#they could have done things so much better

[yeyinde]

appetite | Alpha!Simon Riley

it's been decades since Alpha!Ghost had a rut. something that's probably for the best, really. his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug. it's best kept tucked away, secured under lock and key.

but then he finds you. and you're all alone. unclaimed, on the verge of heat. poor thing. it triggers a voracious rut. decades worth of want spilling out over you. you're it, he knows. feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. he'll have you—now, forever. non-negotiable. where you go, he will follow.

but you run from him. stupid girl. didn't anyone teach you not to run from a starving wolf?

dubcon. size kink. size difference. a/b/o dynamics: knotting, rut. breeding kink. spit kink. implied virgin!reader. obsessive behaviour. possessive!Ghost. semi-public sex. reluctant reader bullied into submission lmao. forced bonds. implied kidnapping. basically, you're hunted down and fucked by Alpha!Simon who growls in your ear about how he's waited his whole life for you. and lucky him. he finally found you

AO3

It's been years, decades, since he had a rut. 

(Broken Alpha. Ruined.)

Trauma, they tell him, will do that. Sever the drive in the back of his head, the one that rears—vicious and angry—each mating season, bringing with it the urge to breed. To claim. Own. 

A form of self-preservation. It pitches a plexiglass of protection between him and his instincts, not letting them merge. Join. Done so because to be in rut, to want, to need, is vulnerability. It costs hypervigilance. Turns man into beast. Animal. 

This bodily reaction makes an alpha extend themselves, like an overarching limb, to shield the omega they pick as a mate. Bearing their own neck to save another. 

Naturally, they say, if he couldn't help himself, how could he ever hope to protect a fragile little omega? 

They tell him it could be as permanent or temporary as he allows. Healing, they say. Time. Laughable, really. And utter nonsense because Ghost is fine. 

Trauma tampered. Revenge sought, found. There's no one out there who could ever harm him, and still—

His last rut was before the mission that buried him alive. That turned him into the living dead. A mockery of man. Frankensteinian beast. 

It's not something he cares much for, anyway. From what he remembers of his youth—vague snippets of memories, disjointed, blurred sensation; a profound need, an urge, to sink his cock into something, to plug them up, to bite—ruts have always been a nuisance. In the way. An annoyance that took time away from what he'd rather be doing. 

And as Johnny enters his—skin pallid, waxy; cheeks flushed, eyes darkening like a brewing storm on the horizon; snapping at anything that breathes, whining like a dog, miserable and hot, all the time (ahm’a bleedin’ furnace, s’what ah’m)—he finds he doesn't care very much to go reclaim what he lost. 

No skin off his nose. Nothing to concern himself with. 

Besides. Omegas know better. 

Even before he lost himself, dying, rotting in a tumulus, pretty little omegas with their soft hands and bashful smiles always went out of their way to avoid him. Miserable alpha. His scent alone wards them off—burnt leather, charred bones; sarcophagus dust, dirt—and he found himself alone during his burgeoning ruts more often than not. 

No pretty little thing to tender the sweat on his brow, or bend over and present for him—offering up a sweet little cunt he got to bury himself inside, tie up nice and tight on his knot. 

It was usually his hand. A bottle of bourbon. A printed porn stash he swiped from Tommy, who nicked it off their old man—

And when he did find a partner, it was always transactional. Hand to hand, an exchange of money. All clinical and detached. Empty. Fucking into a concept instead of a person; a vacuum eating away at his soul because he knew, then, that they wanted to be there almost as much as he did. 

But what choice did either have when their home was the rotted gullet of a dying beast?

(Simon told them to stay away from shitty men like him, who broke bones in the throes of his heat, snapped his jowls at anything that got too close, and had to be chained to the bed like an animal during it—)

Nothing to miss. Nothing to mourn. 

And it's not like he doesn't get the urge. Wanting to sink his cock into something warm, wet, is as recurring as a sweet tooth. A prickle in the back of his head after he devours his dinner that says, dessert might be nice. 

He can fuck, but his knot never pops. A worry the doctors had—unsure what the consequences would be in the long run for such a virile, young Alpha already experiencing nature's version of erectile dysfunction so early in life. 

(“pity the poor omega who has to deal with that rut,” they whispered. “might not be much of anything left of them when he's through.”)

Inconsequential now because he's pushing forty and his last rut was a false trigger. One dragged out of him by drugs and torture. The last true rut, natural and instinctual, was when he was eighteen. 

It's doubtful he'd suddenly be cured at his age. 

This is what he tells Johnny when he asks, pries. Broken fuck, ain't he? Unmated. Can't knot. Piss poor excuse of an Alpha. Doesn't he think it's—

“a shame,” Johnny grouses, words muffled slightly by the way he's hunched over the cheap plastic table in the canteen. His fingers dig harshly into his temple. “Alpha like you—” it's enunciated in clipped Queen's English, the barb makes Ghost scoff. “—ack! a waste. ma mam would be livid. no grandbabies t’show off? sacrilegious.”

—funny. If he's being honest. Laughable:

because for as long as Ghost can remember, he's always had a predilection to ruin his favourite toys. slaking his unquenchable lust on their tender skin, biting down to the bone, sipping on their marrow—

not really the sort of thing omegas today go for, is it? 

his want is as hideous as he is. as ugly as his goddamn mug—

Instead, he shrugs. “hardly.” 

“yer no’ missin’ it?” 

“missin’ what, Johnny?”

“knottin’, ye surly prick.” He jeers, then, jabs his elbow into Simon's arm. “a bonnie omega to stick yer prick in. ain't missin’ th’, no?”

“no,” Simon gripes. The last thing Price needs is another order of protection against his Lieutenant. But to humour the alpha in an early stage of rut, he jabs out, hollow and full of wretched derision. “i can barely remember what it felt like. must be heaven, though. is that your plans for tonight, Johnny? gonna go and knot some sorry omega?”

It's meant to prod, poke. Sharp barbs aimed at Johnny's threadbare control, the same one held in place by a fraying, unspooling knot. Alphas in the early stage of rut are considered safe enough to be around. Not yet mindless drones, hosts to an ugly little parasite; a being forced to obey a single, instinctual drive to mate, to gorge themselves into a post-rut stupor. 

Safe. Or so they say. 

But Ghost knows what Johnny's feeling in the same sense as a phantom limb. A broken, fragmented memory. So, he twists his mockery in deep. All in jest, of course. 

And Johnny pales suddenly. Wavers in his seat. The affirmative comes after a bout of contemplative silence. A jagged, choked yeah slips from his Sergeant’s mouth as he drops his head to the table, and groans. Miserable. 

“go fuck yerself, Lt.”

Simon intends on taking Johnny up on that offer, lazying out on the futon with his hand stroking lazily along his flaccid cock, thumbing through the latest series of snapshots Johnny—ever the photographer—snapped up during his previous rut. Images of pretty omegas dressed up in fine silk, blood-red lingerie, and coy little grins on their faces, a vixen pastiche of demureness. Jejune appeal in all its coquettishness.

Innocent sluts—Johnny's preferred type. Ones who'll bat their eyes at him, nervous and full of faux modesty, while they rock back and forth on his face, tugging on his mohawk to make him lick their cunts just the way they like. Sweet, like candy. Dressed in sin. 

He likes to take before and after photos of them—often with the pretty models unaware (adds to it, aye, Lt?). Ones with them batting their eyes at him, soft and shy in all their twee delight, and then fucked out, ruined and chewed up like a broken toy when he finishes with them. Bitten off more than they can swallow. Cheeky brats sobbing for mercy on his bed. 

Likes, even more, to send them to Ghost. A little tease. One he has no compunction about partaking in. Enjoying to his heart's content. 

Or—

Intended to, of course. Because what ends up happening is this:

Price calls just as he's getting into the new series sent to his phone—the tear streaks streaming down this omega’s face are particularly appealing, bound in intricate Celtic knots (Johnny, the artist), and gagged with their own panties—and tells him he has a job for him. 

Something simple. Discreet. And local, too. Bears have been sighted in town—a mama and her cubs. Dangerously close. 

The prelude to the phone call is a clipped take care’a it before the line goes dead. 

Ghost doesn't need to pack much—he can't remember the last time he unpacked his duffle bag, anyway—and stays in the recliner until the mission file comes in, idly stroking his thumb across the pixelated, tear-streaked face of the omega in Johnny's clutch. Moussed. Messy. They make the prettiest picture, don't they? Drool dripping down their chin, a spillover from what the lacy, white panties couldn't catch. 

Flesh peppered with jagged circles, bite marks. Johnny knows better than to claim them, and their neck is bereft of his teeth. Smooth. Unblemished. 

To claim is to bond. To bond—

Well. 

His earliest recollection of a relationship is his parents’. His mum, tied and trapped to a man she wanted no part of, but stuck. Unbondings, divorce, were rare during that time. Unheard of. Even now. 

And under his old man's influence, he's always seen claiming as ownership. As possession. A lingering remnant he’s told is wrong, but can't shake. Can't change. It glues in the fibrils of his mind. A rotten, pulsing scab that no amount of sanctioned reconditioning can ever seem to get rid of, to scrape out of his skull. 

(one he knows would be there no matter what because his sole purpose is exsanguination; bloodletting— 

in his warped desire to protect the things he cares about, he ends up smothering them in the end. a child holding a firefly too tight in its chubby fist.)

But Johnny knows better. Good Catholic boy. Knows to keep a muzzle on himself when he sucks desperate kisses into the small omegas' sweet neck, breaking apart the blood vessels of their scent glands, soaking himself in their musk—potent pheromones of a needy omega in heat. Aching for a bite. To be held down and conquered. 

It's wrong, they say. This ugly mass sits inside his chest like a foreign body. Scandalised eyes drilling into the side of his head like he's a monster for thinking this way. 

And he is. 

(always has been)

But he knows better. Knows to keep those uglier, rotten parts of himself hidden away from prying eyes. Got good at it, too. Enough that they let him into the brothels time and time again. 

Still—

He can remember the closest he'd come during a rut to biting a shrill omega who screamed in his ear until his head rang, ached. Nearly did it, too. Teeth razoring over their jugular, pinching delicate skin. 

Clarity came like a gunshot when he tasted blood. Chiselled a hole through his delirium, broke up the haze, and snapped his jaws up tight, locking them as he finished with a muffled growl, tongue swirling over his teeth for another taste. Another drop. 

His ruts have always been messy. Bloody. Got him banned from several centres, brothels, where they offered up betas drenched in the artificial musk of an omega in estrus. Ones resilient enough to withstand the harsh coupling of an unhinged Alpha in need. 

He had a problem, they said, with treating their workers like chew toys. Biting to break skin, drilling in deep enough to scratch his teeth on their bones. 

Deranged, they hissed. Fuckin’ mental, mate. Stay the hell away!

Some are just prone to violence. Need to be half-sedated before they can mate without ripping their partner to pieces. Ghost has always been that sort. Aggressive. Hard to control. Rabid. 

His appetite is bigger than the expanse of their skin. He sometimes thinks he could eat the whole world and still starve. 

He hums, thumb sliding to cover the omega's neck. Trapped in his hand, his clutch. They're cute when they're ruined like this. Begging. Whimpering. 

His cock gives a half-hearted twitch. His work phone chimes, signaling the end of his leisure. 

shame, he thinks, squeezing his hand until the metal dents, the screen cracks, splinters. Pops. Hairline fractures split across their distorted, tear-stained face. He closes his fist over it until it breaks. Goes black. 

really. such a goddamn shame. 

Some things are just not meant to be—

—but they have a habit of falling into his maw, anyway.

It's a simple set up. 

Man—

beast, monster, thing

—with his empty, growling stomach and teeth made to bite, tear, goes out hunting for a meal. In that search, he finds you. 

You, Persephone personified: damned (eternal), standing beneath a spruce tree. Limned, halo gold, in the waning sunset's bashful kisses, you lean on the rough bark, idling your timelessness away. 

Postcard beauty. Pinup demure. Alluring. 

(creature of sin

and oh, do you reek:

The air is saturated in the tantalising scent of honeybush, roasted hazelnuts, and clove. Saccharine—almost nauseatingly so—but with a hint of spice, black cardamom, cinnamon. He drags in lungful after lungful until it tangles deep within his chest, nearly suffocating. Smothered in this earthy sweetness. Drowning. Drowning—

the perfect dessert)

It unleashes something in him. Chips at the lock buried deep in his mind, cudgelling through the hinges until they pop. Rusted, slick with oxidising oil. It peels back from the gate, unveiling this gaping, ravenous chasm, polluted and gangrenous, rotten down to the marrow. Noisome. Noxious. This frothing pit sloshes, geyser-like, and greedily foams at the maw, the mouth, aching for a taste. Something to quench this gnawing hunger. 

This bottomless abyss hadn't seen light since he was eighteen, and—

The hollow space where his rib once sat throbs, aches. phantom bone. He holds his chest with his hand, feeling for the gap, the chasm, stolen from him. Ripped away, taken.

By you. you—

—so,

it's only fair that he steals something back. 

(quid pro quo, or something, right?)

You greet him with a small nod when he wanders close, eyeing him warily under the black rim of your ballcap. Tense. Small hands curl into fists, partially hidden under the rain-soaked windbreaker nearly two sizes too big. It smells like you—honeyed milk, molasses; lilac, lavender and warm bread—and he fights the urge to pull his mask down, to shove his misshapen nose into your neck, and breathe it in right from the source. Drinking, feasting, on it. 

This want is visceral. It coils in his guts, bubbling in his veins. His musk—heavier than yours, pungent—beads along his scent glands, mushrooming into the air like a fine mist. 

Your nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, eyes skewering into you, taking in everything you have to offer. The rucksack left at the bottom of the tree, stained with dirt and leaves. A sprig of Saskatoon berries peeks out from the lopsided flap. And—

Ah. 

Foraging is off-limits in this area unless granted a permit. One you don't seem to have based on the skittish way you keep avoiding his eye.

His scent thickens, tainted sour with faux suspicion, and you wince, ducking your chin, tucking it close to your chest, hiding from his spearing gaze. 

All it does is give him a voyeuristic view of your fragile nape, your vulnerable neck. 

His teeth ache. Jaw clenched up tight. 

It looks so bare. So naked. 

(Be a shame to keep it that way forever, wouldn't it?)

“Hi,” you stammer, seemingly oblivious to the musk you leak into the air, into his lungs. Forcing some sense of staid indifference into your tone. Like being here, out in the middle of the forest is normal. “Did you need something?” 

On the verge of a heat like this, wobbling where you stand—

He wants to chew you up. Spit out the pieces on the pavement. Drink from the gash he'll rip into your jugular,

quench this unbearable thirst. 

He doesn't know how you made it out here as long as you have, smelling like you do, and the thought burrows through the haze spuming, clotting, on the fringes of his muted periphery. Anger is an icy deluge of white water raging through his veins. 

Under the mask, the remnants of his scarred lip curls. His hands close into tight fists. Balled up. He feels the tension crackling along his muscles, his body. Coiled spring. Ready to leap—

But:

There's clarity. Focus. Where he was meant to become a mindless monster, driven by instinct, he instead feels the pieces of himself snap back into place. Missing puzzle pieces. It shifts. Settles. Locks. 

He wants you. Will have you. It's non-negotiable. Ironclad. You just—

Belong to him, don't you? Pretty little thief. And wandering around like this, reeking like you do, you must want him, too. Need him. 

(protect, protect, protect—)

Honed in, drilling into your face to catch every expression that flickers past, he sees the moment you take a sniff, when realisation blooms in the inkpools of your gaze that you are less than an arm's length away from a starving predator. Supple, soft. All plush flesh seated seamlessly against brittle bone. Fragile. 

“hi,” he echoes, and it sounds hollow. Garbled. Like he's speaking underwater. Thinks, for a moment, that he's buried again. Drowning under the crushing weight of dirt. His own tumulus. Suffocating. Choking on dirt—

But you twitch. Feral little thing. It breaks him out of this nightmarish obtundation; shaking the cobwebs loose. He tracks it like a viper. Attention narrowing, shrinking, into nothing but the way you move. Smell. You anchor him in his place, keeping him stable amid this horrific onslaught of emotions that rip talons down his chest. 

“I–” you breathe in again, lashes fluttering. Strains of silk batting over your etiolated cheeks. You breathe him in. Deep. He sees your chest grow, expanding with his air. His musk. Has to bite down on a growl before it forms, the lash of a whip in his throat. Aching. 

There's something spellbinding about you—caked in a layer of grime, briny sweat clogging your natural scent; wild and untamed. Uncharted wilderness, untouched by man and their dirty hands. A corrie after a rain shower. Snow melt. He wants to bathe in it. Carry it with him wherever he goes. 

As if scenting this thickening desire, your eyes widen. You take a step back, swallowing audibly when he follows. Marionette on strings. Your shadow. 

“I should go—”

And he knows he can't let you do that. 

Won't. 

He hums, a fickle, brittle thing in the far reaches of his chest. 

“Go?” he flicks his hand toward your bag, head cocking to the side in a mockery of contemplation. “Don' think you got a permit for that, do you?”

“A permit…”

He has you. Your eyes lower, falling to the badge on his chest. Game Warden. You stare at it, eyes widening. Swallowing thick. 

With you distracted, he leans in. Curves his body over you mockingly, like he's bending down to whisper a secret in your ear. Cupping a pretty little firefly in the palm of his hand. 

When his shadow falls over you—dark and damning—you flinch back, fists trembling under the hem of your jacket. Brows furrowed, knotted tight. Your lower lip wobbles. You try to hide that, too, by sinking your teeth into your flesh until it floods white under the strain. 

He wants to pry it apart with his own teeth. Take the bruised flesh into his mouth until you start to drool, whining from the abuse he inflicts on you in a mockery of a kiss. 

(wants to tear through it, taste your blood on his tongue—)

“An’ I don't reckon tha's a good idea, pet.” 

You shiver when he places his hand on the truck above your head. Boxing you in completely, nothing to spare—not even an inch. 

He hums at that, cock giving a vicious jerk inside his trousers at the almost impossible dearth between your sizes, at the way he swallows you up in an instant. Has to take a deep breath to steady himself, to keep the inkblack tendrils swirling, gathering, at the edges of his periphery from bleeding in. This starving murder of crows. 

When he speaks again, it's low. Deep. Kittenish licks from the tongue of a tiger; abrasive, rough. Mocking baritone of a shifting canyon, a mountainside, before it buries anyone alive under rubble. 

“Not reekin’ the way you do. Might ‘ave every alpha in a one square mile radius frothin’ at jaws for a taste. Ain't safe out there.”

And it's definitely not safe with him. 

He watches, transfixed, the moment this clicks. When your eyes waver between the hard bulk of his body—spread out, laxed; plumage unfurled—and the noisy clatter of the town just within reach. It's this thicket that cups your scent, that protectively curls over you, and keeps the Alpha's prowling about the market square from sniffing you out. A beaten trail. Hidden desire path no one was supposed to wander down. 

Except the bear problem in the woods, infringing on town, and him, the gun bolstered on his thigh still hot from his warning shots into the bush.

(lost little Lamb—

wandered too far from the herd.)

You take another step, cautious. Small. It brings you flush against the tree. Your polyester jacket whines at the friction. He can see indecision play out on your face. Oscillating between the badge on his uniform shirt, the gun on his massive thigh, and the clamour of muted noise from the town just within reach. Alphas prowling. Their acrid scent is unmistakable even through the dense foliage spreading around you.

It's an impasse. Neither option affords you much choice in the long run—it's either stay here with him, with the heady scent of want, of an Alpha on the incipient cusp of a voracious rut; or risk yourself in town. There are police officers patrolling. Ones who can sedate an alpha who gets too out of hand, but still. 

The mimesis of desire pooling around you might send you into heat sickness. That, or you'll get in even more trouble for fleeing a pursuing officer. Resisting arrest. Jail time, certainly. 

The pendulum wavers. Your knotted fists wobble. 

Then—

Your eyes leave his chest, the gun, trailing over his shoulder. Widening in surprise at whatever is there in the distance. 

He ought to commend you, really. The rouse is quite believable—

But: 

“Not bad,” he murmurs, leaning down further. If you won't jump, he'll push you—

He sees his mistake as soon as it happens. 

As he bends, you drop. Waiting until his attention seemingly drifts elsewhere, to when he's distracted and off balance. Lured in by your faux attempt at distraction. 

And it might have worked on a lesser being, but all Ghost has ever been is raw, unadulterated instinct.

He lashes out as soon as you move again, palm curling over your wrist in an instant. Snapping jowls of a defensive snake. Shackled. Locked. He tugs—

But the movement costs momentum. You use this against him, going limp. Forcing him to take the brunt of your weight on the spread of his fingers. Tricky little minx. His mouth breaks out in a feral smirk, tugging harshly on scars, on burns. Stretching skin. Distorting it under the mask, ugly and vicious. 

Your scent plumes up around him, sickly sweet. His jaw aches, gums itch. He wants to bite, snap his jowls around the scruff of your neck, chew on your skin until you sob out his name—

In seconds, you twist. Swinging your body back in a beautiful pivot, clumsy as it is. You're all animal now. Reckless in your pursuit to escape. Throwing out pheromones at him—purposeful, he realises a moment too late. 

And it works. Distracts him long enough for his grip to slacken. Your arm slips out of his grasp, and you're on your feet in an instant, darting through the thicket in a maddened dash to escape the heavy, starving alpha and his burgeoning hunger. 

Escape, or—

Weighed down by the afterbirth of his sudden rut, a prickle of his old self buoys, brims, from beneath the mess. He shouldn't chase you. Should leave you alone, call someone—Price, perhaps. Bark out between a clenched jaw that he needs a tranquiliser and chains. Will have to break Simon's teeth to stop him from biting into you like a man starved, famished. Tie him to the back of his pickup truck, drag him to the edges of the forest. Knock him out. Knock his teeth in. 

Anything.

Because they said this might happen. The doctors’ who poked and prodded. Therapists—all mandatory, non-negotiable, when he signed his name on the dotted line—murmured about unravelling. His self-control snapping like a twig. Sense of self retreating. All hiding away, protecting itself from the torrent of chemicals flooding his hindbrain. A heavy, unrelenting accumulation of a decades-long bout of rut celibacy all washing over him, all at once. 

Said to lock himself up if it happens. Chains. Shackles. Nuts and bolts. Heavy tranquiliser. Immediate sedation. 

And in Price’s office, in that messy filing cabinet he keeps, is a folder. A playthrough of everything that's supposed to happen if this happens. 

(“but that won't happen, will it, Simon?” 

and he'd rolled one massive shoulder in an easy, effortless shrug. 

“no.”)

The failsafe is that he's meant to call in if it does. Precious seconds of clarity, cognisance, enough time for him to dial the number, to bark out the order. To be hunted down, rounded up, and thrown in a pit. 

where he belongs. 

He should. Should. It's the book. Rules. Coloured in red ink. No option to negotiate. 

But as you slip through the dense foliage, angelic gold against the phthalo green bosky, the knot in his shoulders abates. Uncoils. In this sense of ease that permeates within him, he finds that he's shockingly cognisant. In full control. The plexiglass shatters, and in the ruins he finds purpose. 

You smell good. Too good. Any alpha will scent you in an instant, will claim you. Take you. It makes something in his broken, moulted head shift. Crack. He can't let that happen. Has to protect you the only way he knows how—

To wrap his paws around your throat before any other Alpha has the chance to sink their teeth into you. To claim you. 

All his. Little Persephone tucked tight against his ribs where you belong. 

And if the way the air clots with your cloying smell—heady, potent; the unmistakable ripeness of an omega in heat—then you must want him to chase you. Want him to follow. 

(escape, or—

a game.)

He tracks your movements, honed in on the rustle of the underbrush. When you're out of sight, Ghost flexes his hand, curling his gloved fingers over the leather on his palm. There's an itch in the back of his head. Festering. Rotting. He wants to reach in, rake his claws down the mass, shred it to pieces, but it affixes one simple truth inside of him: 

you need him. want him. why else would you run in the opposite direction of help if you didn't want him to give chase?

And so, he does.

You're a crafty little thing. To throw him off of your trail, you leave scent markers on the tree trunks you pass, doubling back to run in the opposite direction. 

It might have worked on someone else, but Ghost has spent half of his life buried in this thicket, and knows better than to follow smells in the forest. A vacuum, a great chasm; it plays tricks with sounds. Distorts scents wafting through the canopy, mingling with the natural loam, the disturbed humus underfoot. 

Instead, he hums at your cleverness—his smart little omega—and shifts his gaze to the forest floor, roaming over the footprints sinking into the soft soil, the peat and moss. A breadcrumb trail leading right to you. Broken twigs, crushed bushes. 

Ghost follows it. Places each foot down carefully, nose angled upward to catch the fresh wave of your heat leaking through the tangled furze. It beckons him forward. Calls out to him. 

(come, come, come—)

This lost little lamb needs a shepherd. 

He intends to give you just that. 

(—find me)

The path you cut through the forest is a twisting sawtooth meant to throw him off your trail. Traps laid out in tall tussocks, weaved through sweetgrass all drenched in your scent. Pieces of your clothing torn at the hem, the shorn fabric pressed on pine needles and tangles furze. 

These breadcrumb trails—a neat nest of wile, it seems—are cunning, he'll give you that. 

Even with his eyes to the forest floor, he finds himself throwing a wayward glance in the opposite direction, snagged in your webbed subterfuge. Somewhere between the visitors centre and the first trail meandering into the thick taiga, you seemed to have realised that your boots leave indents in the mor. He follows the deep impressions in the podsol until he finds them shoved under a Saskatoon berry bush. Another dead end. 

Clever little thing, aren't you?

But even when strays from the path, he's right on your tail. Confident in his scenting abilities. His prowess has always been tracking down wily little rabbits when they try to flee, picking them off in stasis from high above. The layout might have changed—his perch closer to the ground instead of a deer stand—but his eyes are just as keen. Your winding trail is ingrained in his mind. A long loop through the eastern trailhead, and he knows, instantly, that you'll try to throw him off at the placard where the west trail branches off through the dense conifers, and the east meanders downslope to the hidden stream where hunters like to trawl. 

He feels a pinch of pride simmering low in his guts. Anyone else would have lost you three pitfalls back. He's enraptured by this pursuit. Smitten by you. Your clumsy little escape. Your sweet little ploys. He wants to chew into you, let his teeth leave jagged scars, false starts, on your bones. Permanent. Starlight—dusting meteor showers in milk white. 

Ghost’s belly gives a tremendous growl. He huffs at the ache clawing against tissue, ravenous and unbearably empty. 

He'll have you soon. All to himself. 

The thought makes fresh blooms of pleasure spume from the rot in his chest, prickling through the layers of muskeg and peat, etiolated little sprout. Germinating in wet gangrene. Feasting on necrotised flesh. 

He swipes his hand over a honeybush, catches the lingering scent clinging to the leaves. You must have fallen here. Tangled yourself in the furze, overcome by your heat. 

Poor thing. Tired already. 

He holds his hand up to the fading gossamer of twilight trickling through the dense canopy, clenching the lingering remnants of your scent in his fist. It's fresh. He wants to tuck it in his pocket, carry it around with him. 

He finds you in a small clearing, bent down with your palm resting on the trunk of a tree. Nails digging into the rotting bark, desperately struggling to catch your breath. Your heat is a wildfire. It scorches the earth. Burns his nose. 

You're no longer on the cusp of it anymore, but in the throes. 

His rut, he finds, isn't too far behind. 

Perfect synergy. Meant to be. You call to him, and the gaping, gnarled chasm inside of him answers with a growl—

Before you can blink, he moves.

He falls over you, felled timber. The earth shakes under his indomitable weight. Palms slam into the rough bark of the gnarled spruce you've taken respite against, boxing you in. 

You fall against it with a gasp, hands pushing against his broad chest as he backs you into the tree. Little fists pounding on his sternum, mouth pinched, twisted in a snarl. There are pieces of bush caught on your clothes, tangled in your hair. Leaves. Sticks. A spot of dirt on your nose. 

It's mesmerising. 

The ballcap falls first. Morning sunlight over a boscage in bloom. Pitfalls, ravines. The canyons of your eyes quiver; this new topography shifting, sliding. Tectonic beauty in muted midnight. 

He wants to reach in, feel these granite walls of yours with his bare hands. Clamber up the colluvium, the scree, until he reaches these rugged peaks gleaming at him, angry and feral, in fading twilight. 

Time is endless. There's no limit to how long he has to know you—drink from your rivers, feast on your valleys; find all the hidden nooks, the crannies, shaded under the towering monoliths of your body. Chart your couloir. Defile your flume. Bathe in your estuary. Tangle himself inside your dells. Tame your chaparral. 

Fastidiously. Expertly. Until no part of you is unknown to him. 

Your chest heaves, mouth open as he crowds you further. Pressing into you. Over you. 

He wedges his broad thigh between your legs, presses it tight against your pussy. Your thrashing stills when he touches you, when he angles his knee up, up—

There. Through the layers of clothing that separates his bare skin from your cunt, he feels the heat bleeding out against him. The wetness from your sodden panties. Undeniable proof of how much you want him. Need him. 

 “All wet f’me?”

“Fuck you—!” You spit, angry and feral, but you arch into his touch, pushing your pussy onto his thigh. Aching for friction. 

It makes him hum. A low growl caught in the back of his throat. 

“Reckon I'll be the one fuckin’ you, pet.” 

And he will be. This is fact. 

You shudder, brows notching together in a vicious glare. “I don't want you.” 

It's hissed between the sliver of your clenched teeth. Full of heavy conviction. Forging truth out of lies—

And that's all it is. A lie. A fallacy. 

(and even if it wasn't, unlikely considering the way you arch into him, needy despite the disdain dripping down your brow—he really just can't find it in himself to give a fuck; he'll make you want him—)

Ghost leans down, muzzle pressed against your neck. He inhales deep, audible. Chest expanding, lungs swelling. Full of the aroma bleeding out of your pores. Proof of just how much you do, in fact, want him. Betrayed by your own body. 

He huffs out, paints the air with his derision. “Is that so?” 

Ghost drags his hand down the solid line of the tree, dropping it to rest against the jut of your hip. He ducks his head, watching. Staring at the way his palm nearly swallows you up when he rests it over your waist. Spanning nearly the entirety of it—hip to hip. 

It bludgeons into him. Knocks the air clean from his lungs. 

He's always had a hunger for things he can cup in his palm. The barrel of his rifle. The hilt of a knife. Your wrist in his hand. The curve of your hip. 

His gloved fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Pads ghosting over your skin. Warmth bleeds through the leather, an unmistakable tell of your heat reaching its first equinox. It'll be all fire, all smoke, from this point onward. Desperate. Feral. 

Groaning deep, wanting, he pushes into you further. Chest rumbling. Eager. 

It takes a great deal of effort to pull his hand away. To bring it up to his mouth, fingers hooking over the edge. 

The fight in you abates—marginally—and you watch him with a keen look of suspicion dancing in the moulted dirt spread over your nullah. Wary. Anticipatory. 

He fights the urge to laugh—deep and delirious—and instead works on prying his mask down over his crooked nose, his mangled mouth. Letting the hem snap under his chin, kept there. Bearing himself to you for the first time. Naked. Exposed. 

Your eyes widen, trailing down the jagged lines, mauled ridges of scar tissue. Drinking in everything he offers in the fading embers of a summer twilight. 

He grins—a rivened, ugly thing—when you let out a heavy, quick breath, and your hips drop, rutting your sopping cunt over the wide heft of his thigh. Gyrating subconsciously. Quietly pleased by the way he looks—as maimed, as beastly as he is. He lets you. Lifts his knee, pressing his cap tight into the bark, and bumping the top of his flexing quadriceps at the apex of your groin, right where he knows your clit sits. 

The breath you take is pulled in through clenched teeth, biting on the rind of a moan. Its shapeless silhouette ducks, hides from sight. 

He lets you have it. Lets you run. 

But it's not without recompense. 

With his upper lip curled, he sinks his teeth into the leather tip of the glove above his middle finger. Letting you see them for yourself—these thrawn teeth he'll bury into your neck. Claiming you entirely as his. 

Your pupils start to eclipse your irises. Lagoons of liquid black blotting over rugged peaks. 

Ghost slowly tips his head back, dragging the glove with him. Eyes setting along his lashline, he drinks in the sight of you swallowing thickly, your gaze darting between his teeth, his mouth, and now—his bared neck. Voracious, greedy, in the way you feast on him. Drilling into the stretch of skin slowly unveiling itself to you. 

The muscles in his neck flex against rimy skin. Adam's apple bobbing with his slow swallow. 

You follow it all, but your gaze seems to fix itself on the brawny arch of his neck, falling—and then glueing— to the thick vein protruding from his flesh, pulsing with the steady rhythm of his heart, and the small, swollen bump of his scent gland beneath it. 

Hunger, he finds, paints such a pretty picture on your face. The greedy, anfractuous glances a bludgeon into him; so heavily affixed with desire that the shake of your head when he pulls the glove free, letting it dangle from between his teeth, and drops his hand back to your skin, is minute. Meaningless. 

You want him as much as he wants you. 

The clause in this, the axiom, is ironclad. Irrefutable. Bound in brass when you shiver at the touch—feverish skin on feverish skin—and arch into his palm for more. Panting through clenched teeth, each hiss striking against that fraying coil leashing his threadbare control. To distract himself from the unspooling knot, the ache in his gums, he charts the first inch of skin he passes with his thumb, committing the sloping plains of your body to memory. The jut of your hip, the stutter in your breath when he runs the rough pad of his forefinger over the slope of your underbelly. 

It's easy to marvel at the sheer enormity of his size compared to yours. Simon hitches his thigh firmly into your clothed cunt, nearly lifting you up off the ground. You teeter on the tips of your toes, falling forward into his chest to stabilise yourself. Little fists curling into the fabric of his jacket, knuckles tight against his the last rungs of his ribcage. Your head lifts, a glare chiselling into the soft fields of your face. 

You hiss something at him—feral and scathing. He drops the glove, leans down to meet you in the middle, and eats your feeble protests from your lips in a bruising kiss. Scorching. His teeth knock into yours. Tongue lashes out to catch the vitriol dripping from your fangs. You make a noise in the back of your throat, and he swallows that, too. Devours it all. 

It's a vicious kiss. All teeth, tongue. Bullying. He lets you sink your teeth into his tongue, huffing into the seam of your lips when you coo, victoriously, at the first drop of blood spilled. 

In retaliation, he sets his hands over your ribs, and lifts you up off the ground. Making you gasp. Mewl. Your legs kick out as the back of your head catches on loose bark, raining it down over your shoulders in flakes. He doesn't stop kissing you throughout. Eyes half-mast, still open, as he drinks in the sight of yours rolling back in your head when his thigh, one the width of both of yours—fuckin’ hell—catches the perfect angle on your clit. 

Loose-limbed, caught, you have no choice but to wrap your ankles around his waist, curl your arms around his broad shoulders. Clinging to him desperately to remain grounded, held aloft. 

His hand falls down, cups the back of your thigh, fingers spanning the entire curve of your cheek. Held tight in his palm. He bucks into you—quick, hard. Letting you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, leaking spend already in the tight confines of his trousers. This groin, inner thighs, already sticky with the mess dribbling out. 

You fall apart at this. Head tipping back, crown thudding against the truck of the tree. He has your lower lip between his teeth, and it pulls, skin stretching until he huffs out another breath, mocking, and unhinges his jaw, letting you go. 

Mewling, whining low in the back of your throat, you clumsily rut your cunt into the hard press of his cock. Eyes hazy, liquid, with your blooming heat. 

Its approach is quicker than he thought it would be, and he hums, tongue rolling over his teeth to catch the lingering taste of you. Under his hand, your skin burns. Singing with the urgency of your desperation. He answers it with a grunt, falling forward to smother you under his weight. 

There's a flash of clarity in your eyes when they crack open. Brief. Fleeting. He feels your sluggish attempt to push him away, to free your hands from between your chests, and he has to dip his head to stifle another groan. It feels good to have you under him like this. Covered entirely in his bulk, his shadow. 

His hand pulls away from your flesh, snaking between your bodies to catch your wrists in the palm of his hand. Only one swallows them up, and the easy way he subdued you—effortlessly—has him nearly coming undone in his trousers. Untouched. 

“Fuck, want it bad, don't you?” he snarls, hips bucking into you. Chasing pleasure. He pulls your hands out, lifting to arm to trap yours in the shackle his fingers make high above your head, and—

It's devious, this. 

Somewhere in the loosening agency of his self, his autonomy, he knows this is becoming dangerous. Something that ought to be stopped before he rips into you with a rabidness that promises nothing at all will remain intact when he's finished. When he's had his fill. He needs to clear his mind. To get away from the way you fit against him so perfectly. Tiny in his wicked embrace. 

Like you were made to fit between his ribs. His teeth. 

He gnashes them together, trying to stem the ache in his gums. 

He wants to fuck you. Needs to—

But as ripe as you smell to him now—tender melon, warmed honeycomb—he knows that you're not yet ready to take him. 

Ghost steps back, letting your feet drop to the soil below. With the sparse inch of space between your bodies, he breathes in the lingering scent of your breath—sharp, burning; imbued with a heady thrum of adrenaline electrifying your nerves—and finds the musk a near-perfect pantomime of ozone. The arid tang in the air just before the air. A lightning strike. It rolls over his tongue, tastes of wet pennies in the back of his throat. Heavy with anticipation. 

Something he feels very keenly as well. An eagerness he hasn't met in decades. Absolutely famished for it, for this familiarity of want. Potent desire. 

He mourns the loss of the way your ass fits in the cradle of his hand when he pulls it free, fingers trailing over the feverish skin of your hips, your belly, as he goes. He doesn't stop until he comes to rest on the button of your trousers, eyes flickering down to catch your gaze. Purposeful, now. Intent clear. 

Nothing is stopping him from taking. Your protests are paper-thin, dissolving the moment it touches the dense blanket of humidity in the air, but he wants your submission. Wants to see your resolve break, crushed by your own hand. 

The gossamer wings of a butterfly, crumpled up in your palm, and offered to him for the taking. How sweet—

You seem to realise his intentions when his thumb dips below the hem of your pants. Just a tease. Brushing against the soft skin he finds there with the curve of his nail. 

Your glare is instant. The sharp tug of a drawstring pinching tight between your brow. Mesmerising as it closes over your lax expression. A fierce snap. He wants to pry it apart. Wedge himself between the seam. Create a gap wide enough for him to fit. 

“I won't beg,” you grind out, acidulous. Firm. 

He huffs, quietly amused by the fight still sparking in you despite the evidence of your arousal, your want of him, evident in the stain at the seam of your pants. His other hand rests on the trunk of the tree above your head, boxing you in when he leans closer. Taunting. “That so?” 

You don't respond, but your glare sharpens, mouth tugging downward in a harsh frown. Displeasure sparks in the air. Cutting into him like fine glass shards. He lets it graze his naked flesh, the warning ghosting over him in needlepoint pinpricks. Entirely too captivated by you to notice the sting. 

Your ire is a heady, tangible thing dripping down your brow, slashing over your cheeks. Anger, however misguided it might be, paints a pretty picture over your face. Darkens the inlets nestled in the corner of your eyes. Drenches the ravines, gorges in a startling chiaroscuro. Limns the alpines, the valleys, in a halo of golden starlight. 

He wants to drink it down. Hold your fury in the palm of his hand—

Crush it between his fingers. 

Because despite the dissent, your desire cuts through, and hews the air in a thick tapestry of want. 

mutinous, teeth bared, but your eyes burn, rage against the prison walls, and scream, please—

His fingers dig into the bark above your head, catching flecks of sap between his nails. Knuckles turning white under the flaxen hair dusting over them, strained. The grip is unintentional. Unconscious. He keeps thinking about you beneath him. The heat of your thighs around his waist was a mere tease. A morsel when he wants a meal—

The pressure in his knuckles grounds him. Cuts through the phosphenes blanketing the edges of his vision, smothering the clarity, the cognisance, that lingers in the centre. Threadbare as it is. 

There’s an ache in his jaw. 

(the need to bite—)

He pulls it off, and shoves his hand tight between your thighs, cupping your cunt in his palm. Feeling the heat bleed through the gusset of your pants. The touch is harsh. Firm. He bullies his fingers into your flesh, letting out a mocking chuff when he feels the fabric dampen.  

“Somethin’s’ tellin’ me otherwise.” 

Your hand lashes out, grabbing the thick of his wrist. Holding firm. It should be a warning, but the obvious gap between your middle finger and thumb makes him groan instead. 

“You're wrong.”

“Am I?” 

You twist away from him when he leans down, chin ducking to your shoulder. Hiding. Denying him your mouth, your taste. This meagre measure of control you grapple for is easy to give. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear instead, letting you run. Flee. For now. 

His voice is thick when he continues, husky. He pitches it low, lets it swirl into the seashell coil of your inner ear, earning him a shiver in response. Your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. Holding tight. 

“‘m a lot of things, pet—” rucked gravel, sodden with his derision, spills into your ear. Your shudder makes him want to bite, to maim. “Wrong ain't usually one of ‘em. But you'll learn that soon enough.” 

Your breath hitches. Expression morphing, shifting. Changing into something adorably beleaguered as he encircles you like a tiger, eyes drilling through the tussock, aimed directly at your head. With his body boxing you in, coiling over you like a hideous shadow, he has you trapped, caught. Little lamb writhing between the paw of a tiger.  

You seem to be keenly aware of this. Your eyes are shrewd, searching, as you probe around for any escape route, but he's a bulwark around you. Inescapable. 

Finding none, you suck in another breath, and slowly lift your chin, glancing up at him through your lashes. The look on your face is—

Enigmatic. 

Something changes in the morphology of your mien. Fracturing. Cracking. 

“Yeah?” You breathe, soft and goading. Your hips buck into his hand, rutting shallowly against the tops of his fingers. Unconscious. Like you just couldn't help it. 

And he supposes you can't. 

A fine sheen of sweat has been building since he took after you into the forest. Gathering around your temple, your hairline. The harsh reminder of your festering heat, once dammed by your raw disdain for him—hatred, he'd say, and doesn't the thought just make him want to laugh; you're all bark, no bite, and he knows he'll have fun breaking you in, breaking you apart—but flooded over by the primal drive to mate. 

And he's perfect for you, isn't he? 

Hideous bastard that he is. It's a sharp juxtaposition to your prettiness, your earthly beauty. 

Under the spinel sky, you break. The hand on his wrist tightens, your hips flexing into his palm. Seeking friction. Needing pressure. Needing him. And pissed off about it. Delicious. 

“Prove it,” you snap, irritation blanching the corners of your eyes arsenic white. Edging into a frenetic desperation hot enough to burn the threads of your resolve. But there's a gleam of reluctance pushing through the syrupy murk folding over you, heavy molasses. You want to give in, but there's something about him, his appetite, that makes you hold back. That makes you visibly sick at the sight of him—

Unfortunately for you, he has no such compunction to shelf his barbarity. To leash his desire, to muzzle the overwhelming urge to crush you under the weight of his accumulated need. It's decades of listless apathy. Divorced from anything resembling human emotion at the root. Carved out, scraped off bone. He was left to stagnate. A misfortunate creature submerged in a bog, dead but unable to rot. 

The deluge of his savage, bestial hunger rages in his veins. It's corrosive, vile, and—

unrestrained. 

Ravenously esurient. He wants to sink his teeth into you and never let go—

but first: 

he needs to eat. 

His meal is a feast, it turns out. Simon gorges himself until he's full. Promises that he'll stop as soon as he's satiated. 

(but he's lying to himself, and to you, because he never is—

never will be.)

Tears pebble along your lash line as he feasts on your sopping cunt, licking at your fluttering rim, slurping up your slick. Your clit is pressed tight against the crooked arch of his nose, sliding and catching on the jagged ridge each time he moves his jaw to dig deeper inside of you as if he's trying to taste the seal of your womb. You pant, whine. The noise muffled half-heartedly behind your palm. Teeth sunk into your skin, lodged against your bone. 

Angry rivulets rain down your cheeks, dangling like fine beads, gems, on your jaw. He wants to taste them next, as soon as he fills his gullet with the earthy tang you release. 

Your tears remind of that pretty omega Johnny sent to him—a brat, he'd said; the best, Lt—and it churns in his stomach, dredging up something awful. Terrible. He wants to make you weep harder. Wants you sobbing, begging. His own little brat to take over the knee whenever he wants—

But that's where the uncanny resemblance ends. 

You're not a brat. No. You're a headache. The kind that will have him written up, sat like a bad dog in his best suit, as they level him with charges, and orders, and the like. The sort of thing that even the old man wouldn't be able to string him out of—not that he would. Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by. 

He won't be much help to get Ghost out of trouble. That leaves only Gaz and Soap. And while he's sure they can swing it, he doesn't really want to be under their ahh, guess ye/ya owe us one, Lt/Riley. 

So—

It stands to reason then that he should have you tamed before dawn. Shackled down, locked up tight. Only right considering he's the best in town to keep bears at bay. Do you really want to deal with a mama grizzly and her defenceless cubs? Or a starving male clumsily pawing his way out of hibernation? 

Probably not. 

So. So. 

He pulls back, rests his chin on your thigh. 

“Gonna be good for me, pet?” He asks, lowering his tone considerably until it catches on the gravel below. 

He's not surprised when you hiss through a cloud of tears. “Go fuck yourself—”

Ghost tips his head, suckles your clit into his mouth. Tongue laving over your flesh. Blunt teeth pressing flat against the swollen bead, a tease. You tense, gasping. Hand pushing his head back, back—

“Don't, don't—” you're mewling, nails raking over his scalp. Hips bucking, pulling back. Struggling to get away. The bite marks along your thighs weep fresh blood in your struggle, filling his nose with the heavy scent of iron. 

They serve as a harsh reminder of what he can do with these jagged teeth of his. 

He chuckles, mouth still closed around your clit. The vibrations have you choking, spine curving into a beautiful arch. 

Fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still. Trapping you. He's not quite done with your cunt, yet. And all this wriggling is something he can do without. With his hand pressed to your hips, he notches the other down your thigh. Tracing his index finger over your soft skin, dragging it close to your outer lips. Catching the tacky slick drying on your flesh with the tip. 

Tiny fists rain down over his shoulders. Urging him forward, eager for more. Selfish, spoiled little thing. 

What a monster he's made—

“Patience, pet,” he coos, mocking and mean. Likes the way you react to the patronisation in his tone. All taut shoulders, shaking fists. Bearing your teeth at the slight, the stinging barb. Shaking in an amalgamation of embarrassment and shame. 

You seem to like it when he's a little awful to you. A little mocking. Cruel. 

“Shut up—!” You hiss, lips curling as you glare down at him. “I'm not your pet—”

He ignores you. Bends down to sniff at your cunt instead, and finds his answer is the white hot desire he can taste in the back of his throat when he breathes you in. 

His fingers pry apart your folds, and he greedily drinks in the sight of your drenched hole, clenching down on nothing. Poor you. His heart thunders in his chest, rages. He wants to sink inside of you—impossibly deep—until the beginning of him and the end of you ceases to exist. Rolled into a single being, atoms merged. Bodies fused. He wants to take everything from you. All of it. Eat it out of the cup of his hand like pomegranate seeds, let the skin get stuck in his teeth. 

He wants to devour you whole.

(to eat—)

Settles, instead, for pawing at your cunt. 

Pressing the width of it against your slit, feeling the heat of your core on the palm of his hand. Branding himself with the intensity of your desire. Another scar among many. An uncountable number of jagged asteroids cratering along his flesh, making a home out of a ghost. A shell. 

Reinforced, too, by the absurdity of how terribly contrasted his flesh is to yours. Monstrous. His scarred hand rests over your pussy, encompassing it entirely with extra digits to spare. Folding each finger on top of the other to wedge between the basin of your thighs. And as his gaze comes to rest on the way he swallows you up, he is struck by the garishness of his hand—hideous scar tissue, burns—falling over your pretty cunt. 

Sinful. Frankensteinian beast palming the sweet pussy of a pretty, human woman, and—

Fuck. 

His cock twitches, spits out a thick glob of pre-cum.

Ghost has never wanted to ruin something as badly as he wants to ruin your cunt. You. Mess you up so badly that everyone will know you belong to him, and him alone. To brand you with the tattoo of his teeth on your mons; force a claiming bite on the pillowy skin above your clit. His ownership bracketed between your thighs, at the very apex of your hip bones. Buried into tissue right under the bulge of your womb. A fecund valley for him to lay waste; for you to grow beauty from the rot, the ash. 

Cinder scraps over his nerves. Fells his resolve in a brutal sweep. 

He comes undone at the seams, unravels. 

Simon curls his fingers into a loose fist, passing the rugged peaks of his bone over your soft flesh. Gathering slick on thick, scarred knuckles. He holds it there, folds pried apart by his hand, content to luxuriate in the softness of your flesh, the scorching heat.

Possessively, he unhitches his thumb from the coil of his fist, and swipes it over your clit. More slick leaks out as you keen. 

“Sweet omega like you should ‘ave been claimed by now,” he rumbles evenly despite the sour twist in his guts at the thought. “Might not ‘ave ended up ‘ere, would you ‘ave? Beggin’ the first alpha you see to fuck this sweet little cunt.”

“Begging?” 

“Practically gaggin’ for it, weren't you?” And even though the words are his own, they sit in his gut like a stone. An angry knot tangled in his intestines, snaking its way up his gullet. Bitter. It's quelled by the sight of your bare neck. Ripe for his teeth. And his alone.

But even if you had a pretty ring made by another alpha, Simon knows that wouldn't have stopped him from taking you, anyway. Biting over the claim. Breaking it between his teeth. Precious, loving union shattered by his crooked greed. He'd have relished in it, too. Basked in the way you sobbed as he tore your alpha into pieces. An obstacle turned into a pretty effigy at his feet. Wicker pyre burning to keep him warm.

(he'd have caught dinner for you, too; hunted caribou, moose, and roasted it over the open flame. Fucked you under the blume of orange. Let the fire lick across your skin as he sunk in deep—)

He rocks back on his haunches. Mood labile, quicksilver, as his rut grows. Festers. 

You deny it, breathless, as he slips the mountainous peak of his bent middle finger into your hole, stretching your rim around the scarred cartilage. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Rapid, quick. Wanting. It draws him in. Makes him want to spit on your pretty pussy, and then break you apart on his cock—

“Such a needy cunt, eh? Starving for a good knot, ain't it?”

You hiss out your protests, but clench tight around his knuckle. He chuckles, and it's liquid. Wet rot. Lungs polluted, spitting nocuous, black smoke into the air. 

“I'm not—”

“You are.” 

He pulls back, pursing his mouth, and spreads your lips apart, opening you up wide and vulnerable to his prying eyes. Saliva puddles on his tongue. He gives you a moment to clue into what he's about to do, your fingers tightening, nails digging into his scalp as you do on a shallow gasp of disgust. Then, brutish, he leans forward, and spits. Lets the glob hit your clit, and he has to hold you still when you jerk, cringing away from him, snarling out your displeasure.

“You're disgusting—”

The protests are weak. Your knees tremble, giving away the growing slickness gathering on the insides of your thigh. 

He hums, watches as it oozes down between your folds, over your fluttering hole, before it falls to the ground between your legs. He lets his hand fall back over your cunt, middle finger gathering his spit. Rubbing it around your pebbled clit. It's done detachedly, perfunctory. A means to an end with hardly much concern for your pleasure. Not yet, anyway. 

You've given him nothing in return yet. 

He intends to change that soon. 

As you grapple with the harsh reality he presents to you—one of ownership, humiliation, and pleasure on his whim—he drags his finger down, sliding it between your soft lips until he reaches your hole once more. Petting around the drenched entrance slowly, softly, humming under his breath about how wet you are. 

Your hips drop, greedily chasing after his finger. You won't ask—not yet—but he likes the way you rut against him: all hateful, spiteful. Like you can't decide on what you want more—to bash his head in, or keep it locked tight between your thighs. Sweet thing. 

“Need me, don't you?” He sinks his finger in. Nearly whites out at the pressure, the tightness, he feels. Soft, wet. Squeezing him in a vice as you yowl, whimpering into the stretch like it matters. Like his thick, scarred finger is the most you'd ever taken before. Sweet girl. So naïve. 

He drinks in the sight of your flesh forcibly being parted around his knuckle, matting the wisps of blond on his skin as it leaks down to his wrist, until that, too, is pushed up into you. His whole finger now engulfed in the wet heat of your body as you squirm around the stretch, pulsing around him like a heartbeat. 

He groans when he tastes your discomfort on the back of his tongue. 

“Don't worry, lovie. M’gonna take good care’a you.”

You watch him with slitted eyes as he pushes you down to the forest floor, glaring over your shoulder as he adjusts you the way he wants. Maneuvers you around like a little toy. Forearms braced against the trampled grass, knees sinking into soft moss. Thighs spread. Cunt bare, drenched. Ready to be claimed. Taken. 

He drops to his knees, shuffling close from behind you. His hand drops to your lower back, pressing your torso down further into the ground below. His cock aches between his thighs. Heavy, fat. He reaches down with his other hand to where it droops, smearing pre-cum over his inner thigh. He catches it in his fist, flushed the colours of a fresh bruise—angry red, purple—and strokes along the sensitive skin of his shaft, dragging it up and over his engorged head. Pre-cum weeps from the tip, drools long strains down to the forest floor. Puddles thick between your knees. 

A prelude, perhaps, for what's to come. When he has you tied like a bow around his knot, milking all the pent-up spend from his heavy, full balls. 

It's been decades since he had this—

(“shame.”

he concurs.)

Simon pulls his cock up, taps it against your pebbled clit. Drinks in the sight of you keening, cunt gushing more slick out of your empty hole, dribbling down your thighs. Mingling with the mess he already started making. 

It shocks him how good it feels just to tap his cockhead on your pretty pussy. To drag it through your slit, teasing it against your fluttering hole that drools copious slick over him. 

He wants to make a mess of you. Fuck your pussy until you cum, until all you can feel is the split of him inside of you. Filling you. Ruining you. 

Until all you can think about is the thick drag of him against your stuffed walls. Empty without him plugging you up. Desperate for his cock, his knot—hungry little slut just for him. All for him.

He presses the head of his cock against your rim, letting it catch. Holding it there. A tease. Just a little taste. 

Likes when you whimper, head hanging between your shoulders, fingers curling into the moss below. You make such a pretty picture like this—the expanse of your back bare for his eyes to roam, locking on the dimples of your hips, the curve of your waist. The plump shape of your ass inviting him in—eager for a bite. Your flesh looks bare, lonely, without his mark. The contrast of his own inked palm—fingers webbed with faded lettering, some slogan he picked up in his youth. Hands etched in black. Lines bleeding, bulky. The unmistakable tremble of an incipient artist’s first brush of a needle on real skin. Jagged, garring. Ugly. He lets his hand rest against the small of your back, groaning at the way it looks. 

Sinful.

You're made for soft silk and a fluffy bed. Head resting on a plush cushion instead of your arms, forehead braced over the uncomfortable squeal of your polyester windbreaker that he didn't even have the courtesy to let you take off. No. Just trousers. Panties. Pushed haphazardly down your legs, left in a pile by the spruce tree so he could throw your ankle over his broad shoulder, feasting on your cunt. 

There's a spot of dirt on your asscheek. The curve of it is scraped from the bark, red and raw. 

The glare you aim at him from over your shoulder is venomous. There's a smear of moss on your cheek. 

You're made for epsom salt baths. Being tended to by a besotted alpha who treats you like fine china, only to be taken out on special occasions. Brushed, always, in a fine layer of dust from disuse. Sweet, tender lovemaking under the waning summer sky. Your alpha apologising for ruining you like this, for making you take the brunt of his rut. Poor thing. Gentle kisses, and hands clasped together. 

He can see it so vividly in his eye. So viscerally that it almost feels like a crime when he glances down at his cock, the weeping, engorged head almost comically too big for you. The thick of him could easily swallow your cunt up if he flattened his length against you. Covering you wholly by his girth. 

It's a thought that makes his hand tighten, and nearly chokes him on a moan. 

Even his thighs bracketing the backs of yours is hideous to look at. Bigger, broader—there's a considerable gap on both sides of his legs that he thinks nearly his whole fist can fit there, notched against the outside of your thigh, covering the expanse of his own. Garish. 

He can't wait to lay you down on your belly, lock his thigh tight on either side of your own and rut into you like that. Crushing you under his weight. Swallowing you whole. Until anyone misfortunate enough to wander by thinks he's fucking the cold ground. 

His thumb strokes along your fevered skin, collecting the sheen of sweat building up on the pad. Rubbing it in. He feels it too. This unrelenting swelter. A cage, pushing down from all sides. Inescapable. 

The only way to quench it is on you. In you. 

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” The words are mangled in his throat, thick with want. 

Your shoulders tremble. In worry, he thinks. Scents the air like a viper, letting your emotions curdle in the back of his throat. “Just get on with it—”

He meets you in the middle of that taunt, teeth against your throat. 

Ghost pushes inside with a groan, eyes rolling back at the way you swallow him up. Stretching around the considerable girth, fluttering around him. Pulsing like a heartbeat. 

It's heaven. 

Nirvana nests between your thighs, bracketed by rings of blood. Red. Absolution imbued in tender flesh, parting perfectly around his cock in a loving embrace. 

You haven't confirmed it for him, but the tightness of your cunt around his fingers, the heady scent of discomfort burning the back of his throat when he buried them inside of you, make him mutedly aware that you're inexperienced. A fact he pockets for later because if he thinks about being the first alpha, the first man, to ever claim you, take you, then he might lose his mind, he might fall down that yawning chasm that reeks of damnation, of brimstone and ash, and never recover—

So, he doesn't. Won't. 

Can't. 

His pace is slow as he feeds you the fat length of his cock, eyes drilling into the way you swallow him up. Rim stretching taut, flesh paling under the strain of taking him. With one hand anchored against your hip, holding you tight, and the other curled over your shoulder, fingertips resting on your collarbones, he slowly, slowly, sinks inside of you, bottoming out with a deep groan. 

The outstroke drags with it an iron scent in the air. He huffs, nostrils flaring. Greedy for more. There's discomfort leaking from your pores. His girth is more than you can conceivably take, even with the preternatural help from your heat, leaking slick down your inner thighs in thick rivulets. 

He holds himself there, breathing—heavy, tremulous—through his nose. His hands shake. The pressure, the pleasure, is indescribable. It coils in his guts, spumes liquid bliss in his veins. The way you feel pulsing sweetly around him is—

Equilibrium. 

Every misfiring synapse inside himself is slowed. Imbued with a potent sense of ataraxia. His mind comes to a standstill. Thoughts looping over themselves, tangling into the gossamer threads of control floating in stasis. Unmoored. You unravel him. 

It's further proof that you are his missing part. His ruts in the past have been calamitous. Snarls wrenched from the trenches of his chest; a gluttonous feast—a sacrifice to Hēdonē. Violent, vicious. 

But this—

It's drinking ichor from the vein of Anteros.

There's a crack in the back of his head. The sound of everything, all of it—

Falling into place. 

His hands tighten. Tighten some more. He holds you, sure and firm, keeping you nestled in the anchor of his embrace, unable to run, to flee. You're his. Settled. The caveat is ironclad, bound in permanence. 

And Simon moans. Deep, and low. The noise jutters out of his chest, and seeps into the evening air. Fine mist, crystallising in front of him. Phosphenes of ice cemented his decision, gluing to his cheeks. The nape of his neck. 

His ears burn. 

“Fuckin' hell, sweet thing,” it's a guttural growl in the hollow of his throat. “Where ‘ave you been all my goddamn life?”

It's a nauseating confession, one scraped out from the vacancy between his ribs. It peppers the air in a soft, saccharine kiss. Makes you shiver beneath him, gasping in lungfuls of loam, dirt in your throat. 

He grunts. Stills. He doesn't want that for you. Ever. Would rip off his own limbs before he ever let you feel the crushing weight of dirt congealing inside of your lungs. 

The way he arches over you is damning. Nauseating. He curls his arm around your shoulder, your chest, traps a heaving breast in the palm of his hand, holds tight. The other falls from your hip, closes over your mons. Greedily feeling your slick, hot sex pulsing wildly around him when he passes over your clit, toying with your stretched, swollen rim. It's perfection, this. 

He pulls you up, up, leaning back on his haunches until you're balanced on your knees, nearly sat on his lap. Taking him deeper than before. He drops his head back with another moan when he feels your slick gather, dripping down to coat his balls. 

Everything about you is just—

Perfection. Absolution. 

Your hands fly up, curling over his forearm, mewling when he pinches your nipples between his middle and ring finger. 

“C’mon,” he rasps, leaning forward to press his face into your nape. You smell sweet. “Play with ‘em for me, pet.” 

Nails bite into his skin. You whimper. Squirming around on his lap. But you do as you're told. Slowly, slowly, reaching up. Touching yourself the way you like. Fingers ghosting over your flesh, brushing across your nipples. Pulling, petting, the way you like. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, watches. Devours. Commits each movement to memory. Every sound, every breath. Everything. 

He keeps a slow, languid pace like this. Content to just feel you pulsing around him, listening to the slick, wet squelch of him filling you up. Over and over again. A lazy rut. 

It's unexpected, he knows. You've been bracing yourself this whole time, fingers digging into the podsol, spine tightening up. Waiting for the savagery to befall you. 

When it doesn't come, he feels your quiet acquiescence come in a soft breath. In the way you slowly drop down to meet the deep rut of his hips. Taking your pleasure, pulling him in deeper. There's an edge to your voice, one still dipped in threads of discomfort, a waning pain that rings out, shrill, in the satin spill of moonlight over the indigo forest. 

It's good like this. Tender. Not something he'd have ever imagined for himself, and the reality of it is dizzying. 

Reedy, he groans. Nuzzles his misshapen nose into your scent gland. His gums pulse, ache—

But he ignores it. Swallows it down. 

He's not sure what compels him to do so. Spellbound, maybe, by this unnatural softness that spools silken threads between you. Sutured in tenderness—so unbefitting of the man he is. The monster—

His hips stutter. Jerk. 

“Simon—!”

You whine into it, arching back. Sweat gathers, drips down your spine, smears into his chest, belly. Matts the thatch of hair running in sparse, patchy clusters down the thickness of his midsection. A bountiful spring fattened him up. Made him soft and pillowy over his abdomen. Something you can't seem to get enough of—pressing the flat of your back against him, leaning into it. Groaning when his arm shifts, boxing you in. Crushing you to him. 

Wily little kitten, purring so sweetly in his lap. 

He draws lazy circles over your clit, grunting with each clench of your cunt. You're soft in his arms. Malleable. He slides his hand up from beneath your breasts, catches your jaw in his palm. Fingers spanning from cheekbone to temple and, oh—

Doesn't that just make him preen. 

He drags your chin to the side, catching your mouth in a sickening kiss. All tongue, teeth. He wants to taste, to devour, every part of you. Bones and all. 

It's a fight, though. You tense in his grasp, lidded eyes snapping open, wide and around. Cheeks bulging between his fingers when you twist, trying to pull away. 

“Don't—I don't want to—” he bites the protests from lips. Messy, sloppy. He flicks his tongue over yours, wrapping it around you like a satiated snake burrowing in after a heavy meal. “Don't—f–fuck—”

It earns him a nip. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. Drawing blood. 

He huffs into the seam of your mouth. Only fair, he supposes, and then pulls you down—hard, fast—onto his cock. The air is punched out of your lungs, flooded into his esophagus. 

“Be a good girl for me,” he warns, bucking into you. It's harder this time, deeper. Tempo increasing. Growing. He feels himself thicken. Knot fattening up. Each piston of his hips seems to knock something inside of his head loose. Common sense, maybe—

The fraying knot of his self-control winding tight. Pulling taut. 

He huffs again, feeling himself slip. Lost in the sensation dripping down his spine, the unified pleasure blooming in the pit of his stomach. 

The air plumes with the thickening tang of your arousal—all sweet, spice. You can take it, now, he knows, and tries not to growl when you hiccup his name wetly into the air. 

The muscles in his thighs bunch tight. Corded and powerful. He arches up, up, forcing his cock deep inside your cunt, splitting you apart. Rutting desperately, edging into something animalistic. 

It runs a knife along the thin skin of his hindbrain. Come out, come out, come play—

He moves you again, pulling his hand away from your jaw and pushing you back down the forest floor. He stays glued to your back. Tucks his arm under your chin, and smothers you under his bulk, groaning when your thighs give out, sliding on the sweat-slicked moss below.

“Simon, ah—” your voice tapers off into a breathless cry when he pulls his hand free from beneath you, wrapping it around to join the other. Holding on, clinging to you. Keeping you locked tight against him, under him. You can't move at all like this—

The swell of his knot bumps against your stretched rim. He presses the brunt of his weight into each thrust now, spurned on by the needy way you yowl into his forearm, drooling all over his skin. Begging for it. 

“Please, please, please—”

Your body is jostled forward with each harsh buck of his hips as he gives you everything he has, feeding his cock into your sopping cunt over and over again. Eager now to fill you up, to flood you with his cum. Make you swell with it. Overstuffed. 

Perfect little omega, you rut back into him with each thrust, taking his thick cock to the root. Mewling sweetly when his knot begins to catch. Too much, he thinks. It might just wreck you for good—

pomegranate seeds splitting over your teeth, blood red juice leaking from the tear. spilling into your mouth. just a drop. just a drop, and Persephone is all his

—Perfect. 

He teeters on the edge of ferality and control. Spinning, spiralling. Loosefooted on the wobbling chossy. Coming undone in a magmatic end—wicked heat, ashes, brimstone; he catches fire, and smoulders you under his heat. Letting the flames lick across your skin until you whine his name, desperate and needy, in the back of your throat. The thrill a bludgeon against his skull, spilling pleasure, bliss, in the broken hole you wrought. 

You tighten like a vice around him—tight, tight—and he pistons into you, burrowing deep. Deeper still. Until you thrash around beneath him, soundlessly screaming his name into the dark forest. Begging for mercy, mercy, please—

He won't. Can't. 

He can't get enough of the way you feel wrapped around him like this. Silken, whitehot. Tight. Tight—

It squeezes the air from his lungs. Static in his head—

And then you let go. Pulsing, throbbing around him. Pulling him in deeper, blanketing his mind in white noise. In nothing but magmatic pleasure. 

“Fuck—!” He snarls, almost angry. Vicious. Chasing after his end in the aftermath of yours. Instincts are at war within him, banging against his skull. Demanding recompense. Paid it's pound of flesh. 

It's what he's promised. What it's owed. 

(and he always keeps his promises, doesn't he?)

Most describe their ruts as mindless, driven by instinct. No control. But Ghost has never felt more present, more alive, than when he sinks his teeth deep into your nape, nearly choking, drowning, on your blood.

For the first time in decades, he feels the crater inside himself, suffused with spare, broken parts, seal when you yield with a mangled yowl of his name, raw and fractured as it splits between your teeth. Pretty pussy swallowing up his knot when he bullies it in deep, locking you together.

pretty little lamb—

a perfect fit between his teeth.

His rut is a voracious thing. 

Ghost has you on your back for the second and third round, heels resting on his shoulders as he bucks into you. Makes you stare at him—don’t look away from me, pet—as he commandeers your body with an ease that seems to break apart all demurrals as they form, rendering you sweet, malleable, beneath him to do with as he pleases. 

And you are, aren't you?

So fuckin’ sweet. 

(“gonna give me a cavity,” he rasps, thick with pleasure, into your ear. he has you on your belly now. holds you down with his weight, crushes your chest against the soft moss below, thighs squeezed tight between his own. you can barely make a sound with his forearm digging into the dirt right above your crown, swallowing you whole under his bulk. 

(owns you like, he finds. no one would be able to see you beneath him if they wandered by. encompassed wholly by every iota he has to give—

he cums like that. nose buried in your crown, moaning low, scorched, in the back of his throat as you twitch beneath him, unable to move at all—)

It's early in the morning when he finally finishes, when his rut begins to slowly recede, and a fresh bloom of clarity yawns over his periphery. Moonrise peppers soft kisses over his aching shoulders as he glances at you curled up against his side, sleeping soundly. Exhausted by the hours and hours of mating, fucking. Taking him, his knot, drinking down everything he has to offer. 

The sight that greets him is gnarled fingers wrapping around his rotting heart, affection peeking out between the brackets of his ribs. His appetite for you is dizzying. Unquenchable. He wonders if he'll ever be able to look at you without wanting to crawl inside your body. To reshape your tender flesh around his bulk until it is indiscernible from himself. 

This want is agony. It's dread, desire. Greed. 

His shoulders bite back in protest when he reaches up to drag his dirt-crusted nails through the prickly hair on his scalp. As dawn slowly unfurls across the midnight blue aether, he knows he'll have to leave soon. Can already feel the creeping heat gnawing in the pit of his belly. His rut starting anew. The scant hours he has of mental clarity, moments meant to eat, to feed, and regain strength for the next marathon of fucking, are needed to feel out his next move. 

He glances at you again, and feels the same covetous tug in his chest as he did before, when he was thickly entrenched in the urge to mate. But as the burnt orange of the sun smears hazy fingerprints across the moulted sky, he sees you in a new, cleaner light. You're young. Much younger than he is. 

It's something he ought to worry about. To feel some shred of shame, of despondency over shackling you to himself—a defective alpha with more scars than morality—when you're in the burgeoning bloom of your freshly untethered youth. All jejune beauty outclasses nature itself. Snow melts on the alpines, trickling down to feed the valley below. Life itself—

But you are his. 

The ugly rings around your throat—mangled tissue swelling in the morning dawn, caked in a thick river of blood—all signify that you belong to him. And while it's a little extreme as far as claiming bites go—one would suffice, but he buried his teeth in you over and over again, biting down on both sides of your neck, your jugular, your nape; inner thighs, mons, wrists—it’s proof enough that you are meant for him. Made for him. 

His pretty omega. 

The rest doesn't matter. He ought to feel shame, but instead he luxuriates in it. Stares down at you with a needy sort of possession spuming in the putrid remains of his chest, mapping out the marks he put on you. And the ones he'll add to later, not stopping until covered in the perfect impression of his crooked teeth. Tattoos of his ownership all over your body. 

Mutual, of course. There's a scant patch of skin, restive and empty, above his heart, save for a fine, jagged line from a serrated dagger. He'll have you bite down on the flesh until your teeth meet inside his muscle. Scarring down to the bone. He'll go, then, to the man who inks him up whenever he has the whim to desecrate scar tissue, and have him etch midnight black against fine silver. Permanent, forever. Always. 

And anyone who kicks up a fuss—stupid as they might be—he’ll sort them out. Prove to them that you are meant to be his. 

(unshakeable:

his spend leaks out of you, drying, tacky and thick, on your thighs. under the sleepy citrine of the dawning sun, it's tinged pink, and looks just like pomegranate juice.)

Ghost rolls his shoulder, and reaches for his discarded trousers. He's covered in a thick layer of dirt, and reeks like soil. But the thought of being buried alive is miniscule compared to the want of being buried inside you again. The urge. Insatiable. He groans with it, cock throbbing already. 

He leaves you naked. No point in dressing when he plans on going home and sinking back inside of you before midday, anyway. An unneeded obstacle, really—

The clearing is close to his truck, and he sets a leisurely pace, yawning into the dawn, as he gathers you into his arms. Carrying you to it as you drool on his chest, brows pinched at the soft jostle of him trudging through the thicket until he reaches it. 

He's not in a rut when he stretches you out in the back seat, spreading your sticky thighs around his hips, sinking inside, bottoming out just as you come to, waking up with a gasp. 

The intense fucking from before lingers in the air. You're soft, molasses; arching into his chest, whimpering out the name he hissed into your nape only hours ago, folding into him with a somnolent submission. It won't last, of course—

You're a vicious little thing, and his back and chest twinge with the rivers you carved into his flesh when he didn't move the way you liked. Wolfish, aren't you? Spitfire hiding under the soft pelt of a slain lamb. He wants to devour you, bones and all. 

He takes his fill of your malleable concession, rutting into you with a sluggish ease. Mapping out the starlight sparking in the depths of your glossy eyes. Magnetic. It pulls him deeper. Unravels him at the seams. 

His hand spans the expanse of your jaw from ear to ear. He holds you like this, thumb buried in the tender embrace of your soft tongue, and begins to understand the reason behind Johnny's niche appetite when you toy with his flesh, coquettish and sweet, suckling him in—pretty seductress—and then mewl when he pushes in too deeply, bringing crystalline gems to corners of your eyes. 

Angelic innocence. The type that demands he prostrates himself at your altar, let his bones be picked clean when you so wish it. And he'll give it to you—body, blood, tissue; all of it. The entirety of him, however broken, shattered the fragments might be. 

He promises it all to you without a word, drilling holes in the gaps of your eyes, chasms wide enough for him to fit. When he cums, it's to a songbirds sonata. Your moans are a whisper, your pleasure swallowed down as it ghosts over his lips, clenching around him like a vice. Pretty bow. He doesn't hold back—groans, baritone; woodsmoke, into the gathering symphony, filling you to the brim. Thick, copious. He wants it to stick. To root. 

When the blood sputters back to his head, he gathers you in his arms once more. Keeps you seated on his lap—shush, pet; s’alright, jus’ close your eyes an’ I'll ‘ave us home in a bit—as he starts the old pickup, and puts it into drive. One hand on the wheel, knuckles blanching white in the glimmering sunrise; sparse forests of muted blond catching, limned in the coruscating light. The other is placed on the small of your back, holding your belly to his. 

Quietly, your body eases. Melts. You press your face into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, and nuzzle into the heady scent of his sweat, his musk, still clinging to his shirt. Signing, soft and twee, in the cup of his embrace as you slip back to sleep. 

He drives home like this. Mind a quiet place for once. Silent in its contentment, it's comfort. There's an itinerary still left to do, but he pushes it back for now, gaze roaming the dense green of the forest bracketing the road. 

You'll like it, he knows. There's a fen on the outskirts of his territory, a little pond where wild rabbits have been known to make burrows. Deers, elk. Bears. They all come and go. You'll amuse yourself in the untamed wilderness of his abode, drawing delineations of your own as you carve out places in his home just for you. 

And as he makes the turn to his hidden driveway, this buried sanctuary, he can't help but glance down at your crown, and think—

Persephone, finally home.

He finds your identification in your rucksack, nestled underneath the contraband you smuggled from the park—mushrooms, berries, bark, feathers—and sears your name to memory. Every part of you will be unravelled in the coming days, pulled from the depths of your being until it's all ingrained in his head. A gaping chasm chiselled into bone just for you. All for you. 

Your address is a rental. He'll have to call them later today to cut your lease. Your job, too. They'll need to be notified on both your off time for his rut (and your burgeoning heat), and to update your contact information. 

But that's later. Now, he just wants to get home. Sink down into his bed with you beneath him, and fuck you until sundown all over again. Stain the house with the scent of you. With the potent tang of your coupling. 

It's yours too, after all. Should smell just like you. 

And when you wake up later to him fucking his tongue into your drenched hole, fingers toying with your pebbled clit, Johnny will be busy packing the rest of your things into the pack of his pickup truck. The majority of it is already stacked on the porch, waiting for you to rearrange it all in your new house. Lease cut. His name added to your contacts as spouse, husband. Address updated. Marriage certificate laying on the table, only one line unsigned. Waiting for you. 

Maybe it's too fast. You'll certainly protest like it is, bearing your teeth and hissing at him from across the room about too much, too fast, slow down, you don't even know his last name—

(“Riley,” he grouses, arms folded over his broad chest. Eyes burning in the cresting twilight. “S’your last name now as well, pet.”) 

Fast—sure. He might think so too for a brief moment when he as you purring against his chest, submissive and docile after he fucked the fight right out of you, bullied you into agreeing to everything—it's for the best, after all. No one could ever protect you like he can. 

Made for each other. Reinforced when he presses your fingers to the soft spot where his last rib once hung—

(“stole it,” he murmurs into the seam of your lips. “right from under my nose. only fair that i get to steal somethin’ right back, ain't it?”

the look on your face is rapturous when you press your hand to your side, eyes widening when you feel the extra rung—)

He's had decades of waiting. Waiting. And now that he's found you—

He's never letting go. 

You're it, he knows. Feels the certainty in that statement simmering in his hindbrain, in his essence. He'll have you—now, forever. Non-negotiable. Where you go, he will follow. 

(after all, there's something about three-headed dogs and their bones—)

[suashii]

— 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ + sweetheart :3 )

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it’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. you can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. they’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. you can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home. 

“so,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

you snort at meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. as much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. she keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

you have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“fine.” you draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of i know you’re hiding something. even through the phone, she can see through you. “i might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

she gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. you’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “what happened? are you okay? why the hell are you just now telling me?”

you relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“what are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. you brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” you can hear the smile in her voice. you pucker your lips in annoyance. you didn’t think telling her about the way boothill makes you feel would result in meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. she’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “he’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“it’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“even better!” meg squeals. the shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “if he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. he’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

you chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. you’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. you’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“never! i’m not telling him anything.” you close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “i don’t know how long i’ll be here and, more importantly, i have no idea if he even likes me.”

“and you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

you’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if boothill reciprocates them.

“i’m not—” not running away? not going to tell him? not ready to tell him? you huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “not now, meg.”

“that’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i know.” you nod even though she can’t see you.

she’s right. you’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. the what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“it’s getting late,” you tell meg, “i think i’m going to go to bed.”

“sure,” she hums. there’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “good night.”

“g’night.” you pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. you should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

though, the sound is cut off by another. it comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. your fantasy comes to an end when you see boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

he meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. it’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. you rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

you gasp at the sight and turn around. he just wanders around the house half-naked? carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? you might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to meg on the phone.

the call.

you quickly turn around to face him once more.

“how long have you been there?” the question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

he shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “i don’t know. long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

the confession makes your heart jump into your throat. you choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “it’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“my apologies.” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

you stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. his perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. he’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you’re talking about.

“want some advice?” boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

you look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. it seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

he doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. you’re still laughing when he gets there. he’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. as captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. a cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i’m sorry.” you try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. you turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “it’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“hello?” he straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. that’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “you’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

you don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. you just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. after all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as boothill called them.

“so, how about it?” he rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. you hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “wanna hear my opinion?”

your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. because he’s this close to you and practically naked? because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so? 

maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “okay, go for it.”

that seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. he doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “i say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. and if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. because you, darlin’, are a catch. any man would be lucky to have you.”

you know boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. every word he says, he means. is that the case here, too? any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“i’m headin’ to bed.” he groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. you watch him silently, pondering his words. he doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. all he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “sweet dreams.”

just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. instead of following boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

courage it is.

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[alice-angel12x]

What if the twisted wonderland react the MC/Reader have a magical paintbrush just like epic mickey games?

Also this is yuu's paintbrush looks like btw

Yuu! Epic Mickey Twisted Wonderland

Here's a fun art peice I did cause the image was so fun.

Overblot boys (Riddle, Leona, Azul, and Jamil) React to Epic Mickey!Yuu

I remember when I first created Forgotten Wasteland, and how my apprentice made a mess of it all. While I am glad he repaired all the damage he has done, I couldn't trust him to not let his mischievous curiosity get the better of him. So I took up my magical brush and created a helper or a protector. They would keep watch and protect the toons of wasteland. They were an excellent student, they quickly mastered the magic of the brush. If only my other student was this obedient. (Geez Yen Sid, biased much).

Master Yen Sid watched Yuu gently and with a calculated stroke of the bush on the wasteland. The old wise wizard nodded with approval.

"You have done well," Yen Sid said as he gave a pat on Yuu's head.

Yuu smiled softly when they noticed their master holding his hand out, asking for his paintbrush back. They handed the wizards the brush, and suddenly began to dip it into the paint. Where he began to wave the brush in the air, creating something. Something big.

With a final stroke, there before him was a beautiful paintbrush. It was almost Yuu's height, as the wizard handed them the gift.

"Be very careful with this magic. With great strength, comes even greater responsibility. This is not something to play with willy-nilly," Yen Sid said sternly.

"Yes, Master Yen Sid. I promise to use this power for good," Yuu said, trying to contain their excitement.

"I know you will. I can see great things from you," Yen Sid said with a small smile. "Take good care of Wasteland."

If only Yen Sid knew, that his favorite pupil would vanish from under his nose. They would somehow end up in a place called Twisted Wonderland.

------------------------------------------

💗Riddle RoseHeart 💗

Before the blot:

When he first meets Yuu, he doesn't really take them seriously. Since the mirror says they are not a magic user.

He thinks the large paintbrush Yuu carries around is really inconvenient. And Does not look forward to all the potential mess it could bring.

After/during Blot:

Overblot Riddle struggled in the battle with Yuu. The most annoying thing they did was paint his rose bushes Blue, turning them against him.

Turns out Yuu and their magic paintbrush weren't as useless as Riddle assumed.

Yuu's finishing blow was a good whack to the head, dousing Riddle and the ink phantom with a powerful stream of thinner, erasing the blotted ink instantly.

Leaving an unblotted Riddle behind. Though Yuu gave Riddle one last splash of thinner for safe measure.

Leaving a crying drenched mess.

After fixing that, they left all of Heartslybuyal in awe as they watched the thinner in the brush turn to blue paint. And with many strokes of the brush, the unbirthday party was restored.

After that Riddle had a lot more respect for Yuu, and was a lot more curious of what else Yuu could do with their brush.

____________________________________

🦁Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Before Blot:

He could have cared less about this person. He thought they looked ridiculous with their giant brush. On top of that, they were magicless.

However, he did note that this new student smelt strange. Yet he paid them no mind.

After/during Blot:

Leona had a bit of an easier time against Yuu, cause of the howling sandstorm. Making it difficult for Yuu to toss the Thinner on the phantom and the inkblot.

So with the help of the first-year squad, moved upwind and with this. Yuu blasted Leona with a wave of magic Thinner.

The phantom quickly resolved, and Leona could only stare in shock as the Thinner swept him away.

Of course, they made sure to drench Leona in thinner to be sure all the inkblot was gone.

After the whole event, he was strangely enough. interested in going against the Ramshackle team. Even if it wasn't an official match.

He would smirk in interest as Yuu used their magic brush to create a flying broom for themselves. And some Toon as extra players for the team.

____________________________________

Azul Ashengrotto

Before Blot:

He was amused at most, like why would any person carry such a cumbersome thing around.

And they were magicless on top of that. What an odd individual. But for the most part, also didn't pay much attention.

Till the idea of obtaining the Ramshackle dorm. At first the ain't brush was interesting, but he simply assumed that it was some weird decoration.

Yet he did notice Yuu's strange hesitance of water. Specifically the idea of being in water. Azul would happily take advantage of Yuu's fears.

After/during Blot:

This was a frustrating battle for both fighters. Since Azul can keep spewing ink, just as much as Yuu can remove it.

But with the help of allies and friends, Yuu was able to wash away all the ink with their brush and thinner. With a good whack, to bring Azul back to his senses.

Even after the battle, Yuu seemed to refuse to go near the water. A phobia maybe, Azul thought to himself.

Azul is indeed interested in Yuu's power but finds them confusing too. Yuu wants to see the world under the waves, yet refuses to go anywhere near the water.

He tries to ask Jade and Floyd what they know about this student. But not even they could dig anything up about them.

____________________________________

Jamil Viper

Before Blot:

He honestly could care less about them in the start.

He sees them as a perfect pawn to overthrow Kalim. Jamil also notices Yuu's strange fear of water, even if it is in rain form.

But whatever it took to knock Kalim down, he did not care much. Though he did learn some interesting things about them. After using Snake whisper on them.

After/during Blot:

Yuu surprised attacked him, doused him in Thinner, and quickly took him down. Much to Jamil's emmerassement.

Last time he underestimates a person with a giant brush.

During the party in the desert, he saw Yuu sitting in the shade of the trees away from the oasis.

So he sat next to them. "So... Is it true you're made out of paint?"

Part 2, or a focus on one character at a time to have a mini story. (cause I have basically a fan fic Idea in my empty brain)

[princesspiastri]

First Time for Everything

Social Media AU

Pairing: Reader x Daniel Ricciardo 

Summary: You go to your first Grand Prix ever, saving up every penny, just to be noticed by VCARB’s Marketing team and you’re invited to meet the drivers. 

A/N: Hi so this is literally the first time I've done something like this so be kind <3 this was so much harder than I thought it would be lol

yn_yln

liked by yrbffuser, f1girlsclub and 50 others

yn/yln Every hour of overtime and cup of coffee ignored was so worth this!

yrbffuser newest wag alert !!!!!!

yn_yln omg stop 🥹

f1girlsclub Have fun at your first GP!

yn_yln

liked by yrbffuser, dannyric3fanpage and 200 others

yn/yln I looked so so bad after the race but omg I'm living my best life couldn't believe I got to hang out in @/visacashapprb's paddock for the race!!! I am so so honored 🤩

yrbffuser literally an influencer, you better invite me next time

yn_yln come to my next gp with me, we'll get lucky😉

visacashapprb Glad we could make your first race a great one!

yn_yln

liked by yrbffuser, f1gossipaccount and 1000 others

yn_yln *cue Will Smith* I'm going to Miami

yrbffuser are you gonna credit me for my photo orrrrrr

yn_yln I figured everyone already knows ur my personal photographer 😂🩷

dannyricfan3 your def going to the race

f1wagpage is it true you're dating daniel?????

daniel3.jpg

liked by yn_yln, dannyricfanpage and 200,000 others

daniel3.jpg late nights in MIA

yn_yln soft launch? 🥹

daniel3.jpg what does that even mean

lily_foster4736 daniel is off the market, crying and throwing up

mia.cooper ok but like how can I be her??????

dannyricfanpage so glad to see you having a good time Danny!

yn_yln

liked by danielricciardo, yrbffuser and 50,000 others

yn_yln had to teach him what a soft launch is, now I'll show him how to hard launch 🩷

danielricciardo I still don't know what that is but ok ❤️

yn_yln its a good thing you drive cars for a living 😘

yrbffuser so when are you setting me up with Lando

yn_yln @/landonorris

yrbffuser i h8 u

landonorris @/yrbffuser check ur dms

[nathaslosthershit]

A Big Decision (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(Part 8 of Teen Dad!OP au [Can be read on its own])

Summary: It is time to pop the big question

The twins had finally gone down for a nap after spending so long fighting it. The kids, at age three, have started to fight them more and more, leading their parents to start discussing if it's time for naps to stop. Honey, being a stay at home mom, had needed the nap time as much as her kids had in the past, giving her time to catch up on chores or just rest for a little, so she was really trying to get as much time as she could with it. But maybe it truly was over.

She was surprised to see Oscar pacing in their living room once she went back downstairs.

“Well, aren't you home early?” She says as Oscar immediately wraps his arms around her, burying his head in her neck and kissing it.

“Missed you all, did what they needed from me extra fast so I could get home earlier. Thought we could maybe go out tonight?”

“Oscar, it's a friday night. Do you know how impossible getting a babysitter would be? The kids also take a while to warm up to babysitters, I don’t think it's a good idea.”

“Good thing I thought ahead then. Lando had a free night and has been begging to see them after the last ‘betrayal’ when they wore Sargeant hats. Even better, he said he would do it for free if it meant working towards being the favorite.”

“Oscar, you can’t get your coworkers to babysit your twin toddlers for free by dangling favoritism in their faces.”

“It was his idea! I am just capitalizing off of it. I got us a nice reservation too, we just need to let him now in the next…” Oscar checks his wrist where his watch usually rests but finds it missing, “uh now. So I need an answer quickly, are we going to stay home and eat the same leftovers we have had for the past two days, or are we going to make Lando Norris the happiest man alive by letting him watch our kids for free while we have an amazingly romantic dinner?” Oscar quickly asks as he takes his ex-fiancee, now girlfriend, in his arms.

“Fine, let's go out, we could use the night off. Let Lando know I appreciate him watching them for us.”

“Perfect, why don’t you go out, do something nice for yourself, I'll take over with the kids. We still have time before dinner tonight.” Oscar suggested in a strange tone as he kissed all surface area of her face.

“What is up with you today? I don’t mind it but you are so much more touchy.” She laughed.

“Don’t worry bout a thing.” Was all he replied as he walked away. “Tonight will be the best yet, I promise.”

That’s when it struck her, why he was being so weird. Surely, he was going to propose.

After the huge fight in Suzuka, she had called the engagement off, causing them to ignore each other’s existence unless it came to the kids, for seven weeks. Since they had gotten back together, life had been blissful. Sure, it was most likely the ‘honeymoon’ phase of their relationship, but even so, they had been so ready to marry each other before things started going downhill. Maybe days after they got back together isn’t the right time to get engaged, but they had been to hell and back together since they got pregnant at 18 years old, they were it for each other, always would be. 

Oscar taking off of racing had also been a blessing. It had been hard for him, certainly. But he had needed to learn how to put his family first again, a priority that got harder to keep up with since joining Formula 1. 

As she sat in the nail salon chair, getting what were hopefully her engagement nails done, she thought back to how far they’d come. 

Arriving home with her nails done, and after getting the most amazing massage, Honey was giddy as she greeted her, hopefully, soon to be fiancé. After an hour and a half of filling her head with wedding plans and thinking about their future when she would finally get to be Mrs. Piastri after 7 years, she was more excited then she was the first time he proposed. 

This excitement continued from the moment she stepped into the shower, till the moment she sat in her seat at the restaurant. Oscar had hired a driver for the night, saying it was a night all for them, no need to be careful of how many drinks they were going to have, he had also told her he had plans to take them to the beach after where they could finish the night with a picnic by the water and stay as late as they liked. 

There was one thing that was off about him though, while she had expected nerves, she had also expected excitement from him and soon noticed the more giggly she was, the more upset he seemed to be. Maybe he realized she had caught on?

She finally asked what was up after he spilt his drink.

“Seriously Osc, what is wrong with you? You claim this is such a nice night for just the two of us but you are a mess right now!”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m like th-”

“Bullshit. I thought I made it clear how awful of a liar you are Oscar Jack Piastri, just tell me. Please?”

Silence filled the air as he stared at her, words failing.

“I will get up if you don’t-”

“I had a meeting with higher ups at McLaren earlier today and was told if I don’t come back then I am out of the contract and I agreed to come back for the Spanish Grand Prix!” Oscar blurted out.

Again, a heavy silence landed on the couple, both of them daring the other one to speak first.

Then, without a single word, Honey got up from the table and walked to the car leaving Oscar at the table, tears starting to fall.

Part 2 out now!

[themultifanshipper]

This was supposed to be a silly little blurb about giving Seb a blowjob, I don’t know how it got this out of hand.

Warnings: all of them. All the warnings.

Jk but there is sooo much in this fic. A bit of underage (but over 16), blowjobs, oral, p in v sex, rawdogging, rough sex, possessive Seb, a tad of subspace?, threesomes (if you don't want spoilers on the special guests don't look in the tags), voyeurism, undernegotiated dom/sub dynamics all over the place, infidelity (his IRL wife is included), smidge of angst but it’s really not the point of the fic lmao, mention of drugs and alcohol, I don’t condone anything I’ve written here guys. Although the warnings make it sound worse than it is tbh.

July 2007

I suppose you could say it all started when you were 13 and Sebastian had just been transferred to Toro Rosso.

Obviously nothing happened between you two given that he himself was 20 years old at the time. Although your childish crush on him had started way before that.

No, what happened at 13 was an embarrassing moment that got the ball rolling between you and Seb.

That night he was over at your parents’ house for a celebratory meal, for you, it was your birthday, for Sebastian Vettel, it was the beginning of a long and illustrious career.

Your father and him were good friends, Seb helped a lot with your brother's career in karting and you’d always been around the handsome blonde man. At various karting events with your brother, a gala here and there, and even at a couple of f1 races he had driven for BMW. By this time your crush was well and truly established, and subtlety not being your thing, your family knew all about it. And teased you relentlessly. And apparently now invited your crush to your birthday dinner... great.

Seb and your father were in the kitchen having a drink and helping your mother with the food when you heard your fathers voice drifting through the house.

“Man, think of all the blowies you’re gonna get!”

After a sharp scolding from your mother, the two burst out laughing and that was that. But the damage had been done.

At 13 years old, you had no idea what that meant. So you asked, at dinner, in front of your family, and your crush, what a blowie was.

Yeah, that went down well (pun intended, and note the sarcasm).

Your (15 year old) brother choked on his mouthful and shrieked in laughter, spraying your mother, who then slapped your father who was laughing maniacally beside her. Seb just went incredibly red and grinned “You’ll find out when you’re older, sunshine”

Okay, maybe the nickname should also be explained, after all it is the result of a previous embarrassing moment of your childhood.

It was at a karting track before a race and you were hanging out with your brother, some of his friends, and Seb. Or more accurately, you were following Seb around like a lost puppy. At this point you were 9, your brother 11 and Seb 16.

Someone had heard a dirty joke from the older boys at the track that went something like this:

“What is big, makes no noise, yet wakes us up every morning?”

And with your very innocent, very smart 9 year old brain you replied “the sunshine” which was supposed to be the right answer, but boys will be boys.

16 year old Seb thought that answer was hilarious.

“That is so adorable” he was wheezing “from now on I am calling you sunshine”

You were so embarrassed at not understanding the joke that you ran back to your father and told him about it, and he told the boys off sternly.

So anyway, there you were, a few years later, at dinner with your parents reliving that in your head, and living through yet another mortifying moment in front of Seb, who looked at you sympathetically from across the table, and kept sending you winks all throughout the evening, to try and make you feel better.

That night you looked up “blowie” online (of course a few days later the browser history conversation happened with your mother) and you were never the same again. You couldn’t stop imagining Seb getting blowjobs from all the girls he was indeed going to get, and it gnawed at you. For years. Of course, you knew you were too young for him, but it didn’t stop the fantasies from getting rather... wild.

2010 

You were 16, and Sebastian was about to win his first championship, you were sure of it. You were all in Abu Dhabi to support him (and the others of course) and you found yourself wandering into his drivers’ room just as he was putting his fireproofs on. You had expected his girlfriend Hanna to attend, but luckily for you she was busy, and you were going to make the most of that fact. You ogled his body for a second before he noticed you staring and grinned at you as he put his top on.

“There’s my sunshine!” You jumped into his arms like you’d done so many times before. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you before the race”

‘Of course! I'd consider myself a bad friend if I didn’t come to wish you good luck”

He put you down and dramatically threw himself on the sofa.

“Yeah! I’m going to need it”

“Oh, come on Seb I’m sure you’ll do great” You sat down next to him and put your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “If you want... I could give you a good luck present” you slid your hand slowly up his thigh and his leg jolted slightly “If you know what I mean”.

He glanced at your hand before looking back into your eyes, you could tell his mind was racing, obviously going in the right direction. “No, I don’t know what you mean” He gulped as your hand went higher and you batted your eyelashes at him.

“You know, I’m not the innocent kid who didn’t know what a blowie was anymore, I’ve learned a lot since then”.

Seb’s pupils were wide, and you could feel his fireproofs tenting under your hand. “I could show you if you’d like”.

You squeezed his cock over the fabric, and he grabbed your hand “Fuck sunshine, I can’t let you do this, you’re sixteen for fuck’s sake”

“Don’t act like you don’t fuck girls on the daily, Seb” You jumped up off the sofa and into his lap, straddling him.

“Yes, but I’ve known you since you were a baby, and you’re still a minor, Fuck-” Your hand had slithered its way into his fireproofs and was squeezing around him like a vice.

“I’m past the age of consent, Seb, you know that. And I know you’ve thought about it. About me. You’re not as quiet as you think you are when you come round to our house, you know.” You trailed sloppy kisses down his neck and chest, over his fireproofs as your hands got rid of the bottom half.

“Shit, aaah-” He hissed, and his resolve crumbled under your touch. “Fuck”

“Please Seb, please let me suck your cock for good luck” You purred, and he let his hands grip onto your hair as you nosed up the length of his now exposed cock.

He was staring into your eyes, guilt written all over his face as he nibbled nervously on his lip. “Fuck, sunshine what are you doing to me”.

Instead of answering, you took half of him into your mouth and sucked. He cried out and bucked his hips involuntarily, making you choke slightly.

“Shit sorry!” His concern was adorable, but unnecessary.

“Don’t worry Sebby, I trained myself out of a gag reflex, just for you” and before he could say anything else you sank down on him to the base and the noise he let out was inhuman. His head fell back, and his eyes rolled into his skull.

Yeah, you��d definitely been practising. And you were unbelievable.

He did end up winning the race, and the championship. And you grinned at him when he looked down at you from the podium, shaking his head and laughing before almost getting drowned in champagne by Lewis and Jenson.

2011

The next year you showed up in his driver’ room at the Japanese Grand prix, per his request. You knew this was the race that would potentially secure him his second championship win so you strutted in, pushed him onto his little bed in the corner and kissed him senseless as your hands started undressing him immediately.

“Tell me, Seb-” You got his shirt open and trailed kisses down his chest. “Do you think you’re capable of winning the championship on your own this year?” Off went his trousers “Orrrr…” then went his underwear “Would you like a blowie, for good luck?” You grinned at him, mouth hovering inches away from his rapidly hardening cock.

He grinned back at you, slightly breathless. “I think-” he sat up and pulled you in for a quick kiss “you can never say no to a good blowie”. He lay back down, arms behind his head, and that was all you needed to get to work.

He did in fact win the race, and the championship.

You couldn’t make it to Abu Dhabi however, and he got a puncture on the first lap.

 Figures.

2012

You celebrated your 18th birthday with Sebastian, one on one. He took you out to dinner during the summer break. You had finally finished school and were moving on to other things. You had no idea what those things would be, but you were excited none the less. He’d managed to convince Hanna he was on a business trip to meet a sponsor, but you didn’t think for a second that she bought any of it.

Sebastian told you all about the intense race for the Championship, given you weren’t able to attend any of the races before the summer. He had apparently taken to relieving stress by fucking anything that moved, and that included some of the other drivers. You couldn’t help but imagine him being bent over his massage table, reduced to a begging mess by his teammate. Everything Seb told you about Mark got you riled up before dessert had even been served, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was his goal all along.

When you got back to his hotel, the real birthday celebration started. And it lasted all bloody night.

All the things Seb had thought about doing to you since the very first time you’d asked what a blowie was, he did to you that night. All the tension accumulated over the years finally boiled over, as he brought you over the edge so many times you lost count, with his mouth, his hands, his cock. He was going to ruin you for anyone else.

“Nobody can have you like this, can they?”

“No Seb just you- Fuck!” You panted as he pounded into you from behind, pressing you against the massive hotel windows, facing the city lights.

 It was almost romantic. Almost.

“You think anyone can see you from down there? All those people that don’t know how good you’re being for me.” The thought of being seen made you even wetter and you whined. He only chuckled.

“I’m sure if Mark were walking past, he would love to know what is happening up here. Would you like that? Would you like Webber to watch you come undone on my cock?”

You didn’t even need to answer, you cried out in pure extasy as you came for the umpteenth time that night and then slumped against the cool glass. The only thing holding you up being Seb’s arm around your waist and his other one propping your leg up as he trapped you against the window, grinding into you as he came inside you with a groan.

“Well sunshine, I guess that’s a ‘yes’ then, hmm?” He whispered in your ear before pecking you on the cheek. He lifted you up, carried you to the bed and went to get a cloth to clean you up with.

You giggled when he came back “You know Seb, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re so obsessed with Mark that you want to show me off to him. Is it because you want him to approve of me? Or be jealous? Or do you just want to flaunt your amazing skills in bed that I’m suuure are better than his?” You were obviously just trying to rile him up.

He laughed dryly as he wiped you down but didn’t reply. Perhaps you’d struck a nerve. He didn’t mention Mark for a long time after that.

You couldn’t make the race in COTA, so it was critical for you to be at Interlagos with Seb. You got a plane ticket several days before and gave him a good luck blowjob every single night, for good measure.

He won, of course.

2013

2013 got real weird, real quick.

For starters, you were 19 with no job and no idea what you were going to do with your life, but you spent all your time around older millionaire formula 1 drivers. You were basically an honorary member of the team by now and had a free paddock pass for every race you could attend.

Then, there was the issue of Seb living with his girlfriend, so you couldn’t stay at his place anymore, and in the rare instances where you and Hanna saw each other, the other drivers became exceptionally awkward around the both of you.

The last thing was, Mark didn’t win a single race all season, and Seb was a huge dick about it. He strutted around Mark in the paddock like a peacock. And he took you to every other GP to fuck you in his drivers’ room when he knew Mark could hear you from next door, just to drive him crazy.

It all came to a head in India. The race that secured Seb his fourth consecutive championship.

He was fucking you in his drivers’ room (more like railing the absolute shit out of you) on the long sofa that lined the wall. Face down, ass up, you were being loud, no longer caring about Mark hearing you.

Then, his phone started buzzing, Mark’s name flashed across the screen, along with an unflattering photo.

Seb answered it, put him on speaker and set the phone down next to your head.

“Would you two keep it down, the whole bloody garage can hear you!” Mark hissed.

“Yeah?” Seb answered “Hear that, sunshine? Everyone can hear how good I’m fucking you” His hips kept slapping against yours obscenely.

You moaned and Mark scoffed “Sounds like she’s faking Sebby, I guess those championships must be compensating for something...”

“Why don’t you come in here and say that to my face then Webber” Seb spat before hanging up.

You gasped as he grabbed your hair and pounded into you harder. “Seb! What-”

“You like having an audience, admit it.” He growled “You’d like nothing more than if Webber stormed in here and-”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before Mark did just that. He was standing at the door, flushed, as if he’d sprinted over.

You turned your head to look at him but before you could say anything, Seb slowed down to a hard grind inside you, making your eyes roll back and you let out a shaky moan.

Mark’s eyes were scanning you and Seb, checking you both out. And obviously enjoying the view if the tent that was forming in his fireproofs was any indication.

From his angle he could see where Seb’s cock was buried inside you, where you were literally dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa and he let out a gasp. “Fuck Seb, she’s so wet”

“I guess she’s not faking then” Seb said smugly, picking up the pace again.

A lack of response from Mark prompted Seb to sigh and beckon him over.

“Don’t just stand there, come sit down, this will take a while”.

“What?” Utterly fucked out, you twisted your upper body to look at him, the confusion on your face matching Mark’s.

Seb smirked at you. “We’re going to play a little game, okay sunshine? I’m going to make you feel good, and Mark is going to watch. But you cannot come until he does, understand?”

Your jaw dropped, and he gave a hard thrust. “Understand, baby?” He repeated and you nodded quickly.

He turned to Mark “Well? You don’t want to be the reason she can't come, do you? Get to work.”

“Shit” Mark looked half murderous, half ridiculously turned on as he slowly lowered his suit and freed himself, starting to work his dry hand up and down his cock slowly and Seb chuckled “Put you hand out”.

Mark did as he was told, confused, and he almost combusted on the spot as you spat on his hand.

“Wow, she’s such a good girl, isn’t she?”

Seb groaned, as if Mark was talking to him. The older man’s presence was finally getting to him.

Mark’s hand inched towards your face, but Seb slapped it away. “No touching, she is mine”.

You tightened around him, about to come when he abruptly pulled out. You whined and squirmed as your orgasm faded, but he just shushed you and turned you over onto your back roughly, almost knocking the wind out of you. “Shhh baby, remember the rules?” He was rubbing your hips soothingly as he spoke “Mark has to come first, I’m not the one you should be begging”.

You turned to the other man.

“Please Mark, please, please come. I need to come so bad, Mark, please, fuck I need it...”  You were almost babbling at this point, and Mark melted.

Sebastian swiftly slid back into you as Mark’s hand picked up the pace on his own cock, glancing at your writhing body and at Seb. You tightened around him as you felt yourself get closer to the edge again. The two men were grunting and looking straight at each other as they moved, almost as if they were trying to get each other off. Their weird power play was tipping back and forth, and you were caught in the middle. Not that you were complaining.

Mark came all over himself and you felt Seb throbbing inside you as he started rubbing your clit to get you off faster, the sight of his teammate was affecting his self-control, and he was getting closer by the second. You came together, and he slumped over you, his legs and arms giving out.

Mark was panting and you looked at each other, having a silent conversation while Seb was recovering. He got up to go and get cleaned up in the small adjacent bathroom.

While he was gone, you stroked up and down Seb’s back and whispered in his ear “You okay, Seb?”

He sniffled into your neck before replying “Yes, I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”  He lifted his head to kiss you before flashing you his signature grin. “I’m a four-time formula 1 world champion!”

The two of you giggled and he dropped his head back down and sighed contentedly, planting lazy kisses on your shoulder.

Mark came out of the bathroom and laughed silently at Sebastian behind his back. You scowled and the two of you argued with your eyes again. ‘Congratulate him you prick!’ Your eyes said.  He rolled his before walking up to your entangled bodies and put a hand on Seb’s shoulder, making the younger man shiver. “Congrats on the title, mate. But there’s a few races left, I could still beat you.”

Seb snorted “Sure, if you say so. Now you can fuck off”.

You smirked at Mark, and he slinked out of the room without another word.

Well needless to say he did not beat Sebastian. And he promptly retired.

 2014

It was a shit year for Redbull, Seb DNF’d in Australia, Monaco, and Austria. He didn’t win a single race, but his new teammate Daniel did, and that was a sore subject. You lost count of the amount of pity blowjobs you gave him that year. He came to visit you often to lift his spirits, but you could always tell the season wasn’t going great, and it was taking a toll on him.

The one good thing to come out of that season was that you travelled around with him a lot, Hanna not being particularly interested in attending races. He was certainly rich enough to pay for your flights and hotels (not that you needed separate rooms most of the time).

You were the first person to know about his transfer to Ferrari. And you were both very excited about it. New team, new start, hopefully new championship wins.

Unbeknownst to you however, Seb had added an extra condition when he negotiated his new contract...

2015

During winter break, just before Christmas, Seb came to see you in at your parents’ house. That’s how you found out that he had gotten you a job at Ferrari, as part of his contract.

You were elated. It meant you would be around each other a lot more, and you could start pulling your own weight, feeling a little guilty that Seb had sort of been your sugar daddy for the past few years, not that he minded of course. And it also meant no more sneaking around and avoiding cameras at races to not alert Hanna to your presence at Seb’s side most of the time, not that it was really a secret anymore, you two weren’t discreet around the other drivers, and the drivers were all fucking each other as well anyway so no one cared.

As tradition dictated, you gave Seb an obligatory blowie to celebrate his Ferrari contract and your new job. And then, your parents being out of town, you had wild passionate nasty sex on every surface, as you wouldn’t be seeing each other for a few months, until the season started.

Needless to say, there would be no Championship win celebration blow job in Abu Dhabi, that year.

2017

It was your 3rd year working on the media team at Ferrari. It was a blast, you were severely overpaid, and you got to spend most of your time with the man you were having intimate relations with. Who could ask for more?

In Silverstone, Seb made a bet with Kimi. They were high (not on adrenaline, just high) and decided to wager on who would finish on top in the race. Kimi got a podium while Seb only got p7, but Kimi not being a man with a huge imagination, he had no idea what favour he wanted. So, it dragged on for months, until one day you were filming a promo video in Singapore with them, and his mind suddenly came up with the answer.

“Her” He pointed at you from across the room. Seb feigned innocence, pretending not to know what Kimi was inferring.

“What about her?” he asked tentatively.

Kimi smirked devilishly. “I want her. For the bet, you know. I want to watch you. To see how disappointing you are in bed”

He was only teasing, but he knew exactly how to get under Seb’s skin. So he agreed, and he asked you, and you agreed. Great. Kimi Räikkönen was going to watch you have sex, no biggie. After all, you’d done it before with Mark, this would be fine.

After a frustrating double DNF, you all went out to karaoke. You didn’t think Kimi was the type, but he showed up to the bar already three sheets to the wind, so you figured he wasn’t really there for the singing anyway.

Kimi was giving you sultry looks all night, which sent shivers down your spine. You’d never considered the man to be the epitome of hotness, but you couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to spend a night with Kimi. Was he passionate? Or was he just as ice cold as always?

You would soon find out as the three of you piled into a taxi back to the hotel, both Seb and Kimi’s wandering hands distracting you from trying to give the driver the address.

On the way, you’d ended up with Seb’s mouth on you neck and Kimi’s hand up your skirt, gently teasing you over the pathetic peace of fabric you called underwear.

By the time you were up into someone’s room, who’s room it was was impossible to say, your senses were engulfed by the two men. Kimi was behind you, trailing his mouth over your neck and shoulders and holding you up, while Seb was on his knees between your legs, one of them hooked over his shoulder, tongue eagerly working itself over your needy pussy as his fingers worked over that special spot deep inside you.

You came like that, then Seb stood back up and asked, “How was that, sunshine?”

You scoffed in disbelief at the question “It was amazing as always, baby. Are you going to fuck me now?”

He raised his eyebrows at Kimi, like ‘disappointing huh? I think not’ then pointed to the chair in the corner to signal to Kimi to sit in it, and led you over to the bed and put you on all fours.

He was halfway through railing you into next week, one hand holding your arms behind your back and the other around your neck, when Kimi piped up from the cuck chair.

“Can I come on her tits?”

Seb paused mid thrust and you whined “What do you think, sunshine? You want him to come all over your pretty tits, baby?”

“Yes, Seb, anything just keep going please!” You begged, but he didn’t move.

“Ah, ah, sunshine, be a good girl and tell Kimi what you want him to do to you”.

You huffed and looked at Kimi, who was observing you with hooded eyes and his mouth slightly open as he pumped his cock leisurely, waiting for an answer.

“Yes Kimi, please come all over my tits, I’ll be a good girl for you”.

The two men groaned in unison, and Seb picked up the pace again. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you, so he flipped you over onto your back and slid back into you quickly, beckoning Kimi over. He circled your clit expertly and you both came together fairly quicly, while Kimi watched and pumped his cock furiously, not far off as well.

“Go on then Kimi, give it to me” you gasped, sticking your tongue out for him, and that was it for the Finnish man.

He came in spurts over your chest, face, and mouth as he let out a shaky groan, finishing himself off before finding his pants and leaving with a simple “You two looked good” and winked at you. Truly a man of many words.

You and Seb laughed together, the adrenaline coming down as you both cleaned up and snuggled up under the covers.

“Weirdly, that wasn’t horrible” You giggled, and Seb acquiesced.

“You know, I think I like sharing you.” Seb kissed your temple, and you hummed, sleep almost taking you before he added “How do you feel about David Coulthard?”

You gasped and slapped his shoulder lightly “Oh my god he’s ancient!” and Seb scoffed, offended but let it go, sleep overtaking you both.

But he didn’t forget.

2019

All Sebastian could talk about for months was the eager twink Ferrari had dumped in his lap. So of course you had to have a taste. Or rather...

“My goodness Charles, you have got to taste her”.

Charles looked at you for permission before diving in. Even though he was younger than you, he obviously had experience as he brought you to the edge in no time. He got you wet and shaking before Seb has even finished taking his clothes off. You gasped as the waves of pleasure washed over you as Charles continued his assault on your weeping pussy. Seb only yanked him up by the hair after your second orgasm, and he looked absolutely wrecked. Face covered in your wetness, lips swollen, and eyes completely glazed over. Sebastian leaned in close to speak softly in his ear, making the younger man shiver.

“You want to fuck her Charlie? You want to fill her up properly while I fuck her pretty little mouth?” He said, while maintaining eye contact with you. Charles nodded a bit too enthusiastically and you both laughed at him.

Lucky for you, Charles’ cock was thick, and he stretched you out wonderfully while Sebastian fucked gently into your mouth. You were on your hands and knees, shaking through your 3rd orgasm when Charles finally came inside you, filling you to the brim.

While he cleaned himself up in the hotel bathroom, Seb turned you over and slipped inside you with ease. He started a maddeningly slow rhythm as he wrapped his arms around you possessively, and you tried to cling onto him, but your arms were useless at this point.

When Charles came back out, Seb didn’t even look at him as he told him he could go, so he didn’t push his luck and scarpered.

“Only I can have you like this” you preened under his touch, his hands gliding over your body, pinching your skin, and then soothing it as you went completely mad underneath him.

“Please Seb” You babbled mindlessly “I’ll be good, please, please just- “. Your eyes closed of their own volition and your head rolled to the side, losing all motor skills as he continued hitting that spot deep inside you. He grabbed your jaw and made you look back at him “You’re mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you beg like this, right sunshine?”

You wailed as you came around him, your final orgasm of the night taking its toll on you, rendering you completely boneless. And you didn’t move at all while he slipped out and got up to get you cleaned up. And you barely registered the bed shifting as settled under the covers with you, holding you gently, like you were the most precious thing in his world.

That year, Seb got married to his childhood sweetheart.

2022

The next time you saw him outside of the paddock was at his retirement party. The whole grid was there, plus his family, his friends, your family, and a bunch of other people. And his wife.

It was a proper retirement bash, and most people were at least tipsy within an hour of their arrival, Seb insisting on everyone getting shit faced to celebrate.

You snuck up to his bedroom and sat on the bed. You sighed longingly, it was surely the last time you would get to do this.

Seb came up a few minutes after you, after making sure someone was occupying Hanna.

He opened you up on his fingers, mouth mapping out your body, as if trying to imprint the feeling of it on his tongue. Once he slid inside you, it took you both an embarrassingly short amount of time to reach your peaks, but you did so together, your foreheads pressed together, breathing in each other’s air, hands scrambling for purchase on each other’s bodies. Then staying wrapped in each other’s arms for far longer than was necessary.

It was bittersweet. The end of an era.

Once you were both decent, you went back down and ensured that only good memories would be had of this party, lighting up the dance floor, lighting up the bar (you made flaming cocktails, which someone *cough* Charles *cough* spilled on the bar), all the while laughing, and crying a bit, with some of Seb’s soon to be ex-fellow drivers.

Epilogue:

It was Suzuka 2023, and you’d been waiting for this moment for months.

Seb’s bee house project was great for the bees and all, but it was even better for you.

The evening of his arrival at the paddock, you were buzzing (pun intended) with excitement.

When you spotted him, you shrieked, scaring a couple of engineers nearby, and ran towards him. It was a bit unprofessional given that you were still very much an FIA employee, but you couldn’t help it, you jumped into his waiting arms, like you’d done so many times before, and squeezed the life out of him.

“Sunshine!” Seb smiled as he lowered you back down.

“Old man!” You said and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not that old”

“You’re retired, and I have work to do!” you said, as you started walking away.

“Doesn’t mean I’m old, means I had a successful career!” he shouted at your retreating figure.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Grandpa!”

Cut to a few hours later in his hotel room.

“Are you sure it’s okay for old people to get blowies?” You mocked as you got down on your knees between Sebastian’s legs “Like, you’re not going to have a heart attack are you?”

“I think.” He gripped your hair, bringing your mouth to his cock.

“You can never say no to a good blowie”.

The end.

I made like 15 puns in this, I hate myself. If you got the Harry styles reference at the beginning, congrats, you're old.

I'm going to hell, but it's been fun guys! I'll see you all there!

Taglist: @babyprofessorsharkpalace

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @doeeyeseddie and @eddiebabygirldiaz for seven sentence Sunday! Since I haven’t been posting much for tag games lately, here’s significantly more sentences than that from bucktommy acquire a child au. Warning for mentions of past child abuse in Tommy’s family.

Tommy stares down at the dotted line, pen hovering, running the name through his head over and over again and feeling kind of stupid for it. There’s no meaningful difference, at this point, between this last signature and any other of the seemingly dozens of pieces of paper they’ve signed tonight. Nothing really counts until Buck hands it over to the lawyer on his way to work tomorrow. He could sign and then tear the thing up, toss it in the trash. Find someone better to take this on. Take his name out of it, at the very least, hand the kid over to Evan entirely.

Evan, sitting next to him close enough that their knees are pressed tougher, bony, under the table. “What are you thinking?”

Tommy sighs and sets the pen down, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Can’t we just use… I don’t know, Diaz? I don’t want to give the poor kid my name.”

Buck laughs, just a little, still mostly serious. “I mean, I’m sure Eddie’d say yes if we asked, but- You gave me your name, why’s it a problem now?”

Tommy slides his fingers between Buck’s, surprised as he always is at how well they fit together. “You’re an adult, you can- handle it, carry it. Kinard children have historically been miserable things.”

Evan tilts his head, probably thinking about what Tommy is thinking about: Tommy, beat by his dad who was beat by his dad who was beat by- etc, etc, going back the entire horrible line of them. He’s imagined it before, some medieval peasant kid somewhere, crying into a hay bale or whatever the fuck it is poor folk slept on back then. Evan’d probably know. Maybe farther back than that. A caveman all the other cavemen side-eyed ‘cause he threw his kid in the path of a sabertooth or something.

“Okay,” is what Evan says. “I could get all pop psychology about, like, breaking cycles or whatever, but actually-” he points down the hall. “When I put him to bed tonight he talked literally right up until he was unconscious about all the stuff we saw at the zoo today, that I was in fact there for. Passed out mid word about how we got ice cream and saw a bird. Just a regular bird, that pigeon that landed on the table next to us. I think he was as excited about that as he was about, like, actual lions.”

Tommy laughs, despite his mood. “He was excited about the pigeon.” Milo had been so fascinated by it his ice cream had mostly melted by the time they could successfully prompt him to eat it.

Buck grins. “That kid- our kid- is happy, Tommy. Another talking point? How you carried him everywhere. He got to be so tall, he said you showed him everything.”

“I always hated being too short to see past crowds of people,” Tommy says quietly. “All those legs, everybody strangers.”

“I think most kids hate that,” Buck nods. He leans in to kiss Tommy’s cheek. “You’re not having second thoughts about this?”

“No,” Tommy says, immediate, breathy like it got punched out of him. “No. More than sure.”

Evan nods again. “He’s happy, and safe, and loved because of you. Sign the paper. It’s just a name, and one that I like very much actually.”

“Just a name,” Tommy raises an eyebrow. “So you would’ve been fine with him becoming a Buckley if we had done this the other way?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Buck says, face twisting up lemon-sour as Tommy laughs.

“You hypocrite.”

“Hey, you should have come up with a new name when you married me,” Buck sticks his tongue out, leaning back in his chair like a pleased cat. “Combined them maybe? We could have been… the Binards?”

Tommy squints at him. “No.”

“The Kuckleys?”

“Evan,” Tommy snorts. “No- that’s terrible.”

Buck grins. “Yeah. We really should have just asked Eddie. All be Diazes, it’d fix everything.”

“Imagine the kid’s family tree project at school,” Tommy says, picking up the pen, signing his name as fast as he can before doubt creeps back in. “We’re gonna have to teach him the words ‘non-conventional family structure’.”

Buck laughs and laughs, leaning into Tommy’s side until he kisses up the sound.

Tagging @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @iinryer @chronicowboy @butchdiaz @homerforsure if ya got anything to share!

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna dress Will Graham up all nice and pretty just to mess him all up again :3

BROOO YOU GOT ME THINKING!! Give me like two sentences and I could go on and on if I'm feeling it. So I offer you my ramblings🤲

Does anyone remember that one Criminal Minds episode where this lady collects human dolls?!?

Well, make that into male reader insert <(´･ω･`<)

CW Sorry, i realized I don't put these often : reader is a serial killer and will is profiling him, reader views people as objects, reader can't tell what's real and will uses that to his advantage, will refers to himself as a 'sex doll', murder (not too descriptive), reader loses his virginity, sex, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior NOT PROOFREAD ENDING IS RUSHED!

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

You watched Will from a distance, become fascinated by Will's beauty. His curly hair, his facial structure, his build, his everything.

He haunted you. You saw him everywhere you went.

Will was different from the rest. A body of pure perfection. The others ones in your collection were unamusing, marred in compaison to him.

Once you've had gotten your hands on him, your collection fell neglected. Left on the shelf to collect dust. Disposed of them when they broke.

Will was your prized doll like one of those vintage Christmas Barbies.

Once you've finally gotten your hands on him you noted he wasn't in perfect condition. It was quite clear under closer eyes, a few nicks and scratches. You'd treat him better than anyone else would. You wanted to keep him from farther damage.

At first, Will was a bit hard to play with. His face model was always in a scowl. Brows knitted in anger.

You thought about redoing his face, scraping off the base and painting a new one. Thoughts about the last time you've done it deterred your decision. Their faces had always came out disfigured, never getting quite right.

His hard shell didn't deter your love for him. You treated him gently, bought things for him, making small conversations at your little tea parties. His anger was met with your kindness.

It took a while till Will's shell chipped away. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a friendly smile. Happiness to see you home from you doll hunting.

Soon he became the best doll you've owned. A pleasure to have company with.

His voice box sounded much different from the others. The other doll yelled crude obscenities. Of course, their angry words didn't last long as taking out their boxes quieted them down.

Will was kinder. He was more willing to carry a conversation. He'd let you play with him without protest. Let you play with him, brush his hair, change his clothes. The others were hard to move, their sticky joints refusing to move.

Of course, the hunt for new dolls didn't stop. Once Will met these new friends, he became cold. Back to the old Will.

Will never liked play to nice. Mean and unpleasant words were barked at the others. They broke quicker than anticipated. You'd find Will covered in red, broken dolls at his feet.

He'd plea that he was special. That you couldn't have any other dolls. He was the only one that's supposed to be in your collection. Red, teary eyes begging to be the only doll in your collection.

You pulled him into close embrace, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your chest. Whispered promises as he cried at your every word.

Your precious Will, beautiful yet so broken. You plege devotion solely to him.

Since than you only cared for Will. Every moment was spent with him.

He seemed to enjoy playtime as well. He'd sit quiet and pretty as you changed him. His hands always posed between his legs. His joints bent seamlessly as he shifted in his sit.

One day while picking his clothes for the day, Will made mention that he had working parts down...there. That they'd the react when played with.

He said he was a 'sex doll', that only he's the only one.

He guided you as you were inexperienced. Spoke you through each step. Your fingers nervously stretching him. Your eyes trained on Will's face, looking for any sort of discomfort.

Fingers still he's face contorts. You weren't sure if it was discomfort or pleasure. You weren't going to risk breaking your precious doll by testing which one.

Your hand begins withdrawaling from between him. Before you could do or say anything farther, Will's hand shoots forward to grasp your wrist.

"Don't fucking stop." Will growls as his grip tightly.

His eyes darken, a glint of something beneath them. Like there was a secret to be shared behind blown out pupils. It seems almost sinister.

Your heart skips a beat and your mouth goes dry and all you could do was give him a small nod. Sex brought out this side of an otherwise gentle Will. One you were not willing to challenge.

Once Will felt like he was fully prepped and ready, he made you withdrawal your soaked fingers. With shaking hands gripping your cock, guiding it to his ready hole. A hiss sounding from Will almost made you stop but you wouldn't dare to do that again.

It felt so fucking good. Stinking in inch by inch. His hole stretching to fit your cock. His insides warm and wet. Pleasure consuming your entire being.

Did all dolls feel like this? Why haven't you tried this before?

Once Will completely bottomed out, he gave you a slight squeeze. You had to hold yourself back, nearly cumming after only just a moment.

Your eyes shut tight as your head falls against Will's chest, trying to focus on breathing. Shaking breaths timed with Will's heartbeat.

A sharp kick to your side, a signal that Will wants you to move. Eyes snap open to look deep into Will's. That look still present, now even darker.

"Take it nice and slow." Will spoke sweetly behind a kind smile. He's gentle once again. Will's changes in mood were slightly off putting.

You began to move at a slow pace, sloppy as you tested the water. Thrusts were shallow and somber. Will's hand grip at your hips and begin guiding your movements.

"Follow my lead." He locked eyes while you felt the need to look away.

His hands push you forward establishing a rythm. Pushing in deep to hit something the made Will gasp and pulling out till your tip was the only thing in him.

You tried focusing on keeping the order as you roll your hips into him but everything felt so good your mind went numb. Will's grunts turned into moans as you kept nailing the spot in him that made him sing.

You push your entire weight onto, trying to reach deeper and deeper. Confidence is now yours when Will clenches around you. The heat is suffocating, sweat pools down your back.

One of his hands leaves your hips, guiding yours onto his weaping cock. Your fingers tightens around it, jerking it in rythm with your thrusts. White drips for his tip on his stomach. He's as close as you.

Your thrusts finally lose pace and your thrusts become shallow once again as you feel like the end is near. Will pulls you in a kiss, swallowing your little sounds, cumming together. White paints your bodies.

You pant as you collapse on top of Will. Your eyes fall heavy as you focus on catching your breath.

"Will you stay with me forever, doll?" You plead once the room had fell silent.

"Till time separates us."

You pull Will close, your head against his neck. In that moment he felt real, almost human. Like his heart beat just as yours. Like flesh and bone.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

y'all I really want to talk about how in character the research portion of the scholarship contest was for Dee and Dr. Devil.

Dee is going to do research on osteosarcoma treatment in patients under the age of thirteen. This is original research for him and based off of a topic area within orthopedics that the show has indicated is important to him because outside of Yak we have only seen him interacting with the spinal cancer patient and advocating for his patient with his supervising physician to try to get his young patient better cancer treatment at a different facility.

Ter on the other hand is planning on doing a literature review of the research the orthopedics department has already done. A LIT REVIEW. You know, the research where you compile and summarize the results of other people's work. All we have seen from Ter time and time again is how his charm has convinced other people to do shit for him over and over and over again. When Dee was in love with him, he was taking care of Ter, giving him free food, etc. etc. and when Dee confessed and Ter rejected him, Dee no longer fell over himself to do things for Ter, and Ter's next course of action was to ask Dee to step down from pursuing the scholarship so that he had no competition and could get what he wanted.

And now we're seeing the same thing happen with Dr. Kwan where she clearly has a crush on Ter, and Ter knows, and he's paying her just enough attention to get her to do things for him too. Like she stopped by Dee and Ter's apartment complex because she made him a fucking sandwich. Ter didn't want Dr. Kwan to know that Dee was the one that invited him to the restaurant, so he lied to her and took the credit, claiming he found the restaurant on the internet, and he has been keeping a watchful eye on Yak and Dee's interactions, trying to get Dee to step down from pursuing the scholarship for a second time. When we see Ter he is in with the nurses or in the break room, I cannot recall seeing him in a single patient interaction. That motherfucker wants everyone to do everything for him, while he sits back.

He's relied on his face for too long and I hate his fucking guts. Especially because he's being a goddamn kiss ass, making his lit review be on research the ortho department at Tanwarin Hospital has done so he can present it at a conference. He's trying to get as much publicity for himself and for the department as he can without having to think up anything novel. Do not get me wrong, literature reviews are important and valuable, but dear God is it the perfect research choice for a man that won't do the work himself.

[theamberfist]

Sink or Swim | Stolas x Reader

Romantic! Stolas x Swim Instructor! Reader

Description: When Stolas signed his baby daughter, Octavia up for swim lessons, he never expected to like her new instructor so much

(Notes:) (gender neutral reader) (reader is a sinner) (reader is baby Octavia's swim teacher)

Words: 1,640

❀ Fun fact: I've taught parent-infant swim lessons IRL so all the exercises shown in this are real ones we use with infants ❀

Stolas frowned as he pushed open the door to the building in front of him; unable to help the slight nervous feeling that bloomed in his chest. He supposed there should have been no cause for concern, considering he was a prince of hell and easily one of the strongest beings in this ring, but it wasn't as if he'd ever done something like this before. 

He readjusted his arms, where Octavia rested on his hip sleepily. On a normal day, she would have been napping at home now, but not for much longer. He'd specifically chosen this time because he knew that, once she woke up, she would be as active as ever. Stolas reminded himself that this was for her sake, not his; he could hold his head up high for her, just as he always did.

When he entered, the imp at the front desk looked up from his work and his eyes widened slightly. "Prince Stolas..." He managed before finally clearing his throat and regaining his composure, "Right, we were expecting you." Though, something told the owl prince they hadn't actually thought he'd make good on his plans and come in. 

"The toddler pool has already been reserved, and your instructor is waiting for you there," the imp went on to explain as he checked their names off on a clipboard, "I'll let them know you've arrived." 

"Thank you." Stolas nodded awkwardly before turning and heading through the locker rooms to the pools. Though he could have simply signed Via up for regular lessons, he'd decided a private one would be better for the sake of them both. He wasn't aware that meant they'd reserve an entire pool for them, however small, but at least this way, he would have fewer paparazzi to deal with. 

Finally, he reached the pool deck, seeing that the whole facility only had a few people in it right now. There was a large lap swimming pool in front of him, as well as a splash pad to his right and the toddler pool to his left. When he looked over, there was already someone sitting on the side with their feet in the water as they waited. They wore a red swimsuit with the word 'lifeguard' printed in white, leading him to believe this was the instructor the imp at the front desk had mentioned. 

He made his way over to the toddler pool as Octavia began stirring in his arms now. It was a good thing he'd already gotten her into her swimsuit, or he would have had a hard time getting her to sit still long enough for it now. 

Upon hearing them come over, you looked up and smiled, setting the clipboard you'd been holding on the side of the pool. 

"Hello!" You called, "Here for the parent-child swim lesson?" Stolas nodded and you stepped out of the barely knee-deep pool to come over to him. To his surprise, you seemed to be a sinner, rather than an imp or hellhound like he'd expected. Your appearance differed from them greatly, and there was an energy about you that told him you had to be a human soul. 

You smiled and introduced yourself. "I'll be teaching our class every week," you explained, "If anything is too difficult or uncomfortable for you two as we get started, please let me know. Private lessons means I have a little more flexibility in what we do." You winked at the last part, and though it made the prince's heart beat quicker, he was fairly certain you just meant it playfully. 

"Anyway, who is this little one?" You asked, turning to the little owlet in his arms, whose big round eyes were staring up at you. 

"This is my daughter, Octavia," Stolas replied, immediately relaxing now that the topic of conversation had changed, "She's about a year old; I hope that's alright!" You waved him off.

"That's perfect," you said, gently reaching out towards the baby, "I've worked with kids much older and much younger than this." Octavia's tiny hand grabbed one of your fingers and you smiled kindly before looking up at her father. "And you're Prince Stolas, right?" He blinked.

"Just Stolas is fine!"

You nodded before removing your hand from the owlet's grip and standing up straighter. "Well, if you're ready, then we can get started." You said, that professional air returning to you, "I was thinking we'd have her in the shallow area to start with and ease her into slightly deeper waters." Stolas nodded, setting his bag down on a pool chair and then following you to the water. 

Now that you'd been properly introduced, Octavia was eager to follow after you, and he held her little hands as she stepped into the shallowest area of the pool. You giggled, encouraging her along the way. 

Once she stood so that the water was up to her knees, you brought out a dive toy and placed it on the pool floor, asking her to reach down and grab it to get her a little closer to the water. Stolas sat by her as she did so with ease, and then you moved the toy slightly deeper. 

He admired how much energy you seemed to have with his owlet, as well as how kind you were to her. Your soft voice and easy patience was a stark contrast to Octavia's mother; that was for sure. The two of you watched her repeatedly pick the dive toy up from increasingly deeper as if she had no care in the world. 

Finally, he broke the quietness between you two as you congratulated Octavia at another job well done. "Do you often teach lessons here?" He asked a little awkwardly, "I haven't seen many human souls in this ring of hell before." You smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I teach almost all the lessons we offer here," you replied, moving Via's dive toy again, "It's the same job I had while I was alive, and I guess it's the only thing I've really found that I'm good at."

Stolas couldn't argue with that. Usually, Octavia was much more timid around water than this. She wouldn't even go in it at all if he wasn't holding her hand the whole time. With you, though, she was so enthusiastic that she hadn't even noticed the lack of touch. It was like he'd brought a different baby to the pool altogether today. 

"I see," he replied with a nod, smiling down at his daughter, who was happily splashing some of the water. "Do you have any children of your own?" You shook your head.

"Nope, I mostly kept to myself while I was alive- and, I guess, while I've been dead, too." You shrugged, "But when I found out how few kids in my neighborhood knew how to swim, I started doing lessons to keep them a little safer." 

Stolas nodded, wondering if it would have been too much to hope that 'keeping to yourself' meant you didn't have a spouse or partner, either. 

"If you're ready, we can move to the deeper water exercises." You changed the subject now and the prince nodded, placing a reluctant Octavia back on his hip and bringing her towards the deeper pool nearby. There, you helped him perform the next exercise, which consisted of him resting the owlet's head on his shoulder and trying to get her to kick her legs as he moved her through the water on her back. She was less enthusiastic about that, but you were quick to think; holding a toy up so her focus would shift. 

That calmed her down a lot, and soon enough she was kicking her legs happily as she giggled at you. "Do you get many attendees to your lessons?" Stolas asked in an attempt to strike up a conversation with you again, "I know those who died and ended up here aren't at as much risk of drowning." You nodded.

"That's why I work here," you smiled, "People in the pride ring aren't really concerned about dying unless it's at the hands of angels. I still think water safety is important, though."

The prince couldn't argue there. After all, that was why he'd signed Octavia up for these lessons. That, and he'd thought it would be nice for the two of them to get out of the house together for an activity. 

"Then I applaud you for your work!" He replied, "I'm sure many hellborn children can be quite difficult to teach." You laughed.

"You have no idea how much hellhounds hate swimming." 

The rest of the lesson went on just like that. With each new exercise, you found yourself getting that much more comfortable talking with Stolas, and vice versa. Octavia was also doing extremely well with everything you threw at her, and at this rate, you knew she'd be confidently swimming around on her own soon enough. 

Finally, the lesson ended and you praised the little owl before dismissing the class and hopping out of the water. Feeling warmer than you had when you began, you grabbed your clipboard to prepare for your next class.

Stolas glanced your way as he carefully dried Octavia off. "Same time next week, then?" He asked with a grin and you nodded.

"I'll be looking forward to it!" He didn't say anything, but inside, he knew he would be too. Just as he was grabbing his bag to leave, you came over and handed him a small piece of paper. The owl prince raised an eyebrow. 

"My number," you explained with a smile, "just in case." He nodded at that, feeling his heart flutter as he placed the paper in his pocket, and then you waved them both off as they left.

It seemed he'd gotten more enjoyment out of these little swim lessons than expected, and he couldn't wait to come back. 

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Lies and Alibis

Have this totally unedited and margarita fueled piece of mafia!au nikolai x chubby!reader. More to follow~

It had been a survival tactic really, latching onto the bear of a man in a slick black suit, the gold chain around his neck glittering under the light of the chandelier. She’d done her best, slinking around in corners with a glass of champagne in her hand, trying to play at being casual at this lavish party she’d been sent to in the russian countryside. 

She had had a hell of a time trying to hunt down a suitable partner to go to the party with her. Someone who spoke english fluently enough meet her in the middle with her piss poor russian. She understood well enough, speaking was the problem, her accent clumsy. The little language app on her phone could only do so much. She should have known better really, should have caked on more makeup, wore a wig, something. But she’d realized her error to late as one too many suspicious eyes followed her about the place, one too many familiar faces watching her just out of the periphery of her vision. 

Better to at least attempt to camouflage herself, shifting her expression to one of vague confusion and worry. She’d spotted him through the crowd, big and bulky, with gorgeous brown eyes and a warm booming laugh. Black hair coiffed back neatly, the strands tickling his neck. He looked polite enough. So she feigned eureka. Slipping through the crowd and sliding her arm in his, praying to every god in existence that he would just be tickled to have a woman on his arm. 

–

Nikolai only stiffened a moment, hand shifting slightly toward his belt before dropping entirely as he took in the soft thing now clinging to his arm. She flashed him a sheepish smile, eyes pleading from under long pretty lashes. She certainly didn't belong here, all luxurious curves highlighted under a soft satin dress. He had his own mission to attend to, but one look at her face had him immediately following along with whatever sidequest this young lady was about to be. 

“Privet,  Zaychonok”  He greets, returning her smile with a warm one of his own, patting her hand against his forearm. Her relief is palpable as she scrubs her fingers against the fabric of his forearm. A subtle thanks as she takes a long swig from her glass.  He snags her another as the waiter passes, easing it into her hand smoothly. 

–

She’s beyond grateful that this russian saint, does all of the talking. He’s honestly a great conversationalist from what she can gather. He glosses over her arrival completely and continues casually, holding a glass of amber liquid in his free hand and keeping her hand tucked snuggly in the crook of his arm. She was supposed to be listening out for some sort of smuggling details, weapons, she was told, all she needed was a destination and that would be good enough. Naturally no such destinations are even mentioned, and when she ponders giving up, feigning a visit to the bathroom and shimmying out the door the large russian snakes an arm around her waist, guiding her along beside him as the group moves along. His palm is warm, and she can feel the rough edge of calluses through the thin satin fabric of her dress. 

Nikolai, she would come to learn, was up to as much good as she was. Of course he would be, she was at a fucking fancy dinner party for the god damn russian underground. Everyone here was either a politician or criminal, as if those things were different. It was both a worry and relief as Nikolai kept a firm hand against her side. As the group navigated toward a table, Nikolai pulled out her chair, sliding it close beside his own and taking her hand, guiding her down into seat like a gentleman before taking his seat beside her, unbuttoning his waist coat before settling. He leaned back,  draping an arm around her shoulders, settling an ankle against his knee as his fingers toyed with the strap of her dress. They looked like a regular couple, and she found herself a bit lost in the fantasy of it. Fake or not it had been some time since a man had held her this way, protective and possessive, with such nonchalance that it didn't feel suffocating. She didnt feel lesser next to this stranger, but cared for, watched over, with the underlying current that the man beside her can and most certainly has killed for less noble causes. 

The thought of it made something in her silly little brain purr and she leans against him, relaxing enough to play along just a bit more. For the bit of course. 

So much into the bit that she doesn't catch the conversation happening in her direction. Only blinks a bit owlishly as Nikolai looks at her with amusement. 

“Da, malyshka?” he asks with a chuckle. 

“Da” she chirps without delay, mustering up enough acting skills to at least repeat the simple affirmative with the correct lilt. 

Nikolai looks proud as he slides his fingers along her shoulder, cupping her neck in large palm, thumb petting along the baby hairs of her neck as he pulls her closer to his side in affectionate embrace. However rather than pull away, she stays there, cheek resting against his shoulder as he continues his petting. She feels warm against the man’s arm, safe and borderline sleepy, no longer concerned with the suspicious eyes that had followed her in the beginning of the night. Brave enough to legitimately excuse herself the the ladies room, she murmurs what she thinks is the correct phrase and he eases his arm away enough for her to wriggle out of the nest of his side. 

She’s washing her hands, listening to the soft music play through the corridor before an eerie silence has her freezing. The music stops, and all that can be heard is very angry sounding russian being barked across the music hall. She moves slowly, peering through the gap in the door to find her very saint throwing hands with far too many men to be a fair fight. Her bear sized knight crumpling to the floor when the butt of a rifle connects with his face.

Another man barks orders, pointing his finger across the hall. 

Nikolai was the first. And she was certainly next.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i've been having a couple of downer days recently, and i kept looking for a verse i haven't read thrice yet for some comfort, but you're age! gap verse has been a pleasant escape even though its not what i was looking for. you're writing never fails to make me feel better ari 💕💕

Here's how they met 💜

Bruce sighed. He was starting to hate talk show appearances, but at least this one had never been too bad. Angelique was chatty and fun but not grating. Her show ran as school let out. So grannies watched after their naps and kids watched getting off the bus. She ran a little something for everyone.

He assumed he was here for the grannies.

"I'm so sorry I'm late the shoot ran over and I couldn't get away."

The voice caught his attention. Not the fake starlet over dramatic gushing, but genuine distress. And he half turned to look. You looked like you came from a shoot. Straight off the pages of a glossy magazine.

"No worries, Miss Y/L/N we got your call in enough time. We'll just touch up your face and you'll be good to go," the manager greeting you, said.

Bruce smiled a little. Clearly, you were a frequent guest. You thanked him profusely and trotted off. Not needing to be told where to go. And as you go, there's several crew members you can greet by name. You've either been here a lot or worked with them before. Or both. But, it's endearing.

He turned back around listening to Angelique get her updates on where production was. "-And Y/N is in hair and makeup as we speak."

"Oh, bless her heart," Angelique said. "That's what I get calling her last minute." She turned to Bruce and held out her hand, "Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he chuckled taking her hand, "You know these sorts of things aren't my forte. My oldest on the other hand-"

"Don't you worry about a thing," Angelique reassured him, patting the hand she was holding before letting it go. "Y/N is an old pro- Ah! speak of the devil!" She swooped over and kissed you on either cheek. "You look absolutely divine, is that one of yours?"

"You know it is," you tell her laughing, returning the gesture. "As if I could walk in and NOT wear my own design, you'd never let me live it down."

"So true. Darling," she said grabbing your hand and pulling you over to Bruce, "I want you to meet Bruce. You'll be on stage together today. You know it's charity week and I though it would be great to highlight all the work you do for school arts programs along side the Wayne foundation," she said.

"Hello," you tell him, holding out your hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, taking the hand you offered warmly. Giving you his most charming smile. You did look good. And he could tell they hadn't done much to your face or your hair. "I'm a big fan of your work," he commented.

Your smile didn't falter but your eyes narrowed slightly. And Bruce cringed internally Shit. She thinks I mean the Playboy spread, he thought. "Your last movie, the drama, especially. The range of emotion and the depth- It really was incredible."

"Thank you," you tell him. "It was challenging but I really enjoyed it."

Bruce felt his face heat when Angelique coughed and he remembered hearing that you had the ability to make someone feel like they were the only person in the room. He'd forgotten for just a second. In just that brief moment that he was waiting for an appearance. "It showed I uh- my kids made fun of me when I cried at the end-"

"Aww, Angelique gushed, "This is amazing. you guys keep up this chemistry. It'll go totally viral." She bounced on the balls of her feet and kissed your cheek again, "I'll have someone bring you a coffee, sweetie. You're going to start wilting soon."

And before you could say anything or Bruce could offer to go and get it for you himself, Angelique had bustled off to find and assistant to give marching orders to.

[muddy-water-1997]

𝖠𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌

𝖳𝖶: 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗇, 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖲𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗆𝗂𝗇

𝖠/𝖭: 𝖧𝗂 𝗁𝗂 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈, 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖢𝖱𝖠𝖹𝖸. 𝖨 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇! 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍.

Chapter 21- It Takes Two To Tango

It felt domestic. You woke up with your body nestled against Chris’s, his gentle snores a soothing melody. The beautiful Seoul sunshine streamed through the window, casting a warm, soft glow over your bed. Last night was a whirlwind of passion, heartfelt confessions, and arguments. You weren't sure where things stood with Seungmin or the rest of the boys, but right now, snuggled up with Chris, none of that seemed to matter.

You wanted to wake up and surprise him with breakfast or coffee, something sweet and thoughtful to show that everything was forgiven from last night. But you couldn't bring yourself to leave his side. This moment was too precious, too perfect to break. You took a moment to admire his features—his strong jawline, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his eyelids twitched softly from his dreams. It all felt too perfect as if the world might jolt you awake from this beautiful dream at any moment. Summoning your energy, you carefully pulled yourself away from him and tiptoed to the kitchen.

With a quiet hum, you put the kettle on and prepared two cups of coffee. You rummaged through the bags of food, hoping to find something that could pass for breakfast. Eggs, vegetables, milk… an omelette could work. The only problem was that your culinary skills were practically nonexistent. With work keeping you busy, your meals usually come from a box with clear instructions. If you ever enjoyed a home-cooked meal, it was because your best friend had come over and insisted on cooking for you amidst piles of paperwork.

Deciding to give it a go, you grabbed a bowl and some spices. How hard could fry a giant flat egg with some vegetables be to fry? As it turned out, very hard. The omelette didn't quite cooperate, becoming a scrambled mess with bits of vegetables awkwardly mixed in. Were the eggs supposed to turn that black? Shit. You forgot to oil the pan; the smell of burnt eggs and fresh coffee filled the space. 

“Cooking isn’t one of your strongest qualities,” Chan's voice came from behind you as you quickly tried to dispose of the burnt mess. “Let me help.” He chucked, walking over to the stove before cracking a few eggs into the pan. He looked so perfect, even in the morning: bedhead, tired eyes, and that beautiful smile that made your heart swell. 

“I managed the coffee!” you announced proudly, presenting one of the mugs to Chris with a smile. He accepted it graciously, clearly excited to caffeinate his body. The energy wasn’t the same as last night—awkward chuckles and silences filled the space between you. You both knew that, eventually, you’d have to talk about last night's confessions and Seungmin's outburst. But you didn’t want to disrupt Chris while he was cooking, so you perched yourself on the kitchen island, watching as he skillfully tossed vegetables into the pan. It already smelled much better than your attempt.

Sipping your coffee slowly, you embraced the awkward silence a little longer.

“Done,” Chris said, turning to you a few moments later with a smile as he presented the plate. His face mirrored the nervousness you felt inside.

“We should—” you both started simultaneously, then laughed.

“You first,” Chris encouraged.

“I think we should talk about last night…” you said softly, even though it was just you in the apartment. Chris nodded, walking over to the island where you were sitting.

“Did I come on too strong? I’m sorry, I just couldn’t hold it back anymore…” He started, rambling to mask his nervousness.

“No, no. God, no, that’s not what I was going to say at all!” you cut him off, taking his hand and pulling him closer. “I was going to say that it was nice, having you here with me. I was worried that you were going to take back what you said. You know, heat of the moment and all that?” You muttered, playing with his hand in your own.

“Take it back?” he questioned, his face confused as he gently lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “I would never. Why would you even think that?” he asked, his confusion unwavering.

“Well…” you cleared your throat. “You’re you, and I’m… me?” you said, looking at him with a knowing glance, hoping he’d understand. International superstar Bangchan and you, from a little western city, who had gotten swept up in all this drama.

“You’re so much more than you know,” he muttered before pressing his lips to yours. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer to the counter. The passionate kiss sent goosebumps across your skin, and warmth spreading through your chest. Just as quickly as it started, he pulled away. “Eat your breakfast. We have comeback preparations today, so I need to get ready to head to the studio.”

You nodded, stealing one more kiss before he walked away. You turned your attention to the omelette, which tasted beautiful despite its humble appearance. You couldn't help but smile as you demolished the breakfast Chris had made.

At that moment, everything felt perfect—an ordinary yet extraordinary morning with the person who made your heart race and your soul feel at home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stray Kids POV:

‘I’m going to make you regret this.’ 

The text replayed in Chris’s mind all morning. He knew he couldn’t tell you; it would only worry you and make you pull away from him. Your confession of feeling like you weren’t enough for him that morning had nearly shattered his heart. Of course, the message came from Seungmin. He hadn’t texted Chris all night, which was both a blessing and a curse. Either he would show up to practice today, or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, it would be unfair to the rest of the group, especially with the comeback so close.

As he walked, Chris tried to push the thoughts aside and remembered your face as you slept, your soft snores, the way your lips felt this morning. The smile you gave when you saw him. He would go to war for that smile. As long as he was around, there wouldn’t be any more hurt coming your way—not if he could help it.

With that resolve, he entered the studio with a determined smile. All seven other members were already gathered on the floor, awaiting his arrival. The moment Chris stepped in, Seungmin’s eyes met his. The unspoken anger between them immediately heightened the tension in the room.

Chris felt his muscles tense, every fibre of his being ready for a confrontation. He couldn’t afford distractions, not now. He wouldn’t let Seungmin’s bitterness ruin their hard work in this comeback. And more importantly, he wouldn’t let it affect you.

He squared his shoulders, the leader mask slipping into place. “Alright, let’s get to work,” he said, his voice steady but edged with the simmering conflict. Seungmin’s glare intensified, but Chris didn’t back down. He couldn’t. For you, for the group, for the comeback—they had to keep moving forward, no matter what.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hyung,” Felix called over to Chris. “I don’t get this move. Can you just run through it again?” He attempted the movement; his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re so close!” Chris encouraged, stepping forward to help Felix adjust his posture. “Just move your arm a bit more rigid, yeah, like that. The rest should flow around it.” He demonstrated, and Felix repeated the move perfectly.

“Careful, Felix. He might be showing you wrong to steal the limelight for himself,” Seungmin called out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The rest of the room rolled their eyes at his comment. Chris struggled to keep his composure. Focusing was becoming increasingly difficult when Seungmin kept making sly remarks and deliberately messing up practice.

“Have you got something to say, Seungmin?” Chris snapped, his patience worn thin by the hours of dancing and Seungmin’s constant needling. “You know she heard you, right? Calling her a quick fuck? It destroyed her. It took me an hour at her door just to convince her to let me in to talk. She was about to leave the country and go home!” His voice rose, and the rest of the group stopped, stunned by his outburst.

“She can’t leave,” Hyunjin muttered, his eyes wide with concern.

“The media would eat her alive,” Minho concurred, shaking his head.

Chris’s fists clenched at his sides, the frustration boiling over. “This isn’t just about us, Seungmin. This is about the group, the comeback, everything we’ve worked for. And it’s about her. She’s more than some stupid fling, and if you can’t see that, maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

Seungmin’s face contorted with anger, but he didn’t respond immediately. The tension in the room was palpable, every member holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Chris took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “We need to be better than this. For ourselves, for our fans, and for her. If you can’t handle that, then step aside.”

“Be better for her?” He asked, a dark smile curving on his face. “Sure, Hyung. I can do that. I can make her the happiest woman alive, if that’s what you really want…” He pressed Chris further, looking for an ounce of a reaction.

“Touch a hair on her body and I’ll make sure it’s your last move.” Chris hissed through gritted teeth.

“Would you look at the time,” Seungmin said, looking at his imaginary watch. “Looks like I’ve plans to make.” He said, walking out of the studio, the door slamming behind him. 

“It’s not worth it, Chris.” Changbin said, emotionally holding him back, with Han on the other side echoing his statement. 

“She likes me.” Chris admitted to the rest of the group. “I slept at hers last night. I can’t lose her before I’ve even had her.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N POV: 

Chris would be back any moment. You felt like a giggly schoolgirl waiting for her crush at the playground. He promised he’d be back after practice, and you’d watch some crappy TV together, definitely ordering food to avoid a repeat of this morning’s breakfast disaster. He had also made it clear that he wanted to take things slow with you, to wine and dine you, properly date you, and confess his feelings just like in the K-Dramas. He wanted to ask you to be his girlfriend, and most importantly, he didn’t want to rush into sex again. He wanted to show you how much he truly cared. It was sweet.

That didn’t stop you from putting on the sexiest underwear you could find beneath your pyjamas. A surprise if things did move in that direction, you guessed. Lost in your thoughts, the doorbell rang. He’s back already? That was quicker than you expected.

“Y/N, hi.” You opened the door and were greeted by Seungmin holding a dozen roses.

“Oh, um, Seungmin… hi,” you stammered, your voice timid as you stepped aside to let him in. “Chris isn’t here… weren’t you at practice?”

“I know he’s not here,” Seungmin said, a hint of mischief in his voice as he handed you the roses.

“I’m here for you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of confusion and apprehension washing over you. “Why are you here?” you asked, clutching the roses, their sweet scent a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

“I wanted to talk to you, without Chris around,” Seungmin said, stepping closer.

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾? 𝖳𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾! 𝖬𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌! 

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖣𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖣𝖬!

𝖳𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌

@fr34k4c1dr41n @rylea08 @stellasays45 @darthmaddie25 @whatsk-poppinhomies @minnieprincess85 @purp13st4r @livixcore @hyun-hwanj @0325tiny @privhace @goldilovesharry @jisunglyricist @gloriajovicc @mimililylupinblack @laney1488

Red means I couldn’t tag you 😭

[miller-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

PART TWO: GUNSLINGER

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni (this work is not necessarily 18+, but my blog as a whole is)

Summary: The famous 'kid' settles into the camp, but slight problems arise when Dutch learns his new gunslinger hasn't ever fired a rifle. Arthur Morgan, the loyal enforcer, is all too happy to oblige is lending his help... for a price. (Reader is based on Texas Red from the Song 'Big Iron')

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader by everyone accept Arthur), use of guns, reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 3.5k (pathetic, i know)

Hey howdy hey, welcome back for part two of this fluffy little cowboy story that is going to become such a hellscape later on. Just sit back and relax while it lasts and enjoy it... bc it's gonna be so crazy y'all

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.” “But Dutch said that-” “I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.” You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

You haven’t seen much of the nature of Agua Fria, but you’re glad you’re able to, now. You’d town hopped a few times within the city, letting new faces get a look at yours. But there was a sort of pressure in those crowded areas, and it doesn’t feel like that in the Van Der Linde campsite. 

The gang has taken well to you. It’s been a fortnight since you joined up, the ragtag gang of outlaws, thieves, and gunslingers had been welcoming, given your display on just the day after your arrival.

Dutch has yet to send you on any jobs, mainly because of something you revealed to everyone around the campfire a week ago. 

“How does one shoot a rifle?” you pondered curiously, the silence of the group making you anxious.

“Boy, you better be pulling my leg,” Dutch himself butted in, shaking his head in disbelief. A cigarette hung from his lips, but he pulled it away to stare you down. 

“Well, I just…” haven’t ever shot one before. You’d trailed off before any further mockery could be made, but it was too late.

“You mean to tell me, that in eighteen years of life, you never managed to fire a rifle?” Arthur chimed in, though he was in on your secret, this revelation still surprised him. What else were you hiding?

“If y’all are just gonna mock me, I’m turnin’ in.”

Dutch laughed, and everyone else in the circle made an attempt to undo the harm done. 

“Javier ain’t even played a damn note, and you’re gonna sleep?” John cut in, his gravelly voice full of resentment to your attitude. Maybe you were a bit touchy, but it’s not like you’d ever had close friends to joke around with before. Much less people who got away with poking so much fun to your name.

“Who cares if he can’t shoot a rifle? He’s got a faster shot than all of you with a pistol,” Tilly piped up, her sweet voice just about putting all the other men in their place. She looked at you with contrition. “I’m not very good with those big guns, either.” 

“Thank you, Miss Tilly,” you tipped your hat, sitting back down on the log next to her. 

Arthur chuckled under his breath watching the interaction, going back to the drink in his hand with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t say anything, he promised he wouldn’t… but some of these occurrences were just too amusing, he couldn’t help his genuine reactions. The slanted jokes about male anatomy towards you, usually coming from John, Sean, or even the calendar boys. The way that you nearly had a heart attack when Miss Grimshaw offered to help you out of your clothes to wash them. Even now, the sweet words from Tilly and the funny way you looked at your feet to avoid meeting her eyes. 

That was another thing… You couldn’t bear to break the young girl’s heart, although she would have to find out eventually that you were not in fact the man she thought you were. 

He’d been surprised, if he’s honest. He thought that with all her romantic notions and storybook thoughts that Mary-Beth would be the one to fancy a new gunslinger… but maybe you just weren’t her type. Perhaps it was the red hair that deterred her, he knows for sure that was the case when Sean tried his luck. Good thing Karen was there to catch his fall... But sweet Tilly had no idea what she was in for.

He’d teased you about it over the next week, and finally today, when it was time to show you the ropes of a rifle. Dutch insisted that running with them required knowledge of more than pistols and revolvers, and who better to teach than the enforcer himself?

“Like this?” you asked, trying to place the gun correctly. 

“Yeah sure, if you wanna blow your arm out of socket.” His low chuckle, followed by a drag of smoke was not helpful, and neither were his words, but your position was just too funny.

“I believe this is where you’re s’posed to be helpin’ me,” you replied, a fiery bite in your words. You’d been learning to warm up to people’s teasing, although it was still a long road to go. 

He stood to his feet from where he lounged by a tree, coming up beside you to kick your foot out a little. “Can’t stand like a tree, kid… you’ll tip over in the wind.”

"I ain't a kid," you mumbled, trying not to let him hear your annoyance to something so trivial... you just couldn't help it. People called you kid when they were trying to rile you up, trying to get you to shoot at them. It hadn't ever been used as an endearment before.

"How old are you, anyway?" He asked with a laugh, getting closer to you while he reached to adjust the gun.

"Twenty-Two..."

He let out a small 'huh' before focusing back to the task at hand. He realizes he's only eight years your senior, not twelve. He pulled the butt of the gun into your shoulder, making sure you wouldn’t give out when the gun fired. 

“Alright, the shootin’ part should be easy for you. Just hold strong, that thing’s gonna kick back a hell of a lot more than any handgun.” 

You pulled back the bolt, raising the barrel until you could aim properly. The glass bottle on the tree branch down the way looked like an easy enough target, but when you fired, you weren’t ready for how much pressure the gun would push on you, and you stumbled back into Arthur. 

“Mind your step, will ya?” he teased yet again, and it took everything in you to just ready your stance and try again without saying a word. 

You took a deep breath, pulling back on the bolt once more. You had a good idea as to how much you needed to push back this time. Finding the bottle again, you pulled the trigger, closing your eyes at the explosion and faintly hearing the sound of broken glass in the distance. 

“I did alright,” you turned to Arthur, a narrow gaze in his eyes as he looked from you then back to the tree. It was quite a distance away, and he was surprised you’d hit so accurately already. Then again, you were kind of known for your accuracy… but you’d never fired a rifle.

“Yeah, more than alright,” he reasoned, taking the gun from you and turning to take a shot for himself. “Now ya just gotta work on speed. This ain’t nothing you can keep on your hip.”

He fired one round after another, each bullet hitting the same branch on a tree until it fell from the trunk completely. Wow. 

He smirked over his shoulder, and your face probably gave him an even better reason to be smug. You were clearly in awe of almost everything this man did. Taking care of his horse? In awe. Carrying supplies from the wagon into camp without having to make several trips? In awe. Even now, his accuracy and reaction time. He was so skilled, and you wondered if you’d ever match him. 

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.”

“But Dutch said that-”

“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?” 

Honestly, you didn’t have a clue. Everything you did to get faster, you’re sure he’s already done, and a million times over. 

“Nerves, mostly. My hands start shakin’ whenever I get a challenger, they start itching to shoot real bad… guess that’s why.”

He nodded, but was unsatisfied. Your answer was vague and unconvincing.

“What’d you do to learn? You obviously ain’t shot another gun but this one here, tell me how it came along,” he raised the pistol in the air, his skillful hands spinning it over a finger with ease. 

“I guess s’a long story.”

“And since you learned your way around a rifle so well, we got nothin’ but time.”

You sighed, stepping into the shade of the tree closest to you. You leaned into it, crossing your arms and watching as he continued to handle your closest ally in his steady hands. 

How do you even start this story? How does it even get told? You’d never uttered a word about your past to a single person since it all unraveled. You weren’t sure he’d stick around to hear it all, or maybe if he did, he would think you to be foolish. 

But this Arthur Morgan, with his tough exterior and gruff voice had a soft spot. He was gentle when need be, kinder than most. You suppose he derives it from Hosea, given that the man practically raised him into manhood. 

“You know, I used to be a little rich girl,” you chuckled, watching for his reaction. It was surprising to him, but he waited, almost as if thinking you’d retract it as a joke. “Yeah… lived on a big orange grove in South Carolina.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he let out when he realized you weren’t messing around. 

“Had a rich daddy and a rich mama. My entire lineage has gotta be worth a couple million at least.”

“Then why on earth are you here? You’d have to be crazy to leave that behind,” he gripped your pistol tightly now, his entire stance leaning on his left leg as he narrowly watched you lounging against the tree. 

“Oh, I had a good reason,” you scoffed with wide eyes. 

“Good enough to leave behind a family fortune?” 

He’s a man. Every man you’ve ever met is the same. They pay no mind to you anymore because you look like one of them now. But before? It was practically a brawl at every public event you attended. You hope that Arthur does not prove to be like the rest. You’ve already been so sure that he stands out, it'll break your heart if you were wrong.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I used to be quite the stunner. I attracted quite a few suitors.”

He nodded, looking you up and down in one glance before coughing a bit and averting his eyes. You hid yourself well, but if he tried hard enough, he could imagine how you would look in more feminine apparel. He liked what he was imagining. 

“I don’t doubt it…”

“Well, my dad was in control of who would have my hand, and as you can imagine I wasn’t fond of that fact… He picked one of his old pals from Virginia, another big farmer like himself, wealthy beyond belief and probably thirty five years my senior.”

Arthur was still, blinking a few times. He doesn’t understand. Yes, you would have had to marry someone you were not interested in… but the situation seemed ideal otherwise. 

“You would have been well taken care of, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh sure,” you nodded, but there was a smirk on your lips. “I would have been just dandy until he found a reason to kill me like he did his first two wives. My father never believed the accusations, of course, and the evidence had been conveniently destroyed… but I knew better.”

He let out a low whistle, finally looking back to your gun and wondering if its origins were about to come to light. Yeah, he thought. That’s a pretty damn good reason.

“So you ran off?” 

You gave a small nod, remembering the last time you ever saw your home and family.

“When I was eighteen I was shipped off to Virginia with a caravan, but before I could be delivered to old Thomas Arlington’s doorstep, I hid overnight in a stable. I stole a horse and headed west a bit.”

“How far west?” 

“West Virginia,” you chuckled. “I got to lurk around there a while, I started dressing all boyish and helped a travelin’ musician with his shows. After he settled down I found that very gun on the ground of a saloon. No one ever claimed her, so I polished her up and started practicing draws. I got pretty good, made bets on shootin’ games to get by.”

“You just… picked her up and started shootin’?”

“It sounds real dull when you put it that way,” you laughed, holding your hand out to take the gun back. You’re not an expert with this thing, can’t even spin it half as well or efficiently as he does… but you might be the best in the world at drawing it from your holster. “I’d never shot anyone before, until one man got real upset that he lost a shooting game to me. It was my first duel… and I won. All because of a game. It was that can game we played after I got here.”

“I figured as much. I ain’t never believed anyone could shoot faster than me until I saw you that day. Paid close attention to those bullet holes.”

He was being far too kind. It’s not like you were anything like him. He had it all. Strength, skill, wits, and as you learned with every glance, the looks to kill.

“I ain’t any good besides the one shot I know how to take.” Your confession meant more to him than you realized.

Yeah, he thought. You can draw, but before today you’d never shot a rifle. You’d never used a knife. Likely never robbed a bank or a stage coach or anything of that sort. Aside from duels, you’re clean cut and inexperienced… your nickname holds far more weight than he’s sure you can actually hold. Ruthless killer? More like a hustler with a bit of blood dusting your fingers. You haven’t made any ground compared to him, yet you’re the one they know far and wide. 

“Let’s make a deal,” he started, his steps carrying him quite close to your form, nearly hovering over you. “I’m gonna make you one of us. Teach you everything you need to know. Fightin’, stealin’, sneakin’ round… all of it. And in return, you’re gonna teach me how to shoot faster than you.”

He knows it’s built on a prideful notion, but he reckons you don’t care, because he’s offering you far more than you can give him. Obviously you agree, because even if you try to teach him, you are almost positive that you don’t even know the secret to your speed.

“Alright, cowboy… I’ll shake on it.”

And you do, squeezing his hand tightly.

-

You find yourself settling into the camp a lot easier than the weeks before. The names of the people here just roll off your tongue... whenever you see them, a greeting is spoken. You’ve also been able to sleep soundly in your tent despite the fears of the animal sounds out in the distance. You’ve come to realize that you aren’t alone in the wilderness, and you have a sort of family to keep you safe, now. 

Arthur continues to show you the ropes, giving you tricks and quick witted thoughts for situations you would never have thought to put yourself in. They all are illegal situations, of course, but you listen intently, and learn each step with an absorbent state of mind. 

Even if he doesn’t outwardly show it, you think Dutch is happy about your progress, given that you are not only an asset to future jobs, but also because you seem to blend well with everyone. He definitely views his gang as a family of fugitives, and now that you’re one of them, he’s become warm with you, even calls you ‘son.’ 

There is one member of camp that to date, you haven’t gotten into conversation with. Hosea Matthews. The man seemed to be the fatherly type, and nearly everyone in the gang had a sort of paternal view of him in some way. You reckon Arthur has taken the man to be closer to him than actual blood. The great Mr. Morgan doesn’t often share details of his past, but you’ve heard here and there about the rascal that was his father, dead and gone when Arthur was a kid, but not soon enough. 

It was a Tuesday morning, after a round of stale coffee when he first sat down beside you for a friendly chat. You couldn't have possibly known the contents of the topics he had in mind, but you were about to be bombarded with them in the most gentle way you reckon a man can speak. 

“Mister Gunslinger,” he began, a gentle clap on your shoulder to garner your attention. “I’ve heard you’re getting to be the best man at camp.”

His friendly chuckle eased your nerves, but you brushed off his words anyway. 

“Not sure ‘bout that. Just learnin’ the ropes,” you nodded along to your own words, hoping they caught well with him. 

“Arthur told me you picked up a rifle for the first time a few days ago and blew him out of the water,” he mentioned, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted his compliment to land. 

“He’s bein’ far kinder than I deserve,'' you scoffed, shaking your head this time. “Nearly took my shoulder out of socket on the first shot.”

“But you broke a bottle on the second,” he returned, likely quoting your dear mentor’s own words. “How did you learn to shoot that pistol of yours, anyhow?”  

Hosea knew everyone’s stories. He was the father of the camp, albeit not the leader. He knew everything about everyone, and he took care of them. You took one look at him and decided you could trust him from day one… but that didn’t mean he should know everything.

“Well, I found this gun a while ago, just started shootin’ it till I hit somethin’.”

He leaned forward in his seat, another chuckle rolling off his tongue, but the question went unanswered in the way he’d hoped for. He took a breath, turning to face you a bit more… He decided to be straight with you. 

“I’m sure you’ve probably got things in your past you’re not too proud of. I’ve heard the name ‘Texas Red’ in quite a few towns now. I guess I’m just curious about what you did before the gunslinging days.”

“Oh…” you trailed, completely unsure if elaborating on your past, even without context, could force you to accidentally spill something you didn’t intend to. So you took the safe route. “Not much to tell. Ran away from home, stole a horse and headed west. Found this gun in an old saloon and the rest is history.”

He saw through the act, but didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to feel like you needed to hide things, but similarly, he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk. This camp was a safe place. As long as you kept to the rules and helped out, you didn’t need to do anything else. You could just live freely and have your being. 

“Listen, son… I know it’s probably hard to open up about things you’ve gone and left in the past. Every person here has a story, somewhere they came from or something they did. If you ever want to talk about yours, I’m always chipper for good conversation.”

You looked into his eyes, and they were full of contrition, full of compassion. You guessed there wasn’t a bad bone in this man’s body. 

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded once before standing up and heading down to the river bank, likely to fish. 

You wonder if he has suspicion of you, or if he knows more already than he’s leading onto. But then you think, no. He’s just a kind older man that actually gives a damn about the younger folks here. He didn’t seem to have any biological sons or daughters, but this camp was full of family he could call his own.

You were starting to call them family, too.

-

(tags are open)

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

﴾ i drink your blood and i eat your skin, part eight.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

genre: vampire au

word count: 12,4k

warnings: blood, only a mention of an animal but not described in any way!

author’s note: im so sorry for not writing again sooner, I still have some exams before me to do. though i can’t wait for my summer break, because I will finally have the time to write again and you can look forward to some other stories of mine that are almost rotting in the drafts. and btw thank you again for the amazing support <3

masterlist

playlist

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If only the things you done in the past could be erased the moment you realized you were in the wrong. You wished that after realizing your mistake, it all could be left behind. Why are you so stupid sometimes? Why did you speak before thinking first? Maybe you do deserve the pain he inflicted on you. You were asking for it but you only wanted to know the truth, you didn’t expect that it would somehow affect him so much. It was like he also learned the truth that night. Your head perhaps is just a hole filled with insecurities which you just can’t overcome because you simply won’t expect the fact that someone might actually like you. Like you, to get to know you better, see and hear about your biggest fears and dreams, helping you get pass them, overcome them and accomplish them. It feels like forever since you thought about your feelings this much. You were so used to blocking them away.

You want so badly to just let go and enjoy all of this but you have been alone for so long that you don’t even know if you want to be loved anymore. It is such a crazy idea to you, a reality now…maybe. You dream about being loved that is all you do and maybe it is the only right thing for you. You are a lover girl, not a loved girl…that’s how it is supposed to be in your head. Are you sabotaging yourself?

A man such as himself falling in love with you? Tall, handsome, so charming and yet so dark and broken, wanting only you to be his forever. You want so badly to do the same but it is all just so scary. For quite some time your world started to become dull, everyday was the same. You realized, you were always alone after all and suddenly someone came in to your life, wanting to change that? What if this is the same for him? He has seen the world grow, the circle of life, people dying and being born again. It must be so lonely for him in some way, no one stick around long enough. Like he said — if you were like him, maybe you would understand but you don’t want to say that you somehow do understand…feel something. How could you not really? Even after what happened, because of that you want to get to know him better even more. And you’re so crazy in the head that you almost liked how he touched you…

You are awake now, still however feeling yourself slip into unconsciousness every once in a while. Your body is dripping in sweat, nightgown clinging on to your skin. Though you don’t remember any dream that could possibly make your body react in that way and it is always so cold in your room. A sigh leaves you as you roll onto your back. You hate how much you enjoy the silk sheets pooling over you, caressing you. The blissful state of almost falling asleep again is abruptly interrupt as something drip down on to your skin. You wipe it off but as you do, it only happenes again.

As your hand wiped off the substance which you thought was your sweat, your coated fingers graze your nose. The awful coppery smell hits you instantly, making your face scrunch up in confusion laced with panic. As you open your eyes, they fall onto your hand. You breathe out in shock at the crimson blood as another bead drips into your open palm, making your eyes tilt up to the direction it came from.

…You have never seen such a horrifying sight. Your mind is completely wiped out of any thoughts because you couldn’t simply make out what you are seeing right now. However this gruesome picture stares right at you, almost like presented in a way, so it gives the most gut wrenching feeling out of you. Your whole body stiffened but soon began shaking wildly in panic and fright and every passing second you look at it more, it becomes more real to you. The red color covers your field of vision, you couldn’t see nothing more than that. The once beautiful eyes of the animal are now dull, life completely vanished and you could see the pain in them. The once vibrant white color of its skin now painted red, dripping down on your bed. Your breathing becomes heavy but you couldn’t get any air into your lungs, every intake punches you into your chest and soon your lips open to release a blood curdling scream.

Eyes blocked with your hot tears, made you fall onto the ground as you so desperately try to scramble away as far as your stiff muscles would allow you to. You feel like throwing up, swallowing your spit and trying to fight the awful feeling in your stomach. Your hands curl up to your chest as you sat on the floor, you could feel how much your heart was pounding. You must be dreaming…yes, you must be. This is just another nightmare. Just a nightmare. This is not real. This is not real. This is not real—

You jump harshly as the door to your bedroom swings open, so fast that it flew onto the wall heavily and with such a force that the door almost fell off its hinges. Your hands fly to your ears at the loud sound, still not being able to catch your breath as every intake burned inside your chest. Your bloodshot eyes fall to your nightgown, seeing how much it is stained with that godawful substance and you wish for the floor to swallow you whole.

Your cries are so loud that you don’t even hear someone rushing in to your room, accompanied with another pairs of footsteps. The first person to come in to the room, immediately rushes to your trembling figure, momentarily stopping to look at the sight that now is permanently imprinted in your mind. You feel cold hands touching yours, flinching instantly away from them. You already know who it is, you don’t know how but you just do. Maybe because you feel such a weird sense of calmness wash over you but you are in such a state of shock that you couldn’t do anything other than jump away from the touch.

Hyunjin thought that by being one of the most powerful creatures on earth meant that there was simply nothing to be afraid of…till now — when he heard that sound. Till he heard that horrible sound of your scream…the way it sounded — so in pain, so scared, he immediately felt it too. He didn’t think twice, rushing to your room, so blinded by his own fear that he didn’t even see his family being right behind him, following him. When his eyes fell onto your curled up body, shaking like a leaf, he almost fell down on his own knees in despair. However the well known smell, made him for a second stumble upon the cause of all of this. His heart broke at the sight and also for you. He tried to calm you down but how? You don’t even want to look at him, scared that you will catch a glimpse of it again.

“No—no, I can’t, I can’t–“ Comes out of your lips as soon as his hands leave you. Your shaking hands press onto your eyes, slowly falling down to your knees, crunching up the fabric of your nightgown tightly but you could still see the blood.

Hyunjin glances back for a second at the bed, catching eyes with his equally horrified best friend who stood next to your bed before he also looks down at your body. Only by touching your hands, his own were completely covered in it and for the first time in a while he feels repulsed by the crimson. It gives you pain then why should it give him pleasure?

Your eyes flicker back to the canopy, only feeling more shocked and disgusted at the sight, you just have to be sure you’re not imagining all of this. This is so sick, who did this…why?

Hyunjin looks down again at his hands coated in blood and for a minute he wonders if any of it is yours but he would already know if yes because your blood simply smells different from any other. You aren’t injured physically but this imagine is grater and even more painful than any other. Someone must have done this with a purpose…hurt you. His eyes flash with anger, his priority was only you at this moment, every day, every night. Revenge can wait.

“Search the grounds.” Says Chan. Hyunjin didn’t acknowledge his presence at all till now and looking at him he realized, he wasn’t the only one in great anger. “Even the woods.” He adds, the men who followed their master in to your room nod before scrambling away.

A sob broke the silence, making Hyunjin look back at you. “It’s okay, love-“ He shushes you softly, putting his arms around your body, caging you but still not touching you, only hovering because you didn’t give him your permission.

Your cries die down a little, still hiccuping slightly as the panic slowly goes away. Shaking your head at his words, your eyes close as you tilt your head up. You go to take a breath through your nose but it is only clogged up because of your crying, making you breathe in with your lips. Your eyes open, finally looking at him. Your puffy and red eyes meet his azure and piercing ones. In a sense they calmed you a little as you thought of the ocean every time you would look into them.

Hyunjin’s heart broke even more at your gaze. He could see the pain, panic, sadness while also laced with sleepiness at the corners. How could someone do this to you…

His arms fall a little to his sides and you finally seem to register how close he is to you but you don’t pull away. You are safe now. “Let me help you clean up.”

You don’t give him a response and like he could read your mind, he knew that you weren’t against it. You don’t even know if you can stand up on your own. Your hands press onto the floor, trying to stand up on your shaking legs and before you could stumble even a little, he is already there. Like every time since the night you two met. His hands flew to grip your upper arms. His touch feels different from the past, still strong but now also gentle, like he is holding a piece of glass. You are not sure if it is because of the situation but it almost feels like his cold touch, could set your body on fire. You feel empty, traumatized and completely uselessness. The vampire helped you up, but it is more like he is standing and walking for you both. You have never felt so light in your life and it wasn’t just because of his strong arms, you felt — tired.

He leads you to the bathroom, closing the door slightly while walking you to the bathtub. You let out a small hiccup at his gentle touch, so careful, feeling completely undeserving of his attention at the moment. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…” He doesn’t response, letting him push you on to the bath, making you sit down at the corner as he hold you in his arms a little longer. Your brain almost forgot about whatever happened outside this door as he rubs small circles on your skin. Your eyes were too scared to look into his, breath hitching as his thumb trails over the naked skin of your shoulder. Hyunjin also got a little lost in the moment before he looks down at your blood covered nightgown. That sight makes him snap back to his senses, hands leaving your body.

When he stepped out from your line of sight, your eyes fell to the mirror. Blood covered your neck, face, even your hair line and basically your whole upper body. You become sick to your stomach, remembering that this is the blood of an innocent animal. Looking at your hands you reminisced the way its soft skin felt on your skin, just a few hours ago. Now they only made you see the crimson that stained them.

As you look upon them, your view is blocked by a hand, traveling over your skin of your fingertips till it comes to softly hold yours. Hyunjin kneels down before you, holding your hand out for him to wipe off the blood from your skin. He was so soft, it almost felt like your skin was being kissed by a whiff of cold wind. His cold touch calms down your racing heart and you almost want to grumble in protest as he keeps his touch at minimum. It felt so nice and jokingly cooling. However in some way you are thankful that he respects your boundaries.

“I can do it myself—“ You whispered, watching the towel slowly turning red while your skin is finally being able to breathe again.

“No.” He said, stubbornly, almost as he was mocking you but on his face was no smile whatsoever.

You watch him wash your hands with the towel, the water in the bucket where he dipped it in progressively getting darker. You are slightly mesmerized by how much bigger his hand is compared to yours. Yes, you do look at them quite often but seeing his long fingers wrapping around your wrist like that is a first. You become aware that you were still dressed in the same, a little see through nightgown and it makes you self conscious. Your other, now clean hand, comes to tug at the fabric so it isn’t so tight on your body. Watching the man before you, you let his hand linger on your wrist, fingers pressing into your pulse.

He could feel how much your heart is racing, but it is not like he couldn’t hear it with his own ears as well as the pulsing blood underneath your skin. Hyunjin went to wring out the towel, turning back to you with his back now straight. Your breath hitched slightly, timidly lowering your gaze. Even if he was the one kneeling he has the power here. How wrong you were…

Fingers, like a feather touching your chin made you look back at the man. The hand on your nightgown formed into fist for a moment as he now washes away the pain from your features. He still holds your chin between his fingers as he wipes the blood, sweat and tears. The embarrassing noise you almost let out, gets stuck in your throat as you look up at him. How can someone look so good from this angle? His concentrated gaze made you feel timid, so many thoughts suddenly running through your head and ones that made you lower your gaze.

Your lips release a choke breath. At the same moment you look away from him, reality hits you yet again. You can still remember the horrible sight you saw just moments ago. “I don’t understand what happened…why would someone do this —“

He sighed at your confused, saddened tone, lifting your chin higher slightly to meet your eyes and suddenly you forgot you were even angry at him yesterday’s night. Whatever happened yesterday was so silly and so stupid, you really don’t understand yourself sometimes. He was so kind to you, even with his nature, he would never hurt you or wouldn’t even want to see you get hurt...Why are your eyes suddenly wide open? You feel horrible that this — what happened made you realize how stupid and ungrateful you were. You just don’t now what to do…so you rather do nothing or just push further and further away.

Your eyes unwillingly welled up with tears, falling down your cheeks freely and poolling in to his hand. “Poor animal, oh my god was it yours — the horse.” The words fall out of your mouth, sniffling at your own words. When you looked at him, he didn’t quite meet your eye and for the first time you could see how much heartbroken he truly was. “I’m so sorry…”

He suddenly looks back at you, his other hand still tracing the towel your tear stained face. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for…I should be the one apologizing.” Hyunjin whispers the last words, his hands falling to his side before going to grip the bathtub you are sitting on.

You immediately understood what he is implying, it is not like you weren’t thinking about it earlier. “No.” You whisper back, trying to meet his eyes but his are set on the marble floor. “I am sorry.” For everything…you wanted to say. You wanted to say sorry for being so detached.

He shakes his head at your words, a short dry laugh falling from his lips. His hands on each side of you caged you under his glare but it wasn’t an unwelcome one, he looked saddened just as you were about all of this. “Someone did this to you — without me knowing even a single thing…” He sneers but his voice becomes little as he looks at your leg briefly where your mark, bruise, he left on you would be. It burned under his gaze. “No one knows a thing and they could have hurt you. I would never forgive myself for that…” His voice almost cracks at the end, recalling what he did yesterday, feeling like he is no better than the person who did this.

His broken tone rings in the air but only a single move it took to change the whole atmosphere of the room. As Hyunjin looked up at you, his hands gripped the edge of the bath so tightly, you could hear the stone cracking under his palms. You corner almost at the wild look in his azure eyes that are now just a flicker more red than usual. “I will find whoever did this and I promise you, I’ll kill them for you.” He says, lip curling up, giving you a small glimpse of his sharp teeth.

Your heart starts to beat even faster with his words and before you could stop yourself, your hand flew to his. Your hand grabbed his, scared that he would break the bathtub with his unhuman strength. His eyes cleared the moment your warm skin touches his freezing one. Both of you glance at each other in shock and just as quickly as you touched him, you pull away.

Your eyes look at your own hands in disbelief as he look at his in amazement. How are you so warm? Hand so smooth and warm that he wondered how it would feel like to have it back on his skin. What you did, in some way feels different from any other touches you have shared before. It felt intimate, just the split of second giving away such a raw emotion in which he now wants to drown in. He tried to say something but words some times are not enough nor necessary. At least your said precious skin isn’t covered in blood anymore but the big stain on your nightgown is still a big give away of what happened.

Hyunjin then stands up without a word, throwing the towel away before stopping to look through the slightly open door. His heart sank as he gazed back into the bedroom, just as his friend was being removed from the canopy of your bed. How come someone was able to sneak in and do this without anyone hearing even a thing? He knows better. This doesn’t feel like an attempt to kill you — his dead heart seems to skip a beat under this awful thought. This was a sign of a warning.

“From now on, you will be with me. I want you by my side.”

You said nothing, because there is no point in arguing and also you liked his idea better than being in here alone. You can’t stand the thought of ever sleeping in that bed ever again and the once beautiful, comfy sheets made your stomach flip. You again turn to look at yourself in the mirror opposite to you, grimacing at the image. Your messy bed hair was sticking to your skin, eyes and lips puffy with your nose runny from the crying, you can’t understand for a moment, how his appeal could be even possible.

Standing up, you again unstick the material of your nightgown from your skin. It felt uncomfortable, not to mention you felt dirty and the way he could probably see the outline of your body didn’t make you pleased. You go around the tub, just where he stood but before he could let you walk pass him, he stops you.

You stumble slightly when he suddenly turn around, blocking your way with his towering body. You look up at him, shakily breathing through your nose as he glared into your eyes. “Don’t look.” He probably meant whatever was happening inside the room right now and you would definitely feel better of not knowing. It wasn’t like you would want to look anywhere else beside his alluring eyes.

You both take the time to look at each other’s features. You marvel over his perfect pale skin that almost seemed translucent as you could see the veins under the thin layer of skin. It felt like you were seeing him in a completely different light. You also wondered if he was enchanted with you as much as you were with him but that didn’t seem right in your head. Maybe if you were clean and would be wearing something nicer…you suddenly want him to see you in the best version of yourself. He literally has only seen the bad and the worse. Where did this come from?

You listen to the noises just outside the room, they however felt like miles away as he grazed his hand over your left shoulder. Hyunjin was experimenting, trying to see if you would feel repulsed by his touch but you didn’t even flinch. Your heart skipped a beat slightly and from what he could hear it wasn’t in a bad way. His hand, completely now on your shoulder, fingers extending that his index finger almost reached your collarbone, trailed down the length of your arm. His hand awakened goosebumps all over your body, the simple touch made you feel so embarrassed as it was so exciting to your untouched skin. His hand stopped at your wrist, short familiarity spiking through you as he left it there.

Who was more nervous? You or Hyunjin? He would like to say that it was him. His hand tightened its hold, still careful not to hurt you…like he did before. Hyunjin throws the thoughts away, trying to enjoy the fact that you are willingly letting him touch you. He has a hard time to look into your big curious eyes, his own glancing at your hand that clunched the fabric of your nightgown closer to your chest.

He quickly looks away, turning around still holding you and finally walking out of the bathroom together. Your eyes were deadly set onto the floor but you couldn’t miss the fact that he purposely blocked the sight of the bed with his body. Though you are still looking at his hand around your wrist. What if he would be holding your hand instead? Maybe interlock your fingers together? That was probably too much and so early for either of you to handle.

When you step outside the bedroom, you feel like, you can finally breathe. Your eyes flicker to the man who is still holding you to the other people passing by you. They walk by you with heavy, fast steps and as you turned around, some of them would stop at your bedroom or continue their path further. So many people, men and women of all ages. It looked unnatural as because you were so used to being alone in this place. Or maybe they already did walk passed you like this, maybe your eyes just weren’t opened till now.

You jump slightly every time your feet would land on the freezing floor, missing the carpets. You glance down, grimacing because you see blood seeping through the carpet, there was no way you could miss it, even on the dark colors of the material. Hyunjin seems to feel your shift, even if if your emotions were all over the place. He could read people just by the smallest difference in the beat of their heart. Well, sometimes when it comes to you. He looked back at you, eyes traveling to the direction you were looking. Such an attention to detail, even he didn’t notice it. His head was just too occupied at this moment.

Confused you glance at him as he took few steps before you, finding his back turned to you but that wasn’t the thing that made you so confused. It was his irregular steps. He looked like he was dancing and soon you realized what he was doing. He was making a path for you to follow so you wouldn’t step in any of the dirty spots on the carpet. You wanted to thank him but words were not necessary at the moment. However, you, nervously, squeezed his finger that was resting inside your palm and he in responded squeezed your wrist back. How can he know you so well when you speak so little?

He lead you further into the house, the furtherest you have ever been so far. You both passed by the big staircase, going right into the direction where you haven’t been before. The hallway at this side of the house wasn’t almost lit at all, some candles though keep you from stumbling in the dark. The air also was colder but not too uncomfortable, maybe because you’re getting used to it. Hyunjin stops almost at the end of the corridor. Right before slightly open door, turning to you to let you in the room first.

Before you step inside, you glance into the room where the welcoming soft hue of orange was coming from. As you took small step inside, Hyunjin for some reason thought that your small uncertainty in your steps meant you’re suddenly uncomfortable with the hold he has you in. He released you at that, fingers twitching as he could still feel the small electricity at his fingertips. When your hand falls unexpectedly to your side, you turn in confusion at your company who without even a glance walks past you into the room. You don’t want to question his behavior anymore, it seems like these mood swings of his are a normal occurrence, so you just follow him inside.

This room was even bigger than yours. Ceilings even higher, decor even more dramatic and everything just so more monumental. You two however weren’t alone in the room as some maids kept running all over the place and are thankful for their presence at the moment. Your eyes flicker to the bookshelfs, lining the walls, to the small table rounded by a couch and some chairs, to another door, probably leading to a bathroom, till they stop at the big bed. Because of the candles that the maids are trying so hard to light up, you could at least get a glimpse of the room like this. Your eyes travel over to him, standing before you, watching you, before you had to again avert your gaze somewhere else, right back to the bed where you can tell how the sheets were unmade.

“Is this your bedroom?” You wondered out loud but you already knew the answer as you glance timidly back to him.

“Yes.” He said.

You hate this when you realized this is the first time you have been in man’s bedroom like this. You simply nod at his agreement, trying to ignore your own thoughts by looking more around his room, finding even more new things to marvel about because of the lit candles. You could see the small streeks of light, coming from the top of the heavy curtains as well as some papers on one of the tables in the room. You again remembered what happened just moments ago. It was so quick, all of this. From the sight to his kind words, touch and now this. He must’ve just woken up as you turn to look at his clothes. They were still the same clothes that he wore last night, another reminder that all of this happened so quickly. You don’t know, if it’s the fact that you don’t have a life to begin with but everything that happened made you so tired but you can’t even think of sleeping again.

Two women passed by you, watching them put something on the bed. The sparkling fabric winked at you and you immediately realize that those are the dresses that were given to you. You look away, however he is already watching your every move, noticing the small look of wonder on your face.

“I haven’t seen you wearing any of the dresses I gave you.” Hyunjin said, turning his back to you slightly as he leans over his bed to pick at the fabric of one of those dresses. “You don’t like them?” He almost sounded hurt.

You knew that he was just playing with you. “I didn’t know they were for me.” You respond, cringing how stupid it sounded. Who did you play dumb for?

He however wasn’t offended by your lie at all. “I wish to see you in them, but of course only if you want yourself.” The vampire added quickly, not to sound too controlling. “It is not wrong to enjoy these gifts I give you.”

To be fair, you can’t lie that there wasn’t a single moment when you almost picked out one of them, to maybe even just feel the fabric between your fingers but dressing up was the last thing on your mind right now. You are still shaken, confused and traumatized, you kind of wished that all of this was just a dream. He knew that even if it didn’t seem like it. He completely understands how you are feeling right now, he is only trying to keep your mind off it.

Hyunjin panics a little as your heart didn’t calm down, still fast, your lips sat into a thin line. “Would you like a bath?” He asked, more like himself as you finally glance back at him at his words. “You would want to yes…” He thought, almost frantically.

Your eyes flicker down at your nightgown again and at the big stain on the front of it. “Yes…but you can clean up first.” You say, looking at his bloodied shirt, he following your statement by also looking at himself, like he only now realized.

“Don’t worry about me, blood has never bothered me.” He waved you off. Till, he saw it being the cause of your pain.

You frown. “Pobably but it is still from your—“ You stopped yourself before even thinking to continue. His face turns into sorrow for a second at the mention of his beloved, now deceased animal. “I’m sorry.”

You look around the room again, trying to escape the conversation. The beautiful decorations kept your mind occupied, eyes traveling to the little angels at each corner of the room. Under the dim light they almost looked haunting. His canopy looked even more magnificent and monumental than yours, if that was even possible and definitely less bloody...The colors of the bed however were still the same as yours, the sheets unmade, duvet almost on the floor.

“Aren’t you tired?” You spoke up again, eyes plastered on the bed. When you were met with silence you glance back, him expressing a small confusion on his features. “Like it’s morning.”

“Vampires don’t get tired but yes, sometimes we need sleep to regain our strength but I don’t think I can sleep, knowing you are now in danger.”

“It is alright, you can-“

“No, it’s not!” He raised his voice, the sheer loudness making you tremble as well as the other people in the room who momentarily stopped everything they were doing just to look at him. It was like he himself got shocked by his own reaction but to him it was the only right one. He doesn’t understand how you are somehow so unaffected about this. Yes, you are still slightly shaking but it seem like this is taking a bigger role on him than you. “Someone was in your room, someone got inside without anyone knowing and left a message that for sure wasn’t a felicitation of me courting you.”

You ignore the fact that he basically said you two were to be wed or something like that, because you only realize by his words that he is right. You’re in danger and without even a single clue who the enemy is, but you know that it must be someone powerful as they got away with this so easily. “But I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt me — I’m no one.” You mean it. You’re a human with one friend, no enemies that you know of and you have a normal, quiet life — till now.

Hyunjin can’t help the small anger rising in his chest from your words, shaking his head in disbelief that you would even think something like that. “You’re not no one, not only for me but also for others.” That made your heart skip a beat and from the way his voice was radiating sincerity. “Someone knows who you are and that leaves you in a dangerous situation…In my long life, I have never feared the enemies, I made along the way, till now.”

You go silent, only sighing deeply from his confession. He really does now how to use his words to make you go insane in the head. You can’t help but feel slightly giddy inside because of the way he always speaks to you, so kindly and passionately, in way that you have only read in books and wondered — just wondered if anyone like this truly exist. You do not know him that well but you can’t imagine him having any enemies at all...maybe his charms didn’t work all the time.

Yawning, you quickly put your hand over your mouth, silencing that embarrassing sound but it only made Hyunjin’s frown deeper. “You can go to sleep…you’re safe now.” He doesn’t think that there will be even a second of not him listening to your beating heart. The possibility of there being a scenario where he wouldn’t be able to, made him scared…he is scared.

You do feel how your eyes are getting droopy, your legs becoming soft but the thought of sleeping after all of these events really wasn’t possible. “I don’t think I can–“ You sigh in small exhaustion. However your body is telling you a whole different story and he could see it. The thing that happened just moments ago, made you truly awake, it made your eyes wide open, for the first time since you got here. Or maybe since you met him?

You started to see different colors, ones that finally made you feel alive. Like you were born again, in some sense. But was it really necessary for a sweet, innocent animal to get hurt for this? It also could have been you... The thought of some stranger creeping up on you while sleeping, you completely unaware and the person choosing to give a message like this instead of not simply killing you, made you fear even more. “—I’m still sorry for your horse…” You say again, you just can’t help but feel a little bit responsible for this.

Hyunjin has to keep calm, emotions too much for his cold heart to bear. “Like I said, it wasn’t your fault…the most important thing is that you are alright.”

Yes, of course. That was the most important thing…

But you do not in fact feel alright. You have just seen the most gruesome image, you have ever seen. It is all your fault. You do not want to be alone. You want to stay with him — he now makes you feel safe. How could you be so heartless and cold towards him? Was it just your defense mechanism with everything that brings you happiness? Finally being seen, made you frightened as there was also someone or something that saw you. It was in your room, the only goal in their mind to scare you…away?

Set of footsteps echo behind you, stopping just at the threshold of the room. You had to focus your eyes on this new face you haven’t seen before. The young man’s skin, shined in the dimly lit room, eyes reflecting like the eyes of a wild animal. He looked so young, hair longer blonde and eyes striking you with their intensity. He momentarily looked at your figure but his full attention was however on the vampire behind you. They stared at each other, the blonde giving a look which you couldn’t quite understand but Hyunjin certainly did.

You feel him right at your back, cold from his skin so close to yours. Turning around, you glance between him and the young man. His close proximity didn’t startle you that much as he with a deep inhale, backs away from you himself. “I have to go now…” He looks down at you with his blue eyes, searching for forgiveness. You don’t want to be alone…for the first time, you really need his company in some way and even if he didn’t like his nonpresence as much as himself, he needs to do at least something about this situation you’re now in. He could see your small frown, you are trying to hide but there is a hint of understanding which he is thankful for.

He takes a step closer to you but stops midway with his lips parted. Whatever there was that he wanted to say, was replaced by other words, you could see the true words reflecting in his eyes. “If you need anything, just go down to the end of the of the corridor, I will be there.”

The tension could be cut with knife, aware of the audience you two still have, you simply nod in understanding, wrapping your arms around yourself as to form some sort of barrier between you and him. Why does he have to look at you like that? Like he could see right through you or maybe trying to, flickering his vibrant eyes all over you.

Your lips also parted but you close them again as he walks past you in a sense of hurry and you didn’t even know it was because he almost decided to stay here with you…

────

And in fact, sleep didn’t find you after all. Every time you would close your eyes, you would see the gruesome picture, the sad and grey eyes staring right at you, the blood…The bed you are laying in is still cold, the heavy duvet couldn’t give you the warmth you were searching for. You desperately need someone, just to comfort you. You have never felt so scared and paranoid. Your eyes would travel all around the room, till you memorized every detail in the dimly lighted room. You didn’t let anybody blow even a single candle off because the thought of being in the dark, made your skin crawl.

The only thing which weirdly seem to comfort you were the sheets. The spicy, sweet scent lingering in them filling your nose till it helped your body to relax. You tried to ignore the fact that the sheets smelled like him. It is only because he is powerful enough to protect you, his scent wrapped around you like an embrace you still desperately need. Protect you? He even said himself that he failed to do that…Someone really tried to — or maybe at least considered to kill you. You…such a bizarre, scary, yet now true and realistic thing. And it is because of him, the man who still scares you.

You can’t really choose sides because you can see who the real enemy is. You can’t keep telling yourself that he is the one who is going to hurt you. You have to believe that he wouldn’t do that, turn into his instincts and just sucking you dry of your life. Maybe he is just a normal man trapped in his own body…

There is probably no way of going out of this now, you fear you don’t have any other choice. You just want to close your eyes and wake up. Wake up from this nightmare. You hate how you have no idea what do to. You, till now had all the control over your life as it was simple and you were basically the only person in it. You, now have to rely on him, trust him to protect you. Trust him that he will not change his mind with you.

You can’t stand a second alone anymore. The creaks of the old wood made you jump every time, your skin around your nails was already raw from your picking and you could feel the lump in your throat slowly suffocating you. You don’t want to be alone anymore, even if it means that he would be the one to safe you from this prison. You just need a small walk and not think about anything. Maybe find something to eat, since you still haven’t eaten anything, even if the thought of food made you sick to your stomach.

You clinched onto the silky skirt of your nightgown, not even caring about the cold floor under your feet. Your skin was clean but the memory still lingered as well as also the metallic smell under your nose. The black fabric trailed behind you as you make your way out of the bedroom. You simply picked the silky, long, black nightgown because it didn’t remind of that one stained in sin.

This side of the mansion was unusually cold. You wondered if it is because of the death living in these walls. Everything however other than the cold, seemed more used and alive. There were roses at every piece of furniture, the carpet which you were standing on, had in some places its color faded and even the wooden floors were scratched, probably from shoes. It all shined with such light, you haven’t seen before.

You walked further and further, till you had to turn around to look at the end of the hallway to a door. It seemed to call to you, maybe that is were he was hiding but as you reached the railing of the big staircase, you were proven otherwise.

Your hand wrapped around the polished wood of the staircase when you felt it. Him, his presence stabbing you into your back. “Where are you going?” You gasp, turning swiftly, with your eyes wide.

Maybe he should stop doing that. Maybe his quiet movements and talent to always creep up on you, just comes with his nature but you probably will never get used to it. His sudden appearance made goosebumps rise all over your body, looking at him with your lips parted. He looked in some way different...His hair was tussled, eyes piercing and weirdly wide as he stared down at your body clad in the black nightgown with an unnatural expression who think you have seen before — but you just can’t place it. His lips were red and plump, almost like just bit into a cherry. He looked…yes, different that is the word. “Nowhere…” Is your simply answer as you tighten your grip on the railing, not being able to meet his eyes. Why don’t you say the truth? You are not sneaking out or anything but just this sudden difference in his appearance, made you quiver and lost don’t words.

He looks disappointed at your lack of answer. He licks his lips when he took a step closer to you and you couldn’t help but to follow that movement. Was it the smell of him from the sheets still lingering on you or was it coming from him? It burns your nose in an awfully pleasant way, your head almost starts to hurt from it. It wrapped around you, just the way you need, but he didn’t seem to notice your disorientation that much as he himself seems to be quite lost.

“I told you to stay in my bedroom.”

You frown at that. There’s no reason for you to be in his room the whole time, seeing that you are still being watched and he only just proved your point by showing up. Like he said, you’re safe now, at least from the person who did that horrible thing. In fact, you'd rather be doing something other than lying in bed, just wondering. Sometimes being alone with your thoughts is a lot. Finally you want to do something in this still unfamiliar place. For once, you want to do something to keep your mind occupied, so you wouldn’t again drown in your own thoughts and secondly you just don’t think it is that big of a deal that you’re outside his bedroom. There are probably many people looking after you and you’re thankful for that but he seems like he doesn’t trust them, you — to take care of yourself. Maybe you’re a human but you still have free will in this house.

“Till what?” You say, back leaning on the staircase. “I just want something to eat.” You trail off, almost like a little kind after being scolded.

“And I told you to call me if you need something–“

“I can still walk and do things myself…I’m fine.” You, so badly wanted to roll your eyes and maybe not really in annoyance. He came again closer to you and you almost shiver at the smell radiating from him. Why is it so addicting? What is he doing to you?

His stops right in front of you, making you look up into his glaring eyes. Even if his build was quite thin, he radiated power that made you want to curl up into a ball. “You’re taking all of this too lightly.” Hyunjin leans over you, your eyes completely captivated by his and the red hue they held.

“And you too…” You don’t want to say that you got lost in his eyes. Also you don’t know how to feel about someone like him being so concerned about your well being but you think he is just a little exaggerating. It happened to you, not him. You really should feel more scared and you think you even do but all of your fright seem to vanish when he is present. Again, is it only because you know him well enough now that you know, he won’t hurt you or is it only because there is someone showing you who the real danger is? Do you really trust him? Maybe but you do not trust these feelings you are starting to feel when you are with him. When he is away, you always think of him differently than when he is with you…you’re totally screwed.

Hyunjin looks you over, listening closely to your heart. It was steady, you were too calm for his liking. Just few hours ago, you were shaking and now you’re almost completely calm. “You are telling me that this doesn’t concern you?” He questioned you, trying to search in your eyes for answers as they were completely unmoving from his. “Well, it certainly does concern me.”

“That’s good for you.” Comes out of your mouth, wishing silently to not be having this conversation any longer. You suddenly feel embarrassed as you realize how you are acting. The sweet smell turned sorrow the more his frown deepened and also your own expression. Why are you acting like this? You’re a grown woman and you shouldn’t be acting like this. You don’t know if he truly noticed what you were doing but you wished for the ground to swallow you whole.

With a shaky inhale you turn your body to possibly go around him but he saw your move of getting away from him miles away. His arm blocked your way, hand grabbing the railing so close to yours, you again almost shivered as his other also caged you in. You can’t look at him now. You knew you would only embarrassed yourself further. Could he sense your desperation? Maybe this thing — the smell was playing with your head or made you do feel this way about him but you were certain that if you would look at him, you would lost the silent battle between you two.

“Just let me go.” You say, voice soft and quiet but he could hear you clearly as well as your pounding heart.

Your head is leveled with his upper chest but your eyes are set on his hand next you, gripping the railing so tightly, like he is holding the last bit of his sanity left in him. It is only to ignore his breath fanning over you but you just become more aware of his close presence. You could feel his cold breath moving your hair as he leans over your frozen body. “No.”

Your eyes look into his direction, stopping at his chest softly raising and falling and his alabaster skin, peaking out of his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “Let me go, Hyunjin.” You are now pleading because you really do feel like fainting from this rollercoaster of emotions, you’re now experiencing.

Your words may have meant a little more than either of you would like to admit. He looks down at you with such softness that he is only confident in when you are not fully seeing it. “How can you? How can you be so calm? Are you not scared that somebody tried to hurt you?” He says, hair around your forehead being swept away from his breath.

You finally look at him, pointedly. “It is not like it would be the the first time…”

Were you only this mean to see what he would do? See how much it would take for him to see that maybe you’re not the right person for him. Everything that happened was only because of someone else. And he in fact finally sees you, even more than you thought he would as he steps away from you with his eyes flashing with anger. Or maybe he is just seeing what you've been trying to achieve all along. Trying to throw away any responsibility as your form of self protection. Because your life gave you everyday the same things and when finally something new happens to you, you are too scared to do anything about it.

Maybe you were being too harsh with your words as you look upon him. As soon as he backed away from you, he comes even closer. Way closer. You become wide eyed from how fast, he pinned you up against the railing. “Listen to me, you will stay in your room till I say otherwise, I can’t compel you but I sure will convince you.” The stairs digged painfully into your back and not from you trying to get away from him, he is actually the one pressing you into it.

You breathe out as you can feel your chests up against each other and you flush at the feeling more as you realized there weren’t that many layers separating you. “You c-can’t…” You can’t talk properly as he is basically suffocating you.

He tilts his head a little at your words. “Can’t what?” Hyunjin repeats, tilting his head down at your level to maybe catch your eye fully. “You’re really testing my patience, love. I don’t want to be like this…I don’t want to make you fear me but you’re so…insufferable.”

Please, stop saying that. You do know how you are acting and that it is bad. No person deserves this and you do know what it feels like. You are becoming the very person you hate. “Hyunjin….I am so sorry — I am just so scared.” You’re scared of everything. Manly from these feelings bubbling inside your chest, not even the person that wants to hurt you, scares you more. You promise yourself to not feel this emotions again, it just never works out in your favor. You glance at him, eyes filled with sorrow that his own seemed to completely mimic. “I just don’t want to think about all of this. Everything is still so new and now this?” You look around, hating yourself for the burning in your eyes. “I don’t know what to do anymore…what to feel anymore —”

His hand travels from the railing closer to your own, tips of his fingers touching your burning skin. You look down at his hand, lingering again so close to yours before looking up at him with big eyes. “Then let me…let me be you, I will protect you but you just have to let me in….” He says, whispering those words to you.

Your heart flutters at his words. Does he really mean it? If yes, would you even be able to give in fully? You can’t say that you don’t want to. His eyes look into yours with such softness, you wondered if those are really the same eyes you saw the first night you two met. You could see him, through those red irises you saw someone. His true self. He also could see the small girl peaking from behind the beautiful color of your eyes, a small girl who searched her whole life for a purpose and love. He wants to think he is what you have been searching for. He enjoys these moments of complete silence. Your voice is so warm and soothing but sometimes these silent moments gave more than words. Hyunjin could look at you freely. From your eyebrows to your eyes that showed him wrinkles of smiles and tears they have been through, to your nose that you sometimes like to stick somewhere you shouldn’t and then your lips. You do notice that.

You let him, as you are also letting your own eyes fall onto his own but the usual admiration you had for them vanished. From the conversation you had before you didn’t notice the small smudge of red at the corner of his mouth. You knew what it was, you knew what he was, so this should be normal, even for you but you today find yourself absolutely dispising this color. You turn your head away from him and he at the loosen his grip on the railing.

You don’t want to think about what happened, you don’t meet his lingering stare. You knew it would only give away your feelings for him, you wouldn’t be able to hide them. He steps away from you, still however keeping close to you but you could atleast breathe now. You look up at him then after few moments of just trying to calm yourself down, eyes falling immediately on the same spot as before, at his lips.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Huh?” You let out dumbly, momentarily looking at his eyes which held a teasing flicker. “–something?”

His lips curl up at one corner, exactly the one where the smear is. “Well, you will have to tell me more if you want something, angel.”

Can he stop with these nicknames already? Nobody called you that before and it made an unfamiliar feeling rise in your chest. You could feel your face burning and you knew he could tell. You frown at that, embarrassed. “Stop it” You mumbled to yourself but it was in some way mainly meant for him and you don’t immediately realize he could still hear you.

“Stop what?” He asks, confused but you knew with the look on his face that he is teasing you.

You sigh. “Nothing…” Playing along and to safe yourself from further embarrassment, you start to play with the skirt of your nightgown. “…whatever there is available.”

You starts again fidgeting in his presence but this was totally normal now it seams. You really do become aware of how much you can’t speak freely to new people, so used to the small circle you had. Oh, how you missed them but you do think that if Mia knew at least with who you’re spending your time with, she would be absolutely delighted for you. You dream about having at least enough confidence to speak without any fear of how the others would perceive you but on the other hand, you really didn’t think twice before talking. Like now.

His lips which had your full attention parted to maybe again say something teasing in his sultry voice of his but your thoughts were already flying from your mouth before he could even get a sound out. “Why is there blood on your mouth?”

There is silence after that, watching how the warmness in his eyes slightly dimmed. You’re always asking such questions — you do know why. It was just a small thought that you should have kept to yourself. He looked at you with a small pointed look, not knowing how to answer because it was so obvious. Yes, it truly was. However your mind sometimes likes to blur the fact that he really feeds from blood and blood only. Such a fairytale — perhaps nightmare he is, you still can’t wrap your head around it.

His eyes linger on yours while he swipes the blood from his lips with his thumb, his movements little too slow to not be intentional. The fact he then wraps his plump lips around the digit is definitely on purpose. Your own parted into a silent gasp, feeling your heart, hammering against your chest from his actions.

You think that maybe he was a going to say something again or take a challenging step closer to you but your little moment was interrupted by a set of quick footsteps with heavy breathing. You both turn to your left to see a young woman, coming from the hallway, stopping for a second as she jumps at your appearance. Your eyes travel from her scared eyes to her clothes, giving you a clue that she is one of the maids in this home but you definitely couldn’t look away from the blood coating her hand which was pressed into her neck.

Your heart broke a little as you connected the dots, flickering your gaze to Hyunjin. The woman thankfully didn’t stay for too long as she quickly disappeared from your sight. You do still look into her direction because you can’t look at him again. Maybe you are just exaggerating but to you this is a big deal. You don’t know if feeding from someone means anything to them — him but to you it does. Piercing someone’s skin with your teeth to drink blood which was your source of pleasure…It is no one of your business if he is with other women — or is it?

You could feel your face unwillingly scrunch up into a frown, you can’t hide that you are upset and somehow disgusted by this anymore. Hyunjin stiffened, the thick silence even for him too much to bare, tilting his head to meet your eyes and maybe make you see how sorry he truly is for you to see him like this, again. However you simply turn away more from him. Somehow he understands your reaction but he is not so sure why you would take it so deeply. It is a normal thing for him. He needs to feed after all, just under these different circumstances.

He calls out to you but you ignore him, pressing your lips into a thin line to appear, somewhat not too affected. Your lack of reaction makes him feel small — thinking carefully about the right words, so as not to make you even more upset or scare you more away from him. If you’re taking this so seriously so shall he. He didn’t even think twice about such thing but he has to keep in mind that you’re still new to this. “You must understand that I have to feed.” He says, sighing at your frown that you are trying to make as little as possible. “It means nothing—“

You look up, puzzled little with yourself. One side is telling you that this is alright and nothing is wrong with it but your other side is telling you the complete opposite. He wishes to be with you but does something like this? Something so intimate? You feel your own skin tingling at the thought of his teeth piercing your own very skin. Jealousy strikes you in the back of your head, showing you exactly why you so despised this. You don’t know for sure, if you want to be the one to give him blood but you for sure don’t like anyone else doing it. Is it so normalized to bite someone into their most sensitive places and drink from them? He looks unsure of what to do next as you only look at his face with emotionless expression but like he said — your eyes always gave you away.

“If you want this to work…I want you to stop feeding — atleast like this.” Maybe you don’t mind him feeding from someone but just not there…that only should be for you only. “It maybe doesn’t mean anything to you but it does to me. I know, I shouldn’t be asking you this, how to feed but to me it feels…intimate.” And erotic, you wanted to say but even this simply word, was somehow hard enough to get out of your mouth under his watchful eyes. Hyunjin stays silent a little more and not like you, he seems to think over his words.

“Alright…” He answered you, before his face falls so quickly into a frown that you almost missed it, but it wasn’t from your disagreement with his diet. It was simply because of the way you sounded out the words. “–are you saying, you want me to feed off you only?”

You should’ve known better, of course he just asked you that as it wasn’t already so obvious from your confession. Your hand flies to your chest, pressing your palm slightly where your heart starts to beat a little faster, your eyes big and eyebrows furrowed. “I-I…don’t know.” It really is quite a unique question to be asked, but you do ignore the fact that you already know the answer.

He blinks at your weak tone, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You say that a lot, but I know, you do know, Y/N…” He said, waiting a little before continuing, maybe to see if you would say something more, but you only look at him through your pretty lashes. He sighs at your expression, before tilting his head down. “I will stop feeding in the sense of biting.” You meant that you don’t want him to bite someone in their neck, but you are pleasantly surprised by his answer, so you stay quiet. “Now, I’ll bring you something to eat, it will be waiting for on the table outside of our room.” You shutter embarrassingly at that one specific word, coughing, to mask your shocked reaction. He didn’t make a move that indicated that he just heard your embarrassing noise of shock, but in his head he was smiling big. You thought that this conversation would still go on but you’re happy with how it ended. At least you’re not fully at each other’s throats. Huh, funny…

You are now the one with your lips left apart, words swirling in your head as he passed by you, his hand grazing so close to yours which was placed on the corner of the railing when he started to ascend down the stairs. Your nose is yet again, hit with his smell, wrapping around you like a duvet of the embrace you so needed. Watching him walk away from you, though didn’t feel like the other times and only after he disappeared from your line of sight, you walked back to yours and his bedroom.

────

It is been a long day, such a long day for you to just again drown in your thoughts. You didn’t leave the room for the rest of the day, simply spending your time on one of the couches, reading. The words however as the day slowly turned into night started to blur. From your exhaustion and also from the realization of the situation that will soon have to be dealt with. You look at the bed with a blank expression, because there couldn’t be a face for you to express with all the emotions you were experiencing.

As the sun set, you finally decided to open the heavy curtains, blocking, till now, your view of the outside. You could have opened them sooner, but you didn't want to risk him getting caught in the sunlight — however, he didn’t come. You looked out the window, till you saw the sun disappear and the moon appear. Every day that passed by was so slow to you, but by that time the nature had time to bloom into its beauty. Everything started to get greener, more vivid — was the earth always this colorful? The warm, orange light tickle your skin that you almost felt like one of those creatures as because you got so used to the darkness. But you did start to see its own beauty — Hyunjin came late that night as expected and sleep didn’t creep up on you, till he arrived. Perhaps you were concern, but you don’t want to say that…

You were already in bed, body tucked under the heavy duvet and eyes closed, but you could tell that he knew, you were awake. He just simply chose to not say anything, maybe not to disturb you in your peaceful state, but inside you were shaking. He went to the bathroom and at that you were again thinking about how you two will share the same bed…

You have never shared a bed with a man before, even like this — you haven’t even been to a man’s bedroom till now! Was it fright that made your heart beat so fast? You know, he wouldn’t do anything to you, but still….or maybe you were just nervous. And not in a bad way it seemed. Your fingers gripped onto the bed as the every passing second, he spend more in the bedroom, became even more unbearable for you.

You waited for him to come back. A long time at that and you didn’t have a single clue that his long stay in the bathroom, was simply because he was nervous too. He, spend his time simply looking at himself in the mirror, thinking about how to calm himself down. Who would have thought that he could even feel such an emotion? To him, the time that he spend inside the bathroom wasn’t long enough for him to find the right courage to come back into the room, but it was long enough for him to think back to the moment you two shared.

Drinking blood from someone, became for him a daily thing, a normal thing, like for you to drink and eat. Till you said that — was he always this blind? He never thought of drinking from someone this way, but he knew of course that for humans it was different. He did feel the pleasure, but for humans it was out of this world almost, but you didn’t know that…You only said that it seemed intimate and he is thankful that you don’t know the whole truth about how a vampire bite feels for a human…What were you doing to him? It is been a long time since he second guessed himself like that. He became more careful with his moves, since you arrived, but he can���t lie that he still is a little reckless sometimes and just does what his heart desires and acts on his instincts.

Time flew past quickly, yet so slowly, but you couldn’t fight the hazy state you are falling into any longer. Your eyes closed a long time ago, but now the deep frown on your face started to soften. You felt your body falling, melting almost into the sheets and your mind became so quiet and peaceful that you didn’t have the power to acknowledge the silent creek of the bathroom door.

His slow footsteps blend in with your heartbeat in your ear. The old floor creaking under his weight, was the only thing giving him away. You hear the last creak stop next to the bed, hair on the back of your neck standing up at that. You could feel his stare on the back of your head that peaked out of the soft duvet. Being so sleepy, you didn’t feel your heart pounding that much, but you do wait anxiously for his next move, eyes wide set on his silhouette dancing in the candle light on the wall,

You feel cold air of the room piercing your back as the duvet is slightly lifted off you. You realize at that you basically stole almost all of it and in some way, it made you embarrassed simply because it were his own sheets — and also your nose unconsciously kept digging into them, filling your lungs with his smell. You don’t feel much bad because you knew he didn’t need anything to cover himself with. You wanted to give him more of it, but you only found yourself completely frozen as your whole senses heightened when you feel a dip in the bed.

The bed was big, but soft enough to feel how his whole body fell into it. When the only source of light is then blown away, you became highly aware of the body laying behind you. Was he watching you? Probably, like he always did. Your heart jumped a little as he rolled his body over and you just knew that he was facing your back.

His blue eyes watched your body and other than the small rising of your body when taking a breath, you were completely unmoving. He played with the edge of the duvet, that didn’t even cover a little of him. Pulling up the duvet, was a request for you to at least give him some, but as you didn’t even move an inch, he chose to sacrifice a night without it.

Few moments passed by and again you became sleepy, snuggling into the bed and missing another subtle shift of the body behind you. You don’t even feel him, leaning his upper body over yours. You don’t even feel the cold breath on your cheeks nor the cold radiating so close behind you.

He leaned over you, left hand keeping his upper body from falling onto yours. His other twitched in the air, just hovering over the length of your waist. He for a second couldn’t help but stare at your blissful state. From your red cheeks bitten by the cold, smushing almost together from your face being so snuggled into the pillow to your eyelashes fanning over your cheekbones, to your ruffled hair, creating a halo around you, till again his eyes fell onto your lips. They were puckered slightly, flushed just as your cheeks. You looked absolutely ethereal. He must say, he has seen you sleep before, but not from this angle nor this close. It was like seeing you from a complete different perspective — view of a lover, he wished to say.

But then, your so called blissful state was interrupted when you felt it — when you felt the weight of his arm around you, tugging you into him. Your eyes shoot open, heart almost jumping out of your chest, but you don’t immediately move away. You savor the feeling of him hugging you, the feeling of his body flush against yours. But as the coldness of his skin started to seep through the layers of clothes, duvet and then piercing through the warmth into you, you move away from him.

He didn’t hold you tightly nor forcefully as you jump to the edge of the bed quite easily. “I am sorry, I can’t…” You croaked, quietly into the darkness.

His head hanged low, already hating himself more from doing that, making you uncomfortable and just doing something without your permission. His nails teared through the material of the sheets as his eyes fell onto your still not turned body. “I understand.” He whispered back. He really does, but he thought that maybe, you could at least let him touch you like this, to just hold you. “I will sleep somewhere else.”

You only nod a little, eyes still looking into the darkness before you. As he got out of the bed, the coldness left with him and you realize that it truly was completely different from the one in the room. You listen closely to his footsteps, before you hear a muffled huff as he fell probably onto the couch. You feel bad for him to be the one to leave his own bed, but there probably wouldn’t be even a room for you to talk otherwise. You lay back down fully after a minute, his presence still known to you and at that sense of calmness washedover you.

His eyes reflected in the dark as he watched you again from afar. He saw how your breaths after a moment became even, body completely sinking into his bed. Closing his own eyes, the soft thuds of your heart, filled his ears. And that melody accompanied by the pictures of every moment today with you kept his mind occupied, till he felt his own need of sleep come over him. At least he has something to dream about now.

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (II)

alexia putellas x sister.

chapter I

~~~~~~

My fingers are dancing on the piano keys, the soft melody leaving my mouth in a quiet hum when Alba walks into my room that night. My mouth closes as the door opens, but my fingers are unstoppable, continuing to abuse the keys as I continue to play the song.

My hands rest on the last keys I pressed when I am done and I think Alba is crying, unless she suddenly has allergies. It is quiet for a few moments before she speaks.

"If you weren't so good at football I would try and convince you to do this forever."

She sighs, standing up and motioning for me to follow her as she laid on my bed. I move beside her, my head now resting on her shoulder.

"I remember when you first played the piano." She smiles, reminiscing on the fond memory. "You were three, you couldn't reach the pedals but you insisted that Papi taught you something. You made us all squish onto the sofa in his office so we could listen to you play and you gave us a very slow and broken version of La Vaca Lechera. It was terrible but Papi was so proud because you had only been playing for a month and could already play with both hands. He picked you up and claimed that you would be the greatest piano player to ever walk the planet. He would be so proud of his pequena superestrella."

"I wish I knew him." They're the only words I can bring myself to say.

"He was a very good man, I miss him a lot. He would have been so proud of Ale with all her football and so proud of you with it too. And your piano. Mami sometimes says to me that you are a mini him."

I realise she is avoiding herself, a habit she got herself into a few years ago, when I followed in Alexia's footsteps by securing my spot in La Masia. She used to be upset, it was unfair. Why had the football gene just skipped her?

"He would be proud of you as well, Alba."

She shrugs, I think she tries to blinks away tears but doesn't succeed because one lands on my head

"I hope so..." she pauses. "It is harder for me to imagine because I am not outstanding at anything like you and Alexia. I am just Alba which is ok but I just don't know what he would be proud of me for."

"There is no such thing as 'just Alba' because you are the best person I know. You don't need to play football for him to be proud of you. Do you realise you are the person we all go to when we need anything? When I am sad, Alba, when I am happy, Alba, when I want to laugh, Alba, when I want to cry, Alba. You are my answer for everything, hermana. That is better than any song on the piano or the biggest trophy there is to be won."

"You are so cute, I love you." She giggles quietly and wraps her arms around me. "Aitana called me earlier and I wanted to come over and make sure you are ok."

"What did she say?"

"Not much, she just asked if everything was ok between you and me and Ale. I didn't tell her the truth, if you were wondering."

"What did you say?"

"I just said that Alexia is struggling with her injuries and that you both are very busy. I don't think she really believed me. Either that or she knows there is something else going on."

I groaned. "She kept giving me looks as we were driving home and it was annoying."

"It's sweet, she's looking out for you." Alba smiles and ruffles my hair. "You are only a little baby to them. 15 is young, pequena!"

"Yeah, well it'd be nice if my own sister did that, wouldn't it." I snap back at her and she recoils slightly.

"You won't let me do anything about it, Elena, so don't get feisty with me! Alexia is complicated and I can't even get anything out of her." She rolls her eyes. Alba is sick of all of the tension. She has been for a while.

"I don't know what to say to her anymore. Does she even know that I was called up?"

"Mami said that she wasn't going to tell her because she wanted her to hear it from you."

"She had no problem telling me when Alexia got a new girlfriend." I'm petty about it, but sometimes I think I deserve to be.

"I cannot believe you still have not met Olga." Alba sighs, flopping back down onto my mattress. "She is very nice, I think you would like her." 

"I am good at getting out of things." I shrug my shoulders and Alba rolls her eyes again. "I don't want to meet her."

"You liked Jenni so much, maybe this could be the same?"

"I still talk to Jenni, on the phone. Maybe we should start an anti- Alexia Putellas club."

Alba groans and sits up, causing me to grunt in annoyance as my head is knocked onto the mattress.

"You know I don't like all of this venom between you two, so please just leave me out of it. I've had enough of you not telling me what the problem is, I am so, so sick of it. You used to be so close that I was jealous of your relationship and now all you do is complain about each other to me." She flops back onto my mattress in frustration.

"You don't understand, Alb, you don't understand what it is like for someone you idolise to practically forget your existence. She used to come to all my games and now she doesn't even know I was called up." She rolls her eyes as I move back to the piano stall, ignoring the way my voice cracked and my eyes sting with tears. 

"Mierda, Elena! How many times do I have to tell you? She has been so busy. I'm sure she has tried to get to them." Even Alba can't explain Alexia's absence. 

"Si, si, you have said that before but you can't understand because she never forgot about you. You didn't used to have an older sister who used to drive you to all of your trainings and games before she decided she was too busy for you and shoved you on the Barcelona busses at the age of 11!" My fingers begin to ghost the keys. Like I said to Aitana, the piano is a good outlet for my emotions. I am glad Mami let me put Papi's old piano into my room. I don't think she is glad when I wake her up in the dark hours of the morning playing loud songs.

"I have an older sister and a younger sister who used to be close and then fell out. I have a father who is dead and a busy mother. We were indestructible, Elena, but look at us now."

My left hand finds a chord and presses down on the four keys, calming my brain down.

"I am sorry that you are hurt by what has happened between Alexia and I, but I am so upset and I don't know what to do."

Alba's eyes softened but I looked down at the keys in front of me, sighing softly as she sat next to me.

"I'm sorry I can't help you more. I don't truly know what happened, but I just want things to go back to the way they were."

"I want that too." A tear found it's way from the back of my eyes but I wiped it away before it had a chance to fall down my cheek.

My fingers picked up another tune, familiarity gracing through my fingertips, the sounds floating around the room. Alba's head rests on my shoulder again and we both tell ourselves it will be ok. Alba likes when I play the piano because if she closes her eyes she can pretend it is our father.

"He was never as good as you are, hermanita."

~~~~~~

The rest of the training week went well. Better than well, but I was mainly just relieved that I wasn't a big disappointment.

The negative of my good performance is that I will be put on the team list. Jonatan pulled me aside after training today and told me I am on it and I thanked him with a smile, hiding my emotions.

I knew my sister was going to find out sooner or later. I'm honestly surprised it has taken her this long, it is not like she has been completely absent from the training grounds. Aitana seems to be the only one who has noticed that me and Alexia have not spoken, but she still has not got anything out of me.

I tell Mami to lock the doors and windows when the team list comes out because I don't want to face Alexia when she inevitably comes over and asks about it. She tells me to stop being ridiculous.

I manage to lock myself in my room when I hear her car coming up the driveway. As soon as she is in the house I climb out the window and walk to the bus stop. I don't want to deal with her tonight. I don't want to deal with her ever, to be honest.

The bus driver smiles at me as I tap on, heading to the back of the bus, no destination in mind. I am happy to just sit there as it drives through my home. My phone is unsurprisingly buzzing of the hook, full of congratulatory messages from friends and family and strangers and fans.

Aitana: *attachment: 1 file* very very proud of you! congrats little lena.

She had screenshotted the team list and put a big heart around my name and I think that might be what started to tears.

But before I knew i could see tears tracking down my face in my reflection as I stared out the window, my mind just wishing that things were normal. Wishing that I was at home celebrating with my family, excited to finally be on the same team as my older sister. I wish I wasn't crying on a bus trying to escape confrontation with my sister who I know will be disappointed that I am on her team.

But this is how it is.

I find myself getting off the bus outside the park near the training grounds, still not sure where I am going. I was considering heading in, practicing my shooting or going to the gym, although I expect they will be closed.

What I don't expect is to hear someone calling out to me.

"Pequena Putellas!" The voice is familiar and I recognise it almost immediately. "What is my little replacement doing out so late in the middle of Barcelona?"

Mapi reached me quickly despite the crutches that she doesn't seem to be relying on too heavily.

"Congratulations, replacement! First team sheet-" she stops when she sees my face. "oh."

"Hola Mapi." I put on a smile but it is a weak effort. "I'm just heading home."

"Si, this is about you and Ale, no?" I look at her curiously and she rolls her eyes. "You don't think I wouldn't have noticed? She is my best friend!"

"And that is why I can't talk to you! I have to go home because they will be looking for me." She rolls her eyes again.

"You are coming over to my house and we are talking about this like grown-ups because you are now a professional athlete. You are not a grown up but you have grown up since I saw you last pequena!" She smiles lightly and uses one arm to pull me into a hug. It is awkward with her crutches. "I have missed you so much." Her words are mumbled quietly into my hair, her arms warming me with comfort and nostalgia. 

Apparently, the new apartment Mapi has moved into with Ingrid is right across the road from the park so we walk back, Mapi getting increasingly frustrated as I become more and more reluctant.

"Maria, please just let me go home?"

She was adamant that she wanted to talk. I just think she wants to know what happened between me and Alexia but I can't tell her. She wouldn't understand. Nobody would understand because everyone would just think I'm being childish and petty. Maybe that's just what I am.

We stand in silence as the elevator takes us up the levels to the apartment.

"Ingrid is not home, she is out with Frido tonight so you do not have to talk to her."

I let out a quiet exhale in relief. Ingrid is nice enough from what I know of her in training but I don't want to have this unwanted conversation in front of anyone else.

Mapi and I used to be close. She was never my favourite but that is mainly because I saw her so often that the novelty of her had worn off quickly and I found myself gravitating away from her at trainings because, like Alexia, she was just always around.

But Mapi loved me like I was her little sister because she never had any of her own. She did a lot for me as a child and tried to pretend that she wasn't offended by my blatant favouritism of other players.

She sat down on the sofa in her living room as soon as she opened the door and I grabbed her crutches that she had thrown on the floor and stood them up against the wall.

"Thankyou, now sit here." She patted the seat beside her and I sat down, my arms crossed. "Do you want to tell me why you were crying alone in the middle of Barcelona, 45 minutes away from home?"

I shook my head.

"Will Mami be mad?" I hate the wobble in my voice.

"No, I texted her and told her you were with me and she said it is ok. She is not mad at you, pequena."

"I don't like being called that anymore." I slumped down in my seat.

"What do you want to be called?" I am surprised that she didn't ask why. I suppose it might be obvious.

"I usually just get called my name." I pause. "Elena."

She smiles lightly, though I can see the water in her eyes.

"I know your name. I know you very well, Lena, I have for a long time but I also know your sister very well and I know that there have been problems for a while now and I know that she is trying her very best to not make it obvious that it is ripping her up and you are doing a very bad job of hiding your sadness. Why did you not tell her you had been called up into the first team?"

I roll my eyes but choose not to respond.

"No, don't roll your eyes at me, peque- Elena. I understand something must have happened but it is big news that you neglected to tell her!"

"What is bigger news? Breaking up with your girlfriend or being called up as a replacement in a football team?"

She hesitated and I continued.

"Getting a new girlfriend or being called up as a replacement? Buying a dog or being called up as a replacement? Being told you are about to win the Ballon d'Or or being called up as a replacement? She told me nothing for so long so don't you dare try and tell me that I should tell her about my life when she does not care to tell me about hers!"

Mapi recoiled and I immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. What else has she done to make you upset?"

"No, Mapi, we're not doing this because you don't need to know about what my sister has done to me. I don't need a psychologist, I just need to grow out of being the pathetic and weak baby Putellas. The younger sister of La Reina who has not had to work hard because her pathway has already been paved and everything has been handed to her on a silver platter." My voice is bored, like I am in front of a class, presenting a boring speech that I have practiced in my bedroom for weeks. 

"Why do you say that? Where is this all coming from?" Her voice raises slightly and her arms wave about as she speaks.

"Because it is true, Maria, why else would things be the way they are? I don't deserve this, it's only been given to me because of my surname." My voice is clearly becoming more urgent and I try to calm myself down. It doesn't work. 

"Where are you getting this from? You need to stop making this stuff up in your head and telling it to yourself because it could not be further from the tr-" Mapi's voice was raised, only slightly, but I could hear the wobble in her voice.

"I am not telling myself this stuff, Alexia did! And Alexia is right, she always has been and she always will be. She is a football geek she knows everything."

Mapi pauses, her mouth opening like a goldfish and her eyes staring straight into mine for any hint of exaggeration or lies. She found none. I have never been a liar.

"She... she said that? To you?" Mapi was surprised. How could her best friend have said something like that to the little girl that meant the world to her? "Alexia said that to you?"

I regret my small outburst immediately; I didn't want to tell Mapi. My fingers begin to get restless, my heart racing, my gum held firmly between my teeth. It is in these moments that I would move to the piano and prepare myself to play a song. My fingers ghost imaginary keys by my side as I take a deep breath, preparing myself to beg and plead; to do whatever I need for Mapi to forget everything I just said. 

"No, you cannot say anything, Maria, this is all a lie, I am dramatic, I am making it all up. Please, just forget I said anything. Please." Tears began to slip out of my eyelids and the expression on my face can only be described as desperation.

"calma, calma. vale. I will forget everything and I will not tell anybody, as long as you don't want me to. But pequenita, it is not true, not true at all and you don't deserve for anybody at all to speak to you like that. You are talented, so talented that I am jealous of you, not your natural talents but your work ethic, Elena, your work ethic is admirable. You are so strong and you have worked for every single opportunity you have been offered and do not ever-" I look away from her.

"Look at me, Elena, look." I look towards her again and notice the water in her eyes.

"Do not ever let anybody tell you otherwise and if you do you call me up immediately and they will get a piece of my mind, si?"

I slump into Mapi's familiar arms and let out a small cry and she just squeezes me harder. I haven't ever told anyone that much of the conversation I had with Alexia - not even Alba - and to hear her best friend attempt to squash any of the worries I had about myself was refreshing. My fingers begin to ghost imaginary piano keys, preparing to begin playing a piece.

"Was this before or after you transferred to La Masia? That is around when she stopped going to your games, no?" Her voice was soft and I felt the need to answer.

"It was during the party that Mami held, when my spot at the academy was accepted. That was the reason why I started crying when I was talking to you. You probably don't even remember that, it was so long ago." I let out a dry chuckle and she rubbed her hand down my back.

"I remember. I remember thinking you were not telling me the truth but I had no idea what was wrong. You have been suffering in silence ever since?"

I don't want to nod my head because it feels dramatic to say that. 

"I told Alba only a little bit of it but nobody else knows. Please, please, please don't tell anybody. Not Mami, not Alexia, not anyone. Please." I looked up at her and she stared at me wordlessly for a few moments before exhaling softly.

"Elena..." She pauses again. "As much as I want to go and give your stupid sister a piece of my mind I will not but on the condition that you talk to Alba or your Mami or me or anyone about it, si? Even Alexia. Maybe she has forgotten. But she misses you, that much I can tell."

I nod, wordlessly making a promise that I know I can not keep. She seems to be satisfied though and changes the topic.

"vale, buena. It is too late to drive you home so you will stay here tonight and Ingrid and I will drive you to Johan tomorrow, si?"

I nod, I do not have a choice.

"Is there a piano in this apartment?"

~~~~~~

Mapi saying she had a piano is an overstatement, it is a keyboard with Norwegian inscriptions that was shoved into the corner of the unused study. Apparently Ingrid does not play the piano but has always wanted to learn.

But, I take the equipment for what it is and sit on the stall, flicking through the different sounds for a while before I find something I like. The office chair behind me squeaks as Mapi sits down but I ignore her presence as I place my fingers on the keyboard.

She would have noticed the release of tension in my shoulders when I sat down. She would have noticed the sigh of relief that I released as my fingers placed themselves on the keyboard.

The song starts out slow. Ludovico Einaudi is one of my favourite composers. His notes sing out from the keyboard speakers and soon they become faster and more intense. Nuvole Bianche is a pretty song, in my opinion, and I like to make up stories as I play it whenever I do. Sometimes I relate to the stories and other times I do not.

But the song builds and builds until a brief pause in the middle in which I hear Mapi sniffling and there is shuffling downstairs. Ingrid must have arrived home. The song picks back up quickly and before I know it the last few chords are ringing out through the room and Mapi has come to stand behind me and is rubbing her hand down my back.

"The last song you played me was un elefante se balanceaba and now you are playing this. You made us sing along and you went all the way to 50, we were in there for a long time. But now you have grown up. You are still so young but you have grown up now I am so proud of you."

I can hear the tears in her eyes so I stand up and pull her into a hug. I feel guilty, she is Alexia's best friend and I accidentally slipped what Alexia said which could potentially drive them apart. But I can't help but feel relieved, I feel comfort which is something I have been looking for for such a long time. Mapi used to be like a sister to me. I don't think I even realised how much I have missed her. 

"That song was so hard!"

She chuckles into the hug and I do too.

Maybe I deserve to feel like this every once in a while.

~~~~~~

hope you enjoyed x

more coming in the next few days