#soap as Thing would be a menace

[pfhwrittes]

more addams family and cod crossover thoughts for you.

price is gomez to your morticia. he’d kill for you, he’d die for you. you are the most sublime creature to walk this earth and it is honour to show you every single day.

soap as Thing. trying to write a note with his non dominant hand that reads “IM bUrIeD uNdEr THE CHRIS CRIS KRYS FLOWERS. HeLp¡!”

ghost likes to find soap’s notes, burn them, and then dig his body up and move it around. it’s their honeymoon, let them enjoy it.

gaz is a cousin twice removed (once by marriage, once by an unfortunate beheading) and gomez!price’s protege.

alternatively, soap as Fester. specifically, howling to the moon while he pines after ghost.

(they’re married. they’ve been married for… let’s say a while. soap still enjoys a good howl at the moon when ghost would rather read in bed than pin soap to the wall with his knives)

[3amfanfiction]

what about a johnny who becomes a proper ghost. can walk through walls, can't touch anything without a whole lot of concentration, basic ghostly vibes.

then you move into his house and he's pissed. this is still his space, why are you here, and you're moving everything around? absolutely not. he's not gonna stand for this.

so he puts in the work he's been procrastinating and learns how to properly affect his surroundings and gets to work on scaring you away. little does he know with the housing market as it is, you have no intention of leaving no matter how many ghosts are here with you. and it sure sounds like a lot with the ruckus johnny puts up.

so johnny gets more and more fed up. he eventually throws a full blows temper tantrum right as you're about to have guests over--throwing things, lifting them up into the air and letting them drop, ghastly wailing, running taps, the whole 9 yards.

you’re normally able to ignore him and set things to right after he loses steam but this time the clock is ticking. you’re at your wits end, up against a wall. you come to a decision and figure you've got a 50/50 shot of this working.

you raise your top and flash your tiddies at him.

silence.

everything falls from where it was hovering and quiets. the house almost lets out a sigh.

you take a breath and lower your shirt, happy that it worked only for it to be yanked off your head. you look down and watch your nipples extend, ghostly hands you can't see plucking at them. no matter how you try and fight, you can't get your shirt back down over your chest.

maybe this was a bad idea

Pt 2

[girl-lostconnection]

A little addition to this. Shout out to @sundaescreamcheese because they’ve guessed right.

Warnings: Banished knight!Ghost x Witch!Reader x Bloodhound knight Soap, Elden Ring AU, Johnny is a bit of a dog, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, smut at the end, biting

“Hail, witch”, gruff low voice would have startled you if your wards didn’t tense the moment he stepped onto your territory.

You don’t know what he’s doing here, this deep in the woods, this far from his usual duties and this far from Stormveil Castle.

But you aren’t going to be rude to the man in full armour, with a sword taller than you.

If whatever he seeks can be found without much hassle and he could get off your territory that would be great.

“Hail, knight”, you muse back, careful distance from him. Your wards won’t let him step much closer to the cottage, not unless you specifically grant him entrance and for now…for now you aren’t sure you should.

The man looks at you — someone’s skull now adoring the front of his helmet, his horse a menacing thing that huffs out cold air in agitation. Yeah, it’s no easy journey to get here.

That’s why you live here.

The man in front of you is tall and absolutely huge, more monster than a knight. Makes you wonder what happened for someone like him to become Banished.

What brought him to your doorstep.

You sigh, a little grateful that Johnny is too busy fussing over chickens in the backyard because gods know he can’t stand strangers. Even more than you so.

“You seek refuge or favour?”, you tilt your head to the side, eager to get rid of him faster. Johnny may not be able to run like he did before but he’s still one very good Bloodhound. You don’t have much time until he will stalk outside to see what’s going on in front of your house.

(The previous visitor that had a gall to grab your hand before leaving was hunted down by Johnny. Hunted down and brought back, the hand that gripped you resting on the first step of your porch)

Banished knight looks at you for a few very long moments but if sensing your agitation, gets off his horse — landing on his feet with grace, that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s not just big.

He’s in a very good control of his body and he’s very aware of his size.

He’s dangerous.

Your wards tense up, not letting him through when he steps forward and he freezes as if he forgot about them. Though who knows, maybe he did forget.

Knights did have tendency to feel like they are owed entrance wherever they go, perhaps this one is no different.

“I need to find another knight. Bloodhound”, his voice is low, muffled by the helmet he doesn’t take off — dark eyes boring into you, staring you down from the high of his height.

Your brows furrow at the strange request, heart thumping faster. There’s only one knight who has been around these parts of the woods.

And he’s no longer Bloodhound. You are not giving him back. You are not going to let anyone take him away and rip him off everything you and time out here have been slowly restoring.

“I can’t help you”, you voice sharp, unusually so and Banished knight tilts his whole body forward as if trying to press himself through the wards, his fingers curling and uncurling — leather of his glove creaking.

“I don’t need much, witch. Just tell me where he went. And I will leave”, Banished presses further, shoulders tense and voice curling around your throat like a grip.

He takes a breathe before stepping back, raising his hands in half-hearted placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I can pay if you need. Just tell me if you saw him”, he sounds almost gentle, head tilting down so he can look in your eyes without you having to crane your neck at him. “I’m…a friend”, he adds reluctantly, like he needs to physically tear the words out of himself.

Your brows furrow further and coincidentally Johnny couldn’t find a moment to show up better than now, sound of his walking uneven — still a limp to his step.

He rolls out of the house, picture of faux nonchalance, despite the sharp edge to his eyes.

“Hen, you alright? I heard-“, words die on his tongue when he sees the Banished knight, eyes widening. There is a strange kind of hunger in his gaze.

You don’t like it.

Because Banished knight sees Johnny and almost lunges himself in his direction, the only thing stopping him are the tethers of your wards, curling around his throat, forcing him back, forcing him out.

Air smells like ozone, air cracks with pressure, your fingers quickly warming up with a spell because you were right.

This man is dangerous. He saw Johnny.

You can’t let him leave now. He will need to disappear.

But Johnny grips your shoulders and shakes his head, eyes mad and desperate, an anguish to his face that you don’t quite understand.

“Nae, hen. It’s Simon. Don’t”, he breathes out, fingers digging into your skin, eyes boring into yours.

You glance back at Banished knight and he’s sitting on his knees now, tethers forcing him down, still tightly wrapped around his throat.

He’s dangerous. You don’t know him.

But Johnny’s nose presses to your cheek, breathing shuddering and he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t pull away until you give him a slow tentative nod.

Your fingers flick, soft popping of tethers letting go audible in the air and Johnny actually lunges himself at the Banished knight, sending them both tumbling in the snow.

Knight holds onto him with such hunger something in you churns uncomfortably. What if he will take Johnny away?

Your fingers warm up with the subconscious desire to push the strange man (Simon, his name is Simon) out. Out of your territory, out of your woods, out of your life.

But Johnny looks genuinely happy to see him so you let it go, just sitting yourself down nearby. You’ll be damned if he gets injured just because you looked away for a second.

But Simon grips Johnny like he’s the lifeline and answer to his prayers. Simon’s palms slide all over Johnny’s body, stroking sides, checking for wounds or tethers (your lips practically curl in snarl when you notice. Who the fuck does he think you are?).

He pauses at Johnny’s bad knee, touch getting more careful, eyes expectant and suddenly on you.

“Old injury”, you tell him for some reason. Not like you actually have to. You don’t owe this man anything, he’s unwelcome guest in your home. “I did what I could. If I found him later, he’d probably be without leg by now. Infection practically ate him alive”

Banished knight holds your eyes for a very long moment and then melts back into Johnny, murmuring something under his breath — too far for you to hear.

Doesn’t matter. The man isn’t staying in your home. He’s dangerous.

You tell that yourself and finally go back into the house to put kettle on. It’s too cold to stay mad out in the open. He’s not staying here anyway, so there’s no need to get too riled up.

He’s not staying but Johnny still shifts his weight from one leg to another in the doorway, Simon looming over his shoulder. They both look like a pair of big, wet from snow dogs.

You look at Johnny unimpressed but he tilts his head to the side, grown out strands of hair falling over his forehead. It should be illegal to be that bloody handsome.

You sigh and gesture for them to get in.

Okay, tea never harmed anyone. You’ll let this man warm up and he’ll be on his way before the sundown.

With or without Johnny.

The thought makes bile rise in your throat but you force it down focusing on the task at hand.

You can’t keep him if he’d want to go and you won’t humiliate yourself with begging him to stay.

But Johnny, so attuned to your moods by now, so used to having you chat for both of you steps closer — hands wrapping around your waist, part of his weight leaning on you to give a break his healthy leg.

“Yer not happy”, he notes, nose pressing to your ear, huffing out air and you can’t help but relax, letting him lean on you. He’s warm, heat rolling off him in waves, seeping through the sweater you made for him. Your head tilts back on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“He’s dangerous”, you muse quietly and ignore the chuckle Simon lets out. Banished knight is now sitting in front of your fireplace, cloak taken off and hanged on the chair to dry out.

Johnny just nods, calloused fingers rubbing idle circles on your solar plexus. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m dangerous”, it’s said almost causally, his breath ghosting over your neck and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s different”, you snap back immediately.

Simon huffs behind your back and if Johnny wasn’t leaning on you, you’d have probably thrown something in the man. He’s not going to laugh at you in your own bloody house.

“Simon’s not bad, hen”, Johnny breathes out, tone softer, teeth grazing over sweet spot behind your ear, heat dripping down to your abdomen. Bastard. He knows what he’s doing.

“And Simon is not staying here”, you grumble, pouring herbal blend in three mugs, suppressing the urge to shiver when Johnny bites your neck.

“Hen”, he starts and you already know where it leads, you head shaking quickly.

“No”, you cut him off and nudge him with a shoulder to step back so you can move. “Move, I need to give this Banished his bloody tea”

Johnny grumbles but peels himself off you, less than happy to lose the comfort and warmth your body provides. Less than happy to let you slip out of his grasp.

“He can stay in the barn”, Johnny offers and just grins when you send him a glare. His teeth itch to sink into the nape of your neck, press you into the bed, lick the fight and agitation out of you, make you soft and pliant.

“I said no”

“Hen”

“He’s dangerous”

“Hen, have mercy”

Simon watches the way you two bicker, enjoying that none of you even noticed he took the helmet off to drink the tea you placed on the table with more force than necessary, some of it trickling down the rims of the mug.

Simon huffs out a dry chuckle when Johnny tries to pull you back into his hands and you sidestep, smacking his hands away. Leaving Bloodhound almost pouting.

“Cruel”, he complains to Simon, hands crossing over his chest. But despite everything…Johnny looks good. Better than Simon remembers him.

He’s wider now, there is bulk to him that Bloodhound Knight Johnny didn’t have. His eyes are brighter.

He is talking.

Simon didn’t even know Johnny could fucking talk, thought all Bloodhounds are mute. Courtesy of the profession.

“I understand you want to sleep with your Banished in the barn today?”, the witch arches their brow at Johnny and groans when his eyes light up.

Like a bloody dog catching the whiff of blood on the hunt. Old habits die hard, evidently.

“You can stay”, Johnny announces to Simon like it’s his personal victory, like he brought his master a good game after the hunt and is waiting to get his ear scratched.

His grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t crack. Witch rolls their eyes but Simon sees the way their lips twitch.

Seems not only he has a soft spot for Johnny.

Maybe it should’ve made him feel uneasy but if anything he feels satisfied, like something finally clicked in place. Puzzle finally unlocking in his hands, showing him the reward.

Simon tilts his head to the side, scar crossing his lips stretching when he smiles down at you.

Yeah, he’s staying.

A day turns into a couple days and then into two whole weeks because of the blizzard, Simon pushing further and further.

Eyes heavy and dark when he’d catch a glimpse of your throat or Johnny’s bites — purple bruises on your neck, soft creaking of the bed upstairs whenever it happened.

Simon doesn’t tell you that he moved from barn to the cot in the kitchen and you pretend that you don’t know he’s been sleeping there for the last week.

Simon pretends in return that he doesn’t strain his ears, catching the smallest sounds Johnny tears out of you. That he doesn’t lean on the cold wall of the kitchen, thighs spread wide, his eyes closed. That his hand doesn’t find its way to touch himself, stroking at almost lazy pace.

After all, Johnny is not starving Simon of little love here and there, eyes electric blue, mouth slick on the inner side of Simon’s thighs — your taste still on his lips.

Simon worms himself into your life and starts moving bloody furniture so he can position himself more comfortably, clicking his tongue when you hiss at him — tilting his head at you the same way a heavyweight horse would at the farm’s cat.

His fingers catch your jaw when you grumble that he rearranges your kitchen again, his lips pressing to yours.

You take a step back just to feel Johnny’s warm chest pressing into you, breathing heavier than usually, hands wrapping around you.

Simon angles your face so he can slip his tongue in your mouth, groaning appreciatively when you let him in. When you tilt your head up, allowing his fingers to curl over your neck.

Here we go. Finally.

Simon licks your lower lip, finally pulling away and reaches for Johnny just to give him a kiss just as wet, now grinning like a well-fed creature. Satisfaction dripping out his every pore.

Johnny nuzzles into your hair, breathing out a low “think Simon can sleep with us now, hen?” and you just nod. Your legs jelly that don’t hold you properly, head stuffed with cotton, skin tingling from the heat of their stares.

That’s…an unexpected turn. You were ready for Simon to leave. You were ready for Johnny to leave with him.

But this…this is a surprise.

Simon presses a short kiss to your forehead and walks away to feed the livestock. There’s a new spring to his step, as if something just depressurised his spine, letting him grow a few inches up.

The issue arises only when it’s time to actually sleep because Johnny is insatiable and he refuses to move anywhere from between your thighs, not reacting to anything.

Especially not to Simon walking in.

You feel hot, Johnny’s tongue sending white hot sparkles down your spine, your eyes meeting Simon’s whose pupils blow wide and god, he’s more monster than a knight.

He’s the solide presence when he crawl in bed to pull you into his lap, big palms holding you open for Johnny, fingers sinking in the meat of your thighs.

“Eager today, aren’t we, sweet’eart?”, Simon sucks his own mark in your skin, teeth grazing your throat, his grip on your thighs getting stronger when you make the prettiest needy sound.

Music for his ears.

“It’s okay. Gonna take good care of ya. Gonna take care of both of you”, he practically purrs, sliding his fingers down your body to find the fluttering hole, dipping in it just to marvel at your body swallowing his first knuckle.

Johnny whines, his tongue circling lower, curling around Simon’s fingers, making you choke on your own breathing because too much-too hot-too wet.

Simon presses a kiss to your jaw, grin wicked and dark, stubble on his cheek scratching your skin.

“Be good, luv”, he murmurs, eyes heavy and hungry when Johnny sucks his fingers in, practically gagging on thick digits. “Open up for us”

Johnny bites on the fingers in his mouth before pulling away, dropping back down between your legs, sinking his teeth in the meat of your thigh.

Marking.

Simon smiles wider and adds a second finger, pushing in deeper, cooing in your neck when your hips buckle.

There’s no rush, love. They aren’t going anywhere.

After all, you already let them in. They might as well make themselves at home.

Johnny‘s tongue traces the bite mark on your thigh, his eyes fixed on another one he left on Simon’s knuckles that are currently sinking inside of you. Wet squelching sound sending a heatwave through Johnny’s whole body.

So welcoming to them. So sweet, hen. It would be their pleasure.

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[plutoswritingplanet]

In My Back (Remmick x Female! Reader)

a/n: sooo uuuh... basically yeah... never in my life had i been on such a long writer's kick. idk what they put in this irish freak but im eating it up (this is a long one, like 11k words i think). Cross Posted on AO3

Warnings: Canon Violence, Carpet Munching like crazy, P in V, just... Smut y'know, Some Plot, Manipulation, General Vampire Shenanigans

Summary: Three times he comes in the night, with offers a plenty on his fingertips. The third night, he leaves you with a gift. A Devil's kiss and a taste for freedom.

MASTERLIST

"And then, when you least expect it..." your cousin's voice dips down into a menacing tone, that only serves to push a giggle out of your chest "They sink their teeth, and suck the blood straight outta your bones"

She snaps her mouth at you, teeth clinking together, and you push her away, laughing at the story. She laughs as well, dodging skillfully, as you swipe a wet rag at her. 

"Stupid" you huff, trying to act exasperated with her antics, and failing miserably, as always. "I told you not to bother me with those silly stories."

She shrugs at that, twirls around the kitchen, like a fine lady in a coarse dress, her bare feet sliding over the linoleum tiles. You watch, as she dances out of the kitchen, grabbing a muffin from the table. You almost scold her, but decide to let it go, as you usually do. It's hard to be mad at her, damn near impossible to be honest. She always had a way of melting coldness around her. 

With a small sigh, you go back to cleaning, wiping the counter and the windows, your mind wandering to your cousin's stories. It's always ghosts and goblins with her. Some new, terrifying thing, that would surely snuff sleep off your eyelids, if your feet weren't planted firmly on the ground. That's how it's always been, since the moment you both learned to crawl. She was the flying one, the one with her head in the clouds, too preoccupied with counting the stars to look down.

And you were the complete opposite. Grass at your feet, a clear road ahead of you. No wondering, no straying. 

Sometimes you envied her lightness, sometimes you remembered, it was a burden. Especially for a woman on this earth. Despite that, she never lost herself. Despite hardship after hardship, she remained strong in her openness, in her will to think beyond, what the world offered her. How she did that, after living the past she's had, was beyond you.

God must be a cruel, cruel man, you think. For condemning the most unequipped for the biggest disappointments. 

Still, you made sure, your cousin would never have to face her life alone. Not while you're still standing, unmoving, like an ancient pine tree. You would always give her shade, always protect her from the rain, pull her down if need be.  

The sun starts to set over the horizon, the last rays of light flickering behind the woods. Your house was small, and well hidden, despite its proximity to the town. Your parents knew what they were doing, choosing this place to settle down, and you couldn't be more grateful. Before your cousin begged for shelter, you lived here alone, picking up both your parents' professions. And so, along with baking and feeding the entire area, you also became mean with any car troubles. A woman's and a man's job, both of them dancing under the sweat of your brow. 

Your cousin begged you to leave that "dirty work". To focus on opening a legitimate business, a bakery at the marketplace. She cussed, cleaning out grease stains from your skirts, and you didn't have the strength, nor patience to explain to her, how you're only able to afford the soap in her hand, because the "dirty work" payed better, than any baking. 

And so, when she stops you at the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her nose scrunched. She's looking you over, taking in the rough gloves and the utility belt, contrasting almost comically with the flowy material of your dress. 

"Don't start" you point at her with your wrench, and she raises her hands in a mockery of surrender.

Her mouth twists in a way, that betrays her inner thoughts, betrays her need to say more. But, to your general surprise, she swallows, shaking her head. Then, her eyes find yours, and you feel the tangible warmth of comfort, at the slight, teasing pull of her mouth.

"Don't let any monsters in" she chirps behind you, as you open the door, and start walking towards your late Daddy's workshop. 

All you can do is laugh. A rough sound, deep and dark like freshly brewed coffee. A mourning dove, and a wise owl, that's what you two were. 

Lamps guide your steps through the darkness, as you make your way towards the workshop. It's a spacious raggedy shack, your father built himself, every nook and cranny marked by his strength. You feel as if you're stepping into a church, every time you slide the barn doors open. 

It takes you a moment to light the place up, as you skip around a beaten down Buick, your feet padding softly over the recently swiped floors. The silence of the night calms you down, adds a layer of something almost sacred to your work. Night birds call out in the woods, crickets chirp in the grass, and you inhale the crisp air with your whole lungs, until they hurt. Until you feel the wind in the essence of your being. As soon as the workshop is ready, you find the ghost of your father inside every clink of metal, every grease stain. 

That's why you do, what you do. That's why you hide the woman in your pocket, tug your skirts up, tie them to your belt, throw your hair out of your face. Your father's hands guide you, years spent looking over his shoulder marr your movements. It's not work anymore. It's a ceremony, a communion. 

The Mississippi heat covers you with sweat, salty drops mixing with grease and motor oil, staining your skin. And as you wipe your face with a coarse rag, you entertain the thought, that this, here, is freedom. Your own, personal brand of freedom. Or at least some ghost of it. 

That's how he first finds you. 

Skin glistening under the warm lights, making you shine in his eyes. Your breasts exposed to a scandalous degree, your skirt hiked up so high, he sees the small stretch lines on your thighs. The sight makes his mouth water, literally. Such a wild thing, the sickly sweet scent of gasoline clinging to you, as you stretch on the little stool. A groan pushes past your lips, and he has to grip the doorway with his claws, to stop himself from pouncing. Even if he can't really do it, while you're in the safety of your workshop, he feels as if he'd be able to tear down any rules of ancient times, just to taste the nectar of your blood. 

Then you start humming. Some unknown tune from far away, long ago. Your voice dripping like molasses, filling his ears with something, he was sure damnation took away. You move around the workshop, tidying up after yourself, legs strong like an ancient tree. A tantalizing image of skin, muscle and a jiggly layer of fat, that makes him want to sink his teeth in, over and over again. 

Such temptation could not be ignored. Shouldn't be. It begged him to indulge, and who is he to deny the sweet embrace of sin? 

"A woman with a wrench is such an uncommon sight these days" he starts, and skillfully dodges the aforementioned wrench, as it flies towards his head. "Now hold on there, darlin'..."

You spin around like a storm cloud, heart jumping into your throat, at the unfamiliar, male voice. He stands in the shadows, just out of reach for the outside lamp, leaning on the workshop's door frame. His face is barely visible, but you notice the paleness of his wrists, peaking at you from his front pockets. A sillhouette of a banjo on his back, tied with a frayed string, that's digging into his chest.

The world becomes quiet around you. Not a night bird, not a cricket. Just you, and him, and the increasingly fast beating of your heart.

"Who are you?" you demand, and the suspicion in your voice lets him know, he'll have to work for it "What are you doing here?"

Raising his hands in a mockery of a friendly gesture, he takes a slow step backwards, offering space. Your shoulders don't relax, hand creeping towards the folds of your skirt, where you hide a kitchen knife. One, you've never had to use, but God help you, you will. 

"Apologies, darlin'. I didn't mean to startle you" he says, keeping his tone light, as if he's just an old friend, paying you a visit "I was walkin' down to the town, but I must've lost my way."

"Yeah, you must've." you eye him cautiously, the tartness of your voice making the corners of his mouth curl. 

"Best get back on the road then."

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, as he swipes a look around the workplace. 

"I saw the lights, figured there might be some good folks up in 'ere" he comes even closer to the door, lingering just outside, his well worn out boots kicking at the pebbles. 

He makes a pitiful expression, as he looks up at you through his eyebrows, and for the first time, you can take a good look at his eyes. Blue, you think. But at the same time, strangely dark. It makes your eyebrows furrow, because despite your weariness, you can most certainly say, this stranger is a handsome one. With nicely toned arms, broad shoulders, and features that look warm in their softness, as well as dangerously sharp. 

You don't like it. This strange impasse, that's seized your muscles. Like a deer stuck in the crosshair of a predator, it makes your skin crawl, and your insides tighten. 

"No good folks here, just me." your voice is like a bell in his ears, slightly out of breath from all the work, and so, so dark. 

The stranger laughs, and the sound sends an onslaught of shivers up your spine. Your fingers twitch nervously.

"See now, I find that hard to believe" the lightness in his tone starts to get to you, slithering under your skin like a snake "Surely such a sweet darlin' has some good in 'er"

God dammit, the way his head tilts to the side, as if trying to coax this mystical goodness out of you, chips away at your defenses. Your brain wrestles with your natural, tart disposition, and the facts presented before you. Here he stands, a respectful distance away, his hands in view. You don't see any weapon on him, but you see the sweat clinging to his dark hair. You see the dirt on his clothes, under his fingernails, the labored breathing he tries to conceal. He seems harmless enough, but looks can be decieving, and you'll be damned if a soft smile and a twinkling eye will be your downfall.

"You a travelin' musician or somethin'?"

He laughs, in pure delight. As if the notion is something he'd never consider, but he loves it either way. His laugh makes your cheeks tingle with warmth, and you curse yourself for such a strong reaction. 

"Something like that..." he nods, eyes shining with mischief "I follow music 'ere I go."

With a defeated sigh, your shoulders slump, as you throw the dirty rag at the car.

"I'll get you some food and drink" you concede "Then, you can go on your merry way, yeah?"

"Yes Ma'am" he agrees immediately, his eyes following you, as you exit the workshop, sliding the door closed "D'you live here alone, darlin'?"

The question makes you remember the knife in your skirts, but you don't falter in your steps, as you make your way towards the front entrance to your house. It's not wise, running from a predator, if he indeed turns out to be one. 

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"Fair enough" he nods, walking behind you, teetering the line of being much too close for comfort "Though it's a curious thing, don't you agree? A woman of your young age, alone in the woods. No ring on your finger either..."

He knows you're not alone. He smelled the other woman, felt the lazy drag of blood through her veins a mile away. But you don't need to know that, nuh huh. 

Your right hand tightens into a fist on instinct, at his observation. Skipping the steps to the porch without an answer, you leave the door open for him. 

But he doesn't enter, stopping right at the entrance, his shoulder leaning on the painted door frame, mirroring his stance from before. You shoot him a questioning glance over your shoulder, and once again, he scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. Such a boyish, shy gesture. Or a camouflage. You're undecided yet. 

"Would be improper, to walk in without an invitation..." he explains, voice quiet, and almost timid. 

Something tugs at the back of your mind. The story your cousin told you just hours ago, rings out like a sermon between your ears, and gooseflesh erupts all across your arms. Stupid. Utterly stupid and impossible, and yet... Your shoulders jump up, and down, in a nonchalant shrug, before you disappear into the kitchen. No use pondering over demons. The night is scary enough without them, and strange men can be worse than all the ghouls combined. 

As soon, as you're out of sight, Remmick growls under his breath, finger scratching at the peeling paint on the entrance. He can smell you in the house, sweetness and musk, gasoline and cherry pie. Your heartbeat has calmed down significantly, but he knows, the cards he's been dealt are tricky to play. Good thing, he's a skilled gambler, and you've already extended a hand of hospitality. Already let him see a glimmer, of what's hidden under that hard shell. The sweetness of the fruit within, warmth like the sunlight he's been denied for so long. Your blood will be exquisite, he's sure of it. But before that...

There's a thrill like no other, when playing with one's food. 

"There you go" you announce, slipping out of the kitchen, your clothes in proper place this time, obscuring the sight of your bare skin from him "Water and food, for your journey"

His eyes trail over your body, before landing on the glass in your hand, along with a package, wrapped in cloth. Another smile graces his features, this time however, he looks less like a shy farm boy, and more like a pleased man. All skin, and bone, and muscle. The transformation is quite jarring, and you have to blink a couple of times, not allowing yourself to be distracted, by the gentle shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

"Thank you, lass" he answers, taking the water first, and downing it all in one go, causing a small laugh to rip through your lips, almost despite yourself.

 "Forgive me, seems I'm more parched than I thought" he inclines his head, and you hand him the package. 

This time, his fingers run the length of your palm, sweaty and rough, as they retrieve the offering, and your mind goes to some very unsightly places. His eyes trail up slowly to your face, and you swear, you can see his pupils shining, just for a split second. 

Danger. The word climbs up your spine, takes root in your mind, as his tongue slips out to wet his chapped lips. Pink, and soft. 

Don't let the monsters in, your cousin's voice follows you. But she didn't mention anything about letting the monster stay a while, right at the threshold. She didn't mention the shivers you feel, prickling at your skin under his inquisitive gaze. And she sure as shit didn't mention, how your breathing gets slower, deeper, when you recognize that traitorous need in the depths of his eyes. 

It's been a while, since you've had a man, but you still remember, what it looks like, when you're wanted. When there's hunger crackling like fireworks between two people. And the hunger this stranger exudes, is nearly overwhelming, suffocating in the best way possible. 

Time to end this, cut the weeds out, before they overpower all rational thought.

"You should get on your way" you say, and shiver at the way his eyes snap to your lips, drinking in their shape as you speak. 

"Just one more thing..." he murmurs, low in his throat, so quiet, yet so unbelievably loud in the oppressive silence of the night. 

This time you're the one wetting your lips, preparing yourself for something, although you're not sure for what. The air feels sticky, smooth like honey, passing between you and him. An intimate sort of exchange, that slowly, but surely, melts your insides. Makes you feel a bit lighter, as if your cousin's spirit has invaded your usual hardness. 

Is this how it feels to be her? And if so, when will the first crash of thunder bring you down? Just like it brought her to the ground, again and again.

The man's eyes move back to yours, capturing your gaze and holding it hostage. 

"A cigarette for the road?" his words are a whisper now, and you feel ashamed, at how long it takes you to register his words. 

When you finally do, a single arch of your eyebrow makes his lips pull into a lazy smile. One that has no right working on you as much as it does. Alas...

"I saw you smoking in the workshop" he explains.

"...Ah..."

Your hand slips into your skirts, fingers brushing over the knife handle, and you take out a half empty pack. You offer it to him, and he reaches for the cigarette, his fingers sinfully elegant, as he presses it against his mouth, licking lightly at the tobacco. Something tightens low inside you at the movement of his pink tongue. 

He's good. You'll give him that. 

"I shall be off, then" he takes a slow step backwards, keeping his eyes on you, like he tries to pin you in place. "G'night, darlin'"

As soon as his boots hit the soft ground in front of your porch, your senses come back to you like a flood, as if some ancient spell has been lifted off your shoulders, and you straighten out with a sharp breath. 

You don't know what compels you. What wild, unfamiliar force beckons you, but before you can stop yourself, you're calling out to him.

"Stranger!"

He twirls on his heel, like a dancer on a stage.

"What's your name?"

"Remmick" he answers, voice carrying through the night. 

Then, he jumps up, dances a little jig that pushes clouds of dust into the air, and you can't help yourself. You laugh. A clear, honest sound, that surprises you in it's lightness. 

Remmick bows, turns around, and walks into the shadows of the woods, leaving an indent in the shape of his curved smile in your brain. 

"Remmick..." you repeat under your breath, before shaking your head at your own antics, and closing the door of your home.

The moon laughs at you as well, her light slipping into your room through a half open window. It's not a merry laugh however. It's a mournful, hopeless one, to which you are none the wiser, falling into dream-filled sleep. And as soon, as your eyelids close, as soon as your consciousness slips, a shadow rises from the earth, hanging over you like an executor's axe. 

***

You awake in the early morning, sweat clinging to your feverish skin, your hand squeezed tightly between your thighs. You don't remember what dream has put you in this state of mess, but your limbs shake as you stand up, your heart beating right out of your chest. It's a little disappointing, really, you think to yourself, as you wash off the slick from your thighs, that you've become reduced to this so easily. Surely not because of last night's visit. You're stronger than this. Stronger than some wanton virgin, who's never felt a man before. 

And yet, as you skip into the kitchen, and prepare for the day, you can't seem to shake the image of him from your brain. Like a sickness immune to all ointments, Remmick lingers under your skin, slithering and burning. 

Your cousin joins you downstairs some time later, lured out of bed by the smell of freshly baked goods.

"Whooo! Baby!" she sighs, taking in the kitchen, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes "You gonna sell these?" 

The sluggishness with which you turn to her, makes you realize just how distracted you've truly been. Ridiculous. You're being ridiculous, and for what?

"Yeah" you nod, wiping flour off your hands into your apron "Gonna head to town in a bit. Sure you gonna be alright on your own?" 

Your cousin rolls her eyes, and steals an apple from the fruit basket. 

"I'm not a lil' kid no more" she tells you, like she's reminding you of homework, and it's your turn to roll your eyes at her. 

Ain't you?, you wanna say, but you bite your tongue in time. She doesn't deserve your crudeness. So you cross the kitchen and peck her cheek affectionately. As if to make up for the thoughts, that are left unsaid.

"I know, I know. And you know where the shotgun is, in case trouble comes a knockin', yeah?" she nods once, with a resolute expression.

You recognize the irony in your words. Last night you practically invited a strange man into your home, just 'cause he smiled nice. In your stubborn refusal to admit your own transgression, you tell yourself, you'd shoot his ass to high heaven's, if he tried anything. Even if the notion rings hollow in your own brain. 

"What's on your mind, cuz?" 

Her voice drags you back to reality with harshness, and you take a sharp breath through your teeth. One, she immediately notices, her eyebrows scrunching into a frown. 

"Nothin'." a weak lie, a pathetic one, really "Just... Ghost and Goblins"

Concern melts into a teasing smile, as your cousin starts packing up the still steaming bread. 

"Ah..." she laughs, bright and airy "Some stranger in the night sunk his teeth into you?" 

For a moment you watch her expression carefully, trying to decipher if she knows, if she heard. Even if she sleeps long and hard, like the dead. All you can see on her face, is a smile of someone proud of her stories taking root. Relief and guilt mix in your gut, and you have to look away, before you crack. 

It doesn't matter. Nothing happened, and you'll never meet the smiling stranger again, so why do you feel so... What is it exactly that you're feeling? Disappointed? No, disappointment is for people like your cousin. For people who hope, who fly. Then what is it, biting at the back of your spine like a bloodsucking flea?

"I'll be back from town before you know it" your voice is quiet, dismissive, but she doesn't seem to hold it against you.

"Have fun" she calls after you. Then, silently, she adds "God knows you need it."

The road to town goes by smoothly, your truck jumping and bumping over stray stones. The bustle of the market welcomes you like an old friend, and just for a moment, you allow yourself to miss it. The people, filtering through the streets, laughing, talking, keeping friendly despite the underlying tensions in the air.

Your father would take you here often, while he was alive. He'd stand under the very same sign, you're lifting over your truck now, letting people come to him with business. You'd listen, like a diligent little student, soaking in the wisdom of the trade, helping him run books, count the money, catch conversations.

They all knew you here. From the very moment you've been old enough to stand on your own, you were part of something bigger, than just your family. Always your parents daughter, but so much more at the same time. And now... Now you're a ghost of your own choosing. Respected, liked even, but always on the outside, no longer part of something, but a welcomed guest nonetheless. 

Bread goes out first, then sweet rolls and pies. You've been slaving away in the kitchen since the break of dawn, but as the sunset comes closer, you'd be damned it it wasn't worth it. Soon enough, your purse is filled, and you're packing your stand back into the truck, arms burning from work. 

Wiping the sweat off your face, your neck, you make your way across the street, to the supplies store, where, as soon as the bell above rings, you're greeted by the owner. A woman, who could've been your peer, could've been a friend, if you were someone different. If you were your cousin, or at least, not a ghost.

"Look what the wind blew in." she leans on the counter, hair slipping out from under the scarf on her head "Haven't seen you in a while."

"You know me, always busy..." your eyes already scan the products, landing heavily on the prices.

She doesn't know you, though. You've never given her an opportunity to know you, and perhaps, that's why you always choose this shop. Perhaps, that's the only time you allow yourself to hope. That maybe this time, you'll be different, this time you'll let yourself be open. That's the reason you know, disappointment is for the hopeful. 

"You got some flour for me?" 

The shopkeeper nods, crosses the floor and jabs her foot into a couple of bags by the window.

"Got some milk too" she says "Hell, even some sugar, if you wanna"

To that you shake your head.

"I've got some sugar left still. And I'll pick up some eggs on the way back, from Ol' Johnson's farm"

A beat of silence.

"Oh? You haven't heard then?"

"Heard what?" you don't sound too interested, already pulling out a bunch of dollars and sliding them on the counter. 

The shopkeeper walks over to you slowly, a solemn expression on her face, and that finally gives you a pause. The sun paints the inside of the shop a deep orange color, your neck tingling with heat and sweat, hair sticking to your skin. 

"Ol' Johnson's dead. God rest his soul" the shopkeeper says, swiping a sign of the Cross over her heart, and you repeat the action, like it's second nature. 

Coldness seeps through you, a strange sort of feeling, like there's something more hidden in the revelation. Some terrible truth just waiting to bury you. You swallow thickly, trying to ground yourself. 

"What happened?"

Another moment of tension filled silence passes, as the shopkeeper takes a deep breath, eyes scrunching in sorrow. 

"His wife came back from her family down South. People said she found him, dead and burning in the morning sun."

Cold turns to freezing in your bones, brain working overtime under your skull.

"They burned him?" you ask, mindful not to sound too curious, too insensitive.

"Sheriff said they killed him first, mangled the poor man beyond recognition."

"Jesus...." you sigh, trying, and failing to push away an image of the old man's face, scorched and bloody. "What about his widow?" 

"She's staying at the Motel until they burry him. I think she'll head back South after, there ain't nothin' keeping her here anymore."

You nod solemnly at her words. A quick thought passes through you, a worry, where you'll get your eggs now. But you scold yourself hard in your mind for such heartlessness. This is not the time, nor the place for wondering about trivial matters. Not when a man's life has been snuffed out, and so brutally at that. 

"The funeral's tomorrow, if you care" the shopkeeper's words snap you back from your cold thoughts, and you realize, that yes, you do care "We'll have a small thing for him at the Joint"

"Yeah..." you speak before you have the time to think on it "I'll be there."

She helps you load your groceries into your truck, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you, and once again, you wish things would've been different. Instead, you thank her with a dollar bill, and start the car on the road back to your home, where you're not alone, but solitude still awaits. 

By the time you arrive, it's dark outside, the porch light guiding your steps. The house is quiet, your cousin asleep in her room, buried under heavy covers. You linger in her doorway for a moment, mind lost deep in thought, as you watch her peaceful form. Something tugs on your heart. Some undeniable feeling of sorrow, dragging your heart down to the wooden floors. 

What you're mourning, you're not sure. But it brings a tear to your eye nonetheless, and your feet carry you outside, into the peaceful darkness, the crisp evening air. There, you can finally breathe, you can let the tears flow easily, without worrying about your sorrow staining the warmth inside. 

Hands clutching your head, your shoulders shake in silent sobs, the heaviness, and the cold of today reaping it's spoils on your body. And you stay there, soil soaking up your tears greedily, until the steps of the porch creak loudly, tearing your heart straight from your chest. 

You shoot up, turning your whole body so fast, you nearly collide with one of the pillars supporting the roof over the porch. Hand wraps around the handle of the knife, perpetually hidden in your skirts. And then you see him.

"Heaven's you startle easy, darlin'" Remmick raises his hands, giving you a sympathetic smile. 

Here he sits, right at the porch step. The man you were sure you'd never see again, same clothes, same twinkle in his eye. He gazes at your tear stained face, with a calmness of someone who's seen more sadness, than you can comprehend. 

"The hell you doin' here?" you try to demand, but your voice is still too shaky, and your hand too weak, to hold the knife any longer. 

"Heard a bird sing in mourning" he answers, something warm slithering into his voice "Followed it's song all the way here."

You should be better than this. Stronger than this. Hell, you are stronger than this. But there's something so gentle in his presence, so different from the hunger you've felt the first time you've met. And your bones are tired, and your head is pounding, and God... 

Slowly, like a wild animal learning to trust, you sit back down on the porch, a safe distance from him. But nothing can shield you from the warmth of his body next to you. From the unexplainable sense of calm, that floods your veins with every breath you take. And the night is so quiet, not a noise around you...

"I could sing you a song" he starts, and you scoff at the notion, a wet, broken sound "Something that would lull your pain to rest..."

"I don't need cheerin' up" you cut him off, and he smiles in a way, that makes you feel exposed like a bleeding wound.

You look down at your hands, woman's hands marred with signs of hard work. No longer soft and gentle, but trembling and covered with callouses. You're proud of them, of every scar and blemish, and you wish they were clean at the same time. You wish they were made for holding silk instead. At least just for tonight, in the dead silence.

"No" he murmurs "No you don't"

His eyes meet yours, when you risk a look in his direction, and what you find, makes your heart feel light as a feather, and heavy as a stone at the same time. 

"Cheerin' doesn't bring anythin' for you, does it." he says it like it's a fact, like he knows you from within "You know the value of sufferin'."

God damn him, you think, new tears already stinging your eyes. He leans in, cold breath tickling your cheeks, and to your surprise, you don't run. You don't want to run. Not even a flinch passes you, when his fingers brush the stray hairs out your face, pushing the rest over your shoulder. 

A small hiccup rips through your throat, because you never want to be touched. Never, until now, until him. Any other boy from town would already have his neck scuffed, for even daring to get this close. But this stranger, this man, this...

"Remmick..." you whisper, something wet and broken in your tone, something you haven't heard since your mother's funeral.

He hums, deep in his chest, as if he's pleased you remember his name. As if somehow, in this state of brokenness, he's the most proud of you. Your head ducks on instinct, when he moves closer, taking a long whiff of your hair. 

"You know" he continues, low and intimate, his lips moving like the wings of a butterfly over your forehead "That tears can be sweeter, than any smile, any laughter.

Fingers pinch your chin, pulling your head up, until your glassy eyes meet his once again. For a moment, he searches your face, gaze drifting over your wet eyelashes, your trembling cheeks, your mouth opening and closing.

"Because tears are honest" he finishes, and a ragged sound of a gasp escapes through your teeth.

Your hand finds purchase on his chest, feeling the rough material of his shirt, the buttons hanging on a couple of flimsy threads. You could mend them for him, you could offer him food, drink, your bed, anything. If he'd only ask. 

But he doesn't. Instead, his large hand presses gently over the flushed skin of your cheekbone, thumb running gently under your eye, gathering saltiness as it goes. 

"Let me taste it, Sweetness" he whispers, pleading, his face leaning impossibly close "Let me taste your honesty."

His breath mingles with yours, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, so close, yet not close enough. Your fingers tighten on his chest, dragging the fabric beneath your nails, and finally he dips down. 

But before you can feel him fully, before he drinks you like communion wine, your cousin's voice rings out throughout the house.

Heart jumping into your throat, you nearly rip yourself away from him, the spell of his honeyed words gone as quick, as it appeared. You stumble back on your feet, flushed and confused, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Something flashes through his expression, quick like a band of wild horses, but you catch it, you always do.

Perhaps, just a trick of the lights, something insignificant and unreal. But just like your cousin's stories, it lingers. 

If tears are honest, then what do you call the sudden meanness in his eyes? The ghost of irritated anger, that pulls his mouth down, sets heavily over his brow? 

Danger, you brain supplies again, and as your cousin calls out your name again, dread climbs up your back. 

He repeats your name, so silent you can barely hear him, but even so, he looks victorious. Defeated, but victorious nonetheless, and your instincts kick in tenfold. The handle of the knife is cold in your grasp, a grounding weight against your hand. He doesn't move, just stares at you, expression of utter calm gracing his confusing features. 

Now that's how a proper predator looks like. Half hidden under the shadows, his mouth open and panting, as if tasting the lingering scent of you from air alone. There's no tension in his figure, only steady confidence. He's gotten your name, he's almost gotten your trust, your honesty. 

You wish you were stronger. You were taught to be stronger. 

The front door creaks open, and you turn to push your cousin back inside, scream at her to stay back, stay where it's warm, and safe. Where the darkness won't catch her. 

But just as she steps outside, her thin sleeping gown flowing around her form, your eyes flicker to the porch steps. And he's gone. 

Not a trace of the strange man, of Remmick. Only the moon and utter silence. 

"You're back" your cousin wraps her arms around your waist, tugging you inside "I fell asleep waitin', I'm sorry"

"No, I..." you try to respond, barely hearing your voice over the thundering sound of your own heart, eyes scanning the tree line, every shadow looking like him. 

"You good? You look like you've seen a ghost" 

Finally, she drags you over the threshold, closing the doors behind. 

"You've been cryin'?" 

"No it's just..." you swallow thickly, throat tight "Needed some fresh air, don't you worry your head about me"

Your cousin looks beyond skeptical, a strange reversal of your usual roles, but she doesn't push, God bless her soul. Instead, she kisses your forehead, wiping away the ghost of Remmicks lips, and at last, your shoulders relax. 

"You work too hard, y'know" she murmurs, sleep still clinging to her "It's not good for the nerves" 

You know exactly what's not good for your nerves, and it sure as shit isn't your work, but you can't say that. You can't reveal the true source of your frazzled state, if only to shield her from all the confusion. All the dread and longing, that's mixing dangerously in your gut. She's been through enough, and suddenly awave of fresh guilt crashes over you. 

Carelessness is a sin, you never thought you'd commit. Yet here you are. God forgive you, because you cannot do it yourself.

***

Leaving the window open is your continuous mistake. One, which Remmick uses generously. 

His body levitates in the cold air, unmoving like a hanged man's corpse, scraping his nails over the window frame. Stuck in perpetual stillness, the warmth of his breath fogs the glass. Two dots of red cut through the darkness, overpower the moon's cold light behind him. Like a shadow of death to come, his presence looms over your room, over your sleeping form.

You never sleep under covers. He noticed it a while back, when you didn't know him, when he still thought you were just a bag filled with blood. His for the taking, to sate his never ending thirst. 

Now, he sees the bag has arms, that curve elegantly over the pillow. He notices the smoothness of skin, the delicate slope of your neck, where your blood sings a hymn just for him. Such a sweet thing, the ripest of fruits, just waiting to be devoured. 

Later. 

He has to remind himself to be patient, no matter how hard the pull of your saccharine scent calls to him. He needs you pliant, he wants you at your fullest. He wants love dripping from your fingertips like a fountain. Just so he can lap it up like a hungry dog. 

For now, he satisfies himself with this image of you, splayed out on the covers. A ghost of a Babylonian queen, come to life in this abandoned neck of the woods. 

Remmick takes a deep breath, humming to himself, as your scent fills every pore of his damned body. Dark and heavy, sweet on his tongue. He closes his eyes, nose pressing into the glass, teeth biting into his lower lip. What sweet torture this is. Being so close, yet so far away. 

Makes the spoils all the more worth it, in the end.

***

Ol' Johnson was a good man. 

He never took more, than he needed. Greeted everyone with a smile and a story, told in a voice roughened by years of smoking cheap tobbaco. He helped you, when you couldn't bring yourself to call on anyone, and kept helping you, until you've learned to accept it. 

And now he's dead. And all you have to remember him by, are dwindling memories, and a glass of lukewarm whiskey in your hand. 

The funeral service was a miserable affair. His crying widow nearly drowned out the sounds of the sermon with her sobs, and your heart broke for the poor woman, who lost everything in one night. She didn't look at you, when you offered her condolences, and you couldn't blame her. Tear stained eyes stayed  fixed firmly on the wooden coffin, as they lowered her husband into the ground. And they didn't move an inch, when ground covered him forever. 

She's a good woman too. Kind in a natural way, that seems to spread warmth wherever she goes. Always willing to give more, than what's expected of her. Now, the burden of being warm falls on the shoulders of the town. And they all take the mantle in stride, holding her through her grief, offering her comfort, that can only be found in community. 

You don't fit in here anymore. Besides, who would want comfort from a ghost. 

So you linger at the back of the Joint, sipping whiskey through your teeth, trying to remind yourself, that solitude is what you chose. You chose safety, you chose your cousin, your family. You can't regret that, you're simply not allowed to. 

Soon enough, mourning of death becomes a celebration of life, as musicians take stage, and bodies filter onto the dance floor. Sweaty, greased with alcohol, and yearning for a moment of recklessness, they dance. And with every step, every twirl, every pull of the guitar strings, you feel Ol' Johnson's spirit. You feel every story, every helpful hand, every puff of cigarette smoke. 

You can't stay still. Despite your promises, your responsibilities, you can't let his memory fade into a sad song. So you abandon your glass, your lonesome seat at the table, and you join in dance. You dance like you've never danced before, heels stomping on the wooden floor, sweat dripping down your face like tears would've. The music swells, and swells without stopping, and you're not stopping either. Not until your legs are burning, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. 

Then, you're stumbling out the Joint, passing by the bouncer into the cold night's air. Where there's stars, and the endlessness of the skies. You want to keep dancing, even if your legs beg you to stop, even when you collide with the cool metal of your truck's door.

This is freedom. This is love. This is the only regret you have. 

Digging out the keys from your purse, you eyes catch something in the dark. Two shining points, deep ahead of you. Your blood boils under your skin, a familiar feeling, which you keep forgetting ever day. Because you know this sight, deep within your bones, it settled a long time ago, a memory of something so terrible, your mind had to protect you from it. Had to keep forgetting. It can't protect you now however, and as the familiar spell of curiosity roots you into place, Remmick steps out of the shadows. 

Moon paints his skin in glowing paleness, something otherworldly clinging to his every step. 

No knife will help you now, you realize, as your back presses further into the cold side of your truck. And no one on the Joint will hear you, should you call for help. That's the price you pay for being a ghost. Music still plays inside, a quick tune that borrows it's rhythm from your feverish heart. 

"You followin' me or somethin'?" voice cutting through the night, you feign confidence, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Such a flimsy shield, one he'd tear without even trying. But he stops, a safe distance from you, his palms raised high in a placating gesture you know too well. There's not a trace of that alarming meanness from the night before, a lazy smile gracing his features instead. 

"I told you" he starts, tone light and friendly, like before "I follow music, that's all"

God, you wish you could believe him.

"This here a Juke Joint?" he asks, and once again, suspicion rears it's ugly head in your gut. 

"Ain't you a traveling musician? You should know where to play" 

He laughs, sheepishly. Although you're more and more convinced, it's a wolf laughing underneath sheep's hide. You can't shake the image of his face, twisted in anger, the two red dots hanging in air, just where his eyes could've been. 

"Folks wouldn't let me in" he shrugs, and you notice the considerable lack of the guitar on his back "A private celebration I think."

"A wake." you cut swiftly.

"Ah..."

He doesn't ask who died. You would've found it strange, if you didn't know. You don't want to know, fighting that awful feeling of your guts churning in premonition. But you do, and despite that, you can't run. Still, after all the dots connecting in your mind, you can't run from him, his shining eyes and his curling smile. 

Remmick comes closer, measured step after another, as if he's approaching some feral little animal, thrashing in the hunter's binds. Or a killer, that's found an easy victim. Your blood runs cold in your veins, gooseflesh covering your skin. Still, he doesn't snap his jaws, not yet. 

"You dance mighty fine, darlin'." the comment doesn't even sound like a flirtation, just a pure, bare bones fact "Saw you through the window, twirlin' and stompin'."

He doesn't wait for your reply, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, and pulling out a cigarette case. You recognize the design despite the darkness, and your throat tightens, until you can't breathe properly. God forgive you, you've almost let a killer into your home. Would've let him into your heart, if he'd ask. 

"Where'd you get that?" there's a tremble in your voice, one, that puts an edge to his easygoing smile.

"My Daddy gave it to me, for the long road ahead."

Lies come like second nature to him, leaving his lips dripping with honey. Once again, he licks at the end of the cigarette, eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

"My friend had one exactly like that" you note, still trying to cling onto some semblance of hope.

Alas, hope only breeds disappointment, you know that too well.

A slender flame from the lighter flickers in his pupils, as he lights the cigarette, taking a long drag of smoke. 

"Maybe we've got the same Daddy" he muses, clouds of white slipping past his teeth.

You'd laugh, if you were light as a feather. 

Another drag of the cigarette, and Remmick closes the distance between the two of you, standing foot to foot. Your body fails you, at this crucial moment, because all you can do is watch him, eyes wide, stuck between pleading and anger. 

"What are you?" the question leaves you, before you can catch it, and the man before you sighs, shaking his head.

"Told ya'. Travellin' musician" 

Your mouth opens, but he's quicker, flicking the cigarette to the side, and grabbing ahold of the back of your neck. You grab at his wrist, but don't go any further. His hold is gentle, despite everything you'd anticipate, and he leans his head towards your ear, like a lover whispering a secret. 

"Shhh..." he shushes you quietly, cold breath tickling your feverish skin "I've already decided I'll help you."

Confusion overrides any rational feeling, and your hands slip to the coarse fabric of his well worn shirt. The buttons are still barely hanging, but now you'd rather be caught dead, than mend them. Hell, you probably will be. Something mean and dark rises in your throat, pushing past your teeth with a hiss of a venomous snake.

"I don't need savin- ah!" 

A small, surprised moan tears it's way through your throat, as Remmick runs his tongue over the delicate spot behind your ear. His fingers bury themselves into your hair, gently massaging it in a way, that is almost grotesquely delicate. You can feel his mouth, running the length of your jaw, up your cheek, where he presses delicate kisses. The tip of your nose is next, then the softness under your eyes, the wrinkle of conflicting emotions between your eyebrows. 

"C'mon darlin'." he whispers into your hairline "Won't you let this sinner in?"

Once again, he doesn't leave time for you to reply, diving down towards your lips, taking them into a slow kiss, that makes your insides flutter. You should hate yourself for the way you're not pushing him away, for the way you chase his mouth with your own, when he pulls back for just a second. 

You should hate him for everything, but most importantly for the moan he gives out, when his tongue slips into your mouth. Such a beautiful sound, it shakes every bone in your body, makes your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.

He tastes of iron, an unmistakable bloody residue, but it's so sweet on your tongue, you can't seem to care. Like poison attacking your senses, you let yourself be carried away, mind going deliciously blank. His hand still continues to coax you with the gentle movements of his fingers in your hair. While the other takes it's fill of your body, warm palm pressing against your waist, your hip, pushing the silken dress up your thigh. 

Then it moves higher, until he's grasping at your heart through the plush flesh of your breast, and this time you're the one moaning. His thumb brushes over your hardening nipple, pulling another sound from you, like he's playing a fiddle.

Heat rises within you like the tide, every touch, every caress building up a storm of want. Soon, it doesn't matter anymore, that he's surely the monster from your cousin's stories, because he kisses like an angel. 

His mouth leaves yours, a sticky mess of saliva that should disgust you, but God, you've never tasted anything sweeter. Once more, he attaches himself to your neck, kissing it with fervor, broken sounds escaping him, like a starved dog feasting for the first time in months. His hand palms at your breast one last time, before reaching back, and soon enough you hear the click of your truck's door. 

There's no time for questions, for concern. Not when the need runs so deep, and begs to be satiated. He pushes your body inside, splays you out on the back seat, amongst old blankets and empty bags of flour. Your thighs fall apart, to accommodate him, when he climbs over your body, like he can't bear being away from it even for a second. 

"The door..." you pant out, against the hunger of his lips.

"No one will see us" he huffs into your shoulder, and the utmost certainty in his voice makes you believe him. 

This time it's your hands doing the massaging, as you grip the black strands of his hair, trying to bring him closer. Trying to morph the Devil himself into your body. He hikes your leg up, over his waist in response, and you can feel with damning clarity, his burning hardness pressing against the flimsy cotton of your underwear. 

You want him inside so bad, it's nearly breaking you apart. 

"Too damned sweet..." he murmurs into the running pulse of your neck, and your entire body freezes, when he teases the place with surprisingly sharp teeth.

"...no..." 

It's a quiet, barely audible whisper, but he straightens himself on his arms, hovering above you with a questioning look on his flushed face. 

"No biting..." you repeat, louder this time, your heaving chest brushing over his "No pain. I don't wanna hurt tonight."

A blink, a gasp, and Remmick morphs between your very eyes. His expression turns into something so gentle, so caring, you're sure a man like him shouldn't be able to look like that. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, a broken sound emanating from deep within his chest. And then, he kisses you again. Slow, intimate, until your head is spinning.

"The things you do to me, woman" he whispers into your mouth, and starts to crawl lower. 

His tongue laps at your collarbone, lips sucking into the skin of your sternum. Your body arches off the seat, as he dips into your cleavage, letting your breasts spill out the top of your dress. He kisses them, like they're more than just a body part. It feels sacred, feels like a prayer in a language you don't fully understand. 

Another series of kisses over the fabric covering your stomach, and soon enough, he's making a home for himself between your thighs. Your body starts to shake in anticipation, half lidded eyes following the movements of his dark haired head, as he leaves wet kisses on the inside of your thighs. 

"Christ Almighty..." he groans, as his thumb runs over the wet patch steadily forming on your underwear "Like Heaven's Gates opening for me"

Your hips buck in a stuttering motion, as he puts his mouth over the cotton, tongue lapping at the fabric in a promise of things to come. 

"Knew you'd be sweet" he comments, voice dipping down so low, you can feel it in your insides.

Then, your legs get thrown over his shoulders, and before you have time to adjust, he pushes your undergarments to the side, and nearly drowns his face in your cunt. 

The sound you make is nothing short of scandalous, as he begins to lap at you, greedily soaking in the very essence of your being. His tongue finds your clit faster, than any man before, and as his mouth close over the pulsing bundle of nerves, you throw your head back. 

He's good, so good in fact, that your stomach begins to tighten in seconds. Your hands flail at your sides, nails scraping over the backseat, over your dress, his scalp. You don't know what to do with your body, completely surrendering to the ancient magic, he pulls from you with every drag of his tongue.

And God, the sounds he makes. You've never met someone so vocal, so utterly devoted to drinking every last drop you have to offer. Soon enough, your thighs start to shake, the pressure building inside you reaching levels you never thought possible. And he doesn't stop, not even for a moment, licking, sucking, flicking his tongue until your voice becomes hoarse. 

"Remmick..." you mewl.

The sound of his name feels right, leaving your lips, feels like truth. Like that mythical honesty, he wanted to taste in your tears. 

His grip on your body tightens, and it's as if he's been possessed by some demon of desire. You can feel his face pressing closer, deeper into you, and that's the final straw. Stars erupt in your vision, as you come, hard and fast, earth shattering around you. Body nearly flying off the car seat, your breath gets punched out of your lungs with the force of the most delicious of sensations. 

Remmick seems almost reluctant to part with your cunt, licking at the swollen flesh, until your hand slaps him away, too sensitive for any more attention. His face is glistening in the pale moonlight, and his sinful tongue cleans everything with an almost inhuman groan. 

"You're heaven, mo ghrà" his voice breaks "You're sunlight incarnate"

There's devotion like nothing you've heard before in his tone, and if you weren't so completely wrecked, you would've blushed. Instead, you reach for him, and he obeys, coming back up, until you can kiss him again. 

His arms sneak around your waist, pulling you up into an embrace, and your boneless body let's him do what he likes. Let's him settle you into his lap, legs nestling on both sides of his thighs. Forever greedy, he ruts into your twitching core, and you're cruelly reminded about just how empty you feel. 

"You'll never be alone" he whispers, voice muffled by the skin of your chest "You'll never be forsaken, not while I walk this earth." 

Something in the way he says that, makes your spine tingle with a dreadful sort of shiver. But there's comfort in his words, enough of it, for you to throw caution to the wind, and reach for the button of his trousers with shaky hands. 

You'll worry later. For now, you want him to make you forget what worrying even looks like. 

And as if reading your thoughts, he obliges, pushing your hands away, to do the work himself. His trousers fall open, and he frees himself with a choked groan. His cock rests on your lower stomach, hot and ready, smearing drops of precum over your skin. Your muscles tighten in anticipation, hands squeezing his shoulders.

"My girl" he murmurs "My sweet girl, let me in"

All you can do, is nod. 

Remmick lifts you up, as if you weight nothing, positioning you just right, before he slowly lowers you onto him. Your combined groans fill the silence of the truck, as you stretch around him. He's gentle, letting you adjust before pushing into you a bit further, until he's buried to the hilt in your heat. His head falls back against the headboard, hands roaming your body. You can see the treacherous light in his eyes, now, finally a tangible truth, rather than a figment of your dreams.

It doesn't scare you though, nothing scares you now. Not when he fills you up so completely, you feel like you belong for the first time in years. This moment of stillness, of silence interrupted only by laboured breathing, doesn't last long. 

Nails digging into the bottom of your thighs, he rocks you in a steady, almost languid rhythm. You flutter around him, small gasps of pleasure leaving your lips, and that familiar pressure introduces itself once again. He speeds up, guiding your hips in an up and down motion, that soon makes your teeth clink together. 

"That's right... God in Heaven... So warm... Mmmmm..." his voice flows between murmurs, groans and whispers, every word making your insides twitch, making your eyes flutter.

 "Take me in... Good... Deeper..." 

You can feel him, pressing into your bones, nestling into the deepest parts of your soul, and with every ragged moan he breathes, something close to sweet affection blossoms inside you. Honey and milk, they drip from your fingertips, as you caress his face, contorted in a beautiful image of pleasure. You could love that face. You won't, but Heaven's above, you could. 

"Christ" he chokes out, hips bucking off the seat "My sweet girl, mo ghr- ah..."

The sound of his voice alone makes you come again, lighter, but no less pleasurable. And as you tighten around him, a choked sound leaves his throat. His arms encircle you whole, pushing himself so close, he might as well find home in your chest cavity. Soon, his movements stutter, face hidden in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair, and with a last, decisive thrust, he spills himself inside you. 

Bodies covered in sweat, you both shake in each other's arms, for a small, blissful moment being completely alone, shielded from the world. Remmick holds you, like you're his only hope, mouthing gently at the skin of your throat, whispering things you barely comprehend. Prayers, that are marked by something ancient, older than the trees and the rivers. Worship, that flows like blood from a wound. 

"Thabharfainn fuil mo chroí dui..."

You want to whisper back, but there are no words, that could compare to his. So you do the next best thing, running your fingers through his hair, tracing circles into his back, mapping his features with delicate kisses. He basks in the affection, eyes fluttering closed, a familiar twitch of renewed desire stirring your insides. Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, still wet with whatever mixture of fluids, and he parts his mouth under your touch. 

And that's when it all comes shattering down. 

Because hidden beneath the chapped softness, are teeth that don't belong to a human. Sharp, pointed angrily, perfect for tearing at flesh. 

Remmick hums in his throat, feeling the way your body seizes with dread, and as his eyes slowly open, you're met with another damning sight. 

Those aren't human eyes either. They shine at you, reflecting moonlight in a haze of red that makes your skin crawl. 

People who dare to hope, are the one's crushed by disappointment. How dare you forget that?

"It all makes sense now, doesn't it?" he asks in a low voice, all traces of gentleness gone in an instance "The nightly visits, the quiet in the woods..."

His finger traces a line from between your breasts, up to your bobbing throat.

"The pull you feel, even now." a slow roll of his hips makes you choke on air.

Remmick's smile turns cruel. There's no denying, what you're seeing, and it's no longer the man you almost could've loved. It's not a man at all, but a monster your cousin's stories warned you about. Things you believed to be impossible, come to life before your very eyes.

"What are you?" your voice breaks, and he smiles, as if the question has become some sort of a joke shared between the two of you. 

"How about I make you a deal?" 

You've never noticed, how sharp his nails are, not until they drag back down your throat. Gentle enough not to break skin, but brutal enough to leave imprints in their wake. 

"I'll race you back to your house, and if you get there first, I'll leave you two be."

Dread turns your blood into ice, and all you can do, is stare in shock, as Remmick lifts you off his lap. His cock slides out of you languidly, and for the first time, since you've met him, you feel disgust. At him, at yourself, at the whole waking world. 

He brushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead, claws dragging over your face as he does so. Then, a quick press of his lips to your temple, and you shiver in your spot. 

"Be quick" he instructs in a tone that is entirely too cheerful, before he shoots you a wink, and climbs out of the truck. 

Three seconds, that's all you need, before you realize the severity, the absolute hopelessness of your situation. And as you scramble to the passenger side of the truck, thighs sticky with evidence of your misplaced affection, all you can see is your cousin's smiling face. 

***

The door to your home slams against the wall, when you stumble inside, feet barely catching up with your panicked movements. 

You scream her name through the halls, pathetic and desperate. Silence greets you, not a sound to be heard, and as tears spring from your eyes, you sprint towards the stairs. You climb the steps, hunched over like a wild animal, adrenaline pushing your every movement. And then, with the entirety of your body weight, you slam into the door of your cousin's bedroom. 

You can smell the blood, before you see it. A stench so profound, you'll never be able to get rid of it. 

And then, a scene so terrifying, so profoundly heartbreaking unfolds before your very eyes. 

Remmick stands in the middle of the room, hands folded casually behind him. His jaw clenched tightly over your cousin's throat, her lifeless body half hanging from the bed. There's blood on the floor, on the walls, on the sheer dress she wore to bed. And then, red eyes find you. 

Your cousin's form falls onto the floor with a sickening, wet sound, as Remmick let's her go, licking her blood from his gums, his chin.

"Now I understand..." he claps his hands lightly, and once again, you can't move, frozen to your spot, eyes glued to the heap of fabric and flesh, that was once your family "Why you've kept her hidden, like a princess locked in a tower."

His boots leave bloody prints on the wooden floor, as he steps closer to you, crossing the bedroom in long strides. 

"There's no worse thing, than a cruel man. Not for a woman like her." 

You can't look away from her. Not even, when Remmick's hand covers the side of your face, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw in a gentle caress.

"I can see it all now, y'know" he murmurs "All her memories are mine. I know what a bastard her husband was. It's no wonder she ran away."

Another step closer, and his other hand finds the softness of your stomach, sharp nails scratching gently over the delicate fabric of your rumpled dress. You can still feel him, a dull ache between your legs, a stickiness of your bodies joined together. 

What a damned fool you are.

"And you took care of her so loyally" he continues, a hint of admiration entering his words "Sacrificed so much... But not anymore."

Finally, you dare to look up, and he sighs in delight, as tears fall on your cheeks. 

"I promised you" a whisper, a cold breath against your skin "No more alone, no more forsaken"

His lips kiss away the saltiness, with gentleness so unbefitting his monstrous nature, it makes your breath lock itself in the column of your throat. 

"There's only love in your future, mo ghrà. Only love."

The bundle of fabric moves. A jerky sort of motion, and your eyes snap behind his back, as your cousin's hand jumps against the bloodied floorboards. Remmick let's you go without a fight, and you stumble on your feet, falling to your knees, next to the slowly awakening corpse of your cousin. 

Her name is a prayer on your lips. You're begging for the impossible, you're aware of that, but she moves nonetheless, lifting her face. 

"Hey cuz." she croaks, the wound in her throat moving as she speaks "It's all gonna be alright now."

It's a fate worse than death, seeing the unnatural, golden shine in her eyes. The monstrous, sharpened teeth peaking from behind her smiling lips. You reel back from her, vision blurry from all the tears. She follows you, on her fours, as if she's forgotten what it means to walk. 

"I know it's scary" she stands up, blood dripping from her dress, her mangled body "I was scared too. But now... Now it's all bliss. It's all love."

Your heart breaks into a million scattered pieces, dread and pain nearly knocking you off your feet. But you keep backing away, until you stop at the very top of the stairs, swaying in your sorrow. 

"You did so much for me" you cousin closes the distance, drool slipping out her mouth, mixing with crimson on her chin "Let me repay you, let me give you a better life."

It's only as she reaches for you, fingers digging into your shoulders, teeth bared and ready to bite, do you react. A sharp yell rips through your throat, and you don't think anymore, that primal instinct of survival taking root. The world becomes a mess of limbs and screams, and soon it all spins around you. Wood of the railing breaks under your weight, when your cousin slams you into it, blood of your blood sends you flying. Your fingers grip her nightgown in a death grip however, and the both of you crash to the floor below, with a thunderous crack, that carries through the entire house.

For a moment you can't breathe, your vision going black as night. Then, everything spins, but you don't feel any teeth, any claws. Just waves of pain crashing over your back. 

You will never forget the next sound. It will haunt you through your life, turn every dream into a nightmare. The broken, ragged intake of breath on your left.

"Cuz..." 

Your head turns, and there she is. The dreamer, the flying dove, her chest split open by a stray piece of wood, blood spilling out her mouth like a fountain. 

"...no..."

Despite the blinding pain in your back, you rise to your knees, falling over her, hands trembling and for the first time, you're at a loss. What can one do in this situation? How can you fix this?

"No, no, no, no" your cousin's body twitches, her eyes growing more and more glassy with every ticking second "Please, God... Help..."

But there's no God in this house, not anymore. He's been casted out, with your cousin's last breath, and so, as desperation shakes your being, you call out to the only other option. The only way that's in the cards for you, until you too leave this earth.

"Remmick, help me!" it's hypnotizing in it's irony, you calling out to him, begging him.

He stands behind you, watching your shaking shoulders. Watching those fascinating, calloused fingers rip out hairs from your scalp. He knows, somewhere deep inside his rotten, ancient heart, that he would help you. He'd come acrawling for just one word. 

He also knows, you've been crying over a corpse, as soon as wood pierced your cousin's heart. 

And so, he lingers, a silent statue in a house, that was once a home. Like a pillar of marble, devoid of guilt, of heartbreak, stirred to life only by the misplaced fondness for a woman, who dared to hope in his presence. 

Time ticks by, your sobs turning into heaving breaths, which soon fade, leaving silence in their wake. That's when he finally makes a move, bloodied soles of his boots dragging closer, until your abused back leans against his side. It's a small touch, but for him, it means more, than any before.

There's no more strength in you, no more fight. Like a block of clay, begging to be shaped into a masterpiece, you surrender.

And it's all he's ever wanted. So then why...?

"Leave this place" his voice sounds foreign, even to his own ears "Go far, far away. And live."

You don't even lift your head, don't look at him, but he knows you listen, he knows you understand. A brush of cold lips against the gentle curvature at the back of your neck. There's no shivers, but your heart stutters, that's all he needs.

"A gift for you, mo cuishle"

***

A month later you're standing on the platform, nails drumming anxiously on the leather surface of your baggage. 

You're going far away, like he's told you, leaving behind the town, Ol' Johnsons abandoned home, the shopkeeper's smile, and the ghosts haunting the small house in the middle of the woods. 

And life goes on. You find your place in a shop of your own, in the middle of a town, that's buzzing with life. You put your talents to good use, and soon, people remember your name. They wave at you as you pass, they visit your shop, and talk to you, as if you've lived here from childhood. 

You make friends, good ones, that last through thick and thin. And despite waking up every night, covered in sweat, with the haunting images of that fateful midnight flashing behind your eyes, you're happy. You find lightness in your step, in your mind. You cradle the community within your calloused palms, and let them cradle you in turn. 

So, when the new Juke Joint opens, you don't think twice, about letting your dearest friend, Pearline, drag you with her. For a night full of drinkin', dancin', and cheerin'.

[katsufiles]

thinking about puppy-boyfriend-phainon who, on his days off from his duties, can not seem to be able to stay away from you for more than five minutes.

when you go to the kitchen because you need to start making dinner for the both of you, he'll be behind your back immediately.

sometimes, he tries to help you by doing the only thing he knows how to do perfectly: peeling and cutting vegetables. other times, he prefers to sit on the counter to stare at your pretty face, happy to be able to spend his life with you.

the times you're in the living room, with your legs dangling from the couch and with an interesting book in your hands, he always finds a way to end up taking a nap on your chest. with slow and calculated movements, he drops his entire weight on top of you, partially because he's a menace who loves to mess with you at random times, but mostly because he wants your attention.

he sighs contently when he feels you adjusting your position so the both of you can lay comfortably in the reduced space of the couch, and with his hands around your waist and yours tracing hearts on his bare back, he goes to sleep, using the sound of your heartbeats as his own personal lullaby.

and at night, when the table is finally clean and your book is back at the library where it belongs, he asks to take a bath together.

he likes to wait patiently for you to get undressed, scanning every inch of your body with his pretty blue eyes, and he's a man of habit, after all, so his hand is the first to make contact with the water—not because he thinks he has to be the one to step into the bathtub first, but because his habit is to try to make you as happy as he can, so when he's 100% sure that everything is set perfectly to your liking, only then, he offers you his dry hand to help you get into the water.

he always let you sit first, even though he's a lot bigger than you and he needs more space, and while you're too busy playing with some bubbles, he's carefully washing your hair, fighting with some wild strands in the process.

he likes to wash your hair first and leave it on a messy (and wet) bun so he can turn his full attention to your body after that, and even if you tell him a million times not to do it, he always ends up with some soap in his mouth, because he's just a man in love and his favorite thing to do is to trace a map of sloppy kisses all over your body.

he doesn't really care if his mouth tastes gross after tasting some of your strawberry soap by accident, the only thing that matters to him is how you look so pretty while giggling on his arms.

he knows that, if he dies right at this moment, he would die a happy man, because all he needs is right there in his arms.

[winterlico]

SWIM INTO YOU ᰔ sim jaeyun .ᐟ

﹙masterlist﹚ ──── sim jaeyun x fem!reader ಇ fluff , mention kiss , make out , suggestive , jake is a menace ⸝⸝ 信愛 ◦ 1375 wc ‼

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You never thought having a roommate would feel like this.

When you moved in with Jake, it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. A practical decision made in haste—split the rent, stay out of each other’s way, and avoid any complications.

Simple, right?

But in hindsight, you should have known better. Because Jake Sim is not simple.

He is chaos wrapped in golden skin, a walking contradiction of mischief and warmth, and the kind of person who makes even the most ordinary moments feel like something out of a dream.

It starts with little things.

Like how he insists on calling you ‘princess’ despite your every protest, the nickname rolling off his tongue with effortless charm. Or how he sings in the shower, completely unbothered by the ungodly hour, his voice still gravelly from sleep, making you shove a pillow over your face to muffle the way your heart stutters at the sound.

Then there’s the way he leaves the kitchen a mess after making his infamous late-night ramen—crumbs on the counter, an empty bowl abandoned in the sink, chopsticks precariously balanced on the edge. He always flashes you that signature grin, unapologetic as ever, mumbling, “I’ll clean it up later,” though you both know he never will.

And you let him get away with it. Every single time.

“Hey, princess.”

You barely glance up from your laptop, too accustomed to his presence to be startled when he plops down onto the couch beside you, his body sinking into the cushions with a sigh. He smells like his usual mix of fresh soap and something warm, something undeniably Jake, and before you can react, he stretches out, resting his head against your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You freeze.

“Jake.” Your voice holds a warning, but he only cracks one eye open, his gaze lazy and unbothered. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Resting,” he replies smoothly, as if this is a perfectly logical answer. He shifts slightly, getting comfortable, the weight of him pressing into your thighs in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Long day. I deserve a comfy lap.”

“You have your own lap.”

“Yeah, but mine isn’t as nice.”

Your face heats up instantly, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. This is just Jake being Jake—flirty, playful, completely oblivious to how his every action sends your heart into a frenzy. At least, you think he’s oblivious.

“Go annoy someone else,” you mutter, but your fingers betray you, absentmindedly threading through his soft black strands, combing through them with gentle precision.

Jake hums in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut. “Nah. You’re my favorite person to annoy.”

You should’ve seen it coming.

The way your heart tightens when he gets too close, how your breath catches when his laughter rings through the apartment, the way his presence feels like gravity—inescapable, undeniable. It’s in the way he looks at you sometimes, gaze lingering a second too long, as if searching for something you aren’t ready to give voice to. It’s in the way his touch lingers, a teasing nudge here, a fleeting graze there, igniting sparks that leave you restless long after he’s gone.

And one night, you realize—he knows.

You’re in the kitchen, rummaging for a late-night snack, when you hear him enter behind you. His footsteps are light, deliberate, and then suddenly he’s there, far too close, warmth radiating from his body as he peers over your shoulder.

“Whatcha got there?” His voice is low, amused, a hint of something else laced beneath the teasing.

You swallow hard. “Cereal.”

Jake lets out a chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Mm, lucky cereal. Gets to be in your mouth.”

You choke on air.

He grins, clearly pleased with your reaction, and leans in just a fraction more. His breath ghosts over your ear, and suddenly the kitchen feels much, much smaller.

“What?” His tone is feigned innocence, but his eyes tell another story. “Something wrong, princess?”

“You—you can’t just say things like that,” you manage to stammer, stepping away from him in a desperate attempt to regain your composure. But Jake follows, closing the distance with ease, his movements fluid and unhurried.

“Why not?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice, but his gaze has shifted, growing heavier with something deeper, something more serious. He tilts his head, studying you with an intensity that makes your pulse race. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No,” you lie, but your body betrays you, your back pressing against the counter as he steps even closer.

Jake places his hands on either side of you, effectively caging you in. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t need to—his presence alone is enough to make your skin tingle.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

You do. And it’s a mistake.

Because Jake Sim is looking at you like he already knows the answer.

The first kiss is inevitable. It’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s memorizing the way your lips fit against his. The moment his mouth meets yours, everything stills—the air, the sound of the clock ticking, the pulse drumming beneath your skin.

He kisses you like he has nowhere else to be, like the world outside the walls of your shared apartment doesn’t exist. His lips are warm, firm yet gentle, coaxing you into a rhythm that feels like second nature, like something you’ve done a million times before and yet are experiencing for the very first time.

His hand finds the small of your back, fingers splaying across the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you to him. His other hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing the delicate curve of your cheek, a touch so light it makes your breath hitch.

There’s no rush, no desperation—just the intoxicating push and pull, the unspoken emotions bleeding through every lingering press of his lips.

But then, something shifts.

The kiss deepens, slow and languid at first, until Jake’s patience snaps. He exhales a shaky breath against your lips before tilting your head back, giving himself more access. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing, exploring, and you melt—completely, utterly. The room is warm, stifling even, as he presses against you, molding his body to yours.

You don’t realize when his hands start to roam, but suddenly, they’re slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your skin, igniting tiny fires in their wake. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him as he groans softly, the sound reverberating through your body like a pulse.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, but his voice is hoarse, uneven, betraying the restraint he’s barely holding onto.

You don’t.

Instead, you tug him closer, letting your hands explore, tracing the taut muscles beneath his shirt, feeling the way his body tenses under your touch. Your breaths mingle, heavy and unsteady, the space between you collapsing until there’s nothing left but warmth and want.

Jake’s lips leave yours only to trail lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. His teeth graze against sensitive skin, and a quiet gasp escapes you, your head falling back instinctively.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispers against your skin, his voice a mixture of amusement and something darker, something possessive.

“So are you,” you counter, hands threading through his hair, tugging just enough to elicit a quiet groan from him.

He laughs, low and husky, before capturing your lips once more—this time with less patience, less restraint. This time, he kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this moment far too long. And maybe, just maybe, you have too.

The night stretches long, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches. And as he presses you back against the couch, lips brushing against your ear, he murmurs, “Hope you’re ready to drown in me, princess.”

And you think—maybe you’ve been drowning all along.

[countrycritter]

Guys… Reader that got severely injured during a mission. They take a nasty hit that lands them in the base hospital wing for a while, and on top of that they get an infection. The task force isn’t allowed to see them for a few days just from the amount of work needing to be done.

The infection and injury (mostly infection plaguing their body) temporarily made them very weak and hazy.

When the guys are finally able to see them, they’re completely out of it from the amount of drugs pumped into their system. However, they’re still greeted with the dopiest (heart-melting in their eyes) smile ever.

But one thing they notice is the lack of movement. Reader is usually energetic and moving constantly. Now they only make small sounds and facial gestures.

The doctor explains that it will take a couple weeks for them to be able to fully use their vocal cords and muscles again. Right now they’re just limp, drugged up, and happy to see familiar faces.

It’s a new experience for all of them to help take care of Reader. They can’t move their arms or fingers, along with throat muscles so a feeding tube was put into place (which none of them were happy about because they already had a meal plan set up for Reader).

But once the feeding tube was taken out you best believe it was a MESS. Reader is constantly smiling and laughing as Price attempts to help them eat something as simple as pudding. Now he had the job of cleaning their face since he somehow managed to get it EVERYWHERE (they kept moving).

Before the 141 knows it, Reader is putting their hands on one of the guys’ hands when helping them eat. They’re grabbing at everything they can within arm reach because they never imagined how exciting it would be to finally get their strength back.

Reader is laughing about how they feel like they’re being escorted to jail, meanwhile Ghost and Gaz are each holding one of their arms and trying to help them sit back down.

Soap had been using Reader’s lack of strength against them by confidently going up to them and giving them a kiss on the head.

Not anymore.

The docile Reader is gone and was quickly replaced by an absolute menace.

Soap tries to kiss their head again? Reader uses all of their found strength to pull him down onto the bed and put him in a headlock.

It’s safe to say that none of them can wait for Reader to get back into the reins again.

[charliemwrites]

Soap’s Alpha is a goddamn menace.

Anyone who says otherwise just doesn’t actually know Saint, or is Gaz. (The bloody traitor.)

It’s not that Soap doesn’t like Saint. He does. What’s not to like?

The alpha is a walking wet dream, the kind a pubescent Johnny used to fantasize about. (Still does, really, he’s just got a face - and body, bloody hell that body - to focus on now.) Big and powerful, dominance and restraint from head to toe. Looks damn good in their muzzle too, like something forbidden, pearly fangs locked up out of reach. And their scent - if someone could bottle it up, they’d make millions. (Retirement project, maybe, Soap’s good with chemistry.)

It’s just that they’re so damn respectful. Too respectful, in Johnny’s opinion.

Teenage Johnny didn’t realize that an alpha so… well, Alpha, would have such Victorian sensibilities. Saint is practically old-fashioned, keeping their scent contained and a ribbon of space between themselves and others. Always waiting for an omega to make the first move, even their own omegas.

If Soap pushes, Saint goes. If he demands, Saint provides. They’ll let him scent them and mark them and generally pass the point of even modern social manners just to receive a slow blink, a soft chuff, the barest curve of those lips - scarred from when their fangs grew in, too big for a pup’s mouth. It’s driving Soap off his heid.

It’s not that Soap is attracted to the kind of alpha that would throw their scent around or flash fang when he obnoxiously shoves his nose against their throat. He’s rolled his eyes at his share of knot-heads all over the spectrum for thinking submission is their god-given right. Put just as many on their stomachs or scruffed them limp when they tried (and failed) to press the issue.

It’s just that… well, Soap loves hard. He loves intensely. Some (Ghost, also a traitor) might even say desperately.

And maybe it’s got something to do with how low-spectrum omega he is. Maybe it’s a few too many taunts and jeers from his childhood into adolescence, about how he’s barely an omega anyway, so he’d be lucky with an alpha that can tolerate him. Maybe it’s a relationship (or two) before the 141, with alphas that got frustrated when he could only pretend at submission.

Maybe he just needs Saint to show that they love him just as much as he loves them. That it’s not just mutual, but matched. That he’s not tolerated, but beloved - intense and forward and non-traditional as he is.

And maybe he’s not asking (“communicating”) that because he doesn’t want to have to ask.

“Fuck around ‘n you’ll find out, Johnny,” Simon warns when Soap makes hypotheticals aloud.

“Tha’s what I’m hopin’ fer, ya dafty.”

Simon grunts, but even through the mask, Johnny can see the skepticism. He might have a point - alphas like Saint, far-spectrum Alphas, are categorically Not To Be Fucked With. That’s designation 101. The farther along the spectrum one way or another, the stronger the instincts, the more mindful everyone else needs to be of provoking them. Especially Alphas, territorial and aggressive as they can be.

But Saint’s proven time and time again that those extra counseling sessions and the spooky etiquette school haven’t gone to waste. They could do with a little… provoking.

Now, Johnny’s a veteran provoker. Knows which buttons to push and how for the reactions he wants. Doing it to Saint almost seems unsporting, honestly. The poor thing is just so sweet. But, well, Johnny’s on a mission.

Soap groans, practically draping himself along Gaz’s shoulders.

“I dinnae ken what t’do, nothin’s workin’!”

“Here’s an idea: stop while you’re ahead.”

Soap growls and shoves at him, Gaz flashes fang back, but his scent is mellow and easy - not that Soap needs it to know it’s all show.

“I’m serious, Gaz. I’ve tried everythin’!” he complains.

And he has. Crawling all over Saint (more than usual). Scenting them at every opportunity. “Forgetting” his own scent neutralizers or conveniently applying too little to last the day. Even scraped his teeth across their throat once. And what has he gotten in response? Slow blinks, quiet chuffs. A nuzzle or two in response, Saint’s eyes smiling even if their mouth stays soft and mostly neutral.

“I am too,” Gaz replies, rolling his eyes. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, bruv.”

Soap casts a forlorn glance at their Alpha.

Saint’s halfway across the field with Ghost, Price, and the captain of the squad they’re working with for joint task force training. Hands clasped behind their back, boots planted shoulder-width apart. Every bit the imposing alpha lieutenant despite never speaking a word, even with a deterrent half step of space between them and the omegas.

“I dinnae think it would be a stupid prize if they acted like a normal Alpha. Just once, ya ken?”

“They’re not a normal alpha, Soap. They like us just fine, you know that, right?”

Soap grunts something that could pass for agreement. Gaz opens his mouth to say something else - likely more entreaties to leave their poor Alpha be - but two of the other team’s sergeants approaches. (It’s fine, he’ll have plenty of opportunity to complain after dinner, when Saint retreats to their own room to eat - and to a bigger audience too.)

“A little sparring practice while we wait for orders?” one asks.

Behind him, the other sergeant of their squad is staring. Has been since Price introduced the 141.

Unlike them, Task Force Alpha hosts three alphas - the captain herself, who’s mid-spectrum, and the two sergeants, both low-spectrum. It’s an unusual unit, but so is the 141.

Soap and Gaz exchange looks, then glance at their officers. Johnny’s a little startled to find Saint already watching - still relaxed, but observing from a distance.

Oh? Did that catch his Alpha’s attention?

Johnny turns back to the alpha sergeants, grin a little feral.

“Aye, show us what ya got.”

The problem with getting what he wants, Johnny discovers, is that he gets it in spades.

The “sparring practice” is doomed right from the first flash of alpha teeth before they’ve even begun, and rapidly spirals downward from there.

The other problem is that Johnny getting what he wants doesn’t preclude Gaz and Simon from also being right.

Unfamiliar alpha pheromones thick in Johnny’s nose, his pack out of his direct sight, and one wrong move. The other sergeant twists his wrist too hard, too far, and the yelp is out of Johnny’s throat before he can stop it.

A thunderous bark cracks across the field, message unmistakable - Stop.

The alpha pinning Johnny freezes. Unfortunately, that leaves Johnny in the same uncomfortable position that made him cry out in the first place. Every instinct in his body tells him not to move either, but the radiating ache in his wrist wins out. He shifts, tries to wriggle out, but the alpha’s grip is like iron - whether from fear or caught prey is unclear.

It doesn’t matter though. Because in the next instant, the alpha’s weight is gone entirely.

There’s barely even a scuffle. Just a rolling growl like shifting tectonic plates and then the alpha sergeant is pinned face down with a big hand scruffing him tight.

It’s Saint, crouched over Johnny’s (former) opponent, expression wiped smooth except for the snarl showing those big fangs - even still hidden behind a muzzle.

This is why, Johnny thinks, stomach flipping. If the muzzle wasn’t there, Saint’s teeth would be clamped down already.

They sink lower, knee against the other alpha’s back, slow and deliberate. Close enough that the smaller alpha bites off a whimper. A clear display of power and dominance that nearly has Johnny keening.

As if hearing his thoughts - or the subvocals he’s being less successful about suppressing - Saint’s implacable gaze darts to his. Their pupils are blown out, eyes stormcloud dark.

“Johnny.”

There’s no stopping the soft, purely Omega noise that slips out. Saint’s chest expands, breathing in whatever scent Johnny is giving off.

“Okay?” they ask, flicking a look at Johnny’s wrist.

“M’okay, Alpha.”

Saint turns their attention to Price, Simon, and the alpha captain - only just now finished crossing the distance Saint did seemingly in an instant.

“Stand down, lieutenant,” the alpha captain barks. It’s weak, though, they can all hear that her subvocals aren’t in it with her, instinct shying from the stronger alpha. (Her normal voice doesn’t sound all that strong for that matter, either.)

Another warning growl ripples through the air. This time, the alpha beneath Saint can’t stop his whimper - and neither can Johnny. (Though he’s likely whimpering for a much different reason.) The captain’s mouth shuts with an audible click.

A safe distance from her, Simon and Price visibly lock their knees to stay standing.

Saint tilts their head to meet the alpha captain’s glare, steady and unrelenting. Awareness crackles down Johnny’s spine - alphas locking gazes, and the dangers of them doing so.

“I-I didn’t know he was your omega,” the alpha sergeant blurts.

Saint doesn’t look away. “You know now.”

“Yes, alpha.”

Johnny’s heart trips over itself to beat double time. His face feels hot.

Silence stretches for one, two, three breaths…

“He knows now,” the alpha captain says quietly. Her eyes drop to her sergeant. “Let him up, alpha.”

Saint doesn’t linger to make a point. The sit back, forearms resting on their knees, giving the sergeant room to scramble up and away. And Johnny finds, quite suddenly, that Saint’s focused on him again.

“Let’s pick this up another day,” Price gruffs in the silence, dredging his voice up from the depths.

“I’ll contact you for details,” the alpha captain says, steel returning to her voice.

Task Force Alpha shuffles away in thick silence. With the outsiders gone, some ease returns. The intense energy around Saint melts away, leaving the mellow alpha the 141 is used to behind.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Gaz blurts in the silence, absolutely smitten.

Saint snorts, shakes their head, and stands.

Mouth dry and still right where he ended, Johnny glances at Simon. The look in his eyes says “I told you so.”

Johnny doesn’t pout; but he does take the hand that Saint offers him with a purr.

“Johnny.”

A shiver raises down his spine and pools low in his gut - just like it does every time he hears Saint’s voice. Still, he tries to save face, whirling to fix his alpha with a winning smile.

“Aye, alpha?” he churrs - or starts to, but comes up short.

Because Saint isn’t wearing their muzzle.

“W-what’s the occasion?” he tries to recover.

Saint tilts their head, watching. Observing.

It’s just the two of them in the den right now. Price is in his office, smoothing over the afternoon’s events via phone call, and Simon and Gaz went into town for food.

It feels electrifyingly intimate. Because his Alpha is looming right there in joggers and a tight t-shirt and no muzzle, all that intensity focused solely on Johnny.

“Well… at least c’mere then, eh?”

And Saint fucking prowls across the den. But they don’t stop at the edge of the couch where Johnny’s reclining. They continue onto the cushions. First a knee, making the cushion dip sharply with their weight. Then planting a hand by Johnny’s head on the back of the couch, practically climbing over him.

It hits Johnny then. Saint’s scent, still diluted by a low-level neutralizer, but still theirs and still intense. And he doesn’t know why, knows better than to lead a predator, but Johnny scoots back, trying to maintain the sliver of space between them. Overwhelmed.

But for once, Saint doesn’t pull away or politely deescalate. They pursue until Johnny’s stopped by the arm of the couch against his shoulders and Saint’s hovering over them.

“That pup didn’t know you’re mine,” the rumble finally. “Do you?”

“‘Course,” Johnny answers instantly.

They meet his eyes, and Johnny realizes they’ve caught on to his efforts. Maybe knew from the start.

Embarrassed heat sears his cheeks, ears, and neck.

“‘M sorry,” he whispers, the words like ash in his mouth.

Saint shakes their head but it’s not a rejection. They tilt their head, rub their cheek firm but gentle against his. They’re… they’re scenting him.

Johnny reciprocates enthusiastically and earns a pleased purr that vibrates all the insecurities right out of his skull.

“Mine,” Saint churrs. “Omega.”

“Aye, Alpha.”

[goatgoesmbe]

College AU where reader is enrolled in art school while Kyle was majoring in IT

The latter likes to take the nude modeling gig for your major from time to time. Because well, he's hot and he knew it, so he likes to bless people with his appearance, plus- having people drew him was a nice ego boost. But also, he took the job more often when he saw your pretty face scrunched up at your sketch

He knew he was charming, always knew what to do or say to get the person he had his eyes on

Subtly flex as he posed and threw a wink at you whenever his eyes met yours. But, you were too stressed and sleep deprived--thanks to school projects--and would never catch his advances, or when you did.. it would take a moment

And when Kyle realized this, he thought it would be better to just ask you out there and then

He'e start with, "You look like you could use a cup of coffee"

In which you blinked at him, nodding off the sleepiness before smiling drowsily "Yeah? Guess i do"

"You're free after this? I knew this hidden gem nearby.." he continued

"Yeah? Sure- hey Johnny! We're gonna hangout after this, you want to come or not?" You yelled out at your classmate, who sat nearby

Your voice broke the focus of the others which earned you a glare, but you were too tired to care

Johnny looked up from his own sketch and raised an eyebrow, looking at you and Kyle back and forth before smirking

..Of course you thought that was just a friendly invite

"Sure, hen" he replied cheekily, eager to be a wingman or just to be a menace in general as he enjoyed watching things unfold like it was some kind of soap opera

Kyle had to physically held himself back from tackling the Scot

To calm himself down, he trailed his gaze back to you, observing your pretty face and every alluring curves of your body as you stayed oblivious

Then, he got snapped out of his thought when he heard you clicked your tongue

"Goddamit, i have to redraw this now-" he heard you grumble as you glanced at his crotch with a glare

He was confused until he then noticed it himself, how he got hard in front of everyone just from the sight of you

And while some thought he should be embarrassed (or pissed, since Johnny was snickering like an ass he was), he only smiled as he took in your frustrated expression that was oddly cute to him

[cherie-doll]

COD men’s reaction to their daughter having a boyfriend?

heh

༢ུ· Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

۶ৎ Price...

It wouldn't ONLY be Price worrying over who this new boy in his daughter's life was, it's the entire task force that is there against Price's wishes, and that's only because he HAPPENED to open his big mouth and spill the beans on his daughter dating

Simply shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as the backup team of Ghost, Gaz and Soap walk in, heck even Laswell is on the line calling Price giving him "advice"

I can imagine Price telling his daughter to leave the room once you're all settled in, and you just raise an eyebrow and give him a look like asking "what's going on?", he tells you to leave too and the boyfriend is sitting there, confused, palms sweaty as Price readjusts in his seat clearing his throat and saying "let's get one thing straight"

He really just wanted to set some things straight, but poor boy thought he was about to get kicked out or beaten because this is a man who's been in the military for years, not to mention the big buff guys who keep peeking over the corner with a menacing look every once in a while

Afterwards, you come around to Price asking what he told the boy, surely he didn't scare him away, right? He didn't, only told him to treat his daughter well and there wouldn't be any problems

۶ৎ Ghost...

Would be super protective, well what parent wouldn't? but he's on a different level, and both you and your daughter knew this, so your daughter tried finding a good moment to introduce the boyfriend

She let him know ahead of time so the initial shock response happened before he was able to get his hands on the poor young man dating your daughter, when the moment came Simon couldn't even sit still

He was standing, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room when his daughter walked in with her boyfriend, staring daggers into the back of his head

Simon would never tell his daughter to break up or leave a boy she was into, but he would definitely warn her to be cautious, he just doesn't want her to be hurt, and God forbid THAT happen

He would go to whatever lengths necessary to keep that from happening, a heavy hand on the boyfriend's shoulder every time he comes to pick her up for a date, a subtle way of reminding him who's he dealing with

Surely, he wouldn't make a careless mistake while dating Simon's daughter

۶ৎ Soap...

He shares the same excitement as his daughter when she announces she's been asked out, he's happy for his girl, he's always seeking what's best for her and hopes she's happy, but when that initial enthusiasm wears off... he realizes he knows nothing about who asked his daughter out

Then, you have to hold him back from bombarding your daughter with questions, he'd annoy her real fast and that would only make her clam up and not reveal any information

He's worried about the type of guy who attracted his daughter, what if it was a criminal? Someone who could ruin her, do more harm than good? What if it didn't work out? What if it ended in heartbreak-

You have to knock some sense into him before he gets ahead of himself, if you were patient and kept your cool, your daughter would reveal all the details necessary herself without having to pry much and make it feel like an interrogation

He actually gets along quite well with his daughter's boyfriend once they get to know each other, they are obnoxious together and it annoys the hell out of not only you but your daughter too when they both end up spending more time together on Sundays

۶ৎ Gaz...

He was cooking breakfast when his daughter waltzed in, spinning and holding her phone close to her chest, Kyle smiled as he flipped a pancake, "And what's got you smiling like that?", he expected it to be something a teen her age would be giddy about, a band she liked coming to town? New episode of her favorite show released?

None of that turns out she's seeing a guy and he just asked her to be his girlfriend, when I tell you this man's jaw DROPPED and you had to call his name multiple times to bring him back to earth, "Honey...Kyle? The pancakes are burning"

You hugged your daughter and he did the same but as soon as she went back to her room he turned to you, whisper-yelling "Did I hear that right?", and you have to remind him it's normal for teens to start having an interest in dating

He truly is happy for his daughter, he just can't help but be a little worried, he'd hate for someone to break her vulnerable heart, but you bet he'd be very attentive and patient when his daughter wants to rant or has her first breakup

I don't think he'd be overly jealous, he'd only go on full dad mode if someone is selfish and hurts his daughter or tries forcing her to do something she doesn't want to, which is why he constantly sets an example with how he treats you so his daughter won't stand any bullshit her boyfriend tries to pull

۶ৎ Roach...

He'd probably just be shocked, not understanding entirely what his daughter just announced to the both of you, a boyfriend?! but wasn't it just yesterday that he was taking her elementary school? Roach hasn't realized how fast time flies, surely his daughter meant a boy FRIEND

He's quickly proven wrong when she calls out a name he hasn't heard before, and walking in is a young man the same age as his daughter, who comes to place an arm around her and introduce himself

oh, Roach couldn't mistake that look he just saw on his daughter's face, her eyes gleaming and bright as she looked up at her boyfriend

He greets the boyfriend but will then sit quietly and observe the entire time he's there, analyzing every move and sentence that comes out of that boy's mouth, he has a real knack for deciphering people's underlying intentions that you trust his instincts if he says either there is no malice detected from his daughter's boyfriend or if he senses something wrong

He mostly lets you handle this one because he doesn't know much about how kids date nowadays and lets you give advice instead

۶ৎ Alejandro...

He used to sometimes tense up whenever his relatives or someone would joke about his daughter growing up and having a partner, whenever it was brought up at a function he'd simply say nothing and continue to drink his beer quietly

Well his little girl did grow up and she kept the relationship somewhat of a secret for a while, afraid of what her dad's reaction would be, you had to be the one to sit him down and tell him while your daughter nervously waited in her room only for his reaction to be much better than you anticipated, hugged his daughter saying how happy he was to hear that

Still, sometimes he seemed to forget that the guy his daughter frequently brought around was her boyfriend because he kept referring to him as "ese amiguito tuyo" ("that little friend of yours")

Would make him do manual labor whenever your daughter brought her boyfriend around, Alejandro would ask him to help mow the lawn, or clean out the gutters with him, maybe help him finish building something and meanwhile they would have casual conversation

Overall, the boyfriend grew on Alejandro more and more that at this point he was considered a son and part of the family

۶ৎ Rudy...

He is very close with his daughter and has constantly been there for her in moments when she was a vulnerable teen, and he showered her with love and praise when she achieved her goals and accomplishments, he never had a reason to show hostility when she came home from college announcing that she had been in a relationship for a few months and wanted to introduce her boyfriend

Rudy couldn't help but feel just a little worried but he tried his best to keep those doubts hidden as to not come off as unwelcoming or controlling when he shook the hand of the man who had swept his daughter off her feet

I think Rudy was more worried about how he was acting in front of them that he even asked if he was balanced in his thoughts, you had to remind him that it was normal to worry about who your children chose to date, you had spent years raising and protecting them after all, but the fact that he was conscious of this proved how even now he put his daughter's wishes ahead of his own worries

He treated his daughter's boyfriend like a second son and always reminded his daughter how proud he was of her, he wished her all the happiness in the world in this new chapter of her life, it reminded him of when you and him started dating <3

۶ৎ Phillip Graves...

Who could be worthy of dating his daughter? The daughter of a commander? He had given her everything she wished for and more, was his daughter so sure she wanted to date so soon? Not that he was against it, he just sort of had high expectations

Phillip would have preferred if it had been someone he already knew, maybe one of his Shadow's children who were around the same age as his daughter, because then he already knew their family, etc...

But this introduction of someone new had him alert, he was ready to do anything in favor of his daughter if they made her upset, turns out he had nothing to worry about because his daughter was dating a nerd, what her boyfriend lacked in social skills he excelled in academics and personality, not to say he treated her like Phillip had always accustomed his daughter to being treated

The same delicate attention and sincerity, Phillip liked that right away and was always asking his daughter when she'd invite her boyfriend over again

Next thing you knew, Phillip would gladly tell anyone willing to listen how his daughter was not only the best daughter he had but he now also had a great future son-in-law

۶ৎ Makarov...

Uhmm, he would be VERY well informed of any guy that would show interest in his daughter, probably senses it before the daughter even develops strong feelings for the interested guy

He has his ways of finding out everything on the guy, his background, family, financial status, his connections... everything, and imagine the reaction of his daughter when she finds out what her dad's been up to in his free time, she would freak out and demand for him to stop

They argue nonstop for hours, going back and forth until finally they make a deal, he stops "stalking" her boyfriend if she agrees to introduce the boyfriend to Makarov soon, they both agree and a date and time is set

You're with Makarov at the restaurant they agreed to meet up, and you're reminding Makarov to be reasonable while you wait for your daughter and her boyfriend to arrive

Makarov is looking down, fiddling with the eating utensils on the table as he breathes through his nose, you think he's too mad to respond to you but he gives in and nods, you smile and press a tender kiss to his cheek which seems to lighten his face up, a smile appearing on his lips

But that smile quickly disappears when he looks up to meet his daughter's boyfriend, this will be a long evening for him...

۶ৎ Keegan...

Keegan thinks that the young man who's knocking on your front door is a salesman or someone coming to offer their services, he's dressed sort of nice so Keegan is kind in turning him away, "Sorry, Kid. I'm not buying anything you've come to sell" and he's about to close the door when his daughter comes quickly, "Dad! That's my boyfriend"

Boyfriend? "Since when-" And he's left standing there, dumbfounded as you come to the rescue and welcome the boy in, you have to nudge Keegan with your elbow to remind him to be polite

He used to always say he'd come out with a gun to run off any guy who tried to bother his daughter but this caught him completely off guard, Keegan ends up not being able to find anything offensive or rude about his daughter's boyfriend to use against him so he has to come to terms with the fact that he's fine with it and lets them be

Your daughter secretly knew this which is why she wasn't as worried when inviting her boyfriend over, didn't tell Keegan and only let you know because she knew he'd take it better if he wasn't expecting anyone

۶ৎ König...

"Is it not too young-" You stop him there before he can say anything more, your daughter had just interrupted you reading and König just so happened to be around to hear when your daughter mentioned a guy

He doesn't understand that some start dating in their teens or as young adults because he never really gave it much thought when he was that age, he assumed everyone else was like that

He doesn't know how to react when there's a guy just there, suddenly and shaking his hand, König is too immersed in his thoughts to notice how nervous the guy is as he looks up at the intimidating height of König, he could easily be snapped in half, and he thought he was tall...

Your daughter's boyfriend also isn't used to how silent König gets sometimes, so he's sitting there worried and shaking thinking he said or did something wrong for his girlfriend's father to just be dead silent, not directing a word to him but instead muttering under his breath

König is just trying to think of what to ask, because in situations like these he needs to find out stuff about his daughter's boyfriend, right?

۶ৎ Horangi...

This man is not taking it seriously, at all, now is not the time to bring up an old video he had taken when his daughter was five years old saying how she wasn't ever going to marry or like a boy

He's clowning her with his video he somehow still had saved while your daughter just sits there like -_-, you have to try and convince him to put the phone away before the waiter at the restaurant you're at comes over to ask him to leave for disrupting the other customers

He unintentionally interrupts their dates or when they're having a moment by calling his daughter on her phone or if they're at your house he comes around to the living room to watch tv even though they were trying to have a conversation in that room

So you have to constantly keep him distracted and occupied or else he'll want to go join his daughter and her boyfriend because he thinks whatever they're doing is a lot more fun and he thinks it's back like when his daughter was a little girl and was always inviting him to play games together

۶ৎ Nikto...

While he couldn't ever be bothered to pay attention at the dinner table when his daughter mentioned having a new crush at school, Nikto became a lot more serious when your daughter brought over a guy for dinner, who is this boy and what's he doing sitting and eating in his house?

He's confused to see the that who his daughter spent evenings talking to on the phone is this ordinary guy eating beside him, Nikto looks over to you and notices how attentive you are to everything the boy is saying, you smile and nod endlessly and he wonders if he should be doing the same

But with the scar on his lip it's hard to make it seem as pleasant as yours, he focuses on just listening and eating in silence, once the boy leaves he asks who that was, a partner his daughter brought to work on something school related? "No, Nikto. That's her boyfriend" HER WHAT-

Suddenly, he wishes he would have tuned in a little sooner when he had noticed the boy, Nikto simply turns to your daughter, "Does he treat you well?" She meekly answers yes and Nikto shrugs, "No problems, we're good" and he leaves for his nap

[dykewithnofilter]

I don’t need your help… *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

IN HONOR OF ARCANE SEASON TWO, IM POSTING A FIC THATS BEEN IN MY NOTES APP FOR MONTHS

(this is very old, cut me some slack)

WARNINGS: I WILL BLOCK MINORS, THIS IS 18+. MDNI. Nsfw, some angst, gf!Vi, fingering r!receiving, head r!receiving. Let me know if I missed anything.

men dni ✌️

ESL, and also not proofread ✍️

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

You stared at the wall, sighing. You’d been like this for hours. Where was she? Did she leave you? Was she out drunk again? Every single possibility raced through your head. The door opened suddenly, startling you. Your head popped up quickly, eyes widening as you saw Vi. “Vi? What happened? Who hurt you—“ you started, worried. She sighed. “Nothing. Just a squabble at the bar. Quit worrying.. it’s annoying.” Vi said, her tone fed up and tired. You sat back down, waiting anxiously for her to do something about the cut on her stomach.

Vi sat down on the couch, not next to you, but the furthest away from you she could possibly be. She did this a lot. She hated showing you how she felt… “Are you not gonna treat that?” You ask quietly. She side eyed you. “No.” She said simply. She was in pain. You could see it, even if she wouldn’t tell you. You got up, sighing. “What are you doing?” Vi said with a frown on her face. You ignored her, grabbing a towel you wet with soap and water. You got on your knees, dabbing it against the wounds she’d accumulated on her stomach and thigh. “I don’t need your help…” Vi mumbled, wincing. “I don’t care.” You mumbled.

Vi looked down at you, a slight flush on her face from seeing you on your knees like that. “Just— hurry up..” Vi says quickly. Your brain pauses for a second. “Why?” You look up at her. She avoided your eyes, the flush in her cheeks becoming more evident. You cracked a smile. “Not everything has to be sexual, Vi.” You say, trying to sound stern. It probably didn’t help that you had to pull her pants off to clean the cut on her thigh. “I- I didn’t say— just- shut up.” Vi protested, sounding more cute than menacing. Now it was your turn to be a mean. Since she was out of her bad mood, maybe you could be a bit flirty. “I mean, I’m not complaining, just saying.” You grinned, putting the soapy rag right over the wound on her thigh, letting your hand wonder a bit. “What are you trying to do?” Vi said, her heart beating quickly. “What? I’m not doing anything.” You say, moving your hand to her inner thigh.

This felt pretty weird. Usually Vi initiated these things, and on you. “Y/n.” Vi said sternly. Okay. Maybe you were being too risky. “Finish whatever your doing, and hurry.” She said, frowning. A small tinge of excitement washed over you, knowing exactly what she was gonna do next.

You finished cleaning her up, and of course, now you were pinned against the wall while she kissed you roughly. You broke the kiss, panting. “No need to suffocate me..” you breath. “I’m not. Kissing and choking are two very different things.” Vi said flatly, a hint of amusement shining in her cold eyes. “I- shut up.” You smile. Vi rolled her eyes, kissing your neck. “Nope.” She replied, giving you a few love bites she was sure would be a nice, red blotch in a few minutes. You let out a soft hum of approval, feeling your breath hitch as Vi removed your clothes. Vi looked in your eyes again, asking for approval silently. You nodded, gulping.

In a split second, you were pushed against the couch, your legs spread. Vi slowly took your panties off, looking you in the eyes while doing so. “Beg.” She grinned. “..I— please, Vi..” you pant. Vi raises a brow. “Please, Vi, I need you..” you say, your voice more whiny. “That’s more like it.” And without another word, Vi slowly pushed her fingers into your dripping core. “F-fuck!” you gasp. “G-give a girl a warning-“ you say, a few moans bubbling from your mouth as vi curls her fingers. “I gave you plenty.” Vi shrugged, burying her face between your thighs. “Warning.” She mumbled, licking your clit softly, her free hand cupping your ass.

“Mm-.. vi—“ you whine. Vi swirled her tongue around your clit while her fingers curled and pumped inside of you. “M-mm— too much!..” you whimper. Vi continues her ministrations, defermened not to stop till you cum. Your hips shy away from her, but she holds them in place with her free hand. “Hngh— fuck- Vi, I’m close.!” You pant, your thighs shaking. Vi grins, speeding up. Her tongue flattens against your clit, pumping her fingers faster. “Ah-!” You moan. “Vi- I’m- I’m gonna—“ you can barley finish your sentence before you cum. Vi licked her lips, looking you in the eyes as you panted.

“Did I do well?” She smirked. She already knew the answer.

“Shut up.” You reply, blushing as you looked away.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I NEED IDEAS, GIVE ME REQUESTS 😣

[girl-lostconnection]

If Price can't climb, what's stopping fruitbat reader from just flying up somewhere he can't reach and ignoring him? (And also maybe try to take precious sweet seal baby Johnny with them wait what who said that I musta been possessed)

It’s like you heard that I’m out of ideas and dropped yourself in my lap, god bless you, Night.

Price can’t climb and he’s annoyed AS FUCK that he can’t, because it means that at least half of his team (Gaz and Reader) are able to just get high enough and he won’t be able to reach them.

He’s even more annoyed when they manage to snatch Soap with them (because I’m sorry, but Simon’s big ass is too heavy, he’s staying on the ground).

I’m not sure that Reader would be able to haul Johnny high up but Kyle very much can, harpy eagles are known to carry their prey that weighs a lottttt.

(Read on Wikipedia that they are incredibly strong hunters. What’s interesting females of their species are actually much stronger than males and capable of hauling prey weighing up to 20 pounds, while males usually limit with prey rough half of their own weight.)

So I think that if put up to mischief Kyle would most definitely participate and knowing Johnny? He will be very enthusiastic about getting on pack leader’s nerves for the sake of doing so.

I can imagine Price circling whatever place they got perched on and patiently waiting because one way or another — they will need to come down. And when they do, he will be there. And he will make sure to show that he’s very unimpressed with their games.

But also, my personal headcanon, I think part of him would actually enjoy this slow hunt because it’s not often he gets to play chase his mates (above his station, man thinks he’s too old to do that). So part of him is always thrilled because it means he gets to chase and he’s surprisingly fast as fuck.

He’s not only fast, but he’s also capable of catching both of them, because the man has insane grip strength and he’s capable of hauling one of them while running after the other without slowing down.

So Price is a menace in on its own. His pack loves it.

Simon is just drinking his cuppa and watching Captain get his proper enrichment as the pack is screaming and laughing and running for their lives.

Also who’s to say that captain won’t spend the evening after munching on their necks and shoulders and hands, just smothering them in himself. Because now that he’s happy and content after a good chase, there’s another type of hunger that needs sating.

But also who’s to say that Reader and Gaz with Johnny don’t anticipate that.

What they didn’t anticipate (but kind of should have all things considered) was Simon joining in and rumbling over their shoulder that “ i‘s not nice. don’t you have any fuckin’ manners? Lemme teach you some”.

(Bastard enjoys that he can just press one or two of them under himself and they can’t get out)

[lostinlovingrevery]

Pine-Scented Soap

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: i just love trilogy logan

Plot: You take a shower, and Logan joins you

Warnings: SMUT 18+!!, and fluff :), fingering, handjob, (is that considered mutual masterbation? IDK), some choking, slight breast play, scenting? is that a thing? It wasn't the goal but i wrote it anyway, Logan being a menace and sneaking in the shower. Smut first, fluff after

Word Count: 1356

Hot water ran down your head, over your face and down your back, and down to the drain at the bottom of the porcelain tub. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the windows of the sliding glass door of the tub, and the mirror. 

Your eyes were closed as you washed your hair, performing you usual routine. Soapy bubbles painted your wet skin, slowly washing off as you rubbed your hands over your body with a bar of soap now. Something pine-scented, a bar of soap you actually got for someone else. 

Your hand ran down you arm, scrubbing it clean from the day you had, when you felt a second hand on your shoulder, almost ghost-like in the the way the fingers travel over your collarbone and then up your neck, softly resting there, as you felt a warm body press into your back. 

Now, how did he manage to sneak in without being noticed?

“Logan.”

Your voice held a warning- yet playful tone. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, softly tilting your head to the side. He brought his cheek against yours, his beard softly tickling at your skin, as you felt his other hand slide onto your hips and up your soapy torso.

“Yeah bub?” He answers lowly. Turning his head, where his nose brushed against your cheek. You carefully opened your eyes, and once you didn’t feel the soap burning your eyes, your rolled them as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“What are you doing?” You muttered, as his hand came up and traced over one of your breasts. 

“What?” He feigns innocence. “Just helping ya get clean sweetheart. You think I have less than innocent intentions for you?” His hand came back down over your neck, gently squeezing the flesh, and you could barely suppress your amusement. His hand cupped your breast, thumb rubbing over your peaked nipple. The slipperyness of the soap and water combined made the simple movement rush over your body, as you felt heat grow between your thighs. 

You felt him tip your head back onto his shoulder, his nose coming down to your neck and taking a deep inhale. “Mm.” 

“What?” You whispered.

“You smell like me.” He groans. He always had a thing about that, you smelling like him. Something possessive you didn’t quite understand.

“I’m using your soap.” You giggled. 

“Lil thief.” He grunted, he kept his free hand over your neck. His hand fondled your breasts, soap making things slippery, the heat of the shower making things intense. 

His hand ran down your torso and between your thighs, his fingers finding home between your folds. His rough calluses began pressing and circling over your bud, causing you to spread your thighs wider, in attempt to get more friction from him. 

“Lo, you think we could ever shower normally?”

“Normally? You saying this ain’t normal between us bub?” He says, a teasing edge in his voice. “Besides, don’t act like you don’t like it.” He growls into your ear, before nipping at your earlobe. 

He was right. Technically your normal was him and you getting it on in the shower. If you weren’t, there would be something terribly wrong. Logan loved showering with you, and at first you thought it was cute, possibly a bonding thing between you. Now though you’re pretty sure it’s because he gets a ticket to seeing the naked lady, and the easy access. You didn’t mind, you liked it to, just like you like giving him a little grief over it every single time just to see him beg- just a little.

His ministrations over your clit got faster, as he used practiced techniques he’d learn over his time with you to bring you to that peak. You moaned, tipping your head back onto his shoulder. His hand tightened over your throat, creating a pressure that wasn’t intense but more grounding. He brought his lips down to the crook of your neck, pressing soft gentle kisses along your skin. 

Your breath became faster, harsher, as the steam and the pleasure began to take over you, making you light-headed and weak in the knees. You brought an arm up, hand curling into Logans hair, his brown locks just now starting to get wet from the shower. His body pressed into yours, his hard erection against your back. You reached your free hand around to grab it- eliciting a groan from him as you began to stroke him. 

“C’mon baby.” He purrs, his voice tittering between controlled and a whine. With the wetness of the shower and your hand combined, your hand stroking him picked up pace. He let out a grunt when you brought your hand into a fist over his tip, thumb rubbing over his slit, pre-cum leaking out furiously over each stroke.

 Your hips involuntarily began thrusting with Logans fingers working over you- as your thighs trembled and you began to reach your peak. Logans breathing becomes harder as you matched his speed. Small whines and grunts escaping him as his hand grew tighter over your throat.

“Fuck- doing good baby- c’mon cum for me.” He moans into your ear. “You’re such a good girl, letting me do this to you- look at you-”

His praise was the final blow that sent you over edge. Your back arched, as waves of pleasure coursed through your veins, your abused clit throbbing as Logan continued working you through your orgasm. Your fist pumped him furiously, working on some sort of auto-pilot as you saw spots in your vision- unable to focus really on anything but Logans fingers. 

A loud curse escaped him, as he opened his mouth and bit down on your shoulder, a low moan vibrating against you as you felt something warm splash onto your back and cover your hand, his dick throbbing with each splurt of cum coming out of him. His hand loosened over your neck, and you attempted to catch your breath, still holding his softening cock in your hand. 

“Bleh-” You heard Logan groan, and you turned look at him cringing in disgust, licking his lips and shaking his head, his hand coming up to wipe his lips.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“Got soap in my mouth when I bit you.” He mutters. You grinned and giggled and he smiled at your mirth, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his. 

“You’re a goof.” 

“Yeah.” He says. “I’m yours though, ain’t that right?” 

“Mhm.” You hummed with a smile, looking into his hazel eyes with fondness. “Okay, time to clean you up.” You inform him, moving to grab your shampoo bottle, and squeezing a generous amount onto your hand and reaching up to begin shampooing his hair. He tipped his head down a little bit to help you accurately scrub his scalp.

“That’s not my shampoo by the way.” He says with a raised brow, looking at you.

“I know- But if I get to smell like you, with your soap. You get to smell like me.” 

He chuckled. “A’ight, I get to smell like…” He picked up the shampoo bottle, reading the name off it. “Blushing peonies….Manly.” He nods, a purse of his lips confirming it. You giggle, turning him around and tipping his head back, so you can start washing the shampoo out of his hair. 

Once thoroughly washed, you spun him back around, and began washing him with your body wash - something called ‘Pink sugar’ that smelled like vanilla and flowers. Logan didn’t complain though, as your hands ran up and down his body in massaging motions. He tipped his head back, a deep exhale escaping him, and when you finished lathering him up, your arms wrapped around his waist, as you pressed yourself up against him- looking up at him cheekily.  He looked down at you, a look of amusement, and love. On his face. You aren’t quite sure how you and Logan managed to get here, with everything you both been through together. You do know though, that you totally get it, you really enjoy him smelling like you too.

[halfadiamond]

Thoughts 1

💎 Couldn’t stop thinking about it 😫 I wanted to drop my thoughts. Maybe it can be considered a draft?? It’s easier for me to ramble than to actually write 😖

💎 Def add in your suggestions. Also to @galactict3a - thank you for idea of Reader having twins where Price is the dad for one baby while one of the guys is the dad for the other. You cooked 🔥 def gonna add it plz cook some more

💎 Follows Along with the !President Price Series

When Price first enters office, he brings his pretty wife (you) with him. At first he was worried that the media would destroy you for the littlest of things and he definitely wasn’t looking into whether or not he could ban media that talks smack about you.

But everyone loves you! Media, the people, even people from other countries love you! You advocate for different causes, you have such a nice fashion style, your looks are like a goddess! And you decorated the place so nicely!

It wasn’t long before Price’s Secret Service Men started noticing you. It got to the point that Price felt that he had to protect himself because they were so focused on protecting you.

Can’t let you get hurt lass! - Soap says as he tries to enter the shower with you.

If you’re left out in the open, the people will attack you! - Gaz tells you as he hugs you tightly.

You can’t trust anyone. - Ghost says as he punches a man for giving you a bouquet.

It gets to the point that Price finally loses it and asks you what you want to do about them. Fire them is the answer he was looking for. But you couldn’t deny that these men were really making an impact on your life, so you bring up the idea of adding them into your relationship. And it takes a bit of convincing (giving Price the best blowjob of his life) for him to say yes.

And these men are like dogs. Once Price gives them the go ahead and the rule that it has to be in private (protect the reputation!), they can’t get their hands off of you. From the Presidential Office, your bedroom, Price’s private plane, and even in the office where Price meets all his secretaries! And they nor you are quiet about it, it becomes the norm to see an intern getting a stack of papers thrown at them every time they walk in on you and one (or all) of the men.

And when you find out you’re pregnant, all of you guys are shocked (like what do you mean unprotected sex leads to a baby) and when you head to the doctor in complete secrecy. (Cue Ghost standing at the door with a menacing glare, Gaz checking the id of everyone who comes to the doctor office, and Soap making everyone sign an NDA) The doctor tells you and Price that it’s twins!

Price keeps your pregnancy a secret for two reasons.

1. Keep all the stress away from you and the babies (don’t worry Price will have an excuse as to why you’re all of a sudden not attending events with him)

2. Because he and his men don’t know who the dad is. As much as Soap proclaims that his dick got you pregnant, nobody really knows and they can’t have that scandal affect the President (the approval ratings!!)

After a while, someone manages to leak it and now Price is preparing for a press conference, not even about him but about you. He should’ve gotten his press secretary to handle this but nope they said it’d be better for the President to announce it (boost up the approval ratings!)

Once the Press Secretary leaves, Price heads up there with his stooges in tow and he tries to divert the reason why he’s there. But it doesn’t work, the whole country loves you! So how dare Price keep you away from them! Price tries once more to switch the topic (“what about that weird thing people saw in the sky two nights ago??” “Tell us if the First Lady is pregnant!”)

Price confirms the news, that yes you are indeed expecting, not one but two babies. While the press write it down (the citizens at home are cheering) and while the media is hyper focused on Price (asking about your due date, morning sickness, cravings) they don’t notice the secret service men.

They don’t notice how one looks away from the camera as he eyes the ceiling (they really outta dust that corner), how one seems more interested in what’s on the ground, and how one is preferring to look at his nails.

It’s almost like they know something that the media doesn’t.

[fluffypinkhedgehog]

❀⊱Messy⊰❀ ⤷Shadow the Hedgehog | sfw, fluff, one-shot, request

wc: 1,560

summary: You help Shadow wash his quills.

warnings: None! All Fluff!

a/n: aaaaaaAAAAA!!! Sorry this one is late! I hope you like it anyway <3 Anyway, I'm honestly not too confident in this one. Mostly because I don't think I characterized Shadow all too well compared to my high school au but I think it's because I was putting too much thought into it instead of just letting it flow. To which, once I did start just letting myself just write, everything just started flowing a lot better! Also sorry for the abrupt ending.

You sat down in your chair, the plush comfort immediately giving you relief from the stresses of your day. You sigh in contentment, breathing in the smell of your favorite candle as the fireplace next to you roared. It was a lovely overcast, the branches from the flower trees outside lightly tapped on your window from the wind. It was the perfect weather and atmosphere to read a book. You grabbed your current work-in-progress from the side table and set it in your lap, flipping to the pages where your bookmark was nestled in-between. The sound of pages lightly flipping as the fire in the fireplace crackled and popped filled the room, making you invested and immersed in the story.

As you were reaching the pinnacle of a very suspenseful chapter in your book, you heard the front door open and a loud crack of thunder roll overhead, making you whip your head towards the front door where a dark, menacing figure stood in the doorway. Your brain short-circuited. Your adrenaline was already raised due to your book, now a strange person was entering your home! You screamed in surprise, clutching your book, before noticing that it wasn't a serial killer here to murder you. It was just your boyfriend, Shadow.

Well, that's embarrassing.

You coughed and “calmly” set your book on the side table. Shadow raised an eyebrow towards you as he walked inside, another clap of thunder sounding out before he closed the door.

“Shadow, you scared me,” you said, trying to laugh away the fear. That's when you notice it: Shadow is absolutely caked in mud! “Shads, what happened? Are you okay?”

Shadow grumbled, looking away. The only thing you could hear was “Sonic,” and you weren't sure if you even heard that correctly.

Getting up from your chair, you approached Shadow, taking his hand. Shadow narrowed his eyes at you. You roll your eyes and scoff. “I'm not gonna do anything funny, I promise. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up.”

Shadow huffed as the two of you walked to the bathroom, you deviating to the supply closet while he continued inside, closing the door behind him. You sighed. You knew that Shadow was prideful, and if it was Sonic that caused this then his ego would be really bruised... You felt a bit guilty for indulging in your desire to take care of him, he's his own hedgehog after all. That would just bruise his Ego even more. You grab one of the shampoo bottles, looking over the label, before tucking it into your arm and grabbing a washcloth, some bar soap, and some towels. As you exit the room you wonder if you should just drop off the products and let him take care of himself.

“Okay, Shadow, I got the...” You say, trailing off as you open the door. The bathroom was already a mess. Shadow was kneeling in the middle of a mud puddle, barefoot, with his head over the tub. Your face pales, a little upset. You had just cleaned the bathroom this morning! It's okay, it's fine... This is what bathrooms are for. You take a deep breath. It's not Shadow's fault. You set the soap products and towels on the counter, the shampoo bottle making a loud noise. Shadow flinched slightly at it. Oops, you accidentally slammed it down. You didn't mean to do that.

Shadow lifted his hand out towards you, about to say your name, but you turned and left the room. You had back to the supply closet, grabbing more towels, the ones that have been stained with... something before walking back into the bathroom. You found Shadow sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at you. His face showed concern and a bit of guilt. You sighed and smiled at him, you couldn't get mad at such a trivial thing, could you?

Shadow scratched the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “I'm sorry,” he started, but you wouldn't let him finish his sentence.

“Honey, it's okay,” you say, “This is what bathrooms are for. I can just clean it again later.” Shadow nodded at your response, but you could tell that he still felt a bit guilty.

You grabbed one of the stained towels, setting the rest on the counter, and tossed it directly onto the puddle on the floor before grabbing another, folding it, and setting it on the floor before kneeling on it, turning the tub faucet on. Shadow watched as you used your hand to test the temperature until it was warm enough.

“Okay,” you say, retracting your hand from the running water and standing up. “Hop in whenever you're ready.”

You walk to the counter, grabbing the shampoo and soaps before turning around and setting the products on the edge of the tub as Shadow gets in. You can hear him audibly start to relax with the quietest hum you've ever heard from a person. It's honestly adorable.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” You smile before turning to leave the room. Before you could get far, though, a hand catches onto your sleeve.

“Wait,” Shadow says. You stop and look back at him. You look into his dark, red eyes and the emotions that swirl behind them, though what those emotions are you're not too sure.

Shadow's a closed book, he doesn't like sharing his emotions with other people. The fact that the two of you are dating is even a miracle in itself. Shadow looks away for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts, but he doesn't let go.

“I.. apologize,” Shadow manages to get out. You turn to him fully, your attention entirely on him. “I ruined your evening. Messed up the bathroom that you just cleaned, interrupted your book...”

“Shadow,” you interrupt, kneeling in front of him so you're eye-level. “I said it's okay. Bathrooms are meant to get messy, and I can always resume a book later.” You cup his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along his cheeks with a smile on your face. Shadow melts into your touch, closing his eyes and breathing out.

Ultimately, you must let go. Shadow grumbles as you do, but then he raises and eyebrow as you grab the shampoo bottle off of the edge of the tub, squirting some of the product onto your hand.

“I can do this myself,” Shadow says, squinting his eyes in suspicion. You cup some of the water in the tub in your other hand after setting the shampoo bottle sound and letting it drop onto Shadow's head, the mud gliding down and into the warm water, staining it brown.

“I know,” you say simply, putting the shampoo onto Shadow's head and starting to scrub. “But I realized... That you probably couldn't get to this giant ant's nest that's on the back of your head.”

“What?” Shadow tries to reach around to feel if what you say is true. It wasn't, you just wanted to tease him.

“I'm joking,” you say, “You're always so easy to tease, Shadow.” You giggle, remembering the many times you made Shadow flustered. His flushed face is always so cute to you.

Shadow scoffs, “What's with you and always...” He trails off. Shadow was starting to relax in your ministrations, sighing as the tension of the day started the melt away.

“Hm?” You hum, stopping and leaning over his shoulder. “What was that, Shadow?” You tease.

“... Nothing,” he mumbles.

“If it's just nothing, then maybe I should just let you wash all this mud off?” You slowly lift your hands away from his hand, but he quickly grabs onto them and return your hands to his quills.

“I didn't say for you to stop,” Shadow says with a bit of a pout, his face flushed. He wasn't used to saying what he wanted, and it made you giggle.

“Oh, so you want me to keep going?“ you say, but Shadow only responds with a deep grumble, not really saying anything. You knew what he wanted, but you wanted to make him say it. “Shadow, I need you to use your words.”

“... Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you to keep going.”

“That's more like it,” you giggle, grabbing the shampoo bottle and lathering more onto his quills.

The room becomes quiet, the only sound in the room being your humming as you scrubbed Shadow's scalp. The water in the tub turned a dark brown and cold over the course of 30-ish minutes. You weren't really keeping track. Reaching down into the tub, you unplugged the drain, letting the muddy water drain before grabbing the detachable showerhead and turning on the water. As you aimed the showerhead towards Shadow's soapy head he suddenly turned around, grabbing your arm. You slipped in surprise at Shadow's sudden movement, making a small yelp. You blinked, your face was right in front of Shadow's as you practically on top of him. You could feel your cheeks turn red from the proximity. You could never get used to being so close to him, he's too hot.

“For someone's who's constantly teasing me,” He cups your face with his free hand, “You like to leave yourself open to counterattacks.”

“Um—” you didn't even get to start your thought before Shadow closes the distance between the two of you with a kiss.

Tag List: @affinitytales, @boogiemansbitch