#readed insert

[motthe]

daydreamer | morpheus/dream of the endless

ཐིཋྀ this has been sitting in my wips for a good bit and i want to stop fretting over it lol. Hope yall enjoy it!

warnings: she/her reader, nothing crazy, pre-nada and pre netflix series, I am no expert in the series nor the comics so some stuff might not make sense purely bc I made it up (huzzah), if this were to become a series I have no idea what would happen lol.

PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT ❤️

Morpheus, who has seen the creation of humanity and their first steps, stumbling into ideas too big. But such things sparked life into their world.

Being an Endless does not permit distance from mortals, for they govern the very aspects they are, but there is Morpheus who finds truth in the deepest pits of sleep. Who only visits the mortal plane when forced by his siblings or to offer gifts when they lose sight of their wayward dreams.

He senses every soul that slips into his domain, has swept together creations to assist the influx. One of the earliest takes record of the coming and going. Lucienne, he calls her. Where he is dreams and nightmares, she is words and tomes. In need of answers, she is the best to provide wisdom, though he seldom asks.

Distant not only from mortals, this star-gazed Endless.

In such pristine times, there is you. At first a flickering, not quite here and not quite there. Denizens deem you a mirage—a glint on the horizon or movement in the corner of the eye, even a shape in the dark at times. Surprise you may bring but never fear.

Something of a decade whirls by before Morpheus pays you a glance. As always, you leave a golden trail easy to trace. It dances among the Dreaming, weaving from space to space before you tiptoe towards the clouds over his kingdom. He sees your dream, no more than a simple turn through the air, and still something is off. Your soul, it drifts as most do, but there is tension—a string.

His raven discovers you in the conscious lands, lying in a glistening meadow. You watch the sunset, eyes open and mind fleeting. You are awake, yet your soul lingers in the world of sleep.

An apparition to the world of imagination. You’re the first of your kind, walking a line many have failed to draw. Some try, regardless. He watches them falter into the arms of his sister, Insanity. She welcomes all, but you drift through her whims every single time. A butterfly through the gaps of seeking fingers. You breathe into the Dreaming just as easily you breathe out of it.

He is intrigued enough to follow that sparkling path to the wakeful, and there you have the gall to sense him. Your voice is soft to his ears. He refuses the call, sweeping himself back into his realm.

You, a mere human, beckoning an Endless. Its not nearly enough to tempt him. In his lands, however, he cannot ignore your entrance. The denizens speak of you too often.

This goes on for some time. Even with years of research from Lucienne, you remain a one of a kind visitor. You prefer to stay to the north—in the spring, the warmth, the sun. Fiddler’s Green welcomes you each time. You dance there, too, though not as much as in the clouds. Amongst the flowers and swaying grass you marvel at finer details that should blur in a deep stage of rest. You cling to your reality and the Dreaming warps to your steps, easing at the touch of your fingers.

This world—this piece of him—gifts you earnest acceptance. Morpheus cannot fathom it. You have done no harm but you have earned nothing. And yet, your habit of half-dreaming during the day pulls at him. Ideas spurring from the night has always been marvelous things to behold, rippling and shaking the waking. These moments of yours do none of that, but the focus you are able to give… He could almost call it a talent.

He doesn't. Still he must decide a title as one is needed for the books. For the memory if you should be the one and only.

His first word to you beyond the whispers of his realm is “daydreamer.” It calls to your hazy figure as you sweep across a swirling brune. The name curls around your ear, caressing the hair away from your face. Deep and baritone, it is enough to shock you, so used to his silence.

He sees how abruptly you snap into your reality, a streak of sparks left behind instead of that winding trail. The abysmal, velvet laughter is rare from him. The Dreaming echoes with such light Lucienne is abashed to see it from the depths of her library.

The second time he addresses you, you smile as if you already know who speaks. Morpheus has yet to reveal himself since taking notice, always careful to remain outside your perception, though it ceases to matter. You'll greet him whenever his presence wades close.

He is certain he shall never be seen until he wishes to be. Still irksome, though, that he cannot hide from you in his own domain.

“It might do well to look into this abnormality,” urges Lucienne. Her form is diminutive in the audience chamber, feet planted along marble floors that sit far below the throne where Morpheus sits, listening to his helpful creation but not as a ruler should.

You're dancing again, carefree and form strong enough that he can discern the color of your hair and eyes. He directs the nightmares away from you without the slightest rumble from the Dreaming.

Even half-asleep they have managed to overcome you from time to time. They can never get to you fast enough for him to study how they morph your imagination. Any darkness on the prowl and your golden trail fades into the waking, running from the fears of mankind.

It's better to dismiss them from you. To keep your energy here to watch over in case something changes. The depth of you is rare today and he can't have it vanishing, not when he can feel you for once instead of that feather-light graze of your soul. You're a rest away from being real to this world and the Dreaming clings to your weight, your visage.

He knows the answer but ascertains through his raven regardless. Jessamy responds that you're wide awake, cleaning a basketful of coverings in a stream.

You are as peculiar as ever, Daydreamer, he thinks and far too present here to be doing such an unremarkable thing there.

“I fear this could turn into a security problem, my Lord. Mortals are not meant to get this close to the castle.”

Lucienne is still here. Morpheus regards her for a moment, dark brow wrinkled with concern and eyes earnest. His own flash upwards, seeing your figure beyond the ceiling of this room as you leap effortlessly. You do so love the clouds.

“She has not elicited any trouble all these years,” Morpheus states, narrowing an eye as he senses it. The nightmare looms at the edge of your consciousness, hands at its side and never approaching per his orders. But it stares, observes in such a way it sends Morpheus’ hand waving.

The opuscule crumbles to dust.

Your head turns. He affirms colorful clouds are all you see, but the corner of your mouth caches a grin as your stare straight through his presence.

You don't see him, he knows you can't.

His fingers curl into fists on his throne. The sharp angle of his jaw works in a strange way—a human tick more than anything and one Lucienne balks at behind a steady expression.

“All this time, there has never been another soul that's reached the Dreaming in such a way,” she continues her tangent. “Your Daydreamer does not dream beyond these moments, My Lord. She should be like any other with such a mind.”

“We have paid enough regard to that,” he chastises, growing tired of the same conversation. “She is a Deep Sleeper.”

“Deep Sleepers do not visit us at all,” she reminds him, patiently. “This occurrence, be it human error or not, we must study it while we have the chance. If her lifespan were cut short we'd lose all information.”

An irritation picks at somewhere behind his eyes. Between calling a phenomenon a mere “error” and that such could come to an end so easily…

How long has it been? Two decades? No, a bit longer perhaps. Long enough to keep you waiting, he's sure. You haven't called to him but the once which leads him to believe you noticed his ire. You have yet to demand anything since.

The need to understand you for the sake of the realm has grown exponentially. He supposes he can forget the slight after so long.

“I will investigate,” he tells Lucienne. Its enough to send her back to the library.

The sun is setting when he breaches mortals' realm. Jessamy bows her head from a hidden tree branch as he passes by.

“Return and rest,” he tells her. She is gone before his next step hits the ground.

Fabrics hang on a line between two trees, fluttering in the wind ahead of a small hut. The rising technology of humanity has yet to reach this small corner of the world but you seem to be at peace on a cliff side overlooking your village. At a close glance, you wear peasant clothes, worn from dirt and labor. He prefers the off white gown you dance in at the height of his realm.

“Are you far?”

You are the same and yet you are different in this world. The edges are harder but your eyes remain soft, hazy. They clear as you smile, recognizing his voice over the gust that blows your hair away from him.

You turn. The tapt expression matches familiarity but far should it be. This is the first time you have met face to face.

“I believe I was quite close, actually,” you answer, bowing your head in greeting. He's heard you speak before, mostly to Fiddler's Green or in random thought, but there’s a new harmony between these words.

Something pinches within, sore but nothing like the sensation Lucienne brought on. It lies lower, forged in his chest.

He stares at your soul, still very much human.

“You go somewhere, staring off like that,” he hums, midnight cloak dancing in the golden rays of sun. You notice how the ends fade into the same hue. “Tell me where.”

You tilt your head, a line creasing the skin above the bridge of your nose. “You already know the answer. Is there meant to be another?”

You're sensing him. The veil over his existence should have muted anything to be wary of and you see straight through it.

“How so?” he whispers, staring down at you. From the moment he appeared you hadn't deigned to rise from your grassy knoll, perfectly comfortable craning your neck up to his likeness.

“You have the same,” you inhale and hum in the lull between words, “outline, I suppose. I'm not sure if that's the right word.”

Your hands edge the space between you and him, but it’s as if they’re trickling down the side of his face. “it’s like…when you know something is hot in the dead of winter because it’s giving off steam. The world wavers around you, and it feels like that far away place.” You blink away the fog that had begun to take over your eyes again. “Forgive me. It was the first thing to come to mind.”

“You have a strong intuition,” he praises, hair swaying over his forehead. “Most ignore what they can't comprehend.”

“I'm not sure how anything could ignore you,” you mumble, taking him in before turning back to the drowsy sun. The gold begins to leave your skin. “Night falls. The stars will begin smiling soon.”

“Do you not fear me? Knowing I do not belong?”

You shake your head slowly, exhaling your words. “Oh, I couldn't.”

“Why?” he questions, moved by your tender amusement. Life flows from you in waves and he understands, then, why radiance follows in your steps.

“I've known you too long,” you tell him. “Not enough to understand who or perhaps what you are, but if you wished me any ill will something would have occurred by now, surely.” Your eyes slide to his, twinkling like the first star that bleeds into the darkening sky. “Are you here to change that?”

Playful in the presence of such power. You are not mindless, but where you get such confidence, he cannot fathom.

“I'm here to seek the cause of your ‘abnormality,’ Daydreamer.” Your nose crinkles in a way that has him pressing his lips flat against one another. And expressive. He does not get to see this side of you in his realm.

“Abnormality?” you parrot. “I'll only bore you then. I'm commonplace.”

“And yet you drift so easily,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth curling the slightest hint.

“If you're to question me, may I ask the same of you?” You lean against your bent knees, eyelids lowering as if in exhaustion but your soul is far from it.

“I do not answer to mortals.” The oncoming dark crowds against his frame. The stars blink out for the shortest of seconds.

“Hmm, that's enough of an answer,,” you chuckle, accepting his sourness all too easily. “I wouldn't want to offend something so powerful.”

He shouldn't feel tricked, and yet you stand there, content.

“What will you ask of me?” you continue when he remains silent.

“Your life.”

“Not my name first?” His lack of an answer is enough to earn your attention once more, still there is no concern to be found. “You already know me. What else do you seek?”

“Simple things can be overlooked.”

“But that is all that I am,” you say, assured, “simple.”

“We shall see.”

His cloak shudders as he turns, the whip of it sending the last thread of gold from the horizon. You shiver as a chill blows through and stand to start for your abode. He follows only a few paces behind.

“Will you have something to drink? To eat?” You open the door as an invitation. The room beyond appears ordinary for human standards.

“I must return. Expect one of my own soon. They will investigate further.”

“One of your own?”

“Likely my raven.”

“Is that the black and white bird I see every so often?” you say, voice honeyed. “I offered some forest pickings, once. Pretty thing. Intelligent.”

He doesn't answer and prepares to leave. Something has him pausing when your voice calls after him again. The demand to wait does not sting as it should.

“Will you return?”

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, the wind picking up. You reach something behind him—the clothesline. Before you can step towards the panicking covers, they appear in front of you, folded and offered by large, pale hands. Your eyes shine into his and how strange, he thinks, that this is the first time you seem shocked in his presence.

“Thank you,” you whisper, accepting the fabrics. Skin brushes and you marvel at something before he steps back into the darkness, eyes pinpricks of molten silver.

“You'll find me in the Dreaming,” he tells you. There is confusion dancing in your expression, though you work through it to nod in agreement. “Until then, Daydreamer.”

“Farewell,” you bid, smiling as you close the door. “It was nice to finally meet you, my stranger.”

He doesn't know why he hides within the night. Why he watches you light the fire and cook your dinner and move throughout the hut as normal as any other mortal.

He waits for someone to return, but there is only solitude in your actions. The only other living creature there is a cat as it slinks from a backroom coerced from the smell of food. You offer the animal its own portion, fingers trailing over dark fur. It purrs, melting into your touch.

Morpheus departs, annoyed by the stifling ache that has moved from his chest to something far too deep. Meeting you should have swept the lingering questions away for the time being and here is this tug—this urge to retrocede.

“My Lord?” comes Lucienne as his footsteps ascend the front steps of the castle. She waits for him by the open doors, clutching a sizable volume.

“She is utterly human.”

She blinks as he passes by with a flare of his cloak, pondering his weighed brow as she shadows his footsteps. “Does this disappoint you, My Lord?”

“Its neither here nor there. I've known such since her first daydream.”

Her mouth puckers. If what he's saying is true, why was he…brooding?

“I'll continue my research, then,” she murmurs. “Keep an eye out for any others who might share the same abnormality.”

He offers nothing as she branches off down a hall, staring forward with an expression that would make the darkest nightmare run for the hills.

The throne room welcomes him back along with a shape that cuts through the air. Pied feathers gleam in the light filtering through the window behind Morpheus as his raven lands on the arm of the throne with a flourish. She cocks her head at her master, beady eyes digging deeper than anything or anyone dared when it came to an Endless.

“Is she as common as she claims to be?” he asks, turning to sit.

Jessamy clicks her beak, raising it as she speaks in a soft voice, “Worse, really. She's lonesome. I've monitored her for years now and the only visitors she gets are the cat and I. The few times she left her home was to grab necessities from the nearby village, but it's rare. She's self sufficient.”

“What of the people?”

“Sorrow follows them when she walks by. I've heard whispers of her family dying long ago. I recall seeing them the first few trips to the waking. Kind souls.”

“An accident?”

The raven shakes her head. “They never mention it. They just watch her, words trailing off. Not much of a gossiping village. That or they respect her enough to not whisper behind her back.”

“Perhaps this talent of hers stemmed from such loss,” he wonders aloud. “Trauma can shape humans.”

“I would say the same, My Lord, if she hadn't been daydreaming before their deaths.”

He rests a pale chin over his knuckles. Another end with nary an answer. There is always his sister who could speak on their passing, but going to such trouble is beneath him.

Sinking back into his throne, Morpheus raises a brow at his loyal companion who has yet to move on. She cocks her head, this time in question.

“Yes?” he breathes, eyes widening as his head lulls from one side to the other.

“You're intrigued by her.”

“She is able to enter and leave my domain far too easily. Lucienne fears the worst—an instability. Something that could come to hurt the Dreaming.”

“And you?”

Sterling eyes narrow. He says naught a word, but in truth he can not find one to describe his Daydreamer. He's certain he does not agree with Lucienne. If you were something dangerous, the Dreaming would not take to you as it does. He would sense a trap, especially from the likes of humankind.

Jessamy hums at the lingering quiet, claws tapping against the marble of the armrest. “In all the time I've watched her, nothing has come from it. Perhaps you would have the answers you seek if you yourself take a closer approach, my Lord.”

“What are you implying?” Its a stern question, probing.

The raven croaks in frustration. “She speaks little on her own or to the village, but she is forthcoming with you, My Lord!”

He could have scoffed. “I haven't the need for familiarity.”

“Blink and your Daydreamer will be another book in the library. Decades, if that, are nothing in the grand scheme of things.” Jessamy gives him one last reaching look as she crouches to take flight. “She is not forever.”

The shifting of wings echoes into soft silence, light swelling and retreating like waves over the throne room. Morpheus reflects as the realm twists, weather dim outside the castle.

His Daydreamer, a mortal. The fact everyone is keen on reminding him of. He may not govern time but he isn't lost to it. It is the way of things, to come and to leave.

You will be no different.

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[awriterinthenight]

a moment of silence for all the fics that were masterpieces but you'll never find them again

[ghostbeam]

x reader defender till I die people are out here figuring out how to write the most fully fleshed out most interesting readers ever with backstory and personality while maintaining a relatability that is so true to life it's like im looking in a mirror and ur gonna look at me and say that it's a lesser form of fanfic

[cowboybeepboop]

Patience 

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands."

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: You’re a newish member to the town of Forks, with an extreme obsession with Doctor Cullen. One day he finally gives in after you’ve visited the clinic for the 5th time that month. 

Warnings: light choking, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, praising, orgasm denial. 

a/n: I know this is a shift from my usual posts but I've been desperate for some more Carlisle content. As always, I hope you enjoy <3 and send any requests my way!

As you stepped into the small, dimly lit clinic, the antiseptic smell filled your nostrils, mingling with the faint scent of pine from the freshly wiped floor. The receptionist looked up from her computer, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Hello again," she said, her voice dripping with a hint of amusement. 

You returned the smile, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, and proceeded to the triage desk. Gripping my chest dramatically, you winced. "I've got these terrible chest pains," you gasp, hoping she wouldn't recognize your voice from the numerous calls I'd made over the past few weeks. "I think it's happening again." 

She nodded sympathetically, though her eyes betrayed a spark of curiosity. "I'll let Dr. Cullen know right away," she assures you, before disappearing into the back rooms of the clinic. Your heart raced with anticipation as you take a seat, glancing around the empty waiting area.

Little did they know that your only ailment was an extreme obsession with the enigmatic doctor who had recently become the talk of the town.

The receptionist emerged from the back, her smile widening as she beckoned you to follow her. She led you down the hallway to a small, cozy examination room, the walls adorned with diplomas and medical charts. "Dr. Cullen will be with you in just a moment," she said, the amusement in her voice now unmistakable. 

You nodded, trying to compose yourself as she closed the door behind you. The room was warm, and the gentle hum of the heater filled the space. You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table, heart pounding in your chest. 

Would he finally see through your facade of feigned illnesses? Or would he offer the attention and concern that you so desperately sought? The anticipation was almost too much to bear as you heard the soft footsteps approaching, and the door handle turned with a quiet click.

He stepped into the exam room with his usual grace and composure, a hint of surprise flickering across his features as his gaze fell on you. His cool, pale fingers clutched a patient chart, which he quickly placed on the counter. His voice, as smooth and soothing as ever, broke the silence.

Cullen leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and studying you with a mix of curiosity and veiled amusement. "Back again," he commented, his voice betraying a hint of recognition. "Chest pains, you say?"

“Mhm,” you bite your lip as you gaze up at him, “It comes and goes..” 

Carlisle hummed softly, tilting his head to one side as he observed you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes now more pronounced. He grabbed the stethoscope that hung around his neck, looping it over his ears.

He closed the small distance between you, his presence seeming to fill the room. He placed the cold metal end of the stethoscope against your chest, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wings. "Take a deep breath for me," he requested, his voice velvety and commanding.

 You gasp at the chill of the metal, a soft surprised sound escaping your lips as you try to steady your heart rate. You follow his instructions, taking in a deep breath. 

Dr. Cullen listens intently as the sound of your heartbeat fills his ears through the stethoscope. His brows furrowed slightly, a look of concentration on his face. The cool and professional demeanor remains, his focus on your heart.

"Again," he instructs, moving the stethoscope slightly to a different spot on your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion laced with a touch of curiosity.

You nod, taking in a deep breath, your hands resting on your knees as you gaze up at his strong jaw. Your heart rate picks up as you admire his face from where you're sitting. 

Carlisle can't help but notice the hitch in your heartbeat, his sharp hearing catching the slight acceleration. A small flicker of a smirk plays on the corner of his lips, as he continues to listen intently.

He lifts the stethoscope from your chest, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your heart rate is elevated," he comments, his voice a low hum. "Any idea why that might be?" The hint of a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Uh,” you gulp, looking off to the side of the room. “No, I’m not quite sure..” your fingers fumble with the hem of your short skirt as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Cullen's eyes flickered down to your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt before meeting your gaze once more. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He took a step back, returning the stethoscope to his desk and perching himself on the edge of it, folding his arms across his broad chest. "You know," he began, his voice a low growl, "I've noticed a pattern. Every time you come to visit, you seem to have a different ailment."

“I guess I’m just,” you try to come up with an excuse. “I just have a lot of things going on, huh?” you grin up at him stiffly. 

The doctor tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips as he studies you intently. He pushes himself off the desk and begins pacing slowly in front of you.

"That's the thing," he says, his voice quiet and measured. "I've been a doctor for a very long time, and I've seen many patients through the years."

He stops in front of you, his gaze locking with yours. "And yet, I've never seen someone quite so...frequent as you."

“Oh..” you lick your lip, “I guess I’m just a bit worried, you know.. Chest pains aren’t a good sign..” your gaze falls to the tiled floor. 

Dr. Cullen hums softly, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice. "That's true.. Chest pains aren't something to be taken lightly," he agrees, his gaze locked on your face. "But I have a feeling there's more than just chest pains that are troubling you."

“What.. what do you mean?” your eyes widen as you look up at him, body straightening under his intense stare. 

Cullen cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step closer, his presence becoming more commanding.

"I mean," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that I suspect there's something more going on here. Something that has little to do with your physical ailments and more to do with..." he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your body briefly, "...something else entirely."

You take a deep breath, gulping as he moves closer. “Oh?” 

Carlisle’s gaze hardens as he moves even closer, nearly towering over you now. "What if I were to suggest that your frequent visits here have less to do with medical concerns and more to do with something else, something more intimate?" he asks, his voice soft but commanding.

He leans closer still, his cool breath ghosting across your skin. "What if I were to suggest that there's a deeper, underlying reason for your...obsession with this clinic?"

You lean back, legs squeezing together as warmth fills your stomach. “Like what? Doctor Cullen?” you furrow your eyebrows, feigning innocence. 

Dr. Cullen's eyes narrow ever so slightly at your feigned innocence. He can sense the heat coursing through your body and the way your legs press together. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip.

He leans in, his voice lowering to a near growl. "Don't play coy with me," he murmurs, closing what little distance remains between you. "You know exactly what I'm referring to." 

“I don't-” you shake your head in response, eyes wide as you scoot further back on the table. “I don't think I know what you mean…” your body tenses with desire as he looks down at you. 

Cullen's eyes darken at the way you scoot back further on the table, the subtle signs of your tension not escaping his sharp senses. He rests his hands on the edge of the table, effectively caging you in.

"Oh? You don't?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then tell me why you've been coming here every week for months. And don't give me that 'I'm just clumsy' or 'I have bad headaches' act again."

You open your mouth to give another excuse but nothing comes out, words seemingly caught in your throat. Eyes falling to his lips as your heart hammers against your chest erratically. 

His lips curved into a knowing smirk as he noticed the way your gaze fixed on them. It was all the confirmation he needed.

He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Why don't you just admit it?" he asked, his breath fanning against your skin. "Admit why you keep coming back here. To see me. To see what it's like to have my hands on you."

“Doctor..” you start, voice soft and full of desperation. 

Cullen's eyes flicker with a hint of satisfaction as he hears the desperation in your voice. He raises a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light yet full of possession.

"Say it," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. "Say it, and then you can get exactly what you've been coming here for all these weeks."

“I..” your eyes flutter shut as you take a deep breath. “I’ve been coming here because I want to feel your hands on me.” you gasp out, cheeks flushing with your whispered confession. 

Carlisle’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he hears the confession tumble from your lips. He leans in closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, tilting it upwards so your gaze meets his.

"Good girl," he purrs, the words making heat flare in your stomach. "It wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting what you really want."

He leans even closer, his body pressed against the table, "And what do you want me to do with those hands, princess?"

“I want you to touch me..” you bite down on your lip, legs parting as he slips between them. He lets out a low growl, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He presses even closer, his hips now pinning you against the table.

"Touch you where?" he whispers, his free hand moving to rest on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your skirt. He toys with the fabric, his fingers tracing small patterns on your bare skin. "You'll need to be more specific, princess."

You move your hand to his, guiding him to where you want him. Carlisle’s hand stops you, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the slight frown on your face.

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands." He runs his thumb across your lip, watching you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You shiver at his cold skin against you, “Doctor,” you whine out. A low chuckle escapes Cullen’s lips as he sees you shiver under his touch. He brushes his thumb across your lip again, the coldness a stark contrast to your own heat.

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers huskily, his voice like silk. “Where do you want my hands? You’ve been fantasizing about them for all these weeks, haven’t you? Now’s your chance to tell me exactly where you want me to touch you. Be specific.”

“I want you to,” you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “Touch me, here, between my legs..” you murmur, motioning to your spread thighs. Dr. Cullen's eyes gleam with a mixture of satisfaction and arousal as he hears your whispered request. He moves his hand, which had been on your chin, to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin slightly.

“Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “And how long have you been imagining my hands on you there?” he asks, his hand slowly inching up your thigh, the coldness of his touch in stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

You gasp, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you shudder. Cullen lets out a low chuckle, enjoying the way you instinctively bury your face into his shoulder. His hand continues to move up your thigh, the coldness of his touch sending another shiver down your spine.

He brings his free hand up to run through your hair, his fingers tangling in the locks. "You're so sensitive, princess. Is that because you've been thinking about this for a long time, hmm?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes..” you choke out, feeling his hands part your legs further. A low growl rumbles through his chest once you confirm that you've been thinking about this for a while. He moves even closer, his hips pressing against yours, pinning you to the table.

"How often do you think about me like this?" he murmurs, his hand finally reaching the bare flesh of your inner thigh. He lets his fingers dance over your skin, the coolness of his touch sending sensations through your body. "Every day? Every night?" you moan softly, pulling his hand to your soaked panties. 

“Please… stop teasing me..” you whine, desperate for his touch. 

Cullen grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as he finally slipped his fingers into your panties. The coldness of his skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your core tighten around his touch. His longer pointer finger found your clit with unerring precision, teasing it in a slow, maddening circle. 

"You're so desperate for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice was a seductive purr that seemed to echo through your very soul. 

"Do you dream about this, my little patient?" he murmured, pressing down slightly, making you gasp. "Do you lie in bed at night, touching yourself and imagining it's me bringing you pleasure?" His touch grew more insistent, his voice a dark caress that only served to fuel your desire.

You whine, the embarrassment and arousal mixing in a potent cocktail that makes your voice tremble. Cullen's smirk widens, the sound of your need making his own desire spike. "There's no need to be shy now," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've been so eager for this, haven't you?"

With a sudden, firm movement, he slides a finger into you, the coldness of his digit making you gasp. He moves it in and out with deliberate slowness, watching the way your body reacts to his touch. 

His thumb remains on your clit, swirling in a relentless pattern that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each stroke, your body betraying just how much you crave his attention.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark rumble that sends vibrations through your core. "How long have you dreamed of this moment?" His finger moves deeper, stretching you slightly, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face. "How long have you wanted me to do this to you?"

Your breath hitches as you struggle to answer, the sensation of his finger inside you making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "Ever since my first visit," you stutter, your cheeks burning.

Cullen's smile turns predatory as he feels you clench around his finger. "Well," he says, his voice low and seductive, "today, all your dreams come true." 

He adds a second finger, the coldness now a familiar and welcome sensation. He starts to pump them in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit, keeping the pressure constant.

You moan, unable to stop yourself from arching into his touch, your body begging for more. "More," you murmur, the word barely audible. "Please."

Dr. Cullen chuckles, the sound dark and triumphant. "As you wish, my eager patient," he says, his eyes dark with lust. He quickens the pace, the coldness of his touch making you shiver with pleasure. His thumb presses harder on your clit, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

As your need grew more urgent, Cullen added another finger, stretching you further as you clenched around him. The sudden fullness made you gasp, and you bit down hard on the fabric of his white coat to muffle the moan that threatened to escape your lips. The material was stiff and cold, but it only served to heighten the warmth and pressure building within you. 

Each stroke of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing over you, the chilly touch of his skin against your heated flesh making you tremble with anticipation. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your nails dug into the material of his coat, leaving tiny marks of desperation as your orgasm began to coil tightly in your core. 

The sound of his fingers moving within you filled the room, a slick, intimate symphony that seemed to resonate with the thud of your racing heart. The tension grew, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you approached the precipice. 

The coldness of his touch was a stark contrast to the burning heat of your arousal, and you found yourself craving more of him, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. 

You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Carlisle watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his own breathing growing heavier as he pushed you further and further towards the edge.

Your body shudders as the orgasm crashes over you, a keening cry escaping your throat despite your efforts to muffle it. Cullen's eyes bore into yours, his own desire clear as he watches you fall apart under his skilled touch. 

His fingers continue to pump into you, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're left panting and boneless against the exam table. He withdraws his hand, the loss of his cold digits making you whimper. 

He smirks, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking on his fingers, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his satisfaction echoes in the room, making your cheeks burn even hotter. 

The smugness in his gaze tells you that he's fully aware of the effect he's had, and the thrill of being so thoroughly exposed and dominated by him sends another shiver down your spine. You bite your lip, your eyes never leaving his, as you silently beg for more.

Dr. Cullen chuckles again at the sight of you, completely spent and utterly under his control. He takes a step back, admiring your flushed, disheveled appearance. “You're quite the picture, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry.

He moves to the sink and washes his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. Once finished, he turns back to you, his gaze dark with unfulfilled desire. “You know, I should reprimand you for all those fake ailments you've been coming in for,” he says, his voice deceptively casual

You cover your flushed cheeks with your hands, breathing heavy as you try to collect yourself. Cullen smirks as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. He moves back towards you, his footsteps slow and measured. He stops right in front of you, his broad frame towering over your seated figure.

"Embarrassed, are you?" he asks, his voice a low, amused purr. He reaches out, taking one of your wrists in his hand, slowly dragging it away from your face.

“You’re such a tease,” you whine, looking up at him, eyes still full of desire for him. Carlisle’s smirk widens as he hears the complaint in your voice. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Who, me? A tease?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of feigned innocence and mockery. "I'm just doing my job as a doctor, princess. It's my duty to care for my patients," he says, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You push your tongue out, licking the tip of his thumb with newfound confidence. “But what about you Doctor?” your hands go to his belt buckle, fingers brushing over his concealed erection. 

Cullen's eyes darken as he feels your tongue against his thumb. A sharp intake of breath escapes him as your fingers brush against his erection, the feeling stirring an immediate response.

"What about me, princess?" he asks, his voice gruff and huskier than before. He watches you closely, his eyes locked on your face as you toy with his buckle.

“Who will take care of you?” you unbuckle his belt, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, full of lust. Carlisle’s hands clench into fists as you unbuckle his belt, his restraint faltering slightly as you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes. 

He lets out a low, possessive growl, his body tensing as he struggles to maintain a semblance of composure. "You want to take care of me, princess?" he asks, his voice lower and more gravelly now. "Is that what you're offering?"

You nod eagerly, fingers fumbling with the zipper and button of his slacks. Slipping the pants away, you press your hand against his length through his boxers. Doctor Cullen’s eyes flash with desire as your hand presses against his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. He lets out a stifled groan, his hips involuntarily bucking against your touch.

"Eager, aren't you?" he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. He places a hand on your shoulder, half to steady himself, half to push you away. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess." 

You free his erection from his boxers, your hand wrapping around his length. You lean in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the tip of his erection, feeling it twitch against your lips. Carlisle's grip on your shoulder tightens as you begin to suck, his hips jerking slightly as you take him into your warm, eager mouth. 

His cock is hard and pulsing, the head slick with pre-cum that you greedily lick away. His hand slides into your hair, guiding you as you bob your head up and down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing with each suck. The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled moans and his stifled groans as you work to satisfy his desire. 

The taste of him is intoxicating, making you want more. You let your tongue dance around the sensitive ridge, feeling him throb against your tongue. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, his grip growing firmer, his hips beginning to thrust in time with your movements. You moan around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. 

His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath. You can feel his need for release growing, his body tightening with every stroke of your tongue. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to bring him to climax. 

The power you have over him is exhilarating, and you revel in it, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His hand in your hair tightens, his grip almost painful, but you don't care. All you want is to feel him come apart under your ministrations, to hear him cry out in pleasure. 

Cullen groans, his body shuddering as your eager mouth works on him, his hand finding its way to the strands of your hair. He takes a fistful, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, your scent mingling with the musk of arousal filling the room. He savors the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around his cock. 

His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you with a gentle but firm rhythm that matches the pulse of your own desire. Each time you take him deep, he lets out a soft hiss, his hips rocking slightly to meet your movements. His other hand rests on the counter, knuckles white with restrained need. 

The sound of your moans, muffled by his length, echoes in the room, a symphony of pleasure that drives him wild. His control is slipping, his breathing becoming ragged as you work your magic, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him back in, deeper and deeper with every stroke. 

The anticipation of his release builds, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. The coldness of his touch has given way to the heat of passion, his restrained demeanor now a distant memory. The clinical setting is forgotten, replaced by the primal dance of desire that plays out between you.

 You can feel him growing closer, his thighs tense and his breathing erratic. You know what he needs, what you've been longing to give him, and you push harder, faster, determined to bring him to the brink and watch him fall.

Cullen's eyes fly open, his gaze piercing yours as he feels the first pulse of his climax. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his hips bucking into your mouth as he releases. You swallow eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as he cums, the salty tang of his release coating your tongue. 

His hand in your hair tightens, almost painfully, as he holds you in place, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm. You watch, mesmerized, as his features contort with pleasure, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He lets out a series of deep, shuddering breaths, his chest heaving as he slowly regains his composure. 

His hand releases your hair, moving to cradle the back of your head, his touch now gentle as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through him. He opens his eyes, the intensity in them not diminished, and looks down at you with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. 

"Good girl," he whispers, his voice hoarse. You sit back, licking your lips clean, feeling a sense of pride at having brought him to this point. 

He leans down, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. A possessive, satisfied smile plays on his lips. “You're quite the naughty little patient, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Taking advantage of my good nature like that.”

He releases your chin, his hand moving to your hair, running his fingers through the strands. He tugs lightly, just hard enough to get your attention. “But I must admit, I rather enjoyed it,” he adds, his gaze dark with restrained desire.

“Then maybe I should keep my habit of coming here so frequently,” you bite your lip, gazing up at him seductively. 

"You do seem to have a habit of finding yourself in my clinic quite often, princess." Cullen’s gaze darkens at your seductive bite of your lip. "And I do have a duty to ensure my patients are well taken care of..." he says, his voice a low, promising rumble.

He steps closer, his body now pressed against yours, his height towering over you. He leans down, his lips near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe I should start charging extra for private appointments,” he murmurs.

You shiver at his words, hands reaching out to grasp his sides, your fingers digging into his cold skin. Dr. Cullen lets out a low, amused hum at your shiver, the feel of your fingers digging into his skin sending a jolt through him. "Someone's eager," he mutters, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you even closer against him.

His other hand comes up, his thumb tracing the contour of your chin. He tilts your head up, his gaze a mixture of desire and possessive claiming. "You certainly know how to get my attention, princess," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl.

You slide your hands up his shirt, fingers dancing over his tense muscles. “Doctor..” you murmur. Cullen lets out a low hiss as your hands skim over his bare skin. Your touch seems to electrify him, his body tensing even more beneath your touch.

"Yes, princess?" he responds, his voice rougher than before. He leans down, his lips hovering over your ear. "What is it that you want?" he asks, his warm breath sending another shiver through you.

“I want..” you bury your face into his stomach, breathing in his musk mixed with his cologne. “Your hand wasn't enough… I need more of you..” your voice is needy and desperate as you gaze up at him, chin pressed against his firm abs. 

Carlisle’s breath hitches at your admission, the mix of desperation and need in your voice firing up his own primal instincts. His hand at the small of your back grips tighter, his body tensing as he struggles to keep control.

"You want more, huh?" he mutters, his voice thick with desire. He releases his grip on your chin, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" he growls.

“Please doctor?” the pads of your fingers dig into his back. Cullen lets out a low, possessive growl as you dig your fingers into his back. The pleading tone of your voice, the desperation in your touch, only serves to fuel his own need.

"You beg so prettily, princess," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. "How can I resist when you ask so nicely?" He leans down, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm on your skin. "But you must be specific, sweetheart. You need to tell me exactly what it is you want.“

“I want you to fuck me, please..” you gasp, lips parting for him. Carlisle’s eyes darken at your blunt request, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. He closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, delving and tasting, his hand at the back of your head holding you in place.

He pulls back from the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're insatiable, you know that?" he mutters, his free hand sliding down your body to grasp your hip. "How am I supposed to deny such a pretty request?"

With a low growl of approval, Cullen's hands guide you to the edge of the exam table, your legs shaking with anticipation. He bends you over, the cold steel pressing into your abdomen as he pulls your panties down, exposing your trembling thighs. 

You feel his erection, hot and demanding, as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, the tip of his cock pressing into your wetness. His hand firmly grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he adjusts his position, the sound of his zipper echoing in the small room. 

You gasp as he enters you, inch by inch, filling you completely, the sensation of his cold skin against your heated flesh sending waves of pleasure through your body. His other hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air, but enough to remind you of his dominance, his control over your body and your desires. 

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into you, the force making you cry out. His grip tightens, his hips setting a punishing rhythm that has you seeing stars. Each thrust sends a jolt of cold fire through you, the stark contrast of his frigid skin against your burning need only serving to heighten your pleasure. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled whimpers and his deep, satisfied grunts as he claims you, his sharp canines grazing your shoulder as he marks you, his patient.

As your moans grew louder, Cullen's hand left your hip and covered your mouth, his thumb pressing against your lower lip as his other fingers dug into your cheek. He was relentless, his hips moving with a precision that spoke of his experience and his unyielding need to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. 

Each thrust hit the spot deep inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your walls clenching around him with every stroke. The muffled sounds of your cries were only for his ears, a secret symphony of passion that played out in the quiet of the exam room. 

His own breaths grew harsher, his movements more erratic, as he felt your body tense beneath him, his name a silent scream against his palm. The heat of your arousal mixed with the coldness of his hand on your mouth was a delicious torment, your eyes rolling back in your head as he claimed you, his possession complete. 

The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all that remained was the frantic dance of your bodies, the cold steel of his touch, and the warm, velvety embrace of his cock filling you over and over again. You felt your climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter you, your body begging for release. 

"Not yet, princess," Cullen whispers, his voice hoarse and urgent against your ear, his movements unrelenting. His cold hand slides from your mouth to your neck, his grip firm as he feels your body begin to tighten around him, the warmth of your passion meeting the chill of his touch. 

His strokes become deeper, more deliberate, as he watches your face contort with the beginnings of your climax. You try to hold back, your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to muffle your cries. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of cold fire through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the edge of the exam table. 

"I’ll let you know when to cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand on your hip guides your hips back to meet his, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. You can feel the swell of his cock inside you, the pressure building, the coldness of his skin against your hot, wet flesh.

Your eyes fly open, and you stare at the wall, panting, as he continues to fuck you with a masterful precision that has you teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your body is his to command, your pleasure his to give and withhold. 

And as much as you want to cum, to shatter beneath his touch, you know that you won't until he says so. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torture that only makes the eventual release all the more potent. 

You whimper, your body begging for relief, but Cullen's grip tightens, his movements unyielding. "Soon," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "But not yet. I want to feel you clench around me, tight and desperate, begging for it." His voice is a dark promise, a siren's call that you can't resist. 

You push back against him, your body moving in time with his rhythm, the cold steel of his hand on your neck a stark contrast to the warmth building in your core. The tension is unbearable, a coil winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. 

You're so close, so very close, but he won't let you go over the edge. Not yet. Not until he's ready. And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave his control, his dominance over your very being. It's a heady feeling, one that makes you want to both fight against him and surrender completely to his will. 

You gasp out his name, a plea and a curse all rolled into one, your voice echoing in the small, intimate space. His response is a feral growl, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor, his hand on your neck pressing a little harder, his thumb stroking the pulse point beneath your jaw. 

You're so close, so incredibly close, and you know that when he finally lets you go, when he allows you to come, it's going to be like nothing you've ever felt before. The coldness of his touch, the heat of his desire, the raw power of his control all coalesce into a storm of sensation that threatens to consume you. And you can't wait.

“You can let go now.” he growls into your ear. With a final, powerful thrust, Cullen's hand clamps down hard over your mouth, muffling your scream of pleasure as your body finally gives in to the climax that had been building for what felt like an eternity. 

The pressure of his hand, the coldness of his skin against your flushed cheek, only heightens the sensation, making your orgasm feel like it's shattering you into a million pieces. Your eyes squeeze shut as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your legs trembling and your core clenching around him, desperately trying to hold on to the feeling. 

His own release follows swiftly, his hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you completely with his seed. His grip on your neck tightens, his breath hot against your ear, as he rides out his climax with a deep, guttural groan. The room seems to spin around you, the only solid point the cold steel of his hand, grounding you in the midst of the tumultuous storm of sensation. 

As your body starts to come down from the high, you feel him pull out slowly, his grip on you loosening, his breathing still ragged. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something else, something primal and possessive. 

You collapse onto the exam table, boneless and spent, the coldness of the room now a stark contrast to the heat that still pulses through your veins. He reaches down to pull your panties back up, his movements surprisingly gentle given the ferocity of his earlier actions. 

The cold fabric against your sensitive skin sends a shiver through you, a final reminder of the intensity of what just transpired. You can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of when you'll get to feel his cold touch again, eager to play out this twisted game of cat and mouse once more.

[yanderedrabbles]

Letters from a Yandere Vampire

December 7th, 1886

Dear y/n,

Please do not think me presumptuous for writing to you so soon, but my heart would give me no rest. I have been unable to stop thinking of you since our encounter at the Duke's soiree.

Perhaps it is my countenance or perhaps my foreign heritage, but London's débutantes seem to find me positively frightful. I had resigned myself to yet another evening of disappointment when you introduced yourself to me.

In all my travels, I have met few ladies with your boldness of spirit. You transformed my dour evening into one of unimaginable enjoyment.

I have included with my letter some pressed flowers from my native Transylvania. You expressed much interest in the botany of my homeland and I hope these will intrigue you.

Your interest in my travels is remarkably flattering. And, if I may be so bold, may I invite you to a dinner at my salon? I have much still to share.

Yours sincerely,

Count Nicolae Drăculești

December 17th, 1886

My dearest y/n,

How I enjoyed our evening together! When we danced, I felt my soul set afire. In my travels, none have so captivated me.

Do not think me hasty, but I have sent my messenger with a gift. I can think of no better place for these jewels than around your neck. Please, accept them with my most sincere compliments.

You amused me very much when you pointed out my teeth. My fangs are indeed much longer and sharper than a normal man's. Perhaps you wish to feel their sharpness against your skin?

The nights grow longer and colder. Do you dislike the winter darkness, I wonder. Or do you only long for someone to share it with, as I do?

Ah, forgive my rambling! I'm writing to ask if you will allow me the privilege of escorting you to the Yuletide ball? I can think of no finer gift to celebrate Christmas.

I must soon depart for my home and I insist on spending more time together before then.

Yours,

Nicolae Drăculești

December 25th, 1886

My love,

Merry Christmas! I walked through the untouched snow and even London seemed beautiful and pure.

In this cold, I can think of nothing but having you with me. A day without you is an eternity past.

It seems I have been waiting for you for centuries. Is it to bold to say you are the woman of my dreams? Forgive this fool his insolence, but when I write to you I feel possessed.

You have asked me at length about my aversion to the Church and silver. You are such a logical creature but there are some things beyond the realm of science.

Seek to know no more, for both our sakes.

Another matter has been bothering me of late. I have noticed Lord Lancaster has expressed an interest in you.

The man fawns over you like a slobering hound. As your companion, it is my duty to advise against him. He is unworthy of your attention, much less your sympathy. 

Surely you see that it is you and I that are the more compatible match?

Ever yours,

Nicușor

January 1st, 1887

Dear,

I wished to keep you ignorant of my nature. And yet, you have seen me unmasked. A creature of the night.

It was your blood that did it. A single drop was all it took for my instinct to take over.

I hope you are unhurt. If I were in my right mind, I never would have pinned you against the wall as I did. I never would have forced my kiss upon you.

I could hear your heart racing when I showed you my fangs. Why did you not scream?

Did I fighten you into silence? Or was it something else?

You asked me what you are to me and at the time I had no answer to give. Are you my prey? My meal?

I have spent all night in thought and still I fear uttering these words.

You are my beloved.

My heart belongs entirely to you, wretched and sinful though it may be. No blood is sweeter than yours.

I burn for you, my darling.

I grow agitated at each day that passes when we are not together. My treacherous mind plays such awful tricks on me. Surely you have not cast me aside for another? Or worse, have I frightened you beyond redemption?

Oh, banish the thought! Who has your affection? Your love?

Please, put my poor heart at ease. Meet me in the gazebo at the end of your garden after sunset.

I cannot bear to be parted from you much longer.

Ever your slave,

Nicușor

y/n,

My castle must be prepared for your arrival and I have set forth with great haste to do so. In case you awake before my return, I've left you this letter.

You are currently on board a private train car bound for Transylvania. Do not attempt to leave. My guards have strict orders to ensure you reach home.

You are changed, my dear.

I have bitten you and transformed you into a creature like myself. Upon our final meeting, I intended only to say goodbye. You are too fine and beautiful a creature to be wasted on the likes of me.

But when I saw you in the moonlight, I could not help myself.

You are so beautiful. So bright and lively. You are what my cold halls have lacked all these many years.

My love, I drank your blood. Every drop of it. Nothing in my centuries of existence has ever tasted so sweet, so right.

It can be frightening, I know. But do not despair.

The light of the sun will forever be out of reach, but there are a thousand traits you've gained. Strength. Speed. Immortality.

The grave will never taste your flesh, old age will never hound at your door.

As I am the one who changed you, I am also your Lord and Master. The bond between us is forged in blood. Wherever I go, you must always follow. If I am to die, so shall you. If I am to command, you must obey.

It is a tight leash and not one of my devising, I assure you.

I intend to be your partner and not your Lord. So for both our sakes, my love, do not give me cause to use that power.

You and I have all eternity together. Does it please you as it does me?

I have longed for a bride for centuries. You cannot imagine the loneliness. And in all those years, none have impressed themselves upon my heart as you have.

I have stolen you from the sunshine and into my world of night and blood. I have ripped away any hope of heaven and salvation. No God now, no church or altar.

I am a rogue and a thief and still I beg of you. Please love, do not hate me.

I've made you into my vampire bride.

Your husband,

Nicușor Drăculești

[mill3rd]

THERE’S A MAN IN THE WOODS

synopsis. you live on a farm with your father and two younger brothers on the outskirts of north carolina, just bordering the treeline. the days become rough as a wolf keeps returning to eat at your family’s livestock. not until you finally give chase to rid the farm of it’s nuisance do you realise the trees have eyes.

tags. mentions of religion and racism, you have a tragic backstory, brief talk of the klan…, remmick is a manipulative conniving dictator, implied to be woc reader but anyone can read, strangers to almost lovers, lovers if he wasn’t out to get you, open ending, vampire/human, slowburn, haunting, kinda spicy, definitely tension present, takes place a few months before the movie’s set, mindfuck cus i love psychological thriller

word count. 13k

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

you wake with a start. your eyes are locked onto the morning sun’s intrusion through your bedroom window and your ears are chiming with the rooster’s wake up call. sitting up, you revert your stare to the pooling fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

for the last few months, you’ve been plagued with a recurring dream. at first, you barely remembered the events but as time went on you were able to put the broken pieces together.

it was not really a dream. more of a memory you’ve tried to block out and ignore despite it’s numerous hauntings during the nights. those piercing blue eyes that become veiled by scarlet once concealed in the shadows. you are consistently bedevilled by the way they glowed as if to taunt you, a reminder that he’ll come back.

during the depths of night, the same terrible memory of you being chased down the long, sandy road connecting daddy’s farm and the town is repeated the same way you’d rewind a filmstrip. white men on horseback hunting you down like a predator would their prey during the final hour of dusk.

your calves burned with every desperate step. breath tore through your throat in ragged bursts—panting wasn’t enough anymore. the adrenaline that had carried you this far had curdled into exhaustion, and the sight of the barn, distant and flickering on the horizon, loosened your limbs with false relief.

that’s when they got you.

the sun dipped behind the farmhouse like it was retreating, and the world went dim. shadows spilled across the ground, swallowing the path ahead. you didn’t hear the horse until it was already too close—hooves silent, like they rode on smoke. then a sharp jerk at your collar, and you were dragged backwards with unnatural speed.

you didn’t scream. just a yelp, strangled in your throat. the last thing you saw was white—horse, shirt, teeth—and then the ground. you hit it hard, skull cracking against a rock that jutted from the gravel like it had been waiting for you.

everything went dark.

when you came to, the sky was full of stars. too many, too bright—like they’d drawn closer in your absence. the air was thick, like it was holding its breath. you sat up slowly, head swimming, hands slick with grit and something warm.

no horse. no white riders. no sound.

just the road, and a trail.

thick red, glistening in the starlight, smeared back toward the treeline. not a splash. a drag. something had been taken, or something had crawled.

and then—you saw them.

it was thick. dark. a smear of red leading from where you lay into the woods, like something had been dragged. you followed it with your eyes until they met something else.

a pair of eyes. concealed in the trees. motionless.

they didn’t blink. they didn’t move. just watched. and you—broken, dazed, bleeding—you didn’t move either.

some things weren’t meant to be chased. some things you don’t call by name. and whatever it was waiting in those trees, it wasn’t finished with you yet.

even now as you get up from your bed, you still cannot remember your saviour’s exact features. just that pair of unsettlingly observant eyes. there’s more to the dream, to the memory but you cannot bring yourself to remember it no matter how hard you try.

as the day goes on, you eventually forget about the dream due to your duties on the farm. collect eggs from the chicken coops, let the cows out onto the field, shave the sheep for wool. your daddy took care of the more gruesome things like killing the livestock for meat. your brothers were still too young to have any real job on the farm so they played with and fed the horses.

recently, a wolf–that’s what your daddy suspected–had been sneaking in and out to pick at the lambs. it’s had you and your daddy on your toes for the last week. so far, it’s gotten ahold of two lambs and fatally injured a cow but you’ll be damned if you let it get ahold of another one.

you remember when it first started happening. you went into the barn to feed the animals just to find a lamb with it’s neck shredded and drained. it was seperated from the rest of the sheep, curled in the middle of the barn floor in a pile of hay. you could’ve mistaken it for escaping it’s pen and falling asleep if it hadn’t had a torn neck. you had called for your daddy and he advised you to be on the look out from now on. since then, it had outsmarted you twice more.

nighttime befell when you noticed a stir in the undergrowth. you were doing a final round of the coops and pens to make sure they were bolted tight when you caught the faint rustling of a stealth attempt just in your midst. the sunset cast sharp shadows on your back and onto the wooden door as you closed the large entrance to the barn. your eyes squinted, trying to decipher if it really was the so called wolf or just the evening breeze shifting the leaves.

there was a tense silence between you and mother nature. your body froze in wait as you stared at the base of the treeline. adrenaline flooded your veins while you began to call to whatever was hiding in the bushes.

as your teeth clicked, the beast emerged just like you suspected. it stalked forward, sniffing the fence. it was good luck that your brother was close by, walking a horse into the stables.

“leroy! go get daddy!” you shouted, voice sharp, eyes never leaving the wolf.

it stood just shy of the chicken coop, lit by the swinging lantern in your grip—eyes like coals, breath fogging in the thick heat of the night.

with slow, practiced fingers, you slipped the lantern onto your belt, the glow casting long, twitching shadows, and unhooked the shotgun from your shoulder. you leveled it. breathed in. fired.

the shot sang past its head, nicked its ear. the beast yelped, spun, and vanished—over the fence and into the snarled underbrush without a backward glance.

far behind you, the screen door slammed open hard enough to rattle its hinges. “what the hell you doin’?” daddy barked, storming down the porch. “chase after it, goddamnit!”

“it’s too dark!” you called, hoping that would be enough.

but he just waved a calloused hand, like darkness was a thing you could slap away. “you got a light, don’tcha? use it, girl!”

the lantern swayed against your hip like a pendulum, casting gold over the shotgun’s barrel. you stood there, breath caught in your throat, listening to the rustle of leaves where the wolf had gone. you didn’t want to follow—but you knew better than to let something like that slip away. not out here. not again.

so you broke into a sprint, hopping over the fence and chasing the beast that stole from your farm.

the lantern repeatedly swung between the air and your thigh as you ran between trees and over fallen logs. you could see the pathway ahead, the moon breaking through the trees and giving you a clear visage of what was ahead.

you’d chased the sound—rustling, footsteps that aren’t heavy enough to be a dead giveaway but just enough so that they could be heard. at first, it had seemed like an ordinary cat and mouse game, the kind of game you and your peers would play around the schoolhouse. but this animal was not playing an ordinary game of cat and mouse. you realize that now.

you’d gathered your skirt high with your free hand, breath sharp in your chest. the ground was uneven, soft in places, snagging your boots and your hem. once, you thought you saw it—a flash of dark fur between the underbrush. you pressed forward. but as you turned sharply around a stump half-hidden in dead grass, something yanked at your side with a sudden hiss of tearing fabric.

you staggered. when you looked down, a long strip of blue had been torn clean from the lower part of your skirt. it dangled for a second, caught on the bark behind you, before the wind—or something else—pulled it loose and carried it into the dark. you didn’t go after it. you only stood there, hand pressed to the frayed edge, chilled by how deliberate it had felt.

you’re not sure when the game turned into something else—something other, colder. but it had. and now, with every sound swallowed by the night, you understood you were no longer meant to be the cat.

animals have instincts. they play more survival ‘games’ than you ever had to. it’s part of their dna to survive.

it moved too fast. too clever. it had led you deeper than you intended, into a section of the woods you don’t remember walking through during the day, past groves of gnarled hawthorns and skeletal ash trees that creak as if whispering to one another.

you shouldn’t be out here.

the trees murmur it, their bare limbs tapping against one another like brittle fingers. the wind pulls at your shawl and hair, cold and sly, as though trying to tug you backward. as if to convince you to immediately turn back home. but you walk on, boots slick with mud, heart thudding like hooves in your chest.

your chest rose and fell when you stopped at a small, thin ravine. the drop itself was barely a few inches but the water was waist high. the nighttime chill wouldn’t mix well with damp clothing.

you glance down. the water is black—a reflection of the above. not wide, but fast. too fast that if you were to jump it would not guarantee your safety. especially in the dark. the stones gleam like teeth beneath the surface.

you sigh, clutching the shotgun in your palms and looking around. the trees happened to close in and block the shine of the moonlight except for one single ray, enclosing you in near darkness. you weren’t afraid of the dark, you figured you had other things to be wary of.

like what’s inside the woods itself. the woods aren’t meant to be this silent.

you sway with unease, surveying your surroundings. it was too dark.

at this time, you’d realised that the fire in the lantern had been knocked out during the sprint. you put your shotgun back over your shoulder before rustling in your pockets for a lighter.

“there we go..” you murmur, flicking it a few times infront of you until it stays alight.

“i’s a lil’ late for someone like you to be out here so late, don’cha think?” a voice says from the other side of the ravine. the suddenness startles you, making you almost drop the lighter. your fumble to catch it causes the flame to lick at your palm. hissing, you close the metal lid of the lighter and hold your hand in pain.

“dear lord,” you whisper, squeezing your hand and backing away from the revine ledge.

“sorry, i ain’t mean to frighten ya, ‘was genuine curiosity,” the owner of the voice stepped into the light, revealing a white man with a toothy grin. he stared at you like he was examining you. it gave you the creeps. he’s mainly standing in the shadows across the gap. perfectly still. taller than you, albeit not by very much. pale-skinned. dressed in suspenders and a loose shirt. his shoes are polished even in the dirt. his hair is dark, sticking onto his forehead. you can’t tell his age, but something about him feels ancient.

“you one of them?” you squint, your left hand holding the gun for a sick sense of comfort. the man tilts his head, “one of who?”

you swallow, “the klan.”

you are almost surprised by the expression of shock and almost offense that explodes onto the man’s features. his eyebrows raise with his hands, “ma’am, i can assure you that i believe in equal rights between all people.”

you scoff like you don’t believe it, but you freed the gun of your grip nonetheless, “okay.”

“i’m glad we have no problems,” the man smiles but your brows furrow. the river rushed, exchanged for the silence that followed. your eyes drifted over him. he wasn’t dressed in anything fancy and his appearance wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before but there was something about him that caught your eye.

“we met before?” you ask, eyes glinting with curiosity. the stranger laughs, “why don’cha answer my question first?”

your chest drops with a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you stammer, “sorry, what was the question?”

“what’re ya doing out here so late?” he asks once more. your boot toes the dirt beneath you, “huntin’ is all.”

he raises an eyebrow, amused more than skeptical. “at this time?”

you nod, though it feels flimsy now. “damned mutt keeps eating at the livestock n’ it caught my eye this evenin’. dark thing. fast. had me and my daddy on our toes a lot this week.”

he tilts his head, like he’s testing the truth of you. “and you figure it’ll lie at ya feet if you started chasing it?”

you swallow, “my daddy sent me after it, told me to track it down before it gets brave.”

“n’ how’s that workin’ out f’r ya?” the stranger mocks with a grin. you swallow. the woods press in close, too silent now. not a single cricket. not even wind. just the rushing water from the revine below.

“clearly outsmarted me,” you exhale, putting your hand on your hip and squeezing it out of nervous habit, “it’s a clever wolf.”

that gets a gleam in his eye,“clever’s dangerous.”

you nod, glancing behind you at the narrow path that wound you here. you’d barely seen it in the dark, half-choked with brambles and vines. “yeah. that’s why I brought this.” you lift your shotgun slightly—not in threat, just to show. a gesture.

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even look at the gun.

“what about you?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light. “you got a reason to be out here, or you just like loiterin’ in places folks try to avoid?”

he smirks, not answering right away. “maybe i live out here. y’ever think of that?”

you chuckle. “in the trees?”

“could do.”

a silence passes between you, thin as frost and twice as cold. you watch each other in the gloom. he’s still half-shrouded by shadow, leaning against a tree like he belongs to it—like it grew around him and he just never left. his suspenders are dark and long, damp at the hem, and his boots don’t make a sound when he shifts his stance.

“what’s your name?” you ask, heart drumming a little harder now. you’re not sure if you’re curious or just stalling.

“people ‘round here don’t ask names when they meet strangers in the dark,” he says, voice smooth but taut, like a wire stretched too tight. “you learn things ya can’t forget.”

“maybe I wanna remember,” you say, trying to hold his gaze.

he leans his head slightly, amused. “do ya now?”

your jaw tightens. “depends.”

“on what?”

“on wha’cha are.”

that gets him. the smile fades, just a flicker, and he studies you like you just said something in a language he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“ya ask a lotta questions for someone with a gun in their hands,” he murmurs, stepping closer. you raise the shotgun just slightly—not to aim, just to make the distance clear. he doesn’t flinch.

“i ask when things don’t line up,” you say, “like how i’ve lived out here my whole life and never seen you ‘til now. or how there’s not a single sound in these woods since you showed up.”

he grins, wide again, but not kind. its cold and holds secrets, “maybe ya ain’t listenin’ right.”

you bite your lip. something scurries up your spine like vermin, something you don’t want to name. “maybe i don’t wanna hear what’s out there.”

he steps closer still. just one more pace before he’s out of the moonlight, but it steals your breath. his eyes are strange—too dark, like a dormant volcano that threatens to leak red for the first time in one hundred thousand years. you feel like if you look too long, you’ll erupt with it.

“then why’d ya come out here?” he asks, voice low, like the hush before a storm. you hesitate, eyes tracing the shifting shadows. “i already told ya why.”

he nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s weighing your words against something heavier. “alright. i’ll believe ya… for now.”

you scoff, but it comes out softer than you intended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he doesn’t answer. just pushes off the tree without a sound, as if the forest itself makes way for him. the air changes—cooler, stiller—as he lifts his face toward the canopy, the trees arching like they want to listen.

“ah, ah,” you call, pointing at him. “you said you’d answer my question.”

he glances at you over his shoulder, and there’s a flicker in his eyes—something unreadable, almost curious.

“we could be acquaintances,” he says carefully, “or maybe ya like talkin’ up strange men in the woods.”

your frown deepens. “that’s not an answer.”

“no,” he agrees, voice low as a secret. “but it’s true.”

something in his gaze catches the light, and for a second, you’re not sure if it’s a glint of mischief—or something else entirely.

he goes to walk off again, swaying merrily from side to side like the night belongs to him, like nothing in the world could ever touch him.

“and i don’t even get your name?” you call out, half-marveling, half-exasperated. for someone so wrapped in mystery, he still manages to come off rude.

he stops. turns one last time.

and somehow, you know—it’s the last time he’ll respond. the certainty hits you like static in the air, a charge that zips across your skin and settles deep in your bones.

“sweetheart,” he says, eyes trailing over you with a lazy kind of mischief. a smirk crawls onto his face like it’s always been there, waiting. “you know it.”

your brows pull tight. confusion blooms. before you can shape the question forming behind your teeth, he cuts in—like he’s pulled it straight from your head.

“take a dip into your mind tonight,” he says, voice low and distant, like it’s already drifting away. “you’ll remember it.”

and then—it’s there. right at the edge.

your lips part. they quiver. you bite down to stop the habit you’ve never managed to break.

“damn it,” you whisper.

it’s right there. you can feel it pressing against your tongue. but somehow, you still can’t speak it.

you watch him vanish, slipping between the trees like the forest opened just for him. like he expects you to follow.

he never says it—but the way he walks, the ease in his stride, the smirk half-thrown over his shoulder—it all says you will.

but you don’t.

you’re more than happy to deflate his ego. so you turn on your heel and make your way home, the night thick and humming around you.

when you reach the porch, your daddy’s already waiting, arms crossed, lantern glowing at his feet like a tame fire.

“you didn’t get it,” he says—not accusing, just certain. like he already knew.

you nod. no use pretending otherwise.

“i lost track of it,” you admit, quiet.

he studies you a moment, then sighs. it’s not disappointment you hear—just the tired kind of knowing that comes from a life lived close to danger.

“you were brave tonight,” he says finally, voice rough with something close to pride. “braver than most.”

then, with a nod, he picks up the lantern and waves you off.

“go on. get some sleep.”

and just like that, it’s over. no lecture. no second thought.

but as you climb the stairs to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that nothing’s really over. not yet.

sleep doesn’t come easy, but when it does, it swallows you whole.

you’re standing in the woods again, only this time it’s not foggy—it’s still. unnaturally so. no wind, no crickets, no sound at all. even your breath feels like it’s being swallowed by the trees.

ahead, something glows—a slow, golden flicker, like candlelight caught in water.

you move toward it, barefoot again, leaves slick under your feet. the light leads you, and somehow, you know it’s him. he’s waiting. he always is.

you find him by a half-dead oak, one hand resting on the trunk like he’s listening to something in the bark.

“you came,” he murmurs, not turning.

“i didn’t mean to,” you say, though you’re not sure if that’s true.

he smiles without looking, and then—finally—he turns to face you.

“y’know my name yet?”

his voice is soft, almost kind, but something behind it scratches at the edge of your mind, like claws against wood. you shake your head, “tell me.”

he steps closer. close enough that you see the stars in his eyes—but they aren’t reflections. they’re inside him. burning.

he leans in, mouth near your ear. and he says his name.

the sound of it splits something in you. not pain, not quite. more like a door opening in a place you didn’t know you had. it echoes. it settles.

you try to repeat it—but your lips won’t move. your throat won’t open. something inside you resists, like speaking it would let him inside for real.

“there it is,” he whispers, brushing a finger down your jaw, to your neckline. “just don’t forget it again.”

you jolt awake, cold sweat clinging to your skin.

his name pulses in your mind, louder than your heartbeat, as clear as if you’d just heard it again—and you replay it on your lips, it feels right. feels good. remmick..

you sit up. the farmhouse is quiet. too quiet. no wind through the rafters, no cluck of hens, no groan of the wood beneath your father’s boots. the silence feels stretched. unnatural.

the dream has left you dazed. his face, the stranger’s—remmick’s—is imprinted behind your eyes like a thumb pressed into soft earth. his voice had called to you—not with urgency, but with strange familiarity. like he’d known you longer than you’d known yourself. like you’d promised something.

you go to the window.

outside, the fields ripple under low morning mist, and the corn stalks stand tall but motionless. the barn’s doors are open. not wide, but just a sliver, like they were curious enough to peek. a jagged piece of blue cloth—the fabric that’d been torn last night—flutters from the fence post by the coop. it's knotted tight, as if someone had left it there for you.

you dress slow, careful. the house groans once, somewhere behind the walls, and then settles again. you don’t call out for your daddy. not yet. something about the air makes you feel like if you speak too loud, you’ll break it.

on the porch, the world smells damp and sweet, like rain that hasn’t fallen. a crow watches you from the clothesline, head tilted. you give it a nod like you’re greeting a neighbor, and it caws back, once, like it understands.

you go to the barn first. always best to check the odd things before the expected ones. the cloth flaps lazily when you pass it. the barn doors creak when you pull them open, revealing dust hanging thick in beams of light. nothing is out of place. not really. but the hay has been arranged into a spiral—wide and looping, like something moved through it, not walked. slid.

you step inside anyway. your boots crunch soft over the hay, and the spiral breaks under you. there’s no fear. just that deep feeling you get when you know you’re part of something, but you don’t know what yet. like a play you walked into halfway through, and everyone else already knows their lines.

in the corner of the barn is a chair you don’t remember putting there. an old rocker. you’ve never seen it before, but it doesn’t feel unfamiliar. when you reach out to touch it, there’s warmth still in the wood.

daddy’s voice finally calls from the field.

you leave the barn without looking back, and you don’t tell him about the hay spiral or the warm chair. you just listen as he complains about the cows not coming in for feed, and the fence posts shifting again overnight. the dirt smells too rich, he says. too sweet. like sugar rotting.

the whole day is like that. small things. a second plate set out at breakfast though you swore you didn’t do it. a mirror in the hallway catching someone behind you that isn’t there when you turn. the wind blowing your name once, low and fond, when no one else is near.

you walk the edge of the fields after supper, watching the sky go pink behind the trees. there’s movement between the rows—subtle, almost like someone walking beside you just out of sight. but you don’t look. not tonight. it doesn’t feel threatening. just… familiar.

that night, the dream comes back.

he is there again, just where you left him. standing in the woods, shirt open at the throat, lantern glow behind him. “you remembered,” he says. like he knows.

“that’s alright,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “there’s still time.”

when you wake, the blue cloth is fluttering outside your open bedroom window. the knot so neat it looks deliberate, like a ribbon on a gift. your hand trembles slightly when you hang out of the window to untie it. the fabric is soft, finer than anything you own. it smells faintly of smoke and cedar and something else, like remmick added his own scent to it.

you don’t tell your brothers or your daddy.

he’s already at the edge of the pasture, trying to coax the cattle back toward the barn. they’ve taken to lingering near the woods, eyes wide and wary. he curses under his breath as one bull shakes its head and turns away, refusing to come.

you stand at the back steps and watch the tree line.

you don’t know what you’re waiting for, but your heart seems to. it beats a little faster when a shadow shifts behind the branches. nothing emerges. nothing moves, really. but the stillness feels full, like the pause before someone speaks your name.

at dusk, the sky bruises violet and gold. you walk the perimeter of the fields again, pretending to look for signs of broken fence or paw prints. instead, your hand drifts to the red cloth in your pocket. your thumb brushes it like a worry stone.

when the night falls, you wait.

you leave your window open. just a crack.

the dream doesn’t come.

instead, it’s the tapping that wakes you. soft. rhythmic. like someone gently drumming their fingers on the glass. when you sit up, the room is silver with the moonlight that breaks through the thinness of your curtain. the tapping stops.

you move to the window, slipping your hand between the hanging fabric toward the latch. your heart sinks the moment you see it—a shadowed hand, reaching for yours from the other side of the glass. your breath catches. instinct yanks your hand back, but the shadow doesn’t move. it lingers there, pressed against the pane, too still to be real, too solid not to be.

you stand frozen, heart pounding so loud it muffles the quiet.

finally, once the panic settles into something like courage, you part the curtain.

the shadow is gone.

but just beyond the yard, near the edge of the barn, a figure stands—motionless, watching. not approaching. not retreating. just waiting in the dark, exactly where the lantern light can’t reach.

he doesn’t wave. doesn’t speak. but you know it’s him. remmick. same silhouette. same impossible stillness, like the air around him holds its breath. your own breath fogs the glass.

he waits. for you. he waits for you.

you pull your shawl around your shoulders and slip outside barefoot. the earth is cold, damp. you don’t call to him. you just walk.

as you get closer, you realize he’s not standing in shadow—he is the shadow. moonlight should strike his face, but it doesn’t. it bends around him like it’s shy. only his eyes catch the light, glinting like something not quite human.

“you came,” remmick says, like it surprises him, though something in his eyes suggests he expected nothing less. like he’s been waiting—patiently, deliberately—every night since the first, and would’ve kept waiting, too, just to prove that you would return eventually.

you nod, uncertain, and remmick smiles as if you’ve confirmed something important without realizing it.

“you remembered something,” he says, voice like low thunder, warm and unsettling. “even if you’d rather forget.”

“your name,” you whisper, but the word thickens in your throat. it doesn’t rise. it sinks—heavy and warm—curling behind your ribs like a secret you’re ashamed to know.

his smile deepens, indulgent, knowing. “it’ll come,” he says. “when it needs to. you ain’t need’ta force what already belongs to you.”

you flinch slightly as his gaze shifts, sharp and cold, to the trees behind you.

“the land’s wakin’ up,” he murmurs. “things buried never stay buried long. not here.”

“who are you?” you ask, though the question feels small now, almost childish.

he steps closer, slow, deliberate. the air turns cool—not biting, but intrusive. it slips under your skin like water seeping through cracks. you shiver, but he watches you with quiet satisfaction, as if your discomfort proves something to him.

“a memory,” he says softly, “a promise you made when you thought no one was listening. a consequence you invited.”

you shake your head, instinct tightening your chest. “you’re real.”

he studies you, tilting his head like a curious animal. “yes,” he says, “and no. i’m whatever plagues you.”

his hand lifts—gentle, too gentle—and he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek. his touch is cool, precise, and lingers just long enough to leave something behind: a tremor, a question, a pull.

“you believe in fate?” he asks, voice low, coaxing. like he already knows your answer and wants to hear you say it wrong.

you don’t speak.

his smile returns, quieter now. almost pitying. “you will.”

you step back. the stars seem brighter now, like they’re watching. the barn behind him groans once, the sound old and wet, like wood remembering water.

you don’t see him leave.

you turn around, heart thudding, and walk back to the house.

the morning comes quiet.

you wake with the feeling that something is watching you, but when you open your eyes, there’s only the ceiling above. no shadow at the window, no whisper in your ear. still, your chest is tight like it hasn’t stopped bracing.

you get up slower than usual. your limbs feel like they’ve been moving in your sleep. your feet are dusty, though you could swear you never left the bed.

in the mirror, your face looks the same. but your eyes… they look like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have.

downstairs, the kitchen is hushed. even the old house seems uncertain how to greet the day. the stove clicks when you light it, and the kettle moans like something waking from a bad dream. you drink your tea standing, watching the trees through the window over the sink.

they move too much for a wind this mild.

the blue fabric is in your pocket. it hadn’t been there when you went to bed, but it’s here now—creased and stained with something that isn’t quite dirt. you smooth it out on the table, trace the threads with your finger. they look newer than they should, like they were stitched last night.

like someone left it for you.

you try the chores anyway. the chickens are uneasy. they don’t peck at your boots like they usually do. they cluster near the fence and watch the treeline, like they expect something to come crawling out.

the barn’s doors are closed now. they weren’t, last night.

you stand outside them for a long time, hand on the latch. you expect the air to be heavy again, or that strange chill to slide down your back like a breath. but it’s just quiet.

too quiet.

inside, everything’s in its place. the tools haven’t moved. the hay is dry. there’s no sign of the figure you saw near the fence. and yet—there’s a smell. faint. metallic. sweet in a way that doesn’t belong in a barn. like rust and roses.

you don’t linger.

back at the house, you find yourself staring at the window where the hand had touched the glass. it should be smudged, but the pane is spotless. cleaner than it’s been in months. you touch the same spot. the glass is cool, colder than the room around it.

dinner time is no different at first. the clatter of forks against chipped ceramic fills the silence. stew’s gone lukewarm in your bowl, but you’ve barely touched it. every now and then, the wood of the chair creaks beneath your shifting weight, and you can feel their eyes on you—watching too long between bites.

“you alright?” leroy asks first. his voice is casual, but his brow’s tight. you glance up, startled by the sound more than the question.

“i’m fine,” you lie, offering a short smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“you been sleepwalkin’ again?” daniel mutters, not looking at you. his spoon scrapes the bowl. “saw the back door open this morning.”

you stiffen. the knot in your stomach pulls tighter.

“door was just unlatched,” you say, “must’ve been the wind.”

daddy lays his fork down slow. “girl, ain’t been wind strong enough to blow open that door since last spring. and your boots were wet this mornin’, tracked mud right through the back hall.”

you blink. you don’t remember putting boots on. you don’t remember walking, either—not really. just the barn. his voice. the candlelight stretching like fingers across the walls.

“you ain’t said a word all day,” leroy notes, “been starin’ at nothin’. mutterin’, too.”

“you’re all lookin’ at me like i’ve grown a second head,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. your heart’s racing, your chest too tight. “i just didn’t sleep well.

“that’s more than no sleep,” daniel analyses, voice low. “you been actin’ strange. and the animals been actin’ strange, too.”

“enough,” daddy demands, but his tone isn’t scolding. it’s quiet. concerned. like he’s been thinking the same thing.

you press your palms flat to the table, trying to steady yourself. the grain of the wood feels unfamiliar. everything does. even the way your family’s looking at you—too still, too measured.

“why’re y’all askin’ me like i did somethin’ wrong?” you ask, eyes glassy.

“we didn’t say that,” your daddy frowns. but something shifts in the room. daniel won’t meet your eyes. leroy’s stopped eating. daddy’s hand is still on his fork, but he hasn’t picked it back up. you can feel the sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

they’re watching you. not like family. not anymore.

they look at you like you’re a reflection in water—familiar in shape, but something’s gone warped beneath the surface. leroy’s jaw is tight. daniel won’t stop glancing your way, then glancing off again. daddy’s fork hangs in his hand like he’s forgotten what to do with it.

the candle flickers once, casting long shadows that stretch over their faces and make them look like someone else entirely.

outside the window, a figure slips past. silent. too smooth. just a smear of shadow. you go still, eyes locked on the glass. no one else reacts. like they didn’t see it. or like they did—and don’t want you to know.

your chair scrapes the floor as you stand. it sounds too loud in the quiet.

“i’m goin’ to bed,” you announce, no one stops you. just three nods.

that night, you light a candle before you go to bed. not the usual lamp, but a tall, white taper that you found tucked in the bottom of the drawer. you don’t remember putting it there.

as the flame flickers, you think about what he said.

a memory. a promise. a consequence.

you whisper the name again, just to try it. you repeat it until it’s all your tongue feels comfortable saying. like a comfort.

outside, a fox screams in the woods. or maybe it’s something else.

you don’t sleep. not really.

you lay with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling while the candle burns down, and the red fabric curls like it's trying to remember what it used to be.

just after midnight, the barn door creaks open again.

you hear it from your bed. and this time, you don’t move.

the sheets snap in the midday wind, pale ghosts dancing between the trees. you pin them to the line with fingers gone stiff from the morning chill, shoulders hunched against it. the scent of soap and woodsmoke clings to the fabric. behind you, boots crunch slow through the patchy grass.

“ain’t dryin’ proper if you bunch ’em up like that,” your daddy says gently.

you don’t look back, “they’ll catch the wind.”

he stops beside you, arms crossed. for a moment, neither of you speak. the wind hums low. a crow calls out once from the trees.

“i know you’re still grievin’,” he says after a stretch. “and i know that’s... partially my fault.”

you pause mid-pin, fingers caught in the act. his voice sounds older than it used to.

“she loved ya,” you say quietly, “and ya loved her.”

“yeah,” he breaths, “and it got her killed.”

the words fall heavy. you move to the next sheet without answering.

“life ain’t been easy for you. or your brothers. not since we came back here. i know that. know what folks say. what they whisper. ‘bout a white man an’ a coloured woman.”

you glance at him then. his jaw is set, weathered. the gray in his beard wasn’t always there.

“we hear it, too,” you say, “we always did.”

he nods. “you were just little when it all happened. but even then, you knew what people looked like when they hated quiet.”

the sheet in your hands slips, and you catch it by instinct. your throat feels tight.

“you think it changed me?” you ask. “mama’s death?”

his gaze doesn’t flinch. “it had to.”

a gust of wind lifts the edge of a shirt on the line. it flaps like a flag, the sleeve brushing your arm.

“you’re different now,” he says. “quiet. faraway. and lately... you’ve been lookin’ like her. when she was scared but wouldn’t say so.”

you swallow hard. “i’m not scared.”

he studies you a long moment. “then what are you?”

you don’t answer. you can’t. not with how your dreams feel like they’re bleeding into the day. not with how you wake up with dirt under your nails and your name whispering back at you in a voice that doesn’t belong to anyone you know—but feels like home.

“if there’s somethin’ you need to tell me,” he says low, “now’s the time. before it gets too deep to dig out.”

you turn your face toward the trees, where the edge of the woods lies waiting

“not yet,” you sigh.

and he doesn’t press you. he just helps hang the last of the laundry, quiet as the sky.

you wake before midnight, but not in the way waking should feel.

it’s that in-between space again—eyes half-lidded, body moving before your mind catches up. your feet know where they’re going. your nightdress brushes against your shins, it sticks to your body, damp with sweat. your fingers twitch open and closed like you’re still holding onto something you can’t see.

the air is thick, humming low like the world hasn’t quite started turning yet.

then you hear him.

not a voice, not clearly. but something rides the wind—soft, drawn out, curling around your ear like smoke. not words, but a shape your soul remembers. something that tugs at you like thread pulled taut.

you don’t stop to put on boots. don’t think to grab a lantern or a gun.

you pass the tree line, where the woods lean in close like old men with secrets. they remember you. they creak and hush, and still you move deeper.

the stream lies just ahead. you don’t need to see it—you feel its presence in your bones. that place where you first saw him, where he first looked at you like he’d known you across lifetimes.

your feet find the slick stones at the water’s edge without stumbling. the current murmurs softly, swollen from last night’s rain, but not fierce. it parts before you, like it knows to let you through.

you cross, the chill biting into your skin. your breath hitches, but you don’t turn back. can’t.

the ravine is shallow here, but the banks rise high and steep as you climb the other side. bramble and brush tug at your soaking nightdress. a loose thread catches on a branch, rips free—white cloth fluttering like a flag left behind. more fabric that this section of wood wants from you.

and still, you follow the sound.

he’s closer now. not behind you. not ahead. just... around. in the trees. in the mist coiling through the undergrowth. the sky above is a hard, dark blue, and you swear the moon lingers too long, watching.

when you reach the clearing, your breath leaves you at the same time that your eyes fall from their rolled back positions in your skull.

he stands beneath a split tree, backlit by silver light. unmoving. not waiting—expecting. your bare feet pause in the moss, but your body leans forward.

“you called me,” you murmur, though you don’t remember opening your mouth. his head tilts.

“ya heard me,” he replies, like it was never in question. his voice is different here—fuller, warmer, yet it chills every part of you it touches. he doesn’t come closer. he doesn’t need to.

“i ain’t mean to come,” you say, though the words sound hollow, like you already know they aren’t true.

“but ya did,” he says. “‘cause ya always do. even when you try not to.”

your fingers twitch at your sides. your heart beats faster now, like it knows it shouldn’t be here. like it remembers something your mind has buried too deep.

“d’ya know why?” remmick asks, like he was finally getting the answer he’s been waiting for…! but you shake your head. he smiles—sad, or amused, or both.

“you will,” he says. the wind stirs. the trees sigh. the sky twinkles as he offers his hand. you take it, shivering from the coldness of his palm.

none of you speak when he turns, just gives a glance over his shoulder, to make sure you’re really there in his hold.

barefoot, breath fogging in the chill before dawn, you trail behind him into the woods with your hand still gripping his. your nightdress clings damp around your legs, torn slightly at the hem where brambles caught you. the ground beneath your feet is soft, moss giving under each step like the earth itself is breathing. it cushions your bare feet.

remmick moves without sound.

no twigs snap under his boots. no rustle from his coat. he walks like he’s always belonged here, but not like he’s part of it. no. there’s something in the way he walks—like he could leave whenever he pleased. like he never intended to stay.

the path curves past a shallow river, down into the belly of the forest where the trees grow taller and closer together. it’s there you see the shack.

not run-down, not quite forgotten, but something older than it should be. wood silvered with time. windows small and round like eyes. smoke curls gently from the chimney, thin and pale.

he doesn’t knock. just opens the door and steps inside.

you linger on the threshold. you don’t know why your heart pounds the way it does—like the bones of this place remember something your body forgot. still, your hand finds the frame, and then you’re inside.

the scent of pine resin and ash wraps around you. herbs hang in bundles from the rafters, casting twisted shadows on the walls courtesy of the many candles. books are stacked in quiet towers. glass jars filled with dark things line the shelves. it smells like memory. like quiet.

you glance around the room—definitely a living room, though worn thin with time—and your eyes catch on a banjo hanging from two rusted hooks above an old rifle mounted on the wall.

you nod toward it, amusement tugging at your lips. “didn’t know you were the musical type.”

remmick follows your gaze. “oh, that? yeah. i like to play when the mood’s right.”

you tilt your head, smirking. “what about the rifle? you strum that too?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, one brow raised. “got jokes, huh?”

you grin, wide and unrepentant.

he shakes his head, chuckling as he steps aside to let you pass. “go on, then. before i show you what a real duet sounds like.”

his smile lingers, and for a brief moment, so does yours.

you take the chair remmick motions to—an old rocker with worn fabric. he moves slowly, not because he’s tired, but because he doesn’t need to rush. everything he does feels intentional. like time obeys him, not the other way around.

“you don’t look surprised to see me,” you chuckle softly.

remmick gives a faint shrug. “you always find me, one way or another.”

a gasp slips accidentally from your throat. your first conversation from a month ago flashes across your mind.

“we met before?”

“we could be acquaintances,” he says carefully, “or maybe ya like talkin’ up strange men in the woods.”

“we’ve met before.”

“in pieces,” he admits cryptically. “in dreams. in other places… but you know where we’ve met before.”

“how long have you been here?”

he glances toward the trees beyond the window. “not long.”

“before that?”

a small smile touches his lips. “everywhere else.”

you don’t know what that means. the kettle hisses over the fire, and he pours the tea without looking at it. hands you a chipped mug without asking if you want it.

“why me?” you ask.

“because you came,” he says, settling into the chair across from you. “that’s all it ever takes.”

you shake your head. “i don’t remember choosing to.”

“doesn’t mean you didn’t.” he leans forward. “some things in us reach out, even when we don’t know why.”

you sip the tea. it’s bitter and grounding, full of something you can’t name. it spreads warmth into your chest.

“you’re not like them,” you say, reffering to hunters and poachers, “not like the others in the woods.”

his eyes glint with something unreadable. “no. i’m not.”

“you’re not bound to this place.”

“nothing holds me,” he says quietly. “not the land. not death. not even time, if i don’t let it.”

you set your cup down. “then why stay?”

his gaze doesn’t waver. “because you’re here.”

a silence falls between you, long and soft.

you study the lines of his face. pale, like moonlight under skin. beautiful, but in a way that feels wrong if you look too long. a beauty sharpened by grief or hunger—something left unfinished.

“i’ve dreamed of you,” you whisper, like if admitting it too loud would offend him.

“you always do.”

“do you dream of me?”

remmick’s lips twitch, not quite a smile. “you’re harder to forget.”

outside, a crow cries. the sound stretches over the treetops and fades.

“you’ve always followed me,” he says, standing. “for a long time. y’don’t remember now, but ya will soon.”

he walks to the window, pushes it open. wind creeps in around the frame.

“they’re stirring again,” he warns, voice lower now. “them old things. nuisances beneath the roots.”

remmick speaks like he’s telling a story, like he’s reading to a child.

“who are they?”

“nothing you need to worry over. not now, or ever.”

he turns back to you, crossing the room with that quiet grace, like he could vanish at any moment.

“stay here, just until the sun’s high,” he pleads, “you’ll be safer here for now.”

you hesitate. “and if i stay longer?”

his smile is slow. “then you’ll start to remember more than jus’ my name.”

you swallow hard, the room suddenly warmer despite the fire having long died to embers. he steps closer, bending down to level with you, quiet as the hush between tree branches, and your breath catches before you even realize you’ve stopped breathing.

his hand lifts, careful, deliberate, fingers brushing along your jaw, cold at first—like creekwater in early spring—but gentling into warmth the longer he lingers. your skin hums beneath his touch, like it remembers him even if your mind won’t say how.

“y’still don’t know,” he murmurs, “but those bones do.”

he leans in slow enough for you to turn away. but you don’t.

his mouth finds yours, soft at first—testing—then deeper, like he’s waited years for you to let him back in. something stirs in your chest, blooming heat behind your ribs, like you’ve kissed him before beneath a hundred moons, in lifetimes neither of you ever got to finish.

when he pulls back, barely, your forehead rests against his.

“doesn’t feel like the first time,” you whisper.

“that’s because it ain’t,” he says, and you believe him.

his breath mingles with yours—cool and steady, unlike the wild rhythm hammering behind your ribs. for a moment, you say nothing. just let the silence cradle you both while your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

his other hand moves to the small of your back, not possessive, but certain. like he knows where you fit best. like he’s done this before, maybe many times, and every version of you always leaned into him just the same.

the air is thick with something unsaid. your pulse flutters like the wings of a moth brushing too close to flame, and you wonder—absurdly, truthfully—if he feels it too.

remmick presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth this time, softer than the last, like he’s memorizing the shape of you piece by piece. “you used to meet me at the edge of the trees,” he murmurs against your cheek. “you’d wear a red ribbon. always that same one.”

your heart stutters. you don’t remember a red ribbon. but the color flares bright in your mind, sudden and warm.

“how do you know that?” you whisper.

his smile is faint, almost sorrowful. “because you gave it to me.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, searching your face. “i could show you,” he says. “what you’ve forgotten.”

you nod before you can talk yourself out of it. your body answers for you. your memory might be shrouded in fog, but your soul has already started to clear the path.

his lips return to yours—firmer now, more familiar. this time, when his mouth parts yours, you open to him like you’ve done it before. like instinct. there’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. just the steady burn of something old being remembered.

the warmth of the kiss lingers as he leans back and smiles, “you want a song with that too?”

it sounds like hes joking, but you both know that if you asked, he’d do it.

you open your eyes, eyelashes fluttering as the effects of the kiss wears off. you smile, “i’d like that.”

the fire in remmick’s hearth is low, casting gold and amber against the rough-hewn walls of the cabin. you’ve curled yourself into one of the old wool blankets he keeps stacked near the door, still half-dressed from the day, hair mussed, skin kissed by sleep. he sits by the flames, banjo propped against his thigh, tuning it in that careful, distracted way of his—like the motion brings him comfort.

then, without warning, his thumb strikes the strings in a gentle rhythm. slow at first, almost hesitant. and then he begins to sing:

“oh, the summertime is coming,

and the trees are sweetly bloomin’,

and the wild mountain thyme

grows around the bloomin’ heather—

will ye go, lassie, go?”

his voice is rough in places, worn and lived-in. not polished, but real. it slips into the room like fog through the trees, curling around you, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

you shift in your seat, watching him more closely now. “i don’t think i’ve ever heard that one before,” you say, quiet. “what’s it called?”

his fingers don’t pause. “will ye go, lassie, go. old tune.”

you nod slowly. “sounds old.”

remmick smiles, but it’s faint. the kind of smile someone wears when their mind’s somewhere far from here. “it is. from the old country.”

you tilt your head. “england?”

“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “farther west. ireland.”

you blink. “ireland?”

he finally sets the banjo down gently on the floor, resting his hands on his knees. “me ma used to sing it when the wind howled through the slats of the shack we had. back before we came here. before the land was kind or the neighbors were quiet.”

you study him. “i didn’t know you were irish.”

“most folk don’t,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair. “folk like to forget where they came from once the road’s long enough. but i remember. and that song…” he trails off, looking into the fire, “...that song brings it all back.”

you feel something in your chest twist. maybe guilt for not knowing. maybe awe. maybe just the weight of the way he speaks—like the past lives right behind his eyes.

“what was it like?” you ask. “growing up that way?”

remmick breathes out slow. “hard. poor. different. some english patrol caught wind of what he was doin’—smugglin’ food to a rebel priest. that was enough. they made sure mama knew what happened to him. made her scared enough to leave.

he glances at you, the fire casting amber across his cheekbones. “ain’t nothin’ romantic about it. just runnin’ from one fear to another.”

you don’t say anything at first. just nod. and for a while, the cabin is quiet again.

then you whisper, “but the song... it’s beautiful.”

remmick hums in agreement. “aye. it is. even after everything.”

he picks the banjo back up, plucks at a few strings, then says with a half-smile, “want me to sing it again?”

you nod, and lean closer toward the fire.

and when he sings this time, you hear more than just a tune. you hear longing. resilience. a boy buried beneath centuries of struggle, still holding tight to the one thing that couldn't be taken: memory.

remmick is watching you with a stillness that feels ancient. reverent.

“you said you’d always find your way back,” he brings up softly through the quiet.

you don’t answer. not with words. instead, you lean forward again, this time of your own choosing, and kiss him like you’re trying to make up for all the years lost in silence.

and outside, the wind picks up—carrying the scent of pine and riverwater—and the woods seem to sigh, like they too remember.

you wake before the light fully breaks. the cabin is quiet, wrapped in that strange hush that comes just before dawn. not silence—no, it’s thicker than that. like the whole world is holding its breath.

your limbs are heavy, not with sleep, but with something else. warmth. surrender. the ache that follows closeness.

remmick isn’t beside you, but his shirt is. you drape over your bare shoulders, thick and smelling of smoke, pine, and the faintest trace of something human and dark and steady.

you pull it tighter. there’s a soreness in your hips, a looseness in your chest, but it isn’t unpleasant. just… real.

the fire’s burned low, a few embers crackling quietly in the hearth. your clothes are folded neatly at the foot of the bedroll, as if last night had been gentle. it hadn’t always been—but it had never been cruel.

you rise slowly, muscles remembering the weight of him. the way he touched you like he’d done it before, like he would again. like you were something known, and he’d only been waiting for you to remember.

you find him standing by the window. not moving. just watching the woods, his arms folded, jaw slack with thought.

he doesn’t turn when he hears you, but his voice finds you anyway. low. warm.

“you stayed.”

you hesitate before answering. “so did you.”

he glances back at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable in the pale morning light.

you walk toward him, the floor cool beneath your feet. every step brings you closer to that hum, that quiet pull he carries like a second skin. you don’t know what it is—not really—but you want to be near it. near him.

he watches you come closer. doesn’t move to touch you. not yet.

“you’re not afraid of me,” he breathes, like he was expecting something different.

you reach out and carress the outside of his arm, fingers curling around his biceo. “should i be?”

he looks at your hand, then back at your face. his voice is barely more than breath. “not yet.”

you lift his hand and place it at your waist. guide it there, slow. his fingers tighten, tentative but wanting.

“what was last night?” you ask quietly, “for us..”

he leans in, not quite touching, mouth close to your ear. “a beginnin’,” he notes, “or maybe a return.”

you close your eyes. breathe him in. everything about him makes the world blur at the edges. time slows. thought slips.

you press your forehead to his collarbone. he rests his hand against the small of your back, grounding. reverent.

“you feel like something i lost,” you whisper.

“maybe you did,” he answers, “maybe we both did.”

you stay like that for a long time, standing in the stillness, wrapped in warmth and the quiet, unbearable tenderness of being remembered by someone you forgot.

outside, the light finally shifts. dawn creeps in slow. eventually, you step back. his hand trails away from you reluctantly, “stay an’ther day?”

you take a small step back, eyes still on him, breath just a little uneven.

“i don’t know…” you murmur, voice light with mischief, “my daddy’s probably already pacing the porch, mad i didn’t come home.”

there’s a smile tugging at your mouth—teasing, inviting. the kind that says you know exactly what you’re doing. and that, for once, you don’t particularly care about the consequences.

remmick watches you with a look that walks the line between restraint and hunger. “you’re not worried,” he says, stepping forward, slow and sure.

“maybe i am,” you offer, tilting your head, the smile deepening, “but not about him.”

he moves before you can finish that thought, one hand reaching past to tug the curtain shut with a snap. the next second, he’s on you—arms locking around your waist, lifting you with a strength that still surprises you.

you gasp, but the sound is lost as his mouth meets yours—firm, certain, a kiss that spills over into something deeper, something older.

your hands find his shoulders, gripping tight as he carries you across the room with practiced ease, only stopping when the backs of his knees hit the bed of blankets and cushions near the hearth.

you fall into them together, tangled in limbs and heat and laughter that catches in your throat as he kisses you again, slower this time, but no less hungry.

the firelight casts soft shadows around the room, catching on the curve of your jaw, the line of his hands as they smooth over your sides. every breath feels shared, every shift in movement more like a conversation than a collision.

whatever waits outside that cabin—your father’s temper, the questions, the ache of returning to something half-lived—you leave it behind for now.

here, in the quiet hush of the woods and the warmth of him around you, you let yourself disappear into the moment.

just for a little while longer.

remmick’s touch ignites something in you—sharp and consuming, like striking flint to dry leaves. his hands move with reverence, but there’s hunger there too. a need. he reads your body like a language he already knows by heart, coaxing every sound from your throat with precision.

his fingers press into your skin, mapping the lines of your ribs, brushing over your chest in a way that sends heat pooling low. you arch into him before you realize it, breath hitching, your body chasing his touch before your mind catches up.

the fire crackles behind you both, a steady rhythm, but it fades as he focuses on you—and only you. your world shrinks to the space between his breath and yours. the room tilts with every movement, every press and roll of hips that leaves you dizzy and clinging to him.

his mouth finds yours, open and wanting, and you take him in—soft and then demanding, until you’re both breathing the same ache. there’s a strange taste on your tongue, rich and coppery, but it doesn’t startle you. it only makes him groan low and deep, like he’s unraveling at the seams.

you lose time in the tangle of limbs and whispered gasps, in the give and pull of bodies learning each other by instinct. when it crests, it does so in waves—slow and spiraling, until all you can do is hold on.

after, you lie in the hush of morning. skin damp, hair clinging to your temples, your legs still wrapped around his. remmick’s fingers trace lazy circles along your sides, grounding you. you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

the warmth between you is quieter now, but no less powerful.

something has changed. something has opened. and though you don’t yet know what to call it—you know it’s his, and it’s yours.

the fire burned low by the time your eyes cracked open, light from the hearth still flickering faint on the cabin walls. the air was thick—still scented of pine, smoke, and something older. dusk was pressing in outside, and for a moment you didn’t know what time it was, what day it might be.

you shifted under the quilt, still warm from the cocoon of blankets and from remmick’s body—except now he was gone.

you sat up, disoriented.

a floorboard groaned.

the door creaked open.

you looked.

and there he was.

remmick.

but not the remmick you remembered falling asleep beside. not the one who whispered your name like it was something sacred.

this one stood with his shoulders hunched, breathing heavy. blood slicked his jaw, stained the corner of his mouth. it dripped slow from the side of his chin to the base of his throat. his eyes weren’t soft—they glowed faint, scarley and wild.

your breath gets caught in your throat. you know where you’d seen remmick before. that night on the dirt road. he was no man, he’s not who you believed he was.

and his mouth… you saw them. the fangs. not long, but enough. enough to change everything.

he stilled when he saw you awake. like a child caught red-handed.

“i didn’t mean for you to see me like this, mo stór,” he muttered, voice low and rough as gravel. that southern drawl still there, but coarser now, heavier with something feral. like he’s finallt given up the facade, “thought you’d be sleepin’ through the night.”

you stared. breath locked in your chest.

“what did you do?” you whispered. it wasn’t a question. it was a statement.

he stepped forward. you flinched.

he slowed, held up a hand—bloody fingers trembling just slightly. “now hold on, darlin’. don’t go lookin’ at me like that. it ain’t what’cha think.”

“then tell me what it is,” you snapped, the weight in your chest crumbling. “what are you?”

he didn’t answer. not right away. just kept walking until he was in front of you, crouched low by the bed, his head tilted.

“you remembered me,” he said instead, “you felt it. the pull, my call.”

“you made me think we had a past,” you hissed, throat tightening. “you made me think i—that i meant something to you.”

“you do remember,” he said gently, like trying to soothe a spooked horse. “just not the way you want to. i just… gave it a nudge.”

the realization hit you like a stone to the ribs.

“you lied,” you breathed.

his eyes darkened, something hollow flickering behind them. “i gave you a story you wanted to believe. that’s all any of us are ever doin’.”

when he leaned in again, you turned your face—but he caught your chin with blood-slick fingers and kissed you anyway. rough. hungry. it tasted of iron. it burned. you tried to pull back and his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there.

you felt him nip at your lip and you winced, pushing his face away but his grip on you still remained

he growled low in his throat—not pain, but something else. something dangerous. “you still got fire,” he rasped, close against your skin. “that’s why i liked you then. why i still do.”

you shoved him off with all the strength you had. scrambled to your feet, heart pounding like a drumline in your ears. you didn’t look back—you went for the mantle.

your fingers closed around the rifle.

“don’t do that,” remmick said, a warning under the twang of his voice now, “you don’t wanna turn this into somethin’ it don’t need to be.”

“you turned it into somethin’ the moment you walked into my life with blood on your goddamn mouth.”

he flinched, just a little. then smiled. slow. almost admiring.

“go on then,” he said, stepping aside. “run if you need to.”

you didn’t wait. you bolted, feet hitting the floor, body numb but moving fast. you burst out of the door and into the woods, not caring where you landed. not anymore.

behind you, the door remained open with remmick’s shadow-veilled form remained. his eyes glowed, staring at your fleeting form. his head tilted, as if to mock you and as if the wind still carried his voice, it told you this was only a headstart.

the woods swallowed you fast.

you didn’t wait to see if he followed—couldn’t bear to look back. branches snagged at your—remmick’s—clothes and scratched your arms, the damp underbrush pulling at your ankles like it, too, wanted to keep you. the rifle was heavy in your grip, but you held onto it like it was the only truth left in a world turned sideways.

behind you, the door to that old shack groaned shut. and then nothing.

silence.

until the sound of him came.

not footsteps—no. nothing so human.

just the breath of the woods shifting. the hush of something too still.

“you always did have a pretty way of runnin’, mo ghrá.”

his voice was soft, distant—but it was close. too close. it echoed through the trees like wind through hollow bones, “no point hidin’, i can hear your heartbeat.”

your heart pounded in response. he was right. he could probably hear it.

you pushed yourself harder. the path ahead was no path at all—just tangled brush and fallen branches, moonlight flickering through thick pine. still, you knew these woods better than he did. this land raised you, rough and cruel as it could be. you ducked through a thicket and atopped at the shallow ravine, the same one where you met him that first time—where it had felt like fate.

fate was for the doomed.

the mud is cold, and it clings to your skin like a second breathless silence as you slip down into the ravine, hiding under the rocks protruding from the sides, heart hammering. the rifle lies half-buried under your arm. it’s quiet now, but you can feel him near—close enough that even the insects have stopped humming.

then you hear him.

his voice slips through the trees like honey through cracked bark.

“i’m gonna tell you how it’ll go, mo ghrá,” remmick says, slow and clear, not shouting—he knows you’re listening. “so when it happens, you won’t be so afraid. it’ll be like steppin’ into water you already tested.”

you don’t move. not even a twitch.

“first, i’ll find you,” he says. “don’t matter how long it takes. i’ll hear the tremble in your breath, the quake in your bones. you can’t hide that from me. not forever.”

a pause. you think he’s closer now.

“then i’ll touch you, soft like before. like a prayer. i’ll hold your face in my hands so you can’t look away, and i’ll ask—just once. ‘cause even creatures as i remember their manners.”

your fingers dig into the earth.

“and when you say yes—and you will, sweetheart, ‘cause the fire’s already in your blood—i’ll bite. not hard. not cruel. just enough.”

you clamp your jaw shut, willing yourself not to cry.

“you’ll go quiet first. the world’ll spin. like drownin’, but there’s air somewhere deep. you just gotta trust me to bring you back.”

his voice lowers—softer now, like a secret between lovers.

“then i’ll give you mine. my blood. my curse, if you wanna call it that. but i call it freedom. no hunger, no time, no dyin’. just the two of us. for however long the dark lets us stay.”

the leaves rustle. you swear you see his boots move past the edge of the ditched revine—but he doesn’t stop.

“you think you’re still runnin’, but you crossed the line a long time ago,” he says. “and now, sugar, you’re just walkin’ toward your end. or your beginning. depends how you see it.”

his steps drift away, slow and sure.

“you think that rifle gon’ save you?” he called, voice lilting, almost amused. “you got grit, i’ll give you that. but you ain’t the hunter, sweetheart.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t dare.

your breath came out in ragged exhales as you decided now was the time to make your move. you trudged through the quick water, holding back your sobs of fear. your legs felt weak against the current but your will to live kept you going, was what made you climb back out and keep running.

somewhere to your left, a bird shot up from the ground. your breath hitched. he was circling.

you crouched low behind a rotted stump and held your breath. the forest pressed in, thick and watching. you swallowed hard, pulse thudding in your ears as your mind worked quick and sharp. remmick was faster than you, stronger too—but he moved like a creature, not a man. instinct ruled him. sound, scent, sight. if you could take those from him—his senses—you might just have a chance.

your fingers tightened on the rifle.

one shot to the eyes. another to the ears, if you got close enough.

he hunted like a beast. so you'd fight like someone who knew how to kill one.

“see, i tried to be patient with you,” remmick’s voice drawled, “gave you time. gave you space. hell, i even gave you a head start. that’s love, darlin’. that’s mercy.”

the wind shifted—and so did the air.

he was close.

you peered around the stump, heart hammering. the forest held its breath. nothing moved.

then something snapped to your right.

you fired.

the sound cracked through the woods, echoing sharp and mean. a shout followed—a grunt of pain, rough and guttural. remmick shot up, clutching his nose.

you’d hit him.

your stomach twisted—not from guilt, but grim satisfaction.

you ran again, faster now.

“well now,” he hissed, voice ragged, furious. “that ain’t very ladylike.”

your lungs burned. thorns clawed at your shins. the sky above was painted gray-blue, dawn pressing at the edges of night—but still not enough light to guide you.

“you think you’re gonna win this?” he snarled from somewhere too near. “you can’t hide from me. i can smell your skin in the rain, hear your blood singin’ in your veins.”

you stumbled, caught yourself on a low branch. sweat ran into your eyes, your mouth dry with panic.

“you thought i was soft, didn’t you?” he said. “thought i was just a memory. just a pretty voice in the dark. but no—i was the dark.”

it irks you—how he hypes himself up and turns himself into this amazing stellar being.

the trees swallowed your breath.

every twig underfoot betrayed you. every branch above you watched. the only sound sharper than your heartbeat was the distant rush of the river far behind you now—and his voice, rising like smoke.

“is that any way to repay your savior?”

you stopped. the echo of his shout trembled through the woods, full of fury and something worse—wounded pride.

“i saved you,” remmick said again, closer this time. “you don’t even know how much yet.”

you spun around, rifle shaking in your hands. shadows shifted, but you couldn’t find him. not fully. just the sense of him—moving like a second wind through the trees.

“stay away from me,” you warned, voice dry, weak.

he laughed, low and bitter. “you already know what i did to the cultists.”

your blood went cold.

“they would’ve bled you like livestock,” he growled. “i stopped ‘em. broke their ribs in and salted the ground where they laid. for you.”

leaves rustled to your left. you aimed, breath caught, but he wasn’t there.

“you think i’m the danger?” he hissed. “you think this—this game you’re playin’—ends with you runnin’?”

then suddenly, he stepped out from behind a tree, maybe ten feet away, breathing hard, mouth smeared with dark red. his eyes caught the moonlight like a predator’s.

“you lied to me,” you whispered, tears welling unbidden. “you made me think there was something—something good in you.”

his expression softened just a flicker. “there is, darlin’. i kept it soft for you.”

“but you—” your voice broke.

he took one slow step forward, arms out slightly. “you ain’t seein’ the whole picture. you’re still sleepin’ through it.”

“don’t come closer.”

“you called me in your dreams, sweetheart. don’t you remember that? i came when you needed me. i always come.”

he took another step.

you stepped back, falling backwards into the gully that bordered your daddy’s land, and slipped down the bank, half-falling. mud coated your hands and knees. crying out, you scrambled backwards the rifle strapped tight across your back as your eyes darted to find remmick.

you raised the rifle.

a blur of movement to your left—and suddenly he was there.

remmick lunged, fast and wrong, too fast for a man. his eyes burned gold in the dark. he must’ve been angry and unsatisfied. you’d only seen his scarlet irises, never ones of pure gold.

you whipped around and struck out with the butt of your rifle—caught him square across the temple.

he snarled, reeled back. blood splashed across your shirt. you didn’t stop. you jammed the barrel toward his face and pulled the trigger again.

bang.

straight through his ears. one side to the other. he stumbled back, yelling as his ears bled.

bang. once again.

his left eye. it knocked him down into the mud. one more shot and he’d be out of commission for a good, good while.

click.

your heart dropped and you ran without giving one more thought to the fact that you ran out of bullets.

his lips peeled back into a grin as he watched you run.

“clever girl,” he rasped.

he lunged again and you ducked, scrambling back up the ridge. pain flared in your thigh as you slipped, bark tearing into your skin.

his laughter followed you—cruel, sharp as thorns.

“crazy, ain’t it?” he called, breathless with the thrill. “how the hunter becomes the hunted?”

you ran toward the house lights barely flickering in the distance. only a field stood between you and the porch—but your legs were heavy, your breath ragged. you didn’t know if you could make it.

“you can’t run forever, darlin’,” he called, voice rough and ragged now. “and even if you do… i’ll always be just behind you.”

you turned, raising the rifle like a club.

but he wasn’t there.

only silence.

only night.

and then a whisper against your ear, too close, too cold: “found you.”

you screamed and swung the rifle again. this time it caught something. he grunted, stumbled back—half-shadow, half-man.

you didn’t wait to see if he’d rise again.

you bolted across the field.

your daddy’s house loomed like a savior. you hit the steps hard, burst through the door, heart in your throat, eyes wide and wild. no one else was awake. only you. only him. outside, the wind howled.

and somewhere in the trees, remmick was still smiling.

the front door slammed open before you reached the porch, the screen door bouncing off its hinges.

your daddy stood there barefoot in the dirt, shotgun clutched in both hands, wild-eyed and heaving. he must’ve heard the scream—your scream—and come running. he squinted into the night, trying to make sense of the shape tearing across the field.

you.

you, in another man’s shirt, your nightdress nowhere to be seen, your face streaked with blood and sweat. the rifle hung limp in your hand, your bare feet cut and muddy. you looked nothing like the girl he kissed on the forehead two mornings ago. the one who he never would’ve suspected would up and leave so suddenly.

“what in god’s—”

you didn’t give him time to finish.

you hit the steps like a storm breaking and threw yourself into his chest, burying your face into the familiar, sweat-salt smell of him. the shotgun clattered to the porch floor.

“please,” you sobbed, fists clinging to his shirt. “please let me come home, please let me in—please.”

he caught you like he’d done when you were little, arms steady even though his whole body had gone stiff with confusion and fear.

“baby girl,” he muttered, voice caught somewhere between a growl and a prayer, “who did this to you? who—”

“don’t let him get me,” you begged. “please.”

his hand cupped the back of your head, rough and warm. “ain’t nobody gonna touch you now, y’hear me? i got you. i got you.”

he held you up when your legs gave out and kicked the door open wider with his boot. you sagged against him like your bones had gone soft, breath catching in wet gasps.

“leroy! daniel!” he barked over his shoulder. “get the goddamn lanterns. somebody’s comin’—and it ain’t somethin’ good.”

but all you could do was whisper again, voice trembling: “please let me come home.”

and for the first time in a long while, your daddy didn’t ask questions. he just held you close and took you inside.

after that night, things changed.

you slept long into the day. the light stung your skin. you stopped laughing. the world felt too loud, too bright, too much.

daddy kept the rifle by the door and said nothing.

leroy tried once—just once—to ask what happened.

you didn’t answer. you just looked at him long enough for him to regret it.

and still, none of them touched the button-up.

you folded it up and tucked it into the chest at the foot of your bed, though some nights you swore you heard the buttons rattle when the wind blew wrong.

they found your dress by the river a week later. one sleeve torn. hem stained red with something that wasn’t quite blood.

no tracks. no signs of pursuit. just absence.

it was like the woods had swallowed you whole and spit you back out a changed woman.

some nights, you stand at your bedroom window and listen.

the wind drags through the trees like it’s calling your name. sometimes it almost sounds like him.

sweetheart, it coos. i gave you somethin’. you just ain’t figured out what yet.

you close the curtains.

you tell yourself it’s over. that you’re safe.

but deep down, you know the truth: whatever happened out there in the dark, it wasn’t finished.

not yet.

okay we made ittt !! what remmick wants hell get. i saw someone say that because hes yearning for a community, instead of being all nonchalant and swuave, he’d be all clingy and stuff and do anything to make their partner stay and would defo turn them (are you a vampire??? hmmm) so that kind of inspired me.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

WAG Bootcamp: Part 2

Part 1

Word count: 593

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: On her first-ever race day, Y/n experiences the chaos, stress, and excitement of Formula 1 as the WAGs teach her how to survive the emotional rollercoaster.

________________________________________________________

Y/n thought she had survived the worst of the initiation. She had learned the pre-race rituals, mastered (or at least attempted) the mysterious “paddock girlfriend face,” and even accepted that she now had to irrationally hate any driver who so much as looked at Lando the wrong way.

But nothing could have prepared her for race day.

The paddock was buzzing with energy—fans screaming, engines roaring, and mechanics in a frenzy. Y/n had barely taken a sip of her coffee when Kika grabbed her arm.

“Alright, rookie. Time for the next lesson.”

“What now?” Y/n asked warily.

“How to survive a Grand Prix,” Lily said, tossing her a pair of noise-canceling headphones. “Trust me, you’ll need these.”

Lesson Four: The Race-Day Survival Guide

Y/n followed the WAGs to the McLaren hospitality area, where they had their usual spots. The screens showed the cars lining up on the grid, and she could already feel her heart pounding.

“Step one,” Alex said, crossing her arms. “No matter what happens, you do not freak out on camera. If Lando crashes, you hold it together until you’re inside.”

“Wait—crashes?” Y/n swallowed. “We’re talking about, like, little crashes, right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

Susie patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

Not comforting.

“Step two,” Rebecca added, “learn the art of selective hearing. The commentators will say stupid things, the fans will tweet even dumber things, and some guy named David Croft will mispronounce names. Ignore it.”

“Step three,” Carmen leaned in, lowering her voice. “If Lando is leading, do not say out loud that he’s going to win. You will jinx it.”

Y/n blinked. “You guys actually believe in jinxes?”

Kelly, who had remained quiet until now, turned to her with a dead-serious expression. “Max retired from Monaco 2021 because I said, ‘This is going well.’”

Y/n gasped. “Oh my God.”

“We don’t talk about it,” Kika muttered.

The lights went out, and the race began.

Lesson Five: How to Emotionally Handle a Race (Spoiler: You Don’t)

It started fine. Lando had a clean start, holding position. Y/n sat on the edge of her seat, gripping her hands together, trying not to scream every time someone got too close to him.

Then, lap 12 happened.

A driver—who Y/n immediately decided to despise for eternity—dove down the inside, nearly taking Lando out.

Y/n shot to her feet. “WHAT THE—”

Lily yanked her back down. “Cameras!” she hissed.

“That was reckless!” Y/n whisper-yelled, furious.

“Congratulations,” Alex smirked. “You just experienced your first ‘what the hell was that’ moment. There will be many more.”

For the next thirty laps, Y/n experienced every emotion possible. Joy when Lando made an overtake. Panic when the pit stop took too long. Rage when another driver squeezed him off track. She nearly passed out when he was fighting for a podium.

And then—P2.

“He did it!” Y/n gasped as Lando crossed the line.

The WAGs cheered, clapping and hugging.

Y/n exhaled, feeling like she had just run a marathon. “I don’t know if I can do this every weekend.”

“You will,” Kelly said, sipping her drink. “Welcome to the rest of your life.”

Lesson Six: The Post-Race Debrief

After a chaotic cooldown period, Y/n finally found Lando, still in his race suit, hair messy from his helmet, grinning as he pulled her into a hug.

“How was your first race?” he asked, slightly breathless.

Y/n looked at him, remembering everything—the stress, the screaming, the insane group of women who had taken her in.

She smiled.

“Terrifying. But I think I love it.”

[blluesiide]

Your hand pushes softly through his curls, your expression quiet and thoughtful. His eyes open, shifting to you, as if he could hear your thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" He gently prompts.

You remain quiet for a moment. "You." You reply as you tilt your head, hand continuing it's ministrations against his scalp.

"Yeah?" He asks, that little high pitch lilt in his voice

"Yeah." You confirm softly.

He watches you for a moment. Then, "You gonna tell me about it?"

You breathe, "I'm just thinking about everything that has happened to you. How everything that happened also lead you to be here. Right now." He blinks, waiting for you to continue, so you do. "Is it bad to consider myself lucky? To be with you?"

"No, why would it?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing a little.

"It's like I'm saying I'm glad you went through so much because it landed you here."

He lets out a soft huff, catching your wrist softly, "I survived all my worst days," he presses a warm kiss to your palm. "So I could spend my best ones with you."

It's cheesy, but it's so Spencer. So you slide a little closer, kiss the corner of his mouth, and linger, waiting for him to press his lips to yours. When he does, your thoughts quiet, overcome by adoration for the man in your arms.

When you part, you trace his jaw. "So, you think I'm lucky to be with you, huh?" You tease.

His face flushes immediately, "That's not what I-"

You laugh, and he stops talking. He knows you aren't serious. The sound of your laughter makes it all worth it. All of it.

[kukopelli]

Assorted doods in the @daycarefriendpickup magmaa ,moon ass became true , as promised

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: News Crashing

Poly!TaskForce 141 x Omega!Reader

The Omega Pack Plan Masterlist

Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Existentialism, Misogyny, Dismissive Attitudes, Angst, Rage

Mentions of: Medication,

A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own A/B/O COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.

"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.

"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."

Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.

"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.

He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"

"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"

A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.

Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.

"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.

A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.

When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.

You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.

"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.

All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.

He's laughing at you.

And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.

"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."

Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.

"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."

Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...

"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.

Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.

Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.

A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.

The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.

While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.

“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.

A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.

Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯

Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie

Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨

Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out

Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.

With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.

While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.

Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.

“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.

A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.

“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.

“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.

“Which is exactly why-”

A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.

“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.

“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.

“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.

“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.

“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.

“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.

“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.

“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.

“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.

“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.

“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!

“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.

“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"

"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.

He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”

You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.

"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.

Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.

Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."

Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.

Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.

"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.

"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.

"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.

"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"

"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.

"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.

"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”

There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.

“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.

"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.

“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.

“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”

“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.

“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.

“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.

“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.

“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.

It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.

The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.

“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.

“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.

“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.

"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”

[leafwateraddict]

When you do the math problem wrong but still somehow manage to find the solution…

Was supposed to be my submission for @sansxyouweek Day 2: Act to Flirt but turned into a whole comic 💀 (i mean. I guess it still counts?)

[girllblogging777]

HEART EYES… AND HARDCOVERS 𝜗𝜚

spencer reid x gf!reader (fluff, book shopping)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : in which spencer, like the perfect boyfriend he is, carries your books and pays for them too.

“well, if that isn’t my favourite, my straight out of a fairytale, my only proof of romance, biggest and favorite clients !”

a voice welcomed you cheerfully as you came into the bookstore, the words immediately bringing a smile to your face. the tiny bell above the door rang when you closed it, your other hand tightly holding spencer’s.

it was a routine for the two of you to get some new reading material whenever you run out of books at home, which, for the two of you happened to be once every couple of days.

spencer smiled politely at the woman behind the counter, who was shamefully staring at the two of you with heart in her eyes and you simply gave her a shrug, smiling. “hi, beth. we’re just here to help you pay your rent”

she looked amused at your remark, and if she answered something, you didn’t hear it. you were already long gone, walking past the bookshelves and not glancing back like you owned the place and had no need for directions (you didn’t), while spencer had quietly slipped away in pursuit of his own new source of happiness.

the books on the shelves gleamed in the sunlight, and no words could explain the warm feeling in your chest at the familiar smell of ink on paper. time seemed to stop when you while you picked the books, propping them on your hip and tracing their spines like each of them had been carved specifically to receive your touch.

this was how you enjoyed spending your days. browsing through the store and with nowhere else to be, with no one around to disturb you.

no one, apart from your nerdy husband a couple of feet away, who had somehow already managed to go through half the store. oh, and beth, who paid more attention to the two of you than to the clients she was currently advising.

“found anything yet ?” spencer asked, looking at you softly. his eyes darted down to the numerous books you were still carrying.

you nodded, noticing he seemed in his element too. after all, reading was one of the first things the two of you had bonded over when you first met. and if somehow, you two weren’t eachother’s soulmates, that was because literature held the number one spot in each of your hearts.

“yeah, i think this is good for now. hey, would you-“

he cut you off with a knowing smile, shifting the books from your hands to his. “carry your books, yes ma’am. you know i always do. now cmon, let’s go check out”

perfect. he was perfect.

✩✩✩✩

“will that be all for today ?” beth asked in a high pitched voice, to which spencer nodded in confirmation.

she silently scanned the books one by one, forming an actual pile on the counter, that almost reached your ribs. he glanced at you with a raised brow.

“this is mostly yours”

“right, as if you didn’t just pick another edition of white nights like we don’t have three others at home” you answered in the same teasing tone, taking your credit card out of your wallet.

wrong. move.

before you could realise what happened, spencer’s right hand had your wrists against the wooden counter, his left one handing his own credit card to beth.

“hey- what the hell ! beth-“ you exclaimed, looking up at the woman behind the cash register, hoping she’d have some girls-support-girls energy within her and would take your card.

she didn’t. she shook her head, grinning, and smoothly slid his credit card over the machine.

“that’s not fair, it was my turn to pay.” you protested helplessly, turning to them “and what are you, teaming up against me now ?”

they both shrugged, you had to admit you didn’t seem to have your word to say in this.

“sweetheart, it’s always the same thing. you two empty my store, fight to pay, and then leave” she said, almost bored at the thought of having to repeat the cycle once more.

“you forgot the part where i win the argument every time, by the way” spencer added like the smartass he was, and you stepped on his foot to shut him up, to which he let out an almost whimpering sound that only you heard.

then, beth handed you the quite heavy shopping bag, and you took it, admitting defeat. she seemed to read your thoughts.

“look. he’s smart, he buys you books. he’s basically a keeper”

a smile creeped up your lips, you turned around to look at spencer. he was pretending to be paying attention to the receipt, but the blush on his cheeks told you all you needed to know. yup. he was a keeper.

a/n : reblogs, comments and reviews are appreciated <333

[ijustwannabecool]

White Flag

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary... Two exes on the same team. They broke up before the season started. Now they’re forced to work together through 23 races, 5 continents, and one very awkward off-season.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The envelope was still in her bag.

She hadn’t even taken it out. Hadn’t unzipped the pocket or peeled the seal or pulled the contract out to wave it around with that giddy smile she’d practiced in the mirror at least three times before boarding the flight. It was still there, nestled between her passport and a pack of gum, the weight of it heavier than anything she’d ever carried.

Because now it didn’t matter.

Not really. Not anymore.

Charles stood across from her in the tiny Monaco flat they used to call “theirs,” eyes hollow and voice eerily steady as he said the words she hadn’t seen coming.

“I don’t think we’re meant to do this anymore.”

It was quiet. No yelling, no accusations. Just that awful, painful calm, the kind that made her want to scream.

Y/N blinked, confused. “What… what do you mean?”

“I mean…” Charles sighed and looked down at the floor like it held answers. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. About us. About how we always seem to miss each other. Maybe it’s the timing. Or maybe it’s just who we are.”

She took a step forward. “Charles, we’ve been doing long distance for two years. Through back-to-back seasons. Through two team changes. And now—” Her throat caught. “Now that we’re finally going to be in the same place—”

He shook his head before she could finish. “That’s the thing. I don’t think being in the same place will fix what we couldn’t make work apart.”

She stared at him, stunned silent.

She didn’t tell him.

Couldn’t.

Not when he looked like that—like he’d already left.

So instead of pulling out the envelope, instead of saying “I just signed with Ferrari,” instead of telling him that next season they’d be side-by-side in red, she just stood there and let him walk out the door.

Let him walk away from her. From them.

--------

Charles was halfway through his morning espresso when he saw it.

It was a headline. On his phone. In all caps. With her name.

“Y/N Y/L/N SIGNS WITH FERRARI FOR 2025 SEASON”

He blinked, then blinked again.

No. No, that had to be wrong. A leak. A rumor. A fake.

He clicked the article.

There was a picture, her in the Ferrari garage, shaking hands with Fred Vasseur, the faintest of smiles on her face. She looked radiant. Calm. Like she belonged there.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

The way she hesitated that night. The way her eyes shimmered like they wanted to say something. The bag she clutched a little too tightly. The silence that fell between “I don’t think we’re meant to do this” and the door closing behind him.

She hadn’t told him.

And now, she didn’t have to.

The entire world already knew.

-----------

Charles hadn’t meant to break her. He’d only wanted to protect himself.

But now, staring at her face on his screen, Ferrari logo above her name, the team’s official welcome post already past a million likes—he felt like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

She had signed with Ferrari.

She had signed to be his teammate.

And she hadn’t told him.

His espresso sat forgotten, going cold. He rubbed his jaw, then his temple, then grabbed his phone and pressed call.

It rang twice before his mother answered.

“Charles?” her voice was sleepy but warm. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” he said, blunt. Then ran a hand down his face. “I mean… yes. I’m fine. It’s not urgent. I just…” He sighed. “I need to talk to someone who isn’t paid to agree with me.”

She chuckled lightly, waking up fast now. “That bad?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“She signed with Ferrari,” he said finally.

There was a pause. “Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t know?”

“No,” he murmured. “I broke up with her before she told me. She was going to. I think. I—” he swallowed. “I think she was about to when I… when I ended it.”

“Oh, Charles.”

His chest clenched. “What the hell do I do now?”

His mother was quiet for a long moment before she said gently, “You do your job. You show up. You treat her with respect. And if there’s something still left between you… you don’t run from it this time.”

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall. “I don’t even know if she’ll talk to me.”

“Then listen,” she said. “That’s where you start.”

---------

The conference room at Ferrari HQ was buzzing.

Cameras. PR people. Team principals. Engineers. Two seats up front with name placards.

Leclerc Y/L/N

Charles arrived early. Hair perfect, suit sharp, pretending to scroll through briefing notes while every part of him tensed like a wire ready to snap.

She walked in exactly five minutes late.

Poised. Confident. Dressed in Ferrari red like she was born in it.

And she didn’t look at him.

Not once.

Not even when she sat down right beside him.

The murmurs in the room shifted. Charles caught the whispers.

“Weren’t they—?” “Thought they were dating…” “Guess not anymore.” “Yikes.”

He kept his face unreadable. Professional. Cold, even.

But inside, it was chaos.

They hadn’t spoken in over two months. Not a single text. Not a single call.

And now she was here. Acting like they were strangers.

The press conference began. Someone asked about their dynamic. About working together.

Y/N smiled, polished and polite. “Charles and I have known each other for years. I’m excited to be working alongside him.”

He forced a nod. “The car comes first. We’re both here to win.”

After, when the cameras clicked off, she turned to him finally.

Not warm. Not cold. Just… distant.

“Hi,” she said. “Guess we’re doing this.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then offered a weak, “Hi.”

She nodded once and turned away again, already talking to an engineer.

Just like that.

Like nothing had ever happened between them.

-------

Barcelona. Bahrain. Silverstone. The preseason carousel began.

And with every media day, every team photo, every launch party—they had to stand next to each other. Smile for the cameras. Sit through interviews that always ended with the same question:

“What’s it like being exes and teammates?”

She always deflected gracefully. Charles wanted to punch something every time.

But the worst was the paddock.

When the paddock learned they weren’t together anymore, it spread like wildfire.

Whispers. Pit wall gossip. Old friends turning sympathetic.

And Y/N… she just kept going. Kept performing. Kept posting her sim sessions and race suit fittings like nothing had ever shattered her.

The worst part?

She looked happy.

Or at least better at pretending than he was.

---------

To be continued... Please let me guys know if you would like a part 2 and what would you guys like to see :)

[dreamlitkiss]

When you're sad, remember that this is what your F/O's look like whenever they think about you

[cowboybeepboop]

Oblivious

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?”

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader 

Genre: smut, romantic and fluffy

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Shy and painfully oblivious reader and Tyler who is head over heels for her, desperate for any shred of attention. 

Warnings: Slow burn, Tyler being obsessed with reader riding him, lots of unprotected sex, sex in the show, p in v sex, riding him in his truck.

a/n: I don't really have much to say about this one tbh. But as always, I hope you enjoy and let me know if you have any requests!

As Boone’s younger sister you’ve obviously met Tyler countless times before, although you’ve always been a little too shy when it comes to him almost as if you’re trying to keep your distance from him. But you practically *begged* your brother to take you along this tornado season even if it meant being cramped in a car with Tyler for countless hours on end. 

You’ve been trying to make it as a photographer and capturing a storm is a beautiful opportunity. You keep your attention trained on everything but him, desperate to keep your infatuation with him a secret. 

Tyler has become restless when it comes to you, ever since he’s met you he has been overly flirtatious and yet you seem immune to his advances. While on the road he figured he would finally have his opportunity to make a move on you, but you’re still not budging. 

As you sit in the backseat of his truck his eyes are constantly shifting from you and the road, Boone shoots him a knowing grin. His shoulder brushes Tyler as he warns him to keep his eyes on the road. 

Tyler glances at you one more time, taking in your beauty before returning his eyes to the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter and giving a quick side eye to Boone.

He was a fairly impatient guy and the fact that a beautiful girl was sitting in the seat behind him and he hadn’t gotten her to look at him twice is beginning to frustrate him. You flip through the pictures you took earlier, gaze trained on the camera, oblivious to his gaze. 

“Hey,” Boone waves his hand in front of your face, catching your attention. 

“Yeah? What's up?” you look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. Tyler’s body tenses when he hears you speak. A simple and basic sentence but it sounds absolutely angelic coming from you. His eyes glanced up into the rear view mirror, watching your soft smile.

He didn’t know why he cared so much about getting your attention but he did. He just wanted to hear you speak again, the sound of your voice already making his heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna trade seats with me?” he smirks in Tylers direction. “You can get a better view of the sky up front.” you nod in response, a soft tinge of pink painting your cheeks at the thought of sitting next to Tyler. 

Tyler’s ears perked up at Boone’s words. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of having you sitting right next to him. He could already imagine the look on your face as you gushed over the beauty of a fresh storm in the distance.

“Good idea.” He replied, his eyes once again locking with Boone’s in the mirror. He could tell his friend was up to something but at the moment Tyler couldn’t care less. He pulls over at the gas station so he can get more fuel and so you can switch seats. 

You settle down in the passenger seat as Tyler fills up his tank, camera equipment set on the floor next to your feet. “Boone?” you glance back at your brother. “Are you up to something?” 

Boone turns to look at you from the backseat, a smirk plastered on his face. “Me? Up to something?” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy brown hair, knowing full well what he was doing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He teased. He leaned back in his seat again, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself for the drunk confession where you told him how you felt about his best friend. Your crush on Tyler has kept you more reserved and silent this whole trip because everytime he talks to you it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tyler hops back in the driver's seat, starting the ignition. Tyler notices the conflicted look on your face as he buckles his seatbelt. He raises an eyebrow at you, curious about what you were thinking about so intently.

As he starts the engine again, he steals a quick glance at you, his eyes roving over your form. He couldn’t help it, you were just so damn pretty.

“Everything alright?” He asks in a soft tone, trying not to be overly flirty just yet.

“Mhm.” you glance out the window, reaching for your camera to flip through your pictures once again. Tyler’s eyes remain on you as he begins to drive. There’s a brief silence in the car, broken only by the sound of Boone’s music playing softly through the speakers.

Finally, Tyler breaks the silence with a question. “Can I see the pictures you’ve taken so far? I’m curious.”

“You're driving.” you brush him off almost effortlessly, eyes still glued to the device. Tyler bites his tongue, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t tell if you were completely ignoring him on purpose or if you were too obsessed with your camera.

“You can just pass it to me, ya’ know doll.” He says, trying to hide the slight annoyance in his tone. You shake your head, setting the camera in your lap, words caught in your throat at the pet name. 

“I.. I can show you later.” you murmur, eyes wandering out the window. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw your reaction to the nickname. He knew he was getting close to his desired goal of unraveling you.

He let out a sigh as you once again dismissed him. “Later, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder to look at Boone, who looked amused by the interaction.

As the day comes to an end, Tyler stops in front of the motel. You both watch as Boone quickly exits the truck, leaving the two of you alone in the cab. Tyler watches as Boone leaves the car, a smirk on his face when he realizes his friend purposely left the two of you alone.

He turns back, eyes locking onto you again. The atmosphere in the car suddenly felt heavy, the silence almost deafening.

“You never showed me those pictures, doll.” His voice was low and a hint of mockery laced his tone.

“Oh, right.” your hands tremble slightly as you lean to him, showing him the camera. “I got a few good shots..” He leaned in closer as you held the camera up for him to see. A flicker of excitement shone in his eyes as he looked through the pictures sending a rush of desire down your spine.

“These are pretty good.” He said, and he was being honest. Not that he knew much about photography, but the photos looked great to him. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, watching you take your full bottom lip between your teeth in a manner that’s more tempting than you realize.

He tears his gaze away from your lips and back to the camera, making it very apparent that he was trying to stay focused on the pictures.

As he continues to try to flirt with you, you feel your heart sinking into your stomach. It feels like he’s unknowingly teasing you, leaning into your fantasy of him wanting you the way you want him. 

“You’re..” you trail off, eyes falling to your lap. “Tyler stop messing with me please, you’re starting to hurt my feelings” you *knew* he was just being friendly but he was giving you false hope. His frown deepens as you say that and his eyes widen in surprise. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You really thought that he was just messing around with you, that he didn’t have actual feelings for you.

“Dammit woman, can’t you see how much I want you?” his hand cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. 

He moves your face gently, using his thumb to tilt you up towards him. He can’t help but notice how soft your skin is under his touch and he almost sighs at just how right you feel in his hands.

His voice comes out as a gentle whisper, his eyes searching your face. “What do I have to do to make you understand?” You notice the desperation in his eyes, finally realizing that he's *always* been trying to flirt with you.

“Oh,” you practically gasp out the word, reaching out to pull him to you by the collar of his shirt, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 

He nearly groans at the sensation of your lips against his. The feeling he had been so desperate for was finally becoming a reality. He responds to your gentle kiss immediately, his hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you so you’re almost in his lap. 

His lips move hungrily against yours, needing you to understand just how truly desperate he was for you. He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste more of you. He feels like a starving man trying to get as much as he can. You move to straddle his hips, hands going to his shoulders as you settle on him. 

He groans at your change in position, his hands immediately moving to your hips to keep you in place. He had to bite back another moan as you settled down onto his lap, the feeling of you being so close to him was almost too much to handle, his hips shifting up against yours.

“Doll..” He pants out against your lips. “Finally starting to understand now?” you nod, leaning in for another kiss intoxicated by his taste. He eagerly returns it, his tongue running against your bottom lip, searching for entrance. 

He wanted more, needed more.

He pulled you tighter against him, his hands gripping your hips almost possessively. He could feel himself growing hard with you sitting on his lap, he had to force himself not to moan at the feeling.

He nipped your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he spoke. “You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this.” you moan, hands sliding down his chest as you look at him dazed. 

He lets out a low, guttural growl at the sound of your moan, the noise was like music to his ears. Hearing you make those sounds for him was the best thing he had ever experienced.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

He leaned forward, attaching his lips to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting gently. He wanted to leave his mark, wanted anyone to know that you were his. You moan again at the feeling of him leaving soft hickeys on your neck, head leaning back to give him better access. 

“Tyler,” you whine his name, hips moving against his in desperation to feel more of him. He growls again, the sound low and guttural as he feels your hips grinding down against him. It was all too much.

His hands move from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. He can’t help it as his hips roll up, desperate to feel you against him.

His teeth graze over your neck, leaving a trail of dark marks as he sucks gently. “Doll.. you’re torturing me.” His voice is a low, desperate moan against your neck. Your hands move to his belt, pulling it away, working to free him from his jeans. 

“Ty, I want you..” your eyes are darkened with desire as you kiss his lips hungrily. 

He nearly moans at the feeling of your fingers on his belt. Hearing you call him ‘Ty’ in that desperate tone was driving him crazy.

He can’t help himself as his fingers dig into the soft skin of your thighs, his grip almost bruising. He knew he was going to leave marks but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Say it again..” His voice is a low rumble against your lips, hips moving to press up against you. He was coming undone under your desperate touch. 

“Ty, please..” You slip out of your panties, your skirt bunched up at your hips as you pull his jeans down. He moans again at the sound of you begging in that desperate, needy tone that he loves. 

He could barely focus through the fog of lust and desire as he watched you move. “God-“ His hips bucked up involuntarily against you as he groaned out your name, “-you need to stop doing this to me.”

You slide his erection out of his boxers, thumb sliding over his tip, spreading his precum around. ”What am I doing?” you feign innocence, loving the way he's just as desperate as you are. He could barely speak, your soft thumb against him had him writhing in pleasure. The feeling of you wrapped around him was almost too much.

He groans out a curse as his hips buck upwards once again. “You know exactly what you’re doing..” He manages to say in a strained tone, “Don’t act all innocent.” he groans. 

Tyler’s eyes flutter shut at the exquisite sensation of your hand wrapping around him, his breath hitching as you stroke him with a gentle, teasing touch. “Fuck, doll...” he murmurs against your ear, his voice thick with need. 

His hands tighten on your thighs, urging you closer as he feels the warmth of your body surrounding him. The way you touch him is like a sweet torment, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through his veins. His hips buck up into your soft hand, his body begging for more. 

With a groan of pure desire, Tyler’s hands guide your hips to his, aligning himself with your slick entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, the intensity of the moment setting every nerve in his body alight. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers you onto his throbbing length, watching with rapt attention as your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The sensation of you taking him in, inch by inch, sends waves of pleasure crashing through him, and he has to fight the urge to slam you down and claim you fully. 

Instead, he lets you set the pace, savoring every moment as your warmth envelopes him. The truck's cabin feels like it's on fire, the air thick with lust as you both hover on the precipice of release. 

Each time you move down, the pressure builds, and he can feel the head of his cock stretching you, filling you up in a way he’s dreamed of for so long. His eyes never leave you, the connection between you palpable as you both begin to rock in a silent symphony of passion, the leather seats of the truck creaking in rhythm with your muffled moans and his labored breaths.

With a whimper of need, your head falls to Tyler's shoulder, your body trembling with each gentle movement. His fingers dig into your thighs, urging you on as he feels your inner walls tightening around him. Your breath is hot against his neck, silently begging him to take over. 

Tyler understands the unspoken plea, his own need burning like a wildfire within him. He takes control, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you up and down his length with a rhythm that makes you gasp. 

His kisses turn fiercer, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "Ride me, doll. Show me how much you want this." Your nails bite into his shoulders as you obey, the pressure building with each stroke. 

The tightness in your stomach coils tighter, your moans growing louder as you chase the release that seems just out of reach. Tyler's grip on you is like steel, his hips meeting yours with a force that speaks of his own desperation. 

He can feel your body tensing, the sweet tremble of your thighs telling him you're close. "Come for me," he groans, his voice a rough command that sends you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, making your body convulse as you cry out his name. 

He follows you, his own release hot and powerful, his hips jerking upwards as he empties himself into you. Your bodies come to a rest, hearts pounding in unison, the storm outside forgotten in the intensity of the one you've just weathered together.

As the aftershocks of your shared climax subside, you bury your face into Tyler's neck, gasping for air as the pleasure washes over you in warm, delicious waves. His hands are gentle on your skin, stroking and caressing as he holds you closer, savoring the feeling of your body against his. 

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing the passion that still thrums through your veins. The storm outside seems to have quieted, as if it too has been sated by the electricity that crackled between the two of you. 

Tyler's grip on your hips loosens slightly, but he makes no move to let you go, his arms instead wrapping around your waist to keep you nestled in his embrace. 

His breathing is ragged, matching the erratic rhythm of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he whispers, "God, I've wanted this for so long." The admission sends a shiver down your spine, making you realize that maybe, just maybe, this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion. 

Maybe there's something more here, something that could last longer than the brief, fiery lifespan of a tornado. But for now, you're content to simply exist in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man who has held your heart hostage for far too long.

With a gentle yet firm grip, Tyler pulls you off his lap and sets you back in the passenger seat, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment. You watch, slightly dazed, as he tucks himself away, your own body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. 

He turns to you, his eyes dark with desire, and whispers in a gruff voice, "Come back to my room with me?" The question lingers in the air, thick with unspoken promises of more passionate moments to come. 

You nod, your cheeks flushed with excitement and anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he opens the door and helps you out, his hand firmly grasping yours. The rain patters against the pavement, mimicking the pounding of your heart as you walk towards the motel room, ready to explore the depths of your desires together.

Once inside the motel room, Tyler's hunger for you only grows stronger. He tugs you into the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours as he impatiently strips away the layers of clothing separating your skin from his. 

Each article that falls to the floor feels like a barrier shattering, revealing more of your beauty to his eager gaze. When you're both bare, he takes a moment to drink you in, his eyes raking over every inch of your naked body. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and his mouth follows the trail of kisses down your neck to your collarbone. 

You whimper under his touch, your body arching into his as he whispers sweet nothings that feel like poetry against your skin. The heat of his touch is a stark contrast to the coolness of the tiles beneath your feet, but it's a delicious sensation that makes you crave more, he pulls away quickly stripping out of his clothes. 

With the shower now a steamy cocoon of warmth, Tyler guides you inside, the hot spray cascading down your bodies, mingling with the warmth of your shared passion. He kneels before you, his eyes filled with an insatiable hunger that mirrors the way your heart races in your chest. 

His kisses begin at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a fresh wave of shivers through you as he worships every inch of your body. His tongue traces a path upwards, his teeth gently grazing the soft flesh, until he reaches your stomach, where he places feather-light kisses that make you quiver with anticipation. 

He cups your breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making them peak and your breath hitch in pleasure. Then, his mouth is back on yours, the water rushing over your entwined forms as he kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. 

With a gentle yet firm push, he pins you against the tiles, the heat of the water a stark contrast to the coolness of the wall, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. His touch is demanding, his body pressing into yours, leaving no doubt about the depth of his desire. 

With a growl of need, Tyler lifts you off the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His erection presses against you, the intensity of his desire unmistakable as he pins you against the tiles. His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue delving deep as if he can't get enough of your taste. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is electric, sending bolts of pleasure through your body with every touch. Your fingers dig into his hair as you kiss him back with an urgency that matches his own, your legs tightening around his hips, silently begging for more. 

His cock nudges at your entrance, the promise of what's to come making you whimper with anticipation. Tyler's eyes never leave yours as he lowers you, inch by inch, onto his thick length, the sensation of being filled by him once again sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

The water streams down your faces, mingling with the sweat of passion as you both gasp and moan, lost in the throes of a desire that seems to have no end. Your movements become more frantic, your hips rolling and grinding against his, the need for release building like a storm ready to break. 

Tyler’s hands grip your ass, guiding your rhythm, his own hips driving into you with a fierce need that makes you feel wanted and cherished in a way you never have before. The sound of the water and your muffled cries fill the small bathroom, a symphony of passion that seems to echo the tempest raging outside.

Tyler's grip on your ass tightens as he lifts you slightly, his hips driving into you with a fervent need to feel you come apart in his arms once more. His movements are powerful and relentless, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig into his shoulders. 

The water from the showerhead cascades down your bodies, creating a steamy haze that obscures the rest of the world outside of your entwined forms. His eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze as your moans grow louder, your breaths coming in shorter gasps. 

He whispers filthy encouragement into your ear, his voice a gruff growl that sends shivers down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the strain of his muscles as he holds you up, fucking you with a passion that's as intense as the storms he chases. 

His strokes become faster, deeper, until you're riding the edge of a second orgasm, your body begging for release. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, your walls clench around him, and you scream out his name as you shatter into a million pieces, your climax sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a tempest. 

Tyler's eyes darken as he feels your contractions around his cock, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows you over the edge, filling you up with his hot cum, his body shaking with the force of his own release. 

The only sound in the room is the steady patter of rain against the window and the harsh beating of your hearts, a testament to the intensity of the moment that has forever changed the dynamic between you and Boone's best friend.

As your orgasm subsides, Tyler carefully pulls out of you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. He holds you by the waist, keeping you steady as your legs threaten to give out beneath the weight of the passion that's just overtaken you. 

The water from the showerhead runs in rivulets down your bodies, mixing with the remnants of your shared release. He turns you around, placing you under the warm spray, and begins to wash you, his touches gentle and full of love. 

His soapy hands glide over your skin, washing away the sweat and passion as if he's trying to cleanse you of the barriers that once stood between you. He lingers on your breasts, his thumbs caressing your sensitive nipples with a tender touch that makes you shiver anew. 

His hands travel down your body, over your hips and thighs, his gentle strokes feeling like a declaration of adoration. You lean into him, letting him support your trembling body as he worships you with his hands, his eyes never leaving yours in the steamy embrace of the shower.

It's a moment of pure connection, a silent promise that this isn't just a fleeting affair but the start of something beautifully tumultuous, a gentle, loving rain that nurtures the newfound bond between you. The world outside the motel room seems to melt away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the water and the heat of your love.

With trembling hands, you turn around to face Tyler, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest, which is heaving with the aftermath of your shared passion. His skin is warm and slick from the shower, his heart thundering beneath your lips. 

As you reach for the soap, your eyes meet his in the steamy haze, and you see the love and adoration reflected in his gaze. He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body. You begin to wash him too, your hands gliding over his defined muscles. 

Each stroke feels like a declaration of your own desire, a silent promise that you're in this together. His eyes never leave you, his own hands coming up to cup your face, holding you in place as if he's afraid you might disappear. 

The water runs over his body, washing away the soap, but the connection between you remains unbroken, as strong as the storm that brought you together. The intimacy of this moment is more potent than any kiss, more profound than any touch. 

It's a silent confession of feelings that have been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. And as you stand there, naked and vulnerable in the warm embrace of the shower, you realize that no matter what the future holds, this night has changed everything.

The steam from the shower clings to your bodies as you both step out, the cooler air of the motel room sending a shiver down your spine. Tyler takes a towel, wrapping it around his waist before approaching you, his eyes dark with desire. 

He takes another towel and gently begins to dry your skin, his touch lingering on your curves, as if committing every inch of you to memory. His eyes never stray from yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race anew. Once you're both sufficiently dried, he takes your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and to the king-sized bed that seems to call out to you both. 

He pulls back the covers with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours, and guides you to straddle him as he lays back, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath his weight. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and you feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

The warmth of his skin against yours sends a thrill through your body as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His eyes are locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is the same fiery need reflected in your gaze. With a soft smile, he pulls you down, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that's as gentle as it is demanding. 

The passion that burned so fiercely in the shower is now a slow, simmering heat that promises to consume you both as you begin to explore each other once again, the storm outside now a gentle reminder of the tempest you've just ridden together.

With a seductive arch of his eyebrows, Tyler silently begs you to ride him again, his thumbs brushing into your hip bones, urging you to take control. The tender touch sends a shiver of anticipation through your body, making you eager to comply. 

You lean down to kiss him, your breasts pressing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a knowing smile, you straddle him once more, feeling his erection nudge against your folds. His eyes never leave yours as you position yourself, the connection between you palpable and intense. 

As you sink down onto him, Tyler's eyes roll back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips. Your bodies meld together as if they were made for this very moment, his thickness filling you completely. The storm outside seems to echo the passion that swells within the confines of the motel room, the thunder a testament to the power of your desire. 

The rain taps a gentle rhythm on the window, setting the pace for your lovemaking as you rock your hips against his, both of you lost in the symphony of pleasure that you've created together. Each movement sends a jolt of electricity through Tyler, his eyes never leaving yours as you set the tempo, grinding down on him with a need that matches his own. 

His hands glide up your body, caressing your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to your core. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hips rise to meet yours, the friction building into an unbearable crescendo. 

With a gasp, you arch your back, pushing your breasts towards the ceiling as you take Tyler's length fully inside you. Your hips bounce with an increasing tempo, each movement sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hair cascades down your back, sticking to your skin with the heat of the room. 

Tyler’s eyes are glued to the sight of you, his jaw clenched as he watches you ride him. He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re finally his, that you want him just as much as he’s always wanted you. His hands glide up your torso, supporting your weight as you move faster and faster, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing in the room. 

His eyes darkened with lust as you lean back, giving him an unobstructed view of your bouncing breasts, the pink tips of your nipples peaked with desire. He can feel himself getting closer to the edge, his body tensing beneath yours. 

But he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to savor every second, every touch, every moan that escapes your lips. So he grips your hips, holding you steady, and thrusts upwards to meet you, pushing deeper, harder, driving you both closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back with each of Tyler's deep, powerful thrusts, your moans growing louder and more desperate as his thumb finds that sweet spot between your legs. He circles your clit with a gentle yet insistent pressure, expertly building the tension within you. 

Each touch feels like a spark igniting the flames of your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release. Your hips rock against his hand, matching the rhythm of his strokes, the friction driving you wild. His eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure overtakes you, a smug smile playing on his lips as he feels your walls tighten around him. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your passion, the storm outside seemingly in sync with your shared ecstasy. Tyler's breathing grows ragged, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you getting closer to yours. He whispers your name in a gruff voice, urging you on, his eyes filled with a fiery need that sends shivers down your spine. 

Tyler’s thumb continues to circle your clit, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches the ecstasy build in your expression. Your breath hitches, your body tightening around him, and with a final, powerful thrust, you cum hard, your muscles spasming as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

Your orgasm seems to trigger his own, and with a guttural groan, he fills you up with his warmth, his body stiffening beneath yours. The sound of the rain beating against the window is the only thing that pierces the quiet of the room, the only indication that there’s anything in the world beyond the two of you.

With your body still trembling from the intensity of your climax, you collapse onto Tyler’s chest, your heart racing in time with his. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him as if he’s afraid to let go. 

His chest heaves with the effort of his own orgasm, his breaths coming in ragged gasps that mingle with the gentle patter of the rain. The warmth of his embrace feels like a blanket, comforting and secure, as the aftershocks of pleasure pulse through your body. Your forehead presses against his chest, your eyes fluttering closed as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.