking up the red until the grass bowed under the weight of it.

your eyes glowed—something between amber and hellfire—as you prowled through smoke rising from barns now caved in.

remmick watched from the edge of the treeline, still as the trees around him, his chest rising and falling with something close to awe, close to grief.

he should’ve stopped you. gods, he should’ve.

but he couldn’t bring himself to.

not when you looked so alive.

you hunted with purpose, with rage buried so deep it poured out of you in snarls and ragged breaths. you didn’t pause. didn’t question. a horse kicked and ran; you dragged it back down. chickens fluttered, feathers floating like snow in your wake.

a man stepped outside with a lantern. your head snapped in his direction. he didn’t even scream.

remmick looked away only once—when the crunch of bone echoed too loud, too final—and by the time he looked back, you were already gone again.

just red footprints and silence.

he hears the crash before he sees it—the sickening sound of wood splintering and glass shattering. screams cut through the night air, frantic and raw, echoing from inside the house. somewhere a dog barks wildly, sharp and desperate, but then it whimpers, trailing off into silence.

then you burst through the broken doorway, wild and untamed, dripping with thick, dark blood. it clings to your skin and fur, slick and heavy, pooling at your feet with every step you take. your breath is ragged, muscles tense and ready to spring again.

remmick’s eyes narrow as he watches you, every inch of you fierce and raw under the moonlight. without a word, he whistles—a low, teasing sound that cuts through the chaos.

you turn, a flash of hunger and madness in your eyes, and with a snarl. remmick watches you for a moment, chest tightening with a strange mix of dread and exhilaration. the cold night air bites at his skin, carrying the sharp scent of crushed grass and blood that clings to you. faint sounds of splintered wood and distant, fading screams hang in the air, but all he can focus on is the wild pulse of your movements. the moonlight glints off your claws, wet and gleaming. then suddenly, you spring forward, muscles coiling and releasing with raw power, and remmick feels the thrill ripple through him as you peel after him into the orchard, the chase igniting beneath the stars.

remmick jogs slowly, purposely letting the distance between you grow. the rhythm of his footsteps shifts, becoming heavier, deliberate, almost inviting. beneath the tangled branches of an ancient oak, he stops completely, body tense but still—waiting. his chest rises and falls in slow, measured breaths, masking the hunger that pulses beneath his skin. the cool night air presses against him, but his focus is fixed on the sharp snap of twigs behind him—your approach.

then, with a sudden, feral burst, you pounce, claws digging into his shoulders, teeth bared in a wild snarl. remmick catches your weight, grinning despite the sting of your claws, eyes dark with longing. he doesn’t struggle; instead, he thrusts his head forward, sinking his teeth into the tender skin of your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper—a sharp, startled sound that ripples through the night air. but before he can linger, you smack him away, fierce and sudden, breaking free with a flash of movement. you scramble off, claws scraping against the earth, breath ragged as you vanish into the shadows, leaving him grinning—half frustrated, half exhilarated—still craving more.

he finds you face down in the field, the first pale light of dawn just brushing the horizon. your skin is bare, smeared with blood—crimson against the pale frost that clings to the grass beneath your trembling fingers. despite everything, you look raw, untamed, and hauntingly natural, as if this wildness is your true form. slowly, you lift your head, eyes meeting remmick’s. he’s standing over you, a crooked smile playing on his lips, full of something like admiration and something darker, something that makes the air between you crackle with unspoken promises.

your eyes are heavy with exhaustion as your fingers trace the tender wound on your neck, “you bit me..” you whisper.

remmick nods, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “yeah, vampire bites act like werewolf neutralizers. funny how that works, huh? shoulda just told me from the get-go, but…” his voice trails off, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something softer beneath.

“i thought you was breathtaking tonight,” he murmurs, the words a quiet play on the night’s violence and your fragile beauty. you laugh through tears, then break, sobbing harder as the weight of the lives you took settles over you.

he lowers himself to his knees, fingers petting down your tangled hair. your face twists with anguish—he knows you feel stained, broken.

remmick moves quickly, pulling you into his lap, his voice soft and steady as he soothes you, “there’s nothin’ to be ashamed of. you’re okay.”

you shake your head fiercely, voice trembling, “i killed people, remmick. that’s not okay.”

he holds you tighter, eyes fierce but tender, “this is whatcha are. you can’t help that… and you looked so free, nothin’ holdin’ you back, the best version of yourself.”

remmick wipes your tears, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.”

you nod slowly, a shaky smile breaking through your tears, the rawness of the night still clinging to your skin. remmick’s hands cup your face gently, thumbs tracing the damp trails your tears have left, grounding you in the moment.

his eyes glint with something fierce yet tender, an unspoken promise of acceptance and understanding. the world outside disappears—it’s just the two of you, bound by something deeper than fear or pain.

your breath mingles, shallow and uneven, as you lean into him, the warmth of his cold body strangely comforting against the chill in your bones. for a moment, the chaos fades, replaced by the quiet, electric charge of being so close, wrapped in a silence that speaks louder than words.

his lips press against yours, but it’s not just a kiss—it’s something darker, more primal. remmick’s tongue slips inside your mouth, tasting the blood that lingers there, lapping it up like a thirst long denied. every movement feels hungry, possessive, like he’s consuming you piece by piece—not just your blood, but your very soul. you shiver beneath him, caught in the fierce intimacy of it, the way he devours you with his mouth, claiming you in a way no words ever could. it’s raw, intense, and somehow painfully tender all at once.

remmick’s hands roam from your hair down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you. his lips part, brushing yours with a hunger that’s been smoldering too long, and you respond with equal fire—pressing your body against his, tasting the sharp, intoxicating heat of him. every kiss is deeper, more desperate, like you’re both trying to memorize the other, to hold on through the chaos inside and out. his touch sets your skin ablaze, fingers tracing every inch, igniting a fire you didn’t know you had. breaths hitch, hearts race—though his doesn’t beat—and the world fades, leaving only the wild, aching connection binding you both.

remmick slides you gently from his lap onto the cool grass, the early morning wrapping around you both like a secret. he brushes a soft kiss to your lips—delicate, a quiet promise—before his mouth trails down your skin, each kiss deeper, more urgent. he sucks softly, reverently, as if memorizing every inch of you, worshipping your body in the tender darkness. the world falls away until there’s only the heat of him, the pulse beneath your skin, and the breathless connection binding you close.

remmick moves like a slow bloom unfurling under the dawn’s soft light, petals parting one by one with deliberate grace.

his lips trace the curve of your skin like dew settling on fragile blossoms, sending shivers like whispers through your veins. goosebumps rise like tiny buds swelling beneath his touch, a dark promise flashing like thorns beneath velvet petals.

with reverent hunger, his mouth explores you—each kiss a tender petal brushing against delicate skin, each lick a slow dance of nectar and desire.

you are the flower, opening to his devotion, each gasp a petal trembling in the morning breeze, every shiver a blossom swaying in the heat of the sun. his hands roam possessively, like vines curling and clasping, drawing you ever closer into his embrace.

beneath the stars, you are both wild garden and sacred ritual, blooming fiercely into the night, petals drenched in euphoria.

waves of pleasure unfurl inside you like a sudden burst of color, fireworks blossoming behind your eyes. your cries are the song of blooming petals tearing free from the bud, soft moans and desperate gasps unfolding like fragrant blossoms bursting open in the heat.

your hands claw the earth, roots digging deep as your body twists and curves in pure, untamed bloom. every flick of his tongue, every brush of his lips is a gentle caress of pollen on petals, igniting sparks that bloom like wildfires in your veins.

as the tension builds, the flower’s pistil pulses—stamen trembling, petals ready to burst—then, with a shudder like the first rain after a drought, you erupt into a dazzling bloom, white-hot and radiant, your cries the fragrance carried on the wind.

he holds you steady, vines wrapped possessively around the fragile bloom, as you ride the wild storm of blossoming fire—lost in the beauty of becoming, wild and free.

your breath quickens, shallow and ragged, chest rising and falling with desperate urgency. the heat pools deep between your thighs, spreading in wild, insistent waves that make your skin tingle, your senses sharpen.

your fingers clutch at his hair tighter, nails digging in, desperate to anchor yourself as the pressure builds unbearably, every nerve screaming in delicious torment.

the world fades until all you feel is the ache, the need, the rush of sensation exploding inside you—a crescendo that promises to break you open completely.

and just as you’re about to cum again, just as you tilt over the edge remmick pulls away, eyes glossed over, faded with want.

remmick lingers close, his breath warm against your skin, eyes searching yours for the faintest hesitation.

“you sure?” he murmurs, voice low and tender, almost fragile. you nod, chest rising and falling with a desperate urgency.

“yes,” you whisper, voice trembling—not with fear, but with need.

he pauses, fingertips brushing your cheek softly, savoring the moment before finally closing the distance. it’s slow, deliberate—a tender claim wrapped in raw desire.

he pauses, fingertips brushing your cheek softly, savoring the moment before finally closing the distance. it’s slow, deliberate—a tender claim wrapped in raw desire.

the world narrows until there’s only the two of you, the silent promise between gasps and trembling hands. he moves with a careful reverence, every touch gentle yet filled with an aching hunger.

his hands slide along your sides, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

your breath hitches as he lowers himself, lips tracing a path over your collarbone, down to where your skin burns beneath his touch.

“i’m here,” he whispers, voice rough and full of need, waiting for you—wanting you to feel safe, wanted, desperate like him.

when you nod again, wordless and sure, he enters you slowly, carefully, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. the world falls away with every shared breath and every pulse of closeness, the moment raw and fragile and utterly consuming.

he stays gentle but fierce, moving with a steady rhythm that speaks of both passion and reverence—of a connection neither of you can deny.

his hands cup your face firmly, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as his fingers trace the sharp line of your jaw with deliberate tenderness.

he leans in slowly, lips parting before crashing onto yours in a fierce, searing kiss that steals your breath. the heat of his mouth is intoxicating—hungry and possessive—melding with the softness of yours, a storm of fire and silk.

your bodies press tighter together, his chest warm and steady against you, every pulse and shiver sending sparks through your veins. the world shrinks until only the slick slide of his tongue, the rough scrape of his stubble, and the desperate gasps you share remain—each breath, each sigh, each whispered name weaving you deeper into a suspended moment of raw, aching desire.

he moves with deliberate patience, matching your desperation—slow, steady, each stroke tightening the coil of tension between you both until it’s raw, pulsing, unrelenting.

your hands claw at his back, nails digging deep into muscle and skin, desperate for something solid to hold onto amid the raging storm inside you. every thrust sends sparks shooting through your core, breath hitching, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

then, breaking through the mounting pressure, you cry out—voice trembling with a fierce mix of pleasure and anguish. hot tears spill down your cheeks, salt mingling with the sweat slicking your skin, as waves of ecstasy crash against the sharp sting of guilt: the bitter weight of betraying your family cuts through the haze, but beneath it all, the fire he’s ignited inside you burns too fierce to resist.

trembling and undone, you surrender completely—naked, vulnerable, and fiercely alive—in the fierce, consuming heat of his arms.

the storm inside you finally settles, leaving a calm so deep it feels almost unreal. your breath slows, your body still humming with warmth as the tension unwinds from every muscle.

your eyes flutter open, and for a heartbeat, you see two versions of remmick—one close, smiling gently with quiet satisfaction, and another, faint and distant, like a shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your vision. your gaze drifts away, far off into a place only you can see, and remmick catches that look—the one filled with a thousand unspoken thoughts.

your eyes flutter open, and for a heartbeat, you see two versions of remmick—one close, smiling gently with quiet satisfaction, and another, faint and distant, like a shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your vision. your gaze drifts away, far off into a place only you can see, and remmick catches that look—the one filled with a thousand unspoken thoughts.

he smiles tenderly, understanding without words, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as if to anchor you back. in that soft, fragile moment, everything else fades—the world, the pain, the fear—and all that remains is the quiet promise held in his eyes and the gentle pulse of your shared breath.

you walk through the orchard, the dawn just peeking over the horizon, painting the sky with soft pink and gold. you’re wrapped in remmick’s too-big button-up, sleeves hanging past your hands, and he’s shirtless beside you, cool morning air kissing his skin. everything’s quiet, like the world’s holding its breath just for you two.

he breaks the hush, voice low and steady, “ain’t gonna be easy, you know that. your kin—they won’t take it gentle. they’ll make it hard as hell.”

you pull the shirt tighter, shivering but steady, “i know. but we’ll get through it. no matter what. together.”

he takes your hand in his, fingers lacing easy and sure, like home, “i know you’re tougher than anythin’ they throw at you. i ain’t givin’ you up.”

you squeeze back, heart thumping, feeling that wild hope in his touch, “then we face it all. come hell or high water.”

he kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering, “tha’s my girl,” he smiles into your hair, voice rough with something tender beneath the edge, “ain’t no storm gonna break us.”

you lean your head on his bare shoulder, breath mingling with his, the orchard waking around you—the scent of dew, the distant call of a waking bird, “we got each other,” you whisper, “and that’s all that matters.”

he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, like he’s holding the whole world in that one embrace, “just you ‘n me, darlin’. nothin’ else matters.”

[thisrots]

favorite girl

𖦹⭒°｡⋆ stalker!jinx x fem!reader (part 1)

part 2

warnings: stalking, reader being into said stalking, gun shooting (so… a little bit of a death warning), masturbation, that’s all for now! more nsfw on next part <3

Jinx was fast, everyone knew that. So fast, in fact, sometimes all she’d leave behind for anyone to see was the violet flash of her shimmer eyes.

That’s all you’d get to see of her when you’d turn around. In a dark alleyway, walking down the street, even at the bar. Didn’t matter the time of day. Just a quick light that disappeared within the second. That was all she’d let you see of her. She’d memorized your routine, the streets you walked on, every corner you turned. You knew this because of her little… gifts. She’d spray paint your name with hearts around it on the abandoned building walls you walked by every day, or your initials within a heart, sometimes even just random doodles that somehow correlated to you and her, but never leaving her name on the artwork. Even without her signature, she was letting the whole world know you were hers.

You weren’t stupid, though, you always knew your stalker was Jinx. At first she’d watch from afar, maybe sitting across the room from you, eyes following your every move. Or just coincidently ending up on the same street. But, when you stopped seeing her yet still felt her presence, was when you knew her little crush had probably turned into something more… sinister.

Recently, the violet light had been getting closer. So close, one time you could’ve sworn you felt her breath along the back of your neck. Chills ran down your spine, quickly turning around, eyes darting back and forth, face twisted up in the most fearful expression you could pull out. Nothing. To some people, this would be fucking terrifying. Their worst nightmare, even. Someone watching them 24/7, hearing her footsteps behind theirs but never getting to see her.

But you? As sick and twisted as it was, you fucking adored it. Once you turned back around, the biggest smirk would creep out, lips curling up as you bit your thumb. You loved having someone swoon so deeply over you, so much so that it caused an obsession. You’d think about all the things Jinx might love about you. Your face, hair, smile, body? All of it? Sure, but you always wondered what she craved the most. What made her spiral for you. It gnawed at your thoughts. Completely ate you the fuck alive. Actually, love wasn’t the strongest word to describe how you felt about her stalking you, she turned you the fuck on. When you masturbated at night, fingers deep inside yourself, you thought about her obsession. Thought about how she couldn’t get enough of you, how she had to be near you at all times. What always made you cum though was the thought of her watching you as you fucked yourself stupid, moaning out her name every time you finished. One day you swore you’d catch her before she ran off and get to ask the question that made you toss and turn at night. But for now, you’d quietly enjoy her closeness, pretending to be petrified of it, feeding into her little game.

It was 2 am now, and the club was at its peak. Music booming, drinks pouring, and the smell of sweat lingered in the air. You’d gone out by yourself, hoping to get Jinx alone. There you were, middle of the dance floor, tight little black dress, ripped fishnets, drink spilling along the floor as you danced. Underneath, though, you wore a special pair of lace panties you’d bought just for Jinx. Bright blue, just like her hair. They hugged the curves of your hips and ass just right. A little sign saying that you were hers, even if she couldn’t see them. The people surrounding you moved in slow motion as the drinks finally settled, faces blurring together as the tipsy haze washed over your eyes.

From across the floor, a pale skinned girl with blue tattoos and a hood covering her face caught your eye. You froze, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your entire body. You tried your best to force your eyes to focus, analyzing for any details that might indicate it was Jinx. She looked up at you, hood slightly slipping back. Her bright purple eyes stared into your soul, pale face shining in the fluorescent lights, hair falling over an eye, expression hard and twisted. You weren’t sure if she was real or a figment of your drunken imagination, but either way, you shoved everyone as you wobbly made your way towards her.

“Jinx!” You called out, blinking slowly, trying to sober up enough to walk faster. She was still standing there, watching you, a smirk just barely curling up on her mouth. Although that smirk might look malice to others, it made your heart flutter. You needed to reach her, just touch her, you needed to feel her skin against your palms. You needed to know why she was doing this, what was so goddamn special about you? You were fucking feining for her. At this point, maybe you were the one who was a stalker. Your arm stretched out, fingers reaching for her as you got closer, pants escaping your lips. “Jinx, don’t fucking move!” You yelled out, finger tips just inches away from her, curling up as if she was already in your grasp. Then, as you were just about to grab onto her arm, someone stepped in front of you. You tripped on their foot, face landing first onto the filthy ground, drink spilling all over you. You groaned out in pain as you turned over, room spinning as your eyes darted back to where Jinx was, only for the space to be replaced with some random. You laid there, completely out of it as the feeling of defeat washed over you, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

Then, you felt the grip of the bouncer’s hands around your wrists. He began to drag you out, like you were just some bag of fucking trash. You thrashed around wildly, cursing him out as he continued. He kicked the front doors open, swung you out, back hitting the hard concrete floor. The wind was knocked out of you, letting out a strangled scream like sound. You laid there as the hit slightly sobered you up, gasping for air. He walked over to you, looking down as you glared at him. “What… the fuck… are you looking at?” You questioned, voice raspy, trying your best to get up.

“You.” He said, tilting down slightly. His eyes grazed your body, making your stomach turn. “You might be fucking annoying, but I could get past that.”

Your eyes widened, pushing yourself back as best as you could to get away. “Fuck off, man.” You reached at your side for your purse, which had your pepper spray, that was nowhere to be found. Shit. You thought to yourself, pupils dilating from fear as you watched the man get closer. I’m fucked, I’m totally fucking fucked. Just as you finished your thought, a sudden loud bang boomed, making you wince as your ears began to ring. Your eyes shot back open, staring at the man as he stood there, the life slowly leaving his eyes as blood dripped down his face. Where there was once a forehead, was now a hole. He kneeled before hitting the ground, your breath hitching at the pound of dead flesh in front of you. You stumbled up, pulling your dress down as you stood up, eyes wide. You stared for a second before quickly walking away, obviously still a little fucked up. A little too fucked up to realize a man had just died in front of you.

You knew who’d done this, of course. Who’d went out of her way to protect you. You liked to think that Jinx was angrily watching from afar, that she’d do anything and everything to protect you. To protect her favorite girl. A snicker escaped your lips, looking up at the building rooftops, trying to find her. “Jinx!” You called out as you walked down the street, faint flickering lights guiding your way. You threw your arms out, smiling. “I’m all yours, Jinx! Stop fucking hiding. What is it about me, huh? What do you want from me? You can have whatever you want!” You yelled, still stumbling slightly as you continued to walk. You knew she was watching, you could fucking feel it. You could feel her eyes drilling into you. You swore you heard her giggle as you spoke. She was so close to you, so fucking close. You bit down on your lip as you felt heat spreading out between your thighs. So fucking close. “Stop being such a goddamn pussy…” You grumbled out, finally reaching your front porch. Your hand shook as you unlocked the door, slamming it shut, but not locking it.

You kicked off your heels, making your way towards your room, throwing open the door. You sighed, rolling your neck as you began to pull the fishnets off. Then, you slowly shimmied out of your dress, so slowly, hearing it plop as it hit the ground, leaving you in nothing but the blue lace panties. A chill suddenly ran down your spine, goosebumps prickling up your arm hair. This wasn’t a new feeling; it felt as if you weren’t alone in your room. Just as you were about to turn around,

“You wore those just for me, toots?”