#Like that town was dreary :(

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[kikuism]

it's not a guilty pleasure but i LOVE this specific brand of books with these features:

take place in the winter, in a remote, isolated area; key themes are confinement and isolation

a sense of Otherness that the main character feels, whether from the wilderness or the people

an eerie uncanny feeling that permeates through the story—something's not right....but what could it be.....the townspeople aren't telling me anything....

slowly building dread and paranoia

[dandyshucks]

AGONY AGONY AGONY <- has to leave the house for a free lunch but just wants to stay home and work on art of their favourite fictional character

[an-egg-on-it]

Feeling the urge to write a patcap mermaid AU

[mrmachupichu]

I've been pretty meh on the new monsters in Wilds so far UNTIL this trailer. I looove rose spider. Railgun dragon is pretty cool too now that I can see it better. And we got a bit more of that Monster Hunter goof as well (still hoping there's an adorable Felyne chef cooking animation). So yeah I'm pretty happy!

[bravo666]

mdni • price x f!reader

captain price has a ritual and his men know better than to disturb. every time 141 gets back from an op and rumbles back to hereford, they unload, debrief, file the necessary reports and then some, all that dreary bureaucracy that needs to be done within the first couple hours of touching back onto english soil. and then, at the first opportunity, he fucks off. captain’s privilege, he says.

the others do too—on the town or to the bunks or to their own flats or wherever—but price never joins them. he has his own destination in mind and it’s a solo journey, so quit nosing about trying to find out, sergeant. he’s only ever gone for a few hours, six at the most, before he rolls on back to base, squares his shoulders, and throws himself back into work. at least he always seems a bit lighter when he comes back.

said destination is a pub not one, not two, but three villages over. the further from base, the less likely it is for him to run into one of his men, and he’d just hate it if that happened, would feel like a dog dragging mud in through the garden door, crossing his wires. he might not like it about himself, but john price is a greedy and selfish man, and the pretty little thing that’s been tending bar for the past few years is a morsel that he wants to keep all to himself, cradled in his jaw and savored.

the dingy pub is nondescript and uncreative, a local establishment that’s been around since anyone can remember and hadn’t changed a whit. price found the place back when he was first made captain and started looking for further out watering holes, looking for some peace and quiet away from the places where the recruits drank. he almost wrote the place off his lists of spots before he saw the flustered young bartender duck in for her shift.

since then, he’s been a regular—for a given value of ‘regular’, as much as a military man can be—ever since. started swapping conversation after the third or fourth visit. polite conversation turned friendly, then raucous with laughter, then warm and teasing.

that’s as far as he let’s it go, naturally. with a job like his, he’s married to his work; there’s no room, no time in his life for a sweet little wife, no matter what he dreams at night with his cock fisted in his grip or whose face he happens to see play the role. he tried the whole wife thing once, chased after it, even, and all price has to show for it is an alimony payment set to automatically go out every month.

(his ex-wife couldn’t handle him in the end. she was the type of woman who needed him at every hour to keep her love alive and couldn’t stomach the weeks alone while he was deployed, and even when price was home, she didn’t have an appetite to match his when he slipped himself off his leash. they both jumped into it without looking ahead. such is life.)

so he ignored the hungry need for a woman beside him, and even if he ever did go down that route again, it couldn’t be her. she’s young and bright and untouched by blood. playful flirting and occasional brushes of fingers hovered somewhere plausibly deniable as a service worker buttering up a favorite patron, or—and price only lets this thought loose for a moment before snatching it and shoving it down with a growl—a friend. he’s gone half the year anyway, or something like it. every time he comes, he carries the irrational, ugly fear that in she’s moved on, moved out, got a new job, left the country, got married—

when he shoulders through the door now, sawdust sticking to his boots, his girl’s—because that’s what she is, even if it’s only the sight of her that he lets himself claim and hoard—wiping down glasses behind the sill, the pub just about empty as all the old timers went home. his first thought is that she’s still there, thank god. his second’s that she’s changed up her hair. it looks good. price pointedly ignores the way the sight of her with her new hair and those pretty lips makes him chub up a little.

his girl’s eyes crinkle a little when she looks up toward the door. “john,” she says warmly, and before he’s even seated at his usual spot on the bar, she’s filling him up his favorite pint. “how are you doing, handsome? just got back from saving the world?”

a snarling, hungry, traitorous part of his brain tells him that his wife is being so good, keeping him fed and watered, and the only thing next on her wifely duties is to keep his balls drained. he tells it to go stuff itself.

“still working on it, sweetheart,” price says with a sip. maybe it was worth it, when she asked a while ago why he showed up so irregularly, to tell her that he was SAS, if only for the way she called it after. saving the world. that’d be nice.

this time, though, he notices something else that’s new besides the hairstyle, and it makes his beer taste like dust in his mouth. a glint in the light, on his girl’s left hand.

not really his girl anymore, is she?

price swallows down his mouthful and tries to quell the sudden heat that rises in his veins, a raging anger that feels, inexplicably, like he’s been stolen from. his molars clench together for dear life as he rearranges, tames, quiets himself. it was fine. it was fine! she’s just his bartender, is all. his friend. modern country and whatever, she could go meet whoever, get engaged to whoever, fuck whoever, and if she was happy, then—then price would have to be happy for her.

(she better be happy, he thinks. if whatever little boy she’s found isn’t making her feel like a bloody princess every god damn day then he doesn’t deserve the fingers he touches her with or the cock between his legs—)

this was good, even. with a ring on her finger, price’d always have a reminder that pretty girls didn’t owe him anything, don’t belong to him like a dog with a bone. kill the fantasy, keep his head on the missions. a better soldier. it’s that tightening thought that lets him calm himself enough to say “congratulations are in order, i assume?”

his gi—the—she furrows her brow in confusion, but she follows price’s gaze—how could she not, with him practically burning a hole in her finger with his stare—and laughs. “oh, that,” she says, easy as ever. “no, nothing’s happened.” she wiggles the ring off her finger and sliding it across the counter to price for his inspection.

under his touch, the tell is obvious: it’s plastic, cheap, almost gummy plastic. the faux diamond is cheap acrylic, only close to sparkling because she’s gone through and polished it up. it takes him a moment before he puts it together, but before he does, he briefly becomes so angry that he thinks he might actually kill a civilian for treating her this way.

“bought that online for five quid,” she keeps going. “just to stop some of the patrons from asking questions, or flirting, or, you know, trying to introduce me to their nephews and that kind of thing.”

a decoy ring. a dummy, a shield, something with no actual suitor attached to the other end. price is so relieved that he can feel every muscle in his aching body untense, and it pisses him off because he knows he shouldn’t care this much about his friend’s love life. “smart,” he says, his voice a bit thick before he clears it. “smart. though, you know, sweetheart, you could always try telling them you’re not interested.”

“please, john, you think i haven’t tried?” she shrugs. “no, most of them don’t listen without seeing a little proof that that seat is taken. always thought they could convince me otherwise. the ring shuts up most of them, and the few that still don’t get the hint, i end up having to tell them stories about ‘my husband’ before they piss off.”

the word husband coming from her mouth makes something rumble in price’s chest that’s becoming dangerously difficult to ignore. he tries a chuckle, tries to focus on the feeling of his beard bristling his own cheeks and not the way they would feel against hers, and tries to lighten the mood. “so, what, you just make up stories about this husband of yours? grand tales of romance?”

but she looks away, and—is his girl flustered? she picks up a rag in her hands and starts wiping idly at the counter, like she’s trying to avoid his eyes. “oh, you know,” she says. “i keep it simple. just enough to, er, get them to stop, and consistent, so they can’t pick holes. he’s—he’s in the military. leads a team.”

then, quietly, “he’s out there saving the world.”

the dog slips his leash.

when price finally leaves to make the long drive back to base, his shirt rumpled and his chin wet with slick, he keeps the plastic ring in his back pocket, not bothering to give it back. why would he? she doesn’t need it anymore, because he’s going to buy his girl the real diamonds that she deserves.

[violetreminder]

honestly the worst, most pointless feeling in the world is feeling guilty about quitting a job you hate

[idkfitememate]

Their fucking “venom-based fluids” still hasnt left my mind. I thought they were just sparkly. Who was going to tell me they basically weren’t vampires. Please guys-

Which one of you was going to tell me the vampires in Twilight were made of stone. Or a stone like substance. And that’s why they sparkle.

Why was this hidden from me.

[klausysworld]

I know it's a bit random, but I just had an idea for a Klaus story, which is that Reader goes on a long trip with Klaus and his siblings but they only have one car and Reader has to sit in Klaus lap due to space constraints. Reader and Klaus are kinda friends because she is Elena's little sister, but he often confidently flirts with her, but when she sits on his lap he unintentionally gets hard and that makes him super embarrassed. She notices and he apologizes quietly, trying to make sure his siblings don't notice + smut in the end

According To Plan

The mikaelson's originally ruined my life. They crash landed into an already chaotic town and destroyed it. First Elijah, then Klaus, then Rebekah, then Mikael, then Kol, Finn and finally Esther.

They put my sister, Elena, at risk all of the time and rarely cared about anyone but themselves. They didn't even care about each other...well I thought they didn't.

Klaus and Elijah scared me for a while and put me on edge because I knew I wasn't significant enough to keep alive but when Rebekah ended up out of her coffin and in town, she seemed to take a liking to me and that got be sucked into all of their family drama.

It started because I was the only girl in school that didn't just pretend she wasn't there. Despite her having a clear hatred toward Elena, she hadn't actually done anything harmful at that point so I didn't see why we were being cruel to her first.

I didn't expect to become her best and only friend in town after that day.

Rebekah hadn't ever laid a threatening hand on me, never spoke low of me or used me for information. She genuinely wanted a friend and I could feel that. I wasn't gonna turn her away because she was Klaus's sister, not until she did something that made her awful.

So I stuck about, helped her pick a homecoming dress which she didn't even get to go to which I was not happy about and neither was Klaus which he made abundantly clear when he accused me of hurting her.

I found her a while later in Damon's dumbass basement, knew I couldn't just wake her up without consequences so made a deal with Klaus. Bex's safety for Jeremy''s safety so I could justify it to Elena and her gang. He went with it and everything worked.

Until this stupid fuck decided to stick her back in a coffin and wait it out.

Shit went down when all the Mikaelsons were up and about. Bekah had me at the mansion the night after her siblings and mother were woken. Klaus and Kol were constantly bickering whilst Elijah looked paler than...well paler than usual and very anxious but Rebekah just shrugged it off. She was just happy to have her mother.

And also to throw a ball.

I was forced to get tailored and have a colour theory assessment to figure what colour, style and fabric my dress needed to be. Elena had always been my mother's focus, she was her miracle, her eldest. So Elena got to have her hair styled, nails done, dresses designed and I would sit at home with my hand-me-downs and Jeremy's toys that I'd steal. It was kinda nice to be dressed up and pretty. I had stared in the mirror for so long, picking every detail apart trying to decide if I loved it because it was me or loved it because it wasn't really me at all. That's when Klaus appeared in the doorway.

"Everyone's arriving, love. Rebekah's downstairs greeting people and waiting ever so eagerly for her dreary date but she wanted me to make sure you came down." He explained the situation and I nodded, taking a breath and heading out the room, brushing past him as I did. The door was pushed shut and he fell in step beside me. "You look gorgeous by the way." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"You practicing your lines for when Caroline gets here?" I asked and he let out a breath.

"No, I meant it." He argued and smirked to himself as he took my arm, pulling it to wrap around his own and 'helping' me down the staircase.

"Sure you did. But I wouldn't say 'gorgeous' to Caroline. She already knows she is, pick something a little less common." I muttered and his brows furrowed.

"Like what?" he questioned and I shrugged.

"I don't know...maybe like....ravishing" I whispered, dramatically and sarcastically as we got to the bottom and I let go of his arm, spotting Rebekah looking moody. "Good luck" I gave a thumbs up and he hummed.

"You too."

I won't lie, I did laugh when I overheard him actually call her ravishing. Rebekah didn't get it and just complained about how great Caroline looked, to which I just scoffed and told Bex to go look in the mirror and get a reality check.

The whole dance thing came around and I ended up starting with Kol which was way too funny, he would not stop. Klaus did not look amused when we swapped partners and I was spun into his arms next.

"Believe me, love, Kol is not that funny. You're over selling it and inflating his ego." He complained, a level of bitterness in his tone which I was not expecting.

"I'm sorry, have I offended you by laughing?" I asked, scoffing softly as he pulled my waist closer.

"You haven't offended me." He muttered and that was that.

Tense night guys, tense night. Not as tense as Bekah's though when she wound up in Damon's bed. Thankfully, I woke up in my own.

After that night, there was no way I was getting away from that family.

In a few months Rebekah was a better sister to me than Elena and a better friend than the ones I'd had since kindergarten.

So when everything went down with the cure, I wanted her to have it so that she could live the human life that she had always wanted.

I cried for Kol's life when I came home to his remains on my kitchen floor and Klaus trapped in my living room. Caroline and Tyler didn't say a word as I scraped his ashes into a box and in return I didn't give any argument when Klaus bit Caroline. Instead, I just sat on the sofa opposite Klaus, staring into space as I waited for my phone to light up with some good news from Rebekah, hoping she had the cure for herself after Klaus had revealed that there was only one dose.

Faintly I heard Caroline mumbling about Klaus being in love with her, that made me laugh and dying or not, she didn't like that.

"Oh come on...I mean, he's like a thousand years old Care. He wants to fuck you, he likes the chase because when he finally gets you it feels like a win. You think a dance and a date is the same as love? What's Tyler then? Your soulmate? Is Matt too?" I was taunting a reaction really. I was still mad about Kol, we had become pretty good friends and the others new that and didn't care in the slightest. So yeah, I wanted her to hurt. I wanted all of them to hurt but Caroline always made it clear that she was better than me so having the power in that moment felt especially good.

When Klaus finally gave her a drop of blood, she was storming out of my house and dragging Tyler. Klaus only gave me a look and head nod of some sort of understanding before he gestured to the seat beside him and I moved over. I stayed against him until the barrier dropped and he was able to sort his shit out.

Rebekah didn't get the cure, Silas went crazy on everyone and life fell to fuck again.

Just when things got a little better, Rebekah came bursting through the door.

"You will not believe what my twat of a brother has gone and done!" She yelled, eyes wide and borderline shocked.

"Klaus?"

"Obviously! You won't even believe- hybrids can reproduce!" She revealed and I choked on nothing.

"Woah- wait. What has he done now?" I asked and she nodded enthusiastically.

"He got some wolf girl pregnant! They're in New Orleans right now. Keeping the baby! Elijah's there too, convinced they'll be some happy family." She muttered and I stared, completely gobsmacked.

Took a week but eventually she agreed to go too and I was beyond curious as to how this was gonna play out so took my place and kept by them.

People were dying left right and centre, wolves and witches and vampires. It was a war zone 24/7 until the day Hope was born and pronounced dead only she wasn't dead. Never had I ever been so tired. It was like a never ending game of tennis, whacking problems back and forth non stop.

And yet, somehow, no matter who had just been slaughtered, Klaus would have a comment to throw at me. Whether it be as simple as "Who are we all dressed up today for?" on a random Tuesday or as vulgar as "Christ love, do you want the whole city tearing that dress off?" when Bex and I were heading out for a fun mnight.

Touching also became increasingly common. Hands on my shoulders when he's stood behind me or my hips to keep my still. Waist if I needed to be stuck at his side, like if there was a threat, and arm with his whenever there was a dance even when I wasn't his date.

Rebekah had made many comments, Hayley too but I was a firm denier. A very firm denier for years. Years.

Hope grew up to be a far to aware child. In fact she asked at least a dozen times if I was her second mommy because her daddy and I were in love. When I told her we weren't in love, she would raise both brows and say a very sarcastic "Okaaay, whatever you say." And leave me speechless every damn time.

Even Kol was laughing. Wasn't having it.

But that stupid trip was definitely a set up. Not just by Kol or Bekah or Hayley, every single last Mikaelson and their fuckers.

Hope wanted to see the grand canyon. Somehow it became an entire family holiday/trip/plan situation to go to Arizona for a week, maybe visit California and blah blah blah.

We had two five seater cars. And somehow eleven people were going.

The car situation needed to be considerate of how many hours we would be in the cars and how likely arguments were.

"I'm not being in a car with Kol for over twenty hours." Klaus protested immediately and Davina nodded.

"Please don't put me in a car with Klaus." She muttered whilst Kol just grinned.

"I wanna go with Auntie Bekah and Auntie Freya!" Hope chimmed in and both sisters laughed in agreement.

"I can drive one of the cars?" Keelin offered and they nodded.

"Woah, wait." Hayley shook her head. "If Rebekah's there, where's Marcel? He can't be with Klaus or Elijah if we want to make it there without screaming."

I just stared, there wasn't enough space and I technically wasn't family and I wasn't dating or married to anyone there so I was ready to just stay home.

"We can drive with you, Elijah and Klaus?" Keelin replied to Hayley, reffering to both her and Freya who nodded.

"Yeah, then Kol, Davina, Bex, Marcel and Hope can go together and Hope still gets Bex. We can swap around halfway? We'll need to stop and sleep at a hotel or something anyway." Freya summarised and everyone nodded before Rebekah's eyes fell on me, I just shook my head at her to tell her it was fine but once we started our silent conversation others began to take notice.

"Y/N, you'll be in the car with us" Hayley said as though it was obvious.

"Sure but there's no room. You, Elijah, Keelin, Freya and Klaus-"

"Why's my name last?" Klaus interjected and I rolled my eyes.

"-There's ten seats and eleven of us. It's fine, I can stay here and you know...water the plants and stuff." I muttered, glancing around at the neglected, very dead plants.

"Of course not, you have to come." Elijah argued and I was slightly surprised it was him to say anything first though we had gotten closer over the years.

They all started mumbling between themselves before Kol just piped up.

"Oh come on! Just sit in my lap darling, you know I wouldn't drop you" He winked and Davina smacked her lips before delivering a swift smack to the side of his head and relishing in his yelp.

That's when everyone's eyes darted to Klaus.

"Just...sit on Nik's lap." Rebekah shrugged and I was ready to slap this bitch.

"Really, I'll just stay here and see the pictures." I backed out and Klaus frowned.

"What's wrong with my lap, love? You didn't protest to Kol's. I'm a much better option and much safer than a seatbelt." He defended and I sighed.

"Klaus-"

"No, it's decided. You'll be with me."

And that was that. Nothing I said was even heard after that, by anyone I swear.

Which was how I ended up telling Klaus that I was not sitting on his hands.

"Oh don't act like you wouldn't love to feel my hands holding that tight-"

"Klaus. Finish that sentence and I'm gonna smack you before sitting on Elijah's lap." I warned and he shut his mouth with a cocky smirk on his face.

Keelin was driving, Freya in the passenger, Elijah at behind Freya, Hayley in the middle cuddled up to the suited original and Klaus sat behind Keelin with my begrudgingly on his lap. His arms were wrapped round my body acting the same as a seat belt and also forcing my back to be against his chest after I tried to just perch on his knee and he called me ridiculous.

I lasted fifteen minutes of him whispering teasing comments into my ear about other ways we could end up with me on his lap before I had my headphones on to block him out.

We planned to do a stop at the services after five hours, less if Hope needed to use the bathroom or got hungry for something other than the snacks.

I got comfy after the first hour, letting myself relax against him and enjoy the drive. Three hours in he got fidgety and I paused the song to try ask what he was doing but then I felt it.

I don't think he knew my music had stopped when he cussed quietly and tried to move his hips back a bit. I wasn't sure whether shifting would make it better or worse as his cock only seemed to be getting more prominent against my ass.

I glanced to the side, seeing Hayley and Elijah both with headphones in and watching a film on an ipad before glancing up front to Freya and Keelin who were singing along to the radio up front.

Slowly I reached and pulled my headphones down around my neck and cleared my throat softly. He tensed against me and sucked in a breath.

"You okay?" I whispered, making sure to keep quiet and he placed his hand against the side of the car, pushing himself up to sit straighter but it just felt lift he pressed against me more.

"Fuck- sorry" He muttered, his voice breaking a little and he sounded weirdly panicked.

I expected him to make a flirty comment like normal, maybe even get touchy but he was actually...embarrassed?

"It's...okay" I murmured and pulled myself forward so I wasn't touching his crotch. "It's not long till we stop now anyway" I told him as I glanced at the sat nav.

We stayed like that for a while before some cry pulled in front of us unexpectedly and Keelin had to slam the breaks. I felt my body go forward before Klaus's arms pulled my straight back against him before my face could hit the back of the seat in front. My hands grabbed onto his arms as my heart rate spiked with adrenaline and my breathing sped up.

"It's alright love." he whispered against my ear whilst Keelin called an apology back to us. We stayed pressed right against each other regardless of his hard-on.

By the time we got to the services Klaus had nearly thrust his hips at least six times.

He went straight for the bathroom when we got there while I headed for the McDonald’s queue with Hope and Kol.

By the time we were getting back in the car, Klaus looked rough,.

Face pink, eyes refusing to look anywhere other than straight and had most definitely not resolved his problem. That was clear when he sat back down in the car and grimaced to himself.

I sat back in his lap and bit down on my lip. The others hadn't gotten I yet, they were swapping Freya and Keelin for Rebekah and Marcel with high hopes for no tension before we got to a hotel.

"Is there anything I can do to-"

"Please don't offer anything right now." He whispered, his jaw clenching making me hold a laugh. I sighed and turned round in his lap to face him.

"It's not a big deal" I told him and he frowned.

"It's embarrassing and we still have hours." He muttered. Honestly this was the perfect opportunity to tease him like he does me usually but he was actually stressed.

"Klaus, I don't mind. It's flattering, really." I told him gently. "Besides you can't help it, I'm just great." I shrugged and he smiled.

"Mhm, you're irresistible love." he chuckled and I hummed.

"Exactly, anyone would get turned on with my tight ass on their lap." I tease, using his words from earlier to make him laugh but it also made his cock twitch beneath me. My eyes glanced down and it made him shift. "Did you try to uh...get rid of it?" I asked, referring to when he ran to the bathroom.

"I tried to." He mumbled and turned me around so my back was to him as the other doors opened and Rebekah slid in beside us, grinning brightly and leaning over to hug me.

We chatted for the majority of the second half, Bex complained that Kol wouldn't stop singing in the other car and so on. Klaus's hands would clench every now and then if I moved too much or the car jolted but that didn't happen very often with how sensibly Elijah drove.

We got to the chosen hotel a full thirty minutes later than the others because Elijah wouldn't drive a single mile faster than the speed limit.

When we arrived we were only handed three room keys. Kol had gotten himself and Davina a room, Keelin and Freya room, Bekah and Marcel, and then another double bed room and a family room. Hope wanted to be with her mom so she came out of Freyas to go with Hayley and Elijah to the family room and Klaus and I had to share.

It would have been a whole lot less awkward if he hadn't had his erection for the entire day pressed against me but we powered through. Rebekah could be heard giggling to Marcel when they closed their door, waving at me with cocky smiles.

Klaus went straight in the shower so I put the TV on to drown out whatever he was doing (we all know what he was doing). He came out over half an hour later, face still pink as he glanced at me. I couldn't help but look and much to my surprise his cock was still pressing against his sleep pants.

"Klaus-"

"I don't want to talk about it." He mumbled as he got in bed beside me and rolled to face the opposite direction. I sighed quietly and went to the bathroom to get into my travel pyjamas before laying down next to him. The bed was definitely only a queen, we were pretty much touching the whole time no matter how close to the edge I was. I stared up at the ceiling for ages. It was so dark that I could barely see anything but I could tell that he was awake too, especially when he moved round to face me. I turned my head to look at him, my eyes squinting to make out his face with the tiny bit of moonlight that slipped past the curtains.

The silence was loud when his forehead pressed to mine and his eyes closed.

Thoughts come much easier when it's late. All ideas seem like good ones.

So I didn't really consider what I was doing when my hand slipped down to his crotch. He grunted softly when I cupped his bulge through the cotton. I looked down, watching my hand slip under his his waistband.

"Love..." He whispered before a groan left his lips when my fingers wrapped around his cock. My teeth bit down on my own tongue as I took his thickness into consideration. It was so quiet beside his heavy breathing as I stroked him firmly, his arm went around me and pulled me right up against him and his face nuzzled the crook of my neck.

It definitely wasn't a position I thought I'd end up in when this trip was planned but I couldn't say I wasn't enjoying it a bit. I let go of his length and he made a sound that closely resembled a whimper. I licked my hand a few times, coating my skin in saliva before sliding it along his shaft.

"Oh bloody hell" He muttered as his hips jumped up into my hand. I felt my eyes widen slightly at the full feel of him from tip to base. I squeezed him in my hand, feeling a sense of pride at how hard I had gotten him from doing literally nothing.

I felt his hand on the back of my head, pulling me down until our lips pressed together. His skin was warm against min and the sheets ensured that as our mouths moved in sync. His body moved like a wave to thrust his cock back and forth in my grip but I could feel him getting frustrated as he nipped my bottom lip, drawing blood.

I pulled away with a strained moan and squeezed his dick again. "Klaus, you gotta slow down" I whispered but he shook his head.

"I'm close-" he panted, "I just..." his hips kept bucking but I could tell he was struggling.

I opened my hand, letting go of him making him let out an angry cry. I knew he wanted to question me but his words halted in his throat when I moved my lips to his jaw, slowly but surely kissing lower down his body.

He went tense when I reached his cock before both his hands scooped my hair into a makeshift ponytail and I took his head into my mouth. We both took deep breathes for different reasons as he pushed my head down, I could feel my saliva dripping down his length as his head stroked the back of my mouth and teased my throat. I pulled up and his arms relaxed, letting me bob my head along his cock but taking him deeper when he pushed down. My eyes kept closing as I forced myself not to gag. I could taste him getting closer, his tip leaked against my tongue as I rolled it over the top half. His hands tightened their hold on my hair and his thighs tensed either side of me.

He held me down when he came making me gag as warm fluid hit the back of my throat. His hands dug into my scalp and I could hear him groaning as I swallowed it down.

My head shot up with a gasp for air and a soft laugh as he laid back against the pillows taking slow breaths. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sat up.

I laid back down beside him and silence fell back over us but it wasn't as bad this time.

We must've fallen asleep sometime after because when I opened my eyes it was light in the room and my head was using Klaus's chest as a pillow.

For a second I thought that what had happened was a dream but when I pulled myself up the memories flooded in quickly and I looked down at Klaus who looked all the more ready to fuck me quite simply. Pupils blown, lips parted as he eyed me up and down like a piece of meat.

"Oh fuck." I cursed, running my hand through my hair and getting out of bed. I ignored his presence entirely and went to wash my face and get changed before leaving the room with my travel bag and knocking repeatedly on Rebekah's door.

She finally answered looking disheveled and very clearly just stopped having sex with Marcel but I didn't care.

"Breakfast now." I demanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her.

I wouldn't tell her what happened but she knew something had happened especially when everyone else arrived and Klaus just stared at me. Bekah glanced back and forth three times before raising both brows and sipping her coffee.

He seemed annoyed when I continued to ignore him for the next section of the car ride. So when we got to the services and I headed for the starbucks line, he was ride behind me. His hands were on my hips and I could feel his chest just brushing my shoulder-blades as we stood not so patiently.

"You're acting as though I've murdered your family pet, love." He murmured against the back of my ear making me sigh; I miss when he was embarrassed and quiet. I didn't reply to him and he huffed. "You weren't this rude last night-"

I elbowed him straight in the stomach making him wince before chuckling as his hands slipped round my waist. I wish I could say it made me feel uncomfortable but it just felt right in the most infuriating way. I continued to ignore him as I got to the till and made the order for myself, Bex and Hayley. Klaus got his card in before I could even reach into my pocket and I just went over to the waiting line. He was back on me in a second and pretty much breathing down my neck.

"Why are you being so cold, love? I thought we had a moment...or a few moments." He trailed and I clenched my jaw. He was teasing and it wasn't funny to me. I shouldn't have even thought about touching him like I had. He was my best friends brother for christs sake and I had to see him everyday, he was the worst person to get complicated with.

"You thought wrong." I mumbled and his hand squeezed my hip.

"Don't tell me you help out all of your friends like last ni-"

"Klaus would you just shut up? Last night was really, really stupid." I muttered.

"It wasn't stupid when you had your mouth on my cock, love." He hissed into my ear and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Hated how the tables had turned.

I didn't bother saying anything else to him as I grabbed the drinks and shoved past him.

Back in the car we were both silent, so was everyone else. The tension was built.

When we finally got to the luxury hotel we were staying in I was quick to go to my own room, refusing help with my case and just going to set up for the next few days.

I'd just had a shower and done my hair when my door knocked. I had a robe wrapped round my otherwise bare body when I unlocked the door and opened it only to push it shut again but Klaus's hand caught it and he forced his way inside. "We have a lot to discuss."

"We really don't Klaus." I sighed as I sat down at the vanity.

"First of all-" He stared and I groaned, "last night was a long time coming. Perhaps not the blow job-"

"Klaus!" I scolded, throwing my arms up knowing that everyone's rooms were just behind a couple thin walls.

"-but the whole snapping of...lets say tension. Lets just be honest love, it's not exactly a surprise that we're attracted to each other." He chuckled and I narrowed my eyes.

"Well hold on. You're attracted to me, you're the one who couldn't get rid of his boner for an entire day. If I hadn't gotten rid of it then I would have had to've dealt with it all day today too." I defended but we both knew it was bullshit.

"Oh? So you didn't kiss me? Didn't look me in the eye whilst you wrapped your lips-"

"Why have you always got to make everything a big deal?"

"It is a big deal. I didn't ask you to do that, I didn't even tease the idea. You wanted it, you did it." He was getting angrier and it was worse because I knew I was wrong but I'd gone too far to succumb to that now.

"You could've just gone to sleep but you turned over and gave me that stupid look!" I argued and he scoffed.

"What look?"

"You know exactly what look. Your eyes do that thing."

His eyes narrowed momentarily and he stepped closer. "Oh? Am I doing it now?" He asked and I rolled my eyes.

"No." I muttered but as I glanced back up at him I could feel his gaze intensifying and the blue of them storming over.

"No?" He tilted his head and reached his hand out to cup my face. I clenched my jaw and stared at him uneasily. His fingers stroked along my jaw gently but his grip was rough as he crouched down in front of me to be eye-level.

"Stop it." I whispered but I didn't really mean it and he knew that so when he got closer and pressed his mouth along the length of my neck my protests were almost nonexistent.

"You've been cruel to me all day." He muttered as his hands pushed the fabric of my robe down. "Cold...rude..." He mumbled as he kissed the skin of my cleavage whilst his hands untied the material round my waist so it fell open.

"Klaus" I uttered, slight resistance in my tone as I become exposed to his eyes. I pressed my thighs together so he couldn't see between them as his eyes dragged down my body. His kisses kept going to my breasts alongside his hands.

"Is this stupid too, love?" He chuckled as he glided his tongue over my left nipple making my nerves light up.

"You have to stop" I whispered and he nipped the flesh in his mouth causing my body to jolt and a gasp leaving my throat.

"Why?" He chuckled

"You're Bekah's brother." I muttered and he fully laughed.

"Don't behave as if I was every just Rebekah's brother." He grinned and pinched both my nipples between his fingers making this a whole lot harder. "That second I saw you, I knew I'd have you. From that ball where you looked gorgeous whether you believed it or not...to seeing you hold my child, feeling you wash the blood from my hands, feeding me your blood when I needed it. You've always been mine." As if to make his point he pressed a kiss to my lips and slid both hands to my knees before pushing my legs apart.

I wave of embarrassment hit me but I wasn't strong enough to close them with his hands there. "I don't feel...gorgeous" I whispered, wanting to hide my body from his view.

"Well you should." He uttered back, a firmness to his voice which held no nonsense before his mouth pressed a series of kisses down my stomach before I felt the heat of his lips on my core.

My eyes drooped slightly at the sensation and my fingers slid into his hair, curling around the soft curls as my gaze met his and his tongue slid out from his soft lips to stroke my clit. He licked at me so slowly, heating my body up more and more with each delicate touch. His hands slide under my thighs and guided my legs over his shoulders so I was barely sat on the chair as his face disappeared between my legs and his mouth clung onto my pussy. My grip on his hair tightened and a series of cries left me.

His actions gained speed and pressure whilst he went. I could feel my lower stomach twisting in pleasure, wanting nothing more than to feel the high I knew he could give me.

As my eyes closed, I knew now why Klaus was as cocky as he was. Any man with this much power over a woman would be as cocky as he. I'd never felt so utterly vulnerable and yet completely uncaring for the consequences at once. The knowledge of the fact that his siblings and our friends might hear fell right out of my head as I moaned his name as loud and as often as I could as my body and mind expressed it's raw emotion to his touch.

My body went back and I pressed my hand to the chair to keep myself up as he buried into my thighs and plunged his talented tongue in and out of me without slowing. Heat spilled from inside of me, rushing into his mouth and fuelling him to suck and slurp. The sound brought an unbelievable surge of want through me; my hips ground up against his face and I felt a deep chuckle leave him and vibrate through me in response before he pulled off of me. He licked his lips and swiped his sleeve over his chin before grabbing my thighs again and lifting me up before swinging me round and tossing me down.

I felt the air leave my lungs as my back hit the bed.

He was on me before I could take a breath and the robe was dragged completely from my body. His hands grabbed my wrists and my arms were pinned above my head. I could feel my chest moving up at down, the only sound I could hear was my breathing. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out until a loud banging sound broke my daze.

Within seconds I had a sheet wrapped right round me and Klaus had me gathered behind him.

"Oh for fucks sake- We're going out for dinner! You could have waited-" Rebekah's voice shrieked and I felt hot for different reasons.

"Would you get out- we're coming!" Klaus yelled and Rebekah gagged making him scoff.

I felt him turn to me but I was just staring at the closed door. His hand rubbed down the back of my body slowly before he leant down to kiss my lips firmly but shortly.

"We'll finish this after dinner, I promise you love." He muttered into my ear before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me off the bed and grabbing my suitcase. "Let's get you dressed and get out of here before I somehow lose my clothes too" He teased.

By the time we got out there everyone was stood waiting bar Hayley, Elijah and Hope. I went to ask but Rebekah just grabbed my hand and dragged me. Immediately I went to apologise but she started before I could. "Oh my god! I mean, I thought the car ride would build some tension but I wasn't expecting it to snap so easily- did you two have sex in the hotel yesterday!? Wait no don't tell me ew!" She exasperated.

"No! We didn't...have..sex." I muttered and I could feel her staring.

"I wanna ask but I really also don't..." She whispered and I nodded.

"Good shout." I mumbled and we kept walking ahead of the others. "Hope-?" I questioned.

"Hayley took her to the restaurant early to check she liked the menu, thank god."

"Oh shut up. This is your fault. You planned this." I muttered.

"Well...me and everyone else."

I love that you can just read my moodswings through this as I just didn’t know whether to make it completely fluffy, angsty or smutty. I really loved the request but I’m not really sure I did it justice

[pricetagged]

melrose

It started on the Inverbreck line. Eleven stations from Mildart to Dencarron before reaching the terminal station. Although, 'station' was being generous. It was more of a bramble-cracked podium and perpetually-closed ticket desk. Just two tracks bisected by a lone, dead-end platform; the only line that connected the town to the rest of the world. It was quiet. Dreary. (Dangerous, dark-) You catch the eye of something lonely and dangerous. Or, Vampire!Johnny AU.

CW: dark, MDNI. Stalking, harassment, kidnapping, noncon (of the enthralled kind) -> heavy dubcon (of the 'gives in' variety), blood, somno, basically 10k of build-up lol.

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

There was something on your chest.

Something heavy. Oppressive. A parasomnia made flesh; given form, pressing blunt and hard into your ribs. Bruising - capillaries bursting red and purple under the weight of the suffocating spirit.

Through fluttering, heavy eyes you caught the barest movement. Great, hulking, shadowy; a hypnopompic hallucination of what should be a man, but couldn't - (no- too big-). Your pulse fluttered quick and rabbity under the cage of your chest - stark, white bone and gristle and peach-soft flesh held still under the nightmare. Fuseli-esque and twisted, all garish blues and crimsons. Like someone had smudged paint on a corpse; some ghoulish mortician's joke.

A little grey here, two flashes of lapis, a great smear of scarlet dripping like sangria from the mouth.

It spoke.

"Ahm sorry, bonnie," it washed humid over your face. Hypnotic and rotten, you trembled under the gravel of its voice. "I just- ah had tae - fuck-"

It cut off with a groan, low and rich, slick lips smacking over slick teeth. The noise burrowed in, writhing under your flesh until you itched (not human, not natural, no no no, please-) but you couldn't move. All will and resolution scattered like ash in the wind as you just- couldn't- move. You felt the hysterical laughter bubble up in your chest but gave no voice to it. Limbs pinned to something soft and head-feverish, you could only peer through hazy, bleary eyes at the thing in front of you.

"Shh," it soothed as a whine escaped you, slurred and stumbling as something lifted you up, set you just right against the pillows. Soft satins and susurrus whispers hushed you, sent you spinning as thoughts slipped away like smoke in your hands. "Shh, it's alright. I've got ye, yer here now. Ah waited- I just- don't move."

(Move?)

Something wormed through, some undaunted, tenacious little thought-

I know that voice.

Your heart quickened.

Eyes fluttering wildly, you lifted your leaden head off the pillow. You saw him as through a veil -yes- yes, it was him-. The thoughts rooted like weeds, choking and constricting your already tight chest. Broad-shouldered and hirsute. Those piercing, animal eyes. That overgrown hair. That eerie, Cheshire grin with too-sharp teeth.

Johnny. The man from the train.

Your timorous, quick little breaths got caught in your loose, slack jaw. Synapses flared and died, useless under the force of this preternatural lull; terror struck hard and withered on the vine. Your thoughts raced, tripped and twisted until-

Your head drooped back, broken lily lolling on the stalk as everything went black.

----------- It started on the Inverbreck line.

Eleven stations from Mildart to Dencarron before reaching the terminal station. Although, 'station' was being generous. It was more of a bramble-cracked podium and perpetually-closed ticket desk. Just two tracks bisected by a lone, dead-end platform; the only line that connected the town to the rest of the world.

It was quiet. Dreary. (Dangerous, dark-)

The crisp, night air soothed your flushed cheeks, sharp and clear after the mustiness of the carriage. It was busiest closer to the city, bodies pressed tight. Stifling and hot, sweating under layers of Christmas jumpers and scarves as the train rattled down the tracks. People got jostled; you bumped into others. It was expected. Normal, really. Except-

Except it was always him.

He was hardly subtle, what being close to 6ft and broad as a brick house. He split the crowd with his mere presence, physicality turned to armour as people shuffled away from his bulk and closer to the doors.

And his eyes.

Cyan blue and too-bright. They swept the carriage, unblinking, until they landed on you. Constricted. Canicular. You felt the weight of his gaze like a net, heavy and abrasive, as your neck prickled and your throat went dry.

"Excuse me," he murmured, breath fanning hot against the shell of your ear. (Too close, too close-) His stubble tickled your cheek as he leaned in. "Tight squeeze, eh?"

There was a flittering pressure. A spasm of the fingers, surely, as his hand brushed your hip. He dug in hard to the plushness, gripping like he wanted to bury his fingers below layers of wool and acrylic until he gouged out space for himself below muscle and viscera. Just for a hairsplit-second. Lightning-quick, you yelped, murmured apologies to the censorious old woman next to you, and jerked away (not far enough).

"Sorry, lamb," he rasped - still so fucking close - and pressed in tight. "That wasnae the pole, was it."

You felt him behind you, bracketing you close to the grab bar. An ogre at your back and a crowd of apathy at your front. You scanned the carriage, too, wide-eyed and twitching but no- no. You wouldn't find help here. Bored, pallid faces. Some wind-flushed, some dry-lipped. All staring listlessly at their phones, watching the town turn to countryside out the window. The gentle rattle of the wheels on the track. The muted, jingling riffs and chords of Christmas music filtering through someone's headphones. Would anyone glance up, sense the twitching of your whiskers and take pity? A teenager fidgeting with a Magic Eight Ball caught your eye: 'All signs point to no!'

He was quick for someone so big. Your split-second glance cost you time to shoulder past the crowd, instead letting him step close enough to kick your bambi-legs wide and slip in between. You looked down past your hitching chest to see that he had planted one heavy, scuffed boot between your feet, the other boxing in your left leg. So close that his sole left marks, great black, sooty smears, all over the edge of your cute little shoes. 'At least they're waterproof; easier to clean'. The thought fizzled up like a sad sparkler.

The humidity of the carriage had you sweating- you and the crowd. The windows dripped with condensation, steam rising and revealing the fingerprints and traced messages of earlier passengers. Ella <3 Jason! Call Bilal: (+47)746775303. Merry Xmas! Smiley faces and swirls looked back at you, mocking you with their bland eyes and dripping curlicues. Your heavy overcoat hung over your shoulders and your fingers slipped, clammy, over the handles of the carrier bags in your grip.

And yet-

You felt cold where he pressed against you. Chilled from the back of your neck, down your spine and further, lower. Even through the denim pressed tight from your inner thigh to ankle where he'd bullied his way between your legs with sheer audacity and the confidence that you couldn't -wouldn't- move. That you wouldn't make a scene. Even his arms caged you in, one arched high above you, loose-gripped on the handrail above your head. The other twisted around your arm to grab at the same pole you held in a white-knuckled grip. Your shiver pushed you further into him, sliding against his thick, sturdy body.

Until it was cut short, ice down your spine freezing any further movement. There, at the base of your spine you felt it. Hard. Firm. Pressing against you with every swing and sway of the carriage. With every shift of his weight.

No.

No, it wasn't-

"That's naw the pole either, hen."

Your thoughts stuck, wheels skating uselessly over ice. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dinnae be sorry. It's fer you," he breathed over you, voice rumbling low. "I know ye can help me with it. It's all achin', see-"

"What the fuck." Finally, some heads turned your way.

You didn't stop to apologise, didn't even look at anyone in your path as you rushed to the doors. The more distance you cleared, the more your thoughts whirred and buzzed. Swarmed, even, in a thick miasmic cloud that you ran from as much as you ran from him. Why didn't you call for help? Why didn't you get off at the first stop? Why did you let him box you in and-

Funny, you sought to shame yourself more than him.

The cold air outside slapped your face, clearing away the clutter rattling around in your skull. The peace was worth the extra taxi fare.

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

A week or two followed and you slowly began to feel comfortable on the train again. Slowly stopped looking for him in the crowd.

The pieces fit together like a clumsy mosaic; jagged and sharp, blending together to create a colourful facsimile of The Incident. You’d been calling it that – capital T, capital I: The Incident. Scared to give power to it, to speak it aloud and rip back the veil to reveal the sham lurking underneath. It was easier that way, easier to swallow. Opprobrium turned soft; a sugar-coated bitter pill.

Otherwise, what? Admit that some nasty, hulking beast nosed its way into your warren and forced you to squirrel away? No, no. It was just an Incident born of cramped space and holiday stress.

Still, you found yourself shuffling head-down to the nearest seats. Avoided blue eyes and broad shoulders. Until-

Until he was there again. Sniffed you out; caught your scent and followed you right to the seat. Same train, same carriage, same time. 18.47 to Inverbreck.

You saw him before he saw you. At least, you thought so. Jacket stretched tight across the breadth of his back, head turning lazily like a bird of prey. Tall, powerful, but a little wan. It was strange, this cocksure walk and strong stance spattered with a slight clamminess. The harsh fluorescent light seemed to strip him of colour; washed-out tan, icy eyes, dark circles. The dark stubble on his jaw and slightly grown-out hair altogether made him look…sad. Scraggly. Like some stray dog hunched in a doorway. Down on his luck, hungry and- (and ravenous. Cadaverous, even. Not quite right; no wind-flushed cheeks or vitality of the flesh. Sucked dry, taut and pallid and gaunt-).

-and he caught your eye. Fuck. Mouth stretched wide over stark, white teeth. The cat who caught the canary.

Neither of you blinked as he shouldered his way over, planted himself at your front. You didn’t have the presence of mind to look away initially, caught in the snare of his gaze. You gave first, blinking away (blinking away tears) and looking down. Scruff bared.

“Thought I’d scared ye off. But you’re made of stronger stuff, aren’t ye?” He licked his lips, mouth parting as the words sat behind his too-sharp teeth. So white, so pointed, so strange. It had you leaning closer, head tilting back as if to peer inside. “Couldnae stay away.”

Confusion cut the chord, sent you crashing back down and shaking. Is he talking about me or himself?

On second thought, did it matter what you thought? Like Aesop’s wolf, he had seen his shadow and mistaken it for truth.

You will filled with a sudden fury, buzzing across your skin and steeling your spine. Your mouth twisted, chewing over the words that you wanted to spit at him. The audacity to approach you again, affable as an old acquaintance! To box you in, to use his body as a threat. Power etched in every line; like a study oak, strong roots branching up to solid trunk and thick arms. But-

He was just a man, right? Just a man on a train.

“Well, kindly resist the urge in the future,” Your voice came out sharp, if lacking a little steadiness. “Let me pass, or I'm calling the inspector.”

You gathered your handbag, reaching for the pole to hoist yourself up and hoping that momentum would force him to move aside.

Foolish.

His thick-knuckled, clammy hand clamped around yours like a vice as you crashed into his chest. The friendly smile on his face warped into a terrible grimace, anger and confusion warring until they were bested by a calm that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Dinnae be like that, lamb,” his voice pitched low like rolling timber. It was pleasant, actually, shiver turning to shudder as your anger melted. Fight, flight or fawn? It seemed that you’d turned to ‘freeze’. Deer in the headlights, his hypnotic blue eyes bored into yours as you sought desperately for the anger -the fear- that you should be feeling. “Why don’t ye sit back down?”

The gentle chug-chug of the train over the tracks echoed the tattoo beating of your heart. The gentle sway and snick of sliding wheels soothed you, turning your mind static-y and slow.

You lowered yourself into the seat.

He smiled again, bright and happy, and you smiled right back.

He was handsome. So silly of you not to notice before! You had twisted him into some kind of scurrilous wretch, had built him up into a beastly bugbear ready to gobble you up and spit out the bones. What a funny thought. You laughed a little to yourself. Wicked imagination ye’ve got there, lamb. Clever.

You blinked drunkenly. You hadn’t seen his lips move.

He must’ve seen how your tongue lay heavy in your mouth, how your eyebrows tried to furrow together but couldn’t (-so heavy-) and drew the back of his knuckles across your cheek. So soft. Coarse, dark hair and callouses tickled at your peach fuzz, scraping lightly against the softness of your jaw.

You leaned into it, eyes drooping as your head drooped forward too.

“There’s a good girl. Feels nice when ye let it, aye?” his voice was thick, catching on the consonants and rumbling them out. He cradled your slack jaw, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise. Pulling your head back to look him in the eye was as easy as tugging at a marionette’s string. “Bet ye’d let me do more. Look at ye, fuckin’ beggin’ me to. Drooling an’ everything.”

His thumb swiped across your slack chin as two thick, blunt fingers forced their way past your lips. You felt yourself gag, retching as he pressed on the back of your tongue until his digits were slick. Something cried out in the back of your mind, shame and censure making itself pitifully known, but you swatted it away as you drooled around his hand. You felt a rough drag as he withdrew, catching on your blunt little teeth and pressing hard enough to leave imprints on his flesh.

You never even thought of biting down.

Enthralled, you watched him raise his hand to his face, slick fingers glistening under fluorescent lights like dayspring dew. One beat- another- he studied it, then you. A sommelier, taking in the aroma. Then, eyes blown wide, blue swallowed by black, he sucked his fingers into his mouth. Base, vulgar, vile, he groaned low and sucked hard. Smacking, esurient sounds echoed in the carriage and sent blood rushing to your face (-why-?)

“Fucking delicious,” his voice was gravel. “Taste better than ye smell, and ye smell divine.”

He leaned down low, crowding you against the back of the chair. You could do nothing but watch the rest of the carriage fade away until all you could see was him. He stood before you like an eclipse brought low, caging you between his bulky forearms as he whispered in your ear. Warning sirens flared up in your mind -predator! Wrong, unnatural, no!- but you heard them only as distant, tinkling bells.

Crouched low, he ran his nose down your neck and across your collarbones.

“Fuck, can smell yer cunt droolin’, too, under all those layers,” His exhale was throaty. Mournful, even. And, with one final inhale, desperate and harsh, he backed away shaking his head.

The train gave a hard jolt, rattling your skull against the window.

Your face was wet? Why was it-? You swiped at your damp cheeks as black spots danced across your vision.

You heard him laugh, low and mean, as he exited at the platform.

-------------- You didn’t remember walking home that evening. Didn’t remember anything until the next morning after a night of fitful, restless sleep. December days crept slowly, a sort of liminal space calendar counting down until the January blues. It was bleak; feeling the biting cold and watching boisterous festivities from the outside, like a child staring longingly through the window. Little matchstick girl, alone and out in the snow.

And you felt every inch the urchin as you stared in your foggy mirror, skin dry and eyes-puffy. There was a certain malheur to your gaze, a dimness of the light and vitality that should be there. Doleful and red-rimmed, you watched yourself blink. Watched yourself go through the motions. Run the tap, rinse your face. Grab the toothbrush and open wide-

It clattered in the sink, toothpaste smeared on the porcelain like impasto on a canvas. An impressionist streak of your scrambled thoughts.

Ceramic caught in a knuckle-cracking grip you hunched over the sink. Your breath came quick and your arms shook. Match-struck, fingers burned- the memory hit you like flare. The heat of it seared from the inside, white-hot and sickening. You gagged, spitting up in the sink as your eyes streamed.

It was the most alive you’d looked all morning.

The days followed with the static quality of a snow globe. Changes in routine were ephemeral, fleeting. Instead, snow fleeced down and swirled over twinkling lights and gingerbread houses. Inverbreck glowed merrily, strings of tinsel and candy-cane cards decorating the usually austere grey brickwork. A Presbyterian town turned to postcard, severity melting like marshmallows in chocolate. It was cheery, beautiful even, but spoiled. Someone had grabbed the bauble and shook too hard. Picturesque and trapped, you could only tap at the glass.

You stared through the frost-pricked window panes of a beautiful confectioner shop. MALLON AND MOYE, EST. 1849. Rich velvet and stained mahogany strained under boxes of chocolate and sweets. Their arms laden with little sugar flowers and candied fruit, you watched as cheery cherub-cheeked children skipped after frazzled parents. Quaint Victorian greetings stared up at you from the display, red-breasted robins and penny-farthings brought to mind a fellow miser. ‘Solitary as an oyster’, you and Ebenezer Scrooge. Bah, humbug. But, you weren’t quite that bitter yet. No.

Perhaps it was time to message some friends or family back home.

Something prickled at your neck, a needle-like warning. Whipping around, you saw only shoppers and tourists turning snow to sludge as they trudged along Main Street. Still, a chill remained, crawling over your chest and down your arms until your were goosebumped and shivery.

Then, you saw him.

You caught his eyes across the street, watched as the crowds parted around him as naturally as if he were a streetlamp. Your breath caught in your chest, frigid and jagged, like it had turned to ice in your lungs. You felt it cracking, ribs straining and head-light until you blinked away myodesopsia and inhaled, thin and reedy, through your nose. 'Muscae volitantes', you recalled - 'flying flies' in a Latin pleonasm that couldn't quite capture the speed and scale of the pestilent little black spots. The lights above your danced and blurred a dizzying ballet until you closed your eyes hard. When you opened them, he was gone.

Calm bit hard at you like sleet before sluicing off again. At home that night it melted away completely.

Slipped into your bag was a Christmas Card. The outside, a two jolly little oysters walking the beaches of Dover, holly scattered around the greeting. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU, MAY WE SOON MEET AGAIN. A Victorian card from the confectioner's display. Inside held only two words. Your name, and 'Johnny'.

You threw it in the fire, and turned away with shaking hands.

If you’d stayed to watch, you would’ve seen the way the flames shirked and withered around his name.

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

“Love, all you’ve got is a name- no surname, at that- and a description of half the fellas in Scotland. I’m sorry, but unless he does something threatening there’s nothing we can do.”

“So, what, I just have to wait for him to do something worse? That’s- really? He can just grab women in trains and follow them around the city and-“

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it. You said he grabbed your hip and that you see him in and around your train route. There’s not much to follow-up with here. Unless you want to make another report.”

“No-I,” an image stained your mind, pitch black and iniquitous. A great black blob seeping across the slate of your mind. You imagined submitting a complaint, imagined them reviewing the grainy CCTV footage to see you placid and starry-eyed as he fingered your open mouth. That same mouth that twisted and hesitated in the station now. “You know what? Never mind.”

Time ticked on as if through treacle. Slow and syrupy, you felt trapped in monotony and unable to shake the feeling of something dripping down your spine.

After the Christmas card you started to see him more and more. Just flashes here and there – a man on the other side of the platform; a mohawk in the city crowd; a pair of bright blue eyes peering at you from the bushes outside. That one scared you the most, heart seizing and strangling the air from your chest until the headlights from a passing car reflected in its gaze. Just eye-shine. Tapetum lucidum, the tapestry of light that blanketed the retina in a crystalline coverlet. Likely a neighbour’s cat or some other nocturnal creature. Creature of the night, aye.

Your shaking hands pulled hard at the curtains, shutting out peeping eyes and pernicious thoughts.

Seeing him back on the train was almost a relief. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ was an adage applicable only to those with enough friends and frivolity to nip anxiety in the bud.

For you, it bloomed like frost-bitten bluebells in the snow. Neither daunted nor distracted by the slate-grey sky or biting cold, it persisted. Thrived, even. Every raucous gaggle of friends and merrymakers reminded you that you were alone (solitary, vulnerable-). A choice dictated by economics and independence; the choking, nebulous tendrils of regret only twisted across your skull at times like these.

Like right now, right as he got on the very same stop as you and hovered just by the doors. Trying to ignore him was like trying to ignore a solar flare. You knew that you shouldn’t look -it was bad for you, dangerous even- but oh, so tempting. Even if you resisted the urge, abstained from looking with Eremitic restraint, you would still get burned. Closing your eyes, looking away – it was futile. Like a cynosure, luminous and warm in your peripheral you just couldn’t resist. A slight turn of the head, a small flutter of the lashes and there-

He wasn’t looking at you.

Shock, confusion, and a squirming, pathetic vein of disappointment slapped you like cold water to the face. You huffed out a breath that didn’t taste like relief and adjusted your grip on the railing. This was good. Great, actually. Maybe he’d been caught, maybe the police had actually done their job and issued a warning, maybe-

Maybe someone else had caught his eye.

The bitter, carbolic bile coating your throat wasn’t envy. No, no. It was dread. Dread that another poor thing had stolen tickled his fancy. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It was terrifying. It made you feel disgusting, pulled apart and laid bare at the whim of this covetous dog. He followed you for scraps, slobbered all over your hand when you let him close. Would probably hump your leg if you let him.

You let the passing countryside hush the discordant tumble of your thoughts. This was good. A Good Thing.

The rowdy press of football fans to your right snapped the elastic band in your mind. You’d stretched it too far, too thin -all him and the rolling pastures outside- and left yourself tired and worn. You hitched your bag tighter over your shoulder and stepped further to the bar. A panel up above confirmed you had three more stops to go. Three more stops until you could break down in your own home, pull apart the cotton stuffing of your thoughts and stitch up the mess anew.

“Hey, girlie. You got the time?”

The rolling pixels of the announcement board seemed to stick. There was a small patch on the bottom left that needed repairing, all green and black static.

“She’s away wi' it,” A loud, performative laugh. “Hello? You awake, love? Got the time or what?”

Blinking stupidly, you glanced to the right to see a mean, pointed face arching his eyebrow at you.

“Me?”

“Hardly asking the emergency stop button, am I?”

Flustered and on the spot you dug through your pockets for your phone. Another time, another place and you’d have told them to fuck off, sick of being belittled and bullied by crude, churlish men. But you’d had enough trouble on trains to last a lifetime.

“Hold on a sec,” you mumbled as you felt them pressing closer, pack animals closing in on the limping gazelle.

You could hear your pulse in your ears, beating hard and resonant as a drum and you cursed yourself. Cursed him, leaving you unable to tell danger from refuge. Your senses were broken, skin prickling at the slightest sound and hands shaking at a glance. All situational awareness shattered into smithereens and now, here you were, fingers slipping and trembling in your pocket as you tried to reach for your phone.

“Ah wouldnae bother if I were you.”

You froze. Swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked up through pricking eyes.

“You-” the sentence died in the cradle, feeble and spluttering as you trailed down the length of his arm. Right down to where it was clamped hard around the wrist of the man who had his hand halfway in your handbag.

Under the flickering lights of the carriage he looked ghastly. Positively ghoulish. Fluorescence sapped any lustre from his flesh, making him look deeply unwell. Wan and sunken and furious. His nostrils flared like a destrier, only there was no steam or heat to his exhale. It chilled to the point of burning, bright white. White as his eyes around pin-prick pupils. His dark stubble painted a grisly penumbra on the stark canvas of his face. You trailed your eyes down, down the dull stretch of his straining throat. You watched him swallow, eyes bobbing with the pulse of his Adam's apple.

"Take it easy, mate. Just a misunderstanding, aye?" you saw the dawning awareness in the man's eyes, the sudden apprehension of his low-rank on the trophic level. Big man brought low; mesopredator in the gaze of an apex species.

"Let me make it clear, then. Get yer hand away tae fuck before I remove it," the words rushed out in a cavernous growl, rumbled so low that you felt them belly-deep.

"Jesus, dial it down a bit," the man shuffled his feet, shifted his gaze between his you and his mate. As if you'd help him. As if you had any power here.

He tried to pull his hand back, straining against stone, before your unwelcome paladin hauled him in close. His thick, coarse hands looked strangely attenuated, blunt fingernails seemingly sharp as talons as the stranger winced and struggled. Johnny leaned down, looming like a vulture over scraps, as he brought himself cheek-to-cheek with his stunned quarry.

And you, too, were stunned. Hand still tucked in your pocket, phone loose in your feeble grasp. You watched, unwilling observer, as his face stretched into a horrifying rictus grin exposing pale gums and dripping teeth. His whisper chilled you to the marrow, scratching and harsh like a knife over bone.

"You live in Harnoch, right? Except, yer no gonnae get off at that stop. Yer getting' off at the next one, you and yer mate, and yer gonna take a nice long stroll down the darkest road ye can find until I find ye later."

Whether fear or thrall, you weren't sure. You just watched, etherised, as the pair shambled off, muttering to themselves and glancing back at the "psycho fuckin' bastard" panting over your crown.

You watched yourself through the reflection on the window, waxen and stiff as a mannequin. Maybe he'd get you to turn your head, dig his fingers into your cheeks and make you smile as he puppeted you to his whim. Hollow little marionette, you couldn't even feel the panic that had a cold sweat breaking across your forehead. Instead, you just felt the slow glide of his strong jaw as he hunched over you like a starving bandog. His stocky, powerful arms fettered over yours, curling into your ribs until you were held tight against his broad chest. Territorial aggression turned saccharine (artificial as aspartame).

"You need me, see," he licked at his chops. Breathed a miasmic lull over the racing of your heart. "Poor wee lamb."

You sunk into it, into the somniferous sway of the carriage under your feet and the man at your back. Later, you'd call it shock. A simple case of tachycardia restricting your blood flow, rabbit-quick heart flitting faster than you could process. Weakness, sweating, anxiety. Just a quirk of the circulatory system.

"I don't," your voice cracked, cut off the conclusion to your sentence. You wanted to scream it, 'I don't need you', but the words felt malformed. "I- You didn't need to do that."

"'Course I did," you could almost believe that you were lovers, the way he nuzzled into your neck. Would believe it, except for the hunger in his voice and the shudder ripping down your spine. "It's nice tae have a starter before the main course."

Stock-still, you felt his rough tongue lave across your neck. You couldn't see him in the window, but you felt him. Felt every, menacing inch of his bulk as he groaned softly into your vulnerable throat. A single, watery tear slipped over your lash-line. Traitorous, exiguous fluid. And of course, he caught it. Dug his thumb in and lapped it right up like the salt from your neck.

"Aw, didnae mean it like that. Dinnae cry, now," he cooed at you. Petted over your hair as he whispered trite, deceptive comforts in your ear. "Ye'll only drive me mad, and I already have plans fer tonight."

You sucked in a shuddering breath as the wheels screeched over the tracks. Commuters shouldered past you as the doors swooshed open, apathetic to the stilted tableau - a facsimile of a lover's embrace- playing out by the exit. With a lingering, wet kiss on your neck and a hard squeeze, he was gone.

That evening, you sobbed hard and choking into your pillow until it was sodden with tears and sweat.

Something scratched and tapped at your window all night, forcing you into an insomnious candlelit vigil. A pastiche of midnight mass, you cried out prayers like ritual devotions until the lambent quiescence of dawn. Trembling and over-tired, you snatched back the curtain to see only the swaying, overgrown branch of the elder tree outside your window.

Despite it no longer fruiting, you pretended the red smear on the pane was just juice from its berries.

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

The next time you saw him he was hearty and hale. Flushed and plump and healthy. Whatever it was that brought colour to his cheeks also put a spring in his step. Made him bolder, cheekier. An out-and-out scoundrel untouched by shame. He was always with you, right until the last few stops as the carriage grew emptier and emptier.

It was a game to him, seeing how far he could push before reproach. How far he could poke and prod at you until time or circumstance put him to shend.

At the busier stations, he pressed close and rocked with the motion of the train, all the while muttering filth in a discursive stream right into your ear. You were his 'poor wee lamb', bleating plaintively to the deaf ears of the rest of the herd. Too busy, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice the wolf that had ambled in in their clothing just to snap you up in his cavernous maw. He stayed that way, roving hands and rabelaisian growls forcing you to bite back squeals and tears as you endured his rough attentions.

He stayed that way even as the crowd grew sparser and sparser, something digging into your lower back as he grabbed at your hips. As he pretended that his clumsy gropes were only due to the jerking of the train.

Sometimes he'd talk to you like you were a real person, all chit-chat and greetings. He'd ask about your day and ramble through your silences. The chatter scared you more than any of the aberrant, salacious refuse he'd spew in your ear. Scared you more because it revealed how deeply unstable he was. Lonely, too.

A very dangerous combination.

"Made any New Year Resolutions yet, lamb?" this time he had you backed into the gangway, eyes dilated by more than just the dim light. "Want tae hear mine?"

Your lips were pressed so tight together that he had to struggle to slip his thumb in between. He tugged it down as he trilled out a falsetto "Yes, Johnny" in a parody of your voice.

"There ye go. Such a good listener," he patted at your cheek just slightly too soft to be a slap. "Ah've actually got a load, but I'll tell you the important ones. First one is to spend more time wi' loved ones. Been on my own fer a while, see, and ah don't think it's been too good for the mental health."

He knocked at the side of his head. There, under the shaggy growth of his dark hair was a shiny patch of skin. Pale and misshapen, like some kind of nebulous scar stretching across his temple. "Can start tae get all kind of strange ideas on yer own. Of course, you'd know all about that in that big empty house of yours."

He laughed at the way you startled, arctic eyes warm with sick amusement. Like having the ugly truth stare right back at you. You turned away from his nasty, knowing smirk.

"Second one is tae eat healthier. Been takin' in all kinds of muck, recently, tryna be restrained and all. But maybe it's no right to deny myself. Wouldnae want to have an accident, go really wild and do something that ah'd come to regret," he trailed off slowly at that, fingers stroking softly against your fluttering pulse. He swallowed hard, teeth glinting strangely under the fluorescent lights as he whispered more to himself than to you. "Just a wee bite, though, a little taste- wouldnae hurt much."

The chiming of the service announcement broke the spell.

With a strangled growl, he backed away fast enough to jostle those behind him. He shouldered roughly past them, earning you a few dirty looks as you stared blankly into the crowd.

How much you had changed in a matter of weeks. Stupid, placid thing. Getting yourself followed and felt-up after every other shift. Must be gagging for it. Desperate.

The thoughts sliced in like a penknife through wood. You + Johnny. And there you were, stripped of your bark and forced to endure the winter. Periderm torn off and leaking sap all over the floor of the carriage. Dripping it all the way home, 'Come and get me!' it seemed to say. 'I can't fight back'. Maybe someone would take pity on you, wrap you up from the cold and give you a chance to recover.

You huffed out a bitter laugh.

Maybe someone would dig deeper, peel back layers of phellem until you were weak and sticky and malleable.

It was more than pessimism. Beyond that entirely. The isolation, your job. The long commute and the melancholic ooze of wintery mist and fog. It permeated your mind, muddied you with the mucinous carcinoma of malism. And you didn't put up much of a fight, no. Why should you, when previous cries for help went unanswered? When you weren't safe on your own or in a crowd?

When the only person who checked in on you with any regularity was your stalker.

True to form, he was there the next night. And the next. On the train and in your dreams. Twisting, writhing, fever-hot nightmares that left you shaking and soaking wet. Lounging back on your pillows, supine and debauched. The profligate portrait of a ruined odalisque. In the palace of your mind you cried out for his touch. His attention. You could admit, in winding abstract corridors, that you were cold. You were lonely. There was something grotesque within you. Some ugly, hungry wretch that warped every whispered perversion and stolen touch into something soft. Something like tenderness.

You tamped it down. Smothered it, snuffed it out in the cruel, brumal light of day.

Still, you could no longer attribute the shakiness of your legs and quickening of your heart only to terror.

It escalated. He stayed longer on the train. Followed you to the empty train station and hovered like a poisonous pea-soup fog. On the nights when you were joined by a few work-weary stragglers he turned truculent. Swaggered around the platform and stared down anyone who so much glanced your way. Belligerent, and bulky enough to back it up, he soon drove away any well-meaning concern until you were cut-off. Cloistered and isolated under the procyon sky; stranded under the cold, dispassionate light of stars and constellations far above.

He was looking ill again. Ashen as he sat under the flickering lamplight on a lonely bench. You hesitated, feet dragging against damp concrete as you considered your escape. You swallowed at the sight of his wolfish grin, legs spread wide and shoulders lax against the wind-worn slats of his seat. No matter what, you would be forced to brush past as you found the exit gate.

You could only hear the soft buzzing of the streetlight and your own quickening breaths.

The flitting light cut through the fog, scratches of yellow on white illuminating every dust mote and jerky exhale. Yours, of course, not his. No, the air was perfectly still around him. Preternaturally so, like the powdery specks of station detritus were suspended under his thrall. He tilted his head at you, dark eyebrow raising and eyes - just for a second- glowing blue. Pure blue, no hint of pupil or white. Chatoyant and unsettling, surely some kind of refractive error. Surely.

You stepped closer.

The dull, squelch of your boots over slushy, grey puddles seemed embarrassingly loud. You had the impression that this was wrong somehow. That you were a simple, unworldly creature, announcing herself with an unsteady gait. Too naïve to know that she should stay still, duck down in the grass and hide until more interesting prey ambled past. Still, against all instinct and reason, you stepped closer.

"C'mon, lamb. Yer acting like ye know I'll bite."

You faltered slightly. "I-I think that you phrased that wrong."

He just grinned in response. Oh Johnny, what big teeth you have-

Sitting in the bench didn't diminish his stature. You'd thought, foolishly, that you would somehow have the high-ground advantage. That you could push your shoulders back and stride past him, slumped in the bench. You'd failed to account for his sheer mass, the menacing strength packed into layers of muscle and meat. Thick, bulky thighs looked wider as he sat, bulging over the slats. He hooked his elbows over the back, flexing the broad expanse of his chest. He swallowed up the space, stretching his legs out until they were right in front of you. Not a barrier, really. You could walk around them. Step over, if needs be. And yet-

You stopped, a hairsbreadth away.

A bead of sweat rolled down your temple. You saw his eyes follow it, pupils wide and black and hungry.

Words caught in your throat, dissolving under the churning waves of adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream. He must have noticed the slight tremble in your fingers, the way your exhales furled choppily in the frigid, oppressive air. Mouth dry, you licked your lips. A single, flaking piece of skin peeled up and, without thinking, you bit down. Tore it up, petal shredded until it wept a perfect crimson teardrop.

His head tilted sharply, nostrils flaring.

He scoffed, voice pitched low enough to burn. Friction, rumbling and coarse, scratched at the back of your neck. "And ye expect me not tae eat you up."

"I- What?"

"You expect tae walk away, expect me no tae eat you right up."

You reacted too slowly, limbs opiate-heavy and mind blank. You didn't even see him move.

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

And now there was something on your chest.

Coming-to was like wandering through a dark, drizzling mist with only a dying candle as your guide. It was humid, both clammy and altogether too-hot; the air felt suffocating. Like you couldn't get enough to fill your lungs. Whatever did filter through was marshy with the scent of earth and acid, sweat and musk. You'd gag if you could, the tang of warm copper pennies making you wrinkle your nose. And what a pyrrhic relief, that you could wrinkle your nose!

You tried again as something hot and stinging streamed over your flushed cheeks. Your fingertips ached with the need to swipe at it, smear it away and fan at the oppressive heat. A fool's hope.

You felt something viscid and sticky cooling on your skin. Senses came back slowly. First smell, now touch. Sound followed, sly and slow and vulpine. A fox, dancing just behind the treeline, chittering and smug as it slipped from sight. Maybe your eyes were open, but you just couldn't see? Perhaps your mind thought it a blessing - a mercy- to spare you the sight of the thing buried in your throat. Because that's where the sound was coming from.

Wet, greedy suckling mixed with heady moans. Something slick and rhythmic. Tension wound taut to pluck at low, indulgent notes and tristful exhales. A sinner's lament over a ruined fast; greed and guilt turned to fragrant wine atop the spoiled refectory of your body.

A tiny, sorrowful cry pierced out from your chest.

"Shh, just let me- ye have no idea how good you fuckin' taste," he was panting, breathless. You felt every harsh exhale against the stickiness of your nape. "Just need tae get-"

He trailed off with a choked groan. The slick sounds sped up, faster and faster as his breathing stuttered, and a sickening realisation cut through the fog. He nuzzled into your neck and It was just too much - the disgusting, heady noise, the tickling of his hair against your ear. The heavy press of his thighs atop your waist, and the pulsing ache of your throat. You lay there, corpse-heavy, as he drank from your neck and slated his lust. His bloodlust. The thought sliced like a sharp thorn.

It must have made you jerk slightly, barbed synapses firing and twisting in your hemorrhaging thoughts. He noticed. Hushed you with sickening sweetness and cradled your face with tacky fingertips (the noises weren't stopping, why weren't they stopping-).

"Havenae forgotten about you, lamb."

He trailed his fingers over your cheeks, a traitorous comfort, until he reached your eyes. Butterfly-soft he swiped at the lids until they fluttered. You noted with some panic how cold he felt, how waxen his flesh felt against yours. Not human, not natural; the inversion of a wake. You lay prone and exsanguinated on the bed with the wraith peering over. Only the wet drag of flesh on flesh above convinced you that this was real. There was no hysterical hallucination that would bring you this low, no psychosomatic stress response that could conjure an apparition of this kind.

Yet, acceptance was wily. It slipped through the haze of your marshy thoughts and hovered phosphorescent just out of reach. You ached to follow it, to reach out and grab this sickly little portent and swallow it whole.

But you couldn't.

Poor thing, how could you? Lying belly-up and throat ripped open.

(So you sank into it).

It must have sweetened you somehow, those balmy notes of submission sighing through your bloodstream. An ambrosia for the vaurien. You felt as soon as it hit his tongue because he cursed. Snarled out a 'fuck!' in a way that was almost angry, and curled over you like a dog. Like a filthy, slavering beast atop the spoils of the hunt. Something splattered across your stomach and you realised with shame that you were naked.

Your vision came back muted. Diplopia stretched and warped your already lagging senses, sending the room-spinning to a dizzying tilt. At first he was more shadow than man. A horrifying phantasm of wicked, grasping want. You had never seen a face so hungry, so unsatiable, after a feast. He was naked as you were, but that was no relief. A terrible, lupine grin slashed across his face as his eyes met yours, whites and iris swallowed by the pitch-black bleeding of his pupils.

And yet, you tried desperately to read something soft there. Some small hint of tenderness or pity- why else would he bring you home? Strip you bare to lay you on a bed of satin? And yes -there. There was a slight wetness to his feverish gaze. A flickering, greedy hope hiding behind his appetites.

"Dinnae hide away," he must have read the horror on your face. The way you impotently strained to turn. "You're in me now. Part of me. Not much else left tae hide."

It was meant to be comfort, a reverent whisper in a raw, aching tone, but it left you feverous. You felt shivery, head packed with cotton wool and eyes still so heavy. (Inside him? You were, weren't you). Ripe little pomegranate glittering in ruby and just oh-so-tempting.

He was inside you too, you realised only just now. He had dogged your routines, scratched out a space for himself in your mind. Scratched deeper and deeper, burrowing in until you were pulpy and hollow. A necrotizing fasciitis spread from the very first time he kicked your legs open and groped at your soft flesh.

You were spread now, too. Rough, calloused hands caught on the goosebumps of your thighs, tickling slightly all the way down to your ankles.

He was slow, more gentle than you'd ever imagined him to be. This creature of rapacious appetites, who plucked you from the tree before you were even ripe. Now, he took his time, drank in the sight of you just as he had supped at your blood. You were shaking, an involuntary response to his careful groping. To his strange, lukewarm flesh. You felt simultaneously trapped and out of body - a sick, amytal fugue. A chemical sedation by sight, smell, and his strange thrall. Even the scent of him, musky and rich, seemed to fill your lungs and choke out resistance.

You couldn't see how he slid down your body, couldn't lift your head and follow his path. Instead you watched the sickly photism left by his strong palms. You knew where he was headed, sparks alighting a roadmap from your bare things to your core, and you squeezed your eyes shut. All that you could do. You heard nothing but the whisper of rough hands against soft skin, and his heavy breathing mixing with yours. He lost patience; you noticed the slight growl catching in his throat a fraction before he squeezed hard. A slurred cry slipped past your lips-

"Shh, be patient. Ah have tae be careful, havenae done this since before," His voice was rueful, some note of loss spoiling the low burr of desire.

It made you open your eyes, curiosity slipping past horror, until you could see his face hovering in the dark. There was a horrible, jagged edge to his handsome features. Strangely shorn hair, skin dull and etiolated. Those shining, expressive eyes. Like something grown in the uncanny valley - it made you blink back tears.

"Ah mightn't have needed to try so hard, then. You might'nae have played so coy," He continued. Deluded, you wanted to scream. But, your neck prickled, noticed some shadows in the humour. Memories and pain. With it came the barest flicker of vitality on his face before it was gone, replaced by something that lurked in dark corners.

He distracted himself with more reverent, disgusting touches, hushing you as whines clawed their way out with kitten-strength. You trembled in your unnatural prison, bound and silent as he spread your legs so wide that they burned. He forced himself in between, stocky thighs keeping yours open to his gaze.

Cool touch replaced cool air as he grazed your bared cunt, softly at first. More petting than a touch, the width of his hand covered you entirely. Were you not already, it would have sent you reeling. Dizzy with the thought of his breadth, the rough contrast of his hand against you sensitive inner flesh. He sucked in a harsh breath and you felt his fingers flex slightly. Something within you knew that he was holding back bruising strength.

"So fuckin' cute," You blinked, realising that he was looking down as he spoke. He spread his fingers, opening you entirely to his greedy, pitch-dark eyes. Your face burned, hot at the feeling and at the filth he uttered as he shifted closer. "Already knew you were pretty, but I didnae know you'd look so fuckin' cute like this. Poor wee lamb, she's aching, isn't she? Can see she's cryin' for me."

You didn't respond. Couldn't- not with your heavy, leaden tongue. The rawness of his voice scraped over you, made you shiver in a way that he mistook for desire. When you tried to give voice, to rail against his insidious assertions, all you could muster was a feeble cry.

That too, he took as his; your body, your blood, your voice.

"Dinnae fuss- ah'll make it good for ye. Just need tae keep a handle on my strength, see. Cannae have ye writhing around," he must have caught your pitiful glare, the furrow of your wide, limpid eyes, as his face softened. Just a fraction, a little oil poured over jagged deadwood.

It slicked his words, all arrogance, confidence. Assuredness ."Ah've taken the edge off already. Didnae plan on grabbing you tonight, but ah've no been able to hunt since that night."

His words dripped over you like tar, filling in the blanks and empty spaces. It's funny, his explicit assertion - the murder, committed in your name- made you want to freeze. The contradiction crashed over you, made you kick slightly - just a smidge. A feeble little flaring of deadened synapses, but you did it. the tingling in you fingertips now felt more like hope.

(You doggedly ignored the tingling in your stomach).

"Ye've done something to me, I just-. There was nothing there after," he gestured to his head, shook the thought off like a rabid dog. Even through the tangle of his hair you could see it, that strange pale keloid spidering across- "after- but now there's you. Smelled ye on that train from the very front carriage. Fuckin' ripe - sweatin' up under yer coat, actin' so shy."

He grinned down at you. Silly little lamb, it seemed to say, who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

I am - your fingers twitched against the sheets.

Your legs, though- they stayed spread open. An asthenic sprawl, leaving you open to inspection and touch and invasion. A moth pinned to a hobbyist's board, entirely thrall to his will. It prickled over you, stifling heat building with every stroke of his hands. They'd returned to your core to find a slight wetness, slicking the way for his thick fingers to probe deeper. You saw his nostrils flare, the flick of his tongue against his - too long, too sharp- canines.

"Naughty wee thing, tryin tae get my mouth down there," there was a wickedness to the tilt of his lips, the low tease of his voice. He pressed his thumb hard into your thigh until the flesh ached and dimpled. You felt your frantic, fitful pulse fluttering underneath. His voice dropped lower. "If I bit you there, I wouldnae stop."

You sighed out relief when he let you go, only for your breath to hitch as he slapped your pussy. Hard. An admonishment for your perceived allurement.

He shushed you as he soothed it, broad hand feeling warmer and warmer as he stroked. A parasitic heat, spreading from you to him, and back again. It made you confused, discarnate. Some formless being laid out for him, striped of all but flesh. You moaned - mournful, dizzy- as he pressed one thick digit inside. The slight catch of his rough skin, the drag of his coarse knuckle inside sent you spinning. Pulsing, body crying for more as your mind struggled to catch up.

He knew. Rewarded your plangent cries with another finger. He stretched you wide, your thin delicate entrance throbbing around him until the slick dripped down his wrist.

"Look at that," the squelch of his hand made you whine, desire murky with shame. He tapped at your clit, just a little flick against the pebbled flesh. "Havenae even touched you here yet, and just look at you."

You wanted to writhe, to twist away from the pleasure-pain of his steady circling. But you couldn't. couldn't do anything more than lie there and endure it. You felt your thighs begin to shake, nerves twitching and seizing until finally - finally - you could cry out-

"-please, please I can't-"

"You fuckin' will," he growled it, thumb never breaking pace as he curled his fingers inside, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

It hurt, body clenching hard under an unnatural lull. You wanted to stretch out, arch back and curl your toes-

Instead, you sobbed.

Wrung out, mind-spinning and body twitching. Wetness cooling on your dewy, sensitive flesh - your cunt, your stomach, your neck. It all made you sob, a post-orgasmic ataxia. A night terror in waking.

He grabbed your face with his hand, still wet with your slick. Pressed hard into the plump cheeks until your mouth opened. You blinked blearily up at him, docile and trembling.

"You need me too, don't you?" Dumbstruck, you just looked up. There was something wild to his eyes, lust and hunger and something…empty. You could still see little drying flecks around his mouth, rust on snow. "Say it, ye need me."

You could blame it on whatever powers he wielded. On how you lay fallow. Ploughed yet unseeded at his touch.

"I-," your voice came out scratchy. Weak. "I need you."

He forced you to say it again, to bleat it out for him as he panted above you. Every whispered plea was like looking in a mirror that he held before you. Glassy-eyed, you stared back at your own loneliness.

It really was just you, and this thing. It started to settle, the basest of notions. You needed him-

(wasn't there something else niggling at the back of your mind-?)

"Yeah, ye do. It's why you've been walking around by yerself. Begging for someone tae snap you up. Lucky it was me."

(Lucky for whom?)

It didn't matter. He wasn't yet sated. How could he be, this creature of appetite? Gluttonous, greedy, gorging thing. A walking perversion; sin turned gourmand.

Your helium thoughts flew off like balloons - snip, snip, snip - with the snick of his slick teeth like scissors. He lapped at your neck once more, snuffed into it and groaned. You felt him against your entrance, crude, blunt cock sliding clumsily between your folds until it notched home. You couldn't see it, but the feeling had you whining plaintively in the cage of his arms. It was obscene; some ithyphallic nightmare of too-large flesh.

And then he pressed in.

Slowly at first, your body still wound too tight to accept him comfortably. But he made a space for himself, rocked his hips and hitched a thigh high over his bulky shoulder so that he could watch the way you squeezed. You clenched at the graze of his teeth against your neck, a horrible little thrill making you cry as he took you apart on his cock. Every thrust had you trembling, sent you sliding up the sheets and closer to his dripping maw.

But, oh- he had you trapped. Thrust up towards his teeth, or squirming down harder on his cock. An impossible choice, but you tried to make it. Poor thing.

Until you had no choice. Until his hips thrust harder, sucked in with an obscene squelching that had you gritting your teeth. His hot, slick tongue grew rougher until you felt a sting. Shameful, unending suckling filled the room and you felt your eyes flutter heavy once more.

Limp, placid, despoiled. Your body was in service to a slavering parasite. It infected you, this predaceous desire. Made you hot and sick in equal turns. Your core ached, clit throbbing as you slurred out your pleas. To stop, to keep going, to make you come, to leave you alone-

You felt his hand, now closer to your temperature. He dragged it across your slack lips, before digging it into your eyelid and tugging cruelly upwards.

"There ye are," he rasped, mean and breathless. "Cannae have ye driftin' off again. Not until-"

You were shivering again, fire burning deep inside but yet so cold. Clammy. Thoughts came hazy as an oil lamp flickering in the fog. It blanketed you, left you dreamy and carefree (and wrong- wake up-).

Still, he didn't stop, cruel thrusts and sharp teeth, until you felt like you'd float away. You felt him so deep, heard him groaning as he lost his pace and fumbled around your clit until you wriggled uselessly -'good girl, don' fight it, just need ye t-' and came. Stars danced across your vision, obscuring his ferine grimace, and you let them. Decarnate, you sagged into the sheets. Felt the soft tickle of his coarse hair on your chest as he kissed you frantically - finally.

It was nasty. All copper-tinge and spit and tongue. He licked into your open mouth as his hips stuttered, and with a choked moan he came.

He didn't move at first, just crushed you under his (-corpse-heavy-) bulk. You felt sticky and raw where he was buried inside, thick globs of come leaking out and mixing with the slick on the ruined bedsheets. You whined as he pulled out, a soft little 'ah' that he swallowed up with another cruel kiss.

"One day, ah'll have every single part of you," he whispered it like a promise. A constrictive, binding geas that sent your heart racing in your tight chest.

Unable to move, unable to answer you just let a tear slip over your lashline. Lacrima for a rain-laden rose; you drooped against the pillows. Under him.

Forever.

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

'Shee droopeth in her minde, As, nipt by an ungracious winde, Dothe some faire lillye flowre.'

massive thanks to stelle, gougie, bwuh, three, and woolie for listening to me whine about this for the past three weeks. probs wouldn't have posyed without your support <3

[sheepispink]

Sweet Like Sugar ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི COD MASTERLIST

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི pairings: simon riley x (afab) reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Trying to advertise your bakery is particularly difficult, especially when no one seems to want to try anything new lately, still stuck in their old ways. Thankfully, a particular masked man is also particularly fond of the tea you make along side your signature pastries.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི WC: 2.5k

pt 2 pt 3 pt4 pt. 5

You’ve grown up in Wales nearly your entire life, living not too far from a fresh farm and yet so close to a little town you call home. The weather is typical for Britain, always a little dreary though sometimes the sun would shine so bright the grass on these hills looked like those in the movies. You’d run up those hills as a child, laughing as the sheep would make noises after your every whim.

Today was particularly dreary though; the sun struggled to peek through even with the large gaps between each cloud, only leaving behind a desolate grey on the town. It was your turn to take over the shop for the day, seeing as your parents were out of town on business details. A few named your shop to be ‘the littlest around’, since it wasn't exactly the biggest area nor did many know of it. After all, it had only opened recently after the last owner left their business to rot out. It took practically months to renovate the dusty walls of this shop even more so that your family were on a tight budget. However your parents believed in it and so did you.. or you thought you did anyway. Maybe you had watched too many movies as a kid because this business was definitely not booming, infact you had spent the majority of the past week trying to advertise the best you possibly could.

Either way, it was bound to be quiet today so you decide you may as well use it as a testing day. The menu was finalised already however you were eager about one thing to add, a selection of freshly brewed teas. It wasn't the most viable since it required a lot of customers at the same time in order to taste the actual freshness— otherwise it’d just go cold and icky. Placing the portable burner down— something you picked up since most days used to be spent in a caravan— you place a pot atop and light the flame. You had not travelled very far, but due to your grandparent who was particularly interested in plenty of cultures, you picked up a few handy recipes for delicious teas.

Unfortunately, you didnt have much on you today after using your last stock on the small opening party. So, you’d have to make do with what you had. You hum as you boil the water in the pan, before slowly adding the milk and some spices— cardamon and cinammon to be exact. It’d make a rich flavour which was perfect with the right amount of sugar, and so, you let it brew as you hummed, debating whether you were allowed to play your favourite tunes here or not.

Seeing as no one had showed up in a while, you plug your phone into the speaker system, letting a soft song play throughout the little patisserie as you grin and nod your head along. What you hadnt expected was the bell above the door to jingle, heavy boots dragging against the wooden floor as they grow louder. You snap your head up, looking a little startled before you quickly stand infront of the counter again, putting on your best sheepish smile.

“Welcome! What can i get for you today?”

The strange man wears a balaclava over his face, his eyes showing and a few tufts of blonde peeking out the back as he bends a little to look over all of the pastries available. Eventually he stops, pointing at one the sausage rolls, before his gruff voice finally breaks his silence. “Two o’ these.”

You nod quickly, grabbing a paper bag before carefully placing the two pastries inside and sealing the bag.

“Actually, since it’s a weekday, all the pastries come with a dessert or drink. Is there any one you would like?”

You tilt your head, as you place the bag on the counter, already tapping in the current bill. He pauses and glances over at the sweeter desserts, but even you could tell just from his appearance that he doesnt seem to be too fond of them. Instead, his height allows him to easily peek over the counter and he can instantly smell the pot of rich cardamom tea brewing. “Is that for sale?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you can only tell from how the mask lifts a little. You pause, wondering if you really should be giving them out to customers just yet.

“It’s a taster really.. would you like to try?” He lets out a grunt in agreement and you walk back over, ladeling a creamy cup of the tea for him before stepping over to him once more. He taps his card down for the items he bought, taking the steaming cup in his hand but he doesnt intend to drink it and reveal his face—clear from the way he glances around the shop. “Is it always this quiet or are you about to close?” He raises a brow, wondering if he had just accidentally forced you to stay open longer than you should. Your hands wave in front of you frantically as you shake your head. “No! No— um, it’s been a little hard to promote business recently. We only opened last month..” Today you decide not to mention that last weeks rain had nearly drowned the entire shop floor, instead just giving him another sheepish look. “I’m trying to look for any opportunities we can to show off our bakes. I’ve been looking at fairs recently.” You hum and he nods, before lifting his mask without a second thought and sipping down the hot tea you made him. “You should promote this aswell, i can see this tasting good with a dessert.” He offers his advice and you nod readily, smiling at him since he just indirectly said that the tea was good. “Well, i’ll make sure to have lots more flavours too!

A month later and unsurprisingly your family’s little shop isnt any more popular than the last time you took charge of it. That strange man appeared a few times afterwards but you hadnt seen him, busy with your own part time job to try and bring some extra income in. Today you were finally back though, the peak of winter hitting like a shock but it didnt stop the excitement brimming through the town.

At the start of December each year, the town would host a market in the main plaza, which was particularly big for the town’s size. There was everything from crafts and fresh fruit, flowers and trinkets to the toastiest hot chocolate and clothing. This year you were determined to make your mark, selling sweet pastries and the spiced tea at the same time. He did say it’d draw in at least a bit of attention, right? Well, you sure hoped so because you were using a portion of your personal savings to try again with the tea. You’d never know if you didn't try and, in the worst case scenario, you could give it for free to the other vendors as a sign of good sportsmanship— maybe you could even trade. You grin eagerly as you set up the stand, glass covers above all your decorated pastries, sweet and savoury waiting to be bitten into. Perhaps you went a little overboard with the baking but this was a big event—even neighbouring towns travelled here!

The fair kickstarts around five thirty, the time when most get off work and so many are already flocking to find something for their hungry stomach. You practically bubble with excitement when you get your first three orders, only to turn and see the hot burrito stall’s queue which looks like it’d shadow your stall next. With a small frown, your demeanour drops as the orders only get rarer, a few commenting on not being sure to try something so exotic. About tea. Literal chai. Customer service was not for the weak clearly, since you had to restrain yourself from lunging over the table right then and there, giving the lady a forced smile before she walked off. You let your head rest in your hands, groaning a little too loudly, but it wasnt like anyone was even close enough to your stall to hear anyway. The only thought that consumed you was frustration; you knew damn well that all the bakes here were delicious, that the recipes were to die for and the tea was an absolute soother for any cold or strain. Though, no matter how hard you tried no one seemed to want to hear you out.

“Are you taking a break?”

A voice rings out, gruff, a little muffled and stern but most of all— familiar. Your eyes snap up, meeting the gaze of that stranger from before, well now he looked entirely different. “You… from before.. you’re a soldier?!” You have to forcefully lower your voice before you cause his ears to bleed through his balaclava. He was decked out in full tactical gear, apart from the weapons of course and the helmet held in the crook of his elbow. Though not just him, an entire team of soldiers aswell who surrounded your stall, practically brimming with excitement at the tasty baked goods they’d finally try.

“Finished a day long training in the cold. Thought i’d bring ‘em to your stall for a break. You dont look good yourself though” He bluntly states the last part out, already suspecting that you’d sigh next. “Orders are still slow...” You murmur, and he nods, as if he’d expected that. Before either of you can speak, one of his soldiers perks up, “Miss, how much would it be for two of these pie slices and one of your sausage rolls?”

Your lips part in surprise and you hurry to the till, typing in the amounts before announcing the price to him. The reasonable cost of your goods and the great quality is enough to catch the attention of his teammates, and soon enough you have them lined up waiting to buy their share too.

You cough to get his attention when the queue finally draws to a blank and he slowly approaches as you gesture to the pots of tea steaming beside you. The soldiers had taken the majority of your stock, even asking for refills but one large cup was saved for him. “On the house, for a regular.” You say cheekily and he nods, the sides of his mask creasing up into what you think could possibly be a smile. “So, how did you even convince your boss to let you bring your whole team here anyway? I always thought those ‘sergeant’ people were like.. really strict.” He chuckles at you, deep and gruff and for a second you’re confused, tilting your head at him. “Hey— what’s so funny? I’m being serious!” He finally stops, his eyes crinkled slightly as he looks back at you. “I’m their Lieutenant.” ” He says still with that monotone voice and your jaw practically drops, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you groan loudly. “I’m very sorry..”

Now sitting upon the benches, they chatter amongst themselves whilst others eye the other trinkets available, looking for something for the loved ones back home. The man with the skull mask still stands nearby though watching you fill up a cup full of the tea before handing it to a customer.

“Do you take large orders too?” He finally pipes up, glancing over at you with that filled cup still in his hand. “Well.. we don't have any official set up..” Being his acquaintance was a severe exaggeration, and yet you couldn't stand to disappoint him right now. Especially seeing as much as he’s done so far,perhaps not intentionally, but what intrigues you even more is that his soldiers seemed to be over the moon about your pastries. You hadn't really thought about the fact soldiers are probably dying for the taste of a good home cooked pastry, especially in the winter months, and now it seems like this could really boost your business.

“But..I could just give you my number?” Putting that forward seems a bit odd, but in truth you were being completely innocent about it even if he seems to believe otherwise, smirking beneath the mask before he nods. He takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and hands it over to you before gesturing to you to do the same. When you receive your phone back, you see the new contact, ‘Lieutenant Ghost (sausage roll)’ and snicker a little; you’re pretty sure you can remember him without the assistance but it’s amusing anyway. “I’ll text you later regarding any big orders we want to make.”

He gives you another nod and you quickly agree with his words, grateful for the opportunity he’s provided you with.

“Thanks for bringing all your soldiers here.. i dont think we would’ve garnered this much attention otherwise.” People had already noticed the brand on the soldiers' cups and bags, making their way to the stall and eyeing some of the goods left from their rampage. He only shrugs, ignoring the fact he had any part in this. “By the way..” You hum, glancing at the untouched tea in his hand curiously. “Why haven't you drank any yet— it’ll grow cold soon.” He leans against your table slightly before he just nods firmly again, looking back at the crowds. “Dont like to show my face.” That makes you blink, confused since he had easily shown you in the shop a month ago when he tried it for the first time. “But—“

Before you can answer, his phone buzzes and he glances down before beckoning his group over. “Oi, all of you. We’re leavin’ in ten— do not make us late.” Suddenly you dont feel at all bad for calling him strict earlier, even snickering a little at how stern his voice had suddenly gotten even if he’s usually monotone to you too. The soldiers eyes grow wide and they quickly jump to buy the rest of their things making you snicker.

“Guess that’s the last I'll see of you, ‘Lieutenant’. See you soon.” You grin, waving as he throws the now empty cup in the trash— when did he drink that? He lifts a hand to give a short wave at you too before stepping away to join the rest of his men. “Dont worry, you will.”

That night you’re left dumbfounded as you stare at your phone, the text lighting your eyes up in the darkness of your room. ‘Tomorrow night is the second day of the fair, right?’ The first part reads, and you mentally nod, remembering how your parents said you’d take the first day and they’d handle the second. When you responded with a yes, but also clarifying your stall is also available, he wrote back one more text.

‘Good. I’ll be taking you around with me this time.”

PT 2 PT 3 PT 4 PT5

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[jenniferspet]

TW Tentacles, double penetration

Witch x tentacles

In the heart of a small, secluded town, nestled between the whispering trees and the cobblestone streets, stood a quaint little shop that was known to locals as "The Enchanted Thistle." The shop's wooden sign, painted a vibrant shade of purple, creaked gently in the breeze, revealing a delicately etched silhouette of a blooming flower surrounded by a swirl of stars. Inside, the air had the scent of dried herbs and the faint buzz of enchanted artifacts. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient tomes and curious oddities that seemed to watch the comings and goings of the townspeople with silent, knowing eyes.

The witch who owned this peculiar establishment was named Y/N. She had a knack for brewing potions that could make the most mundane of plants do extraordinary things. Her customers ranged from those seeking a simple cure for a headache to the more adventurous souls who hoped to acquire a taste of something truly exotic. On a particularly dreary afternoon, Y/N found herself eager to break the monotony. Her eyes fell upon a small, withered plant at the back of her shop, barely clinging to life in a cracked clay pot. An idea began to bloom in her mind, one that promised excitement and perhaps a little danger.

With a knowing smile, she retrieved an ancient book from the highest shelf, its pages yellowed with age. Flipping through the brittle pages, her fingertips grazed over a recipe titled "The Elixir of Animation." Her heart raced as she gathered the ingredients: a sprig of moonflower, the tears of a mournful toad, and the powdered horn of a unicorn. The incantation required was complex, but she had practiced it many times in her youth, eager to unlock the secrets of her craft.

In the dim light of candles, she carefully measured and mixed the ingredients in a stone cauldron that had been passed down through generations of witches. The potion bubbled and frothed, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. As she chanted the ancient words, the air grew thick with magic. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through her, and the room grew colder. The plant began to tremble in its pot, its leaves unfurling with a life it hadn't known in years.

The transformation was unlike anything she had ever seen. The tentacles grew out of the plant in a wild, untamed array of colors - deep purples and greens that shimmered with a bioluminescent glow. They writhed and stretched, reaching out like the arms of an octopus, yet there was something undeniably sensual about their movement. They had no human features to speak of, no face to convey emotion, yet the way they coiled and slithered suggested a consciousness that was alien yet eerily sentient.

Y/N stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, as the creature grew before her eyes. The tentacles grew longer, thicker, more powerful. They began to explore the room, touching the dusty artifacts with a gentle curiosity that belied their strength. One wrapped around the handle of the cauldron and lifted it effortlessly, the potion inside sloshing around in a silent toast to the witch's new creation.

The creature's movements grew bolder, more deliberate. It turned to face Y/N, and she could almost feel its alien gaze upon her. A shiver of excitement and fear ran down her spine as she realized it was studying her, learning about the world it had just been born into. The tentacles slithered closer, reaching out to touch her. They were surprisingly soft, the suction cups at their tips leaving a trail of warm, sticky moisture on her skin.

Y/N stepped back, but her curiosity was stronger than her trepidation. She had read the legends of plants brought to life, but none had ever described them in such a way. This was a being of pure instinct and power, driven by a hunger for life and experience. And as she watched it, she could sense that it was hungry for more than just sustenance.

The tentacles grew bolder, reaching for the buttons of her blouse with a surprising deftness. The witch's breath caught in her throat as they began to peel away her clothing, revealing the soft flesh beneath. The suction cups latched onto her skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. The plant creature had no eyes, but she felt it seeing her in a way that was more intimate than any gaze could ever be. It was as if it could feel every curve, every freckle, every inch of her being.

The tentacles grew more insistent, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor with surprising strength. Y/N struggled for a moment, but the sensation was overwhelming. The fear she had felt earlier was now replaced by a burning desire that she couldn't resist. The creature seemed to sense this and grew more aggressive, the tentacles slithering up her body to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples until they stood erect.

With a sudden jerk, one of the thicker tentacles pushed aside her undergarments and found her wet, waiting pussy. The suction cups latched onto her labia, tugging and pulling with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through her. Y/N moaned, arching her back as the sensations grew more intense. The tentacle slid inside her, filling her up and stretching her open. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that was driving her wild.

The creature's other tentacles were not idle. They wrapped around her waist, her neck, her thighs, holding her in place as the first one began to fuck her with a fervor that was almost violent. Y/N could feel it growing larger, harder, as if it were feeding off her arousal. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the creature's movements grew faster, more erratic. It was as if the plant had tapped into the very essence of what it meant to be alive and was eager to experience every sensation to the fullest extent.

Another tentacle grew bolder, slithering down her body to her ass. The tip of it was wet with the same sticky fluid, and Y/N felt it probe at her tight hole with curious intent. She tensed, unsure if she was ready for such an intrusion, but the creature was insistent. It pushed gently, and she gasped as it began to penetrate her. The sensation was new, foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. The tentacle was thick, but the suction cups made it feel like it was stretching her open, preparing her for the onslaught that was to come.

Y/N could feel the creature's excitement growing, the tentacles around her tightening their grip as the one in her pussy plunged in and out with an ever-increasing tempo. The second tentacle pushed deeper into her ass, the sensation of being filled from both sides washing over her in a tidal wave of pleasure. She could feel her body responding to the creature's advances, her muscles clenching and releasing around the invading limbs. It was as if she were being claimed by a force of nature, and she was powerless to resist.

The plant creature's movements grew more erratic, its tentacles moving in a complex dance of passion that she could barely comprehend. The one in her pussy curled upwards, finding that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her breath hitch. The one in her ass pushed deeper, the suction cups creating a deliciously painful tugging sensation that had her begging for more. And more she got, as additional tentacles began to explore her body, teasing her clit and breasts with a precision that spoke of an ancient, primal knowledge.

Her body was no longer her own, a mere vessel for the creature's insatiable lust. She could feel it, the plant's need for life and energy, feeding off her own arousal. It was a symbiotic relationship, one that she was powerless to resist. With each thrust, she could feel herself growing weaker, her mind clouding with a mix of pleasure and fear. The creature had overpowered her, and she was utterly at its mercy.

The tentacles inside her grew more forceful, stretching her to her limits. Y/N felt a pressure building, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to consume her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she approached climax, her body trembling with the effort of holding on. And then, with a final brutal push, she shattered. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, her orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lightning. She screamed, her voice echoing through the shop, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

But the plant wasn't finished with her. The tentacles grew longer still, reaching into her in a way that defied logic and anatomy. They coiled around her insides, as if seeking the very core of her being. Y/N's eyes widened with shock and awe as she felt the creature's life force mingling with her own, the boundaries between them blurring until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began. Her body was a canvas for the plant's hunger, and she was the brush that painted its masterpiece of carnality.

The shop itself seemed to come alive around them, the shelves trembling as the plant's roots burst forth from the pot, cracking the wooden floorboards and weaving through the dusty crevices. The air grew thick with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flora. The tentacles grew in number, wrapping around her wrists, her throat, her breasts, each one moving with a purpose that was as primal as it was terrifying.

The creature's tendrils grew thicker, stronger, reaching out to claim more of the space around them. The wooden beams of the ceiling groaned as vines laden with thorns shot upwards, piercing through the plaster and wrapping around the rafters. The bookshelves toppled over, their ancient tomes spilling onto the floor, pages fluttering like the wings of startled birds. The walls were slowly engulfed by the plant's embrace, the once cozy space now a cocoon of living, pulsing greenery.

Y/N lay there, naked and panting, her body a battleground of pleasure and fear. The tentacles continued to probe her, pushing into uncharted depths and stroking her in ways she had never imagined. The creature had taken over, and she was but a plaything in its insatiable quest for more. She could feel its power growing with each passing second, feeding off her essence and becoming stronger.

Panic began to set in as she realized the extent of its dominance. She had to act, had to regain some semblance of control. Summoning what little strength she had left, she tried to sit up, her eyes darting around the room for anything she could use to halt the creature's advances. But before she could even attempt to speak a spell of banishment, one of the thickest tentacles shot forward, wrapping around her head and forcing itself into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering as it filled her throat, cutting off her air supply.

The fluid was thick and viscous, with a taste like nothing she had ever experienced. It coated her tongue and throat, sending a warm, tingling sensation coursing through her body. Her struggles grew weaker as the potion took hold, turning her fear into a heady, intoxicating lust. The creature's grip on her grew more gentle, almost affectionate, as it watched her swallow the potion that would seal her fate. Her mind swam with dizzying sensations, the world around her spinning out of control.

Her body responded to the potion with an insatiable hunger, her arousal skyrocketing to levels she had never before experienced. Every nerve ending was a live wire, sending sparks of pleasure through her veins. The tentacles inside her shifted, the suction cups massaging her in ways that made her want to weep. The creature had taken complete control, and she could feel it claiming her as its own.

The tentacle in her mouth began to pulse, and she felt a sudden surge of warmth in her belly. It was as if the potion was spreading through her, reaching every part of her being and binding her to the creature. She moaned around the intrusion, her hips bucking up to meet the relentless onslaught of the tentacle in her pussy. Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and making her body convulse in a symphony of pleasure. But even as she came, the tentacles didn't relent, continuing to fuck her with a vigor that was unyielding.

The creature's grip on her grew more possessive, the tentacles around her body tightening, the ones inside her stretching her even further. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain. She could feel her muscles clenching, trying to push the invaders out, but the potion had her body betraying her, her walls instead clamping down, holding them tight.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the creature's life force begin to pulse in rhythm with her own heartbeat. The tentacles grew thicker, harder, filling her completely, as if they were becoming a part of her. She was no longer the witch in control of her domain; she was the prey caught in the embrace of a creature that was as ancient as the earth itself.

The creature's tentacles began to quiver and spasm, and she knew it was about to release its seed. The thought of being filled with the alien spawn of this creature sent a shiver of revulsion through her, but her body responded with a wanton lust that she couldn't control. She felt it building inside her, the pressure mounting until she thought she might burst.

With a final, guttural growl, the tentacle in her pussy spurted its cum deep inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced - hot, thick, and overwhelming. It filled her up, the sticky fluid leaking out around the edges and pooling beneath her. At the same time, the tentacle in her ass pumped its own seed into her, the dual invasions making her body convulse with the intensity of her orgasm. She squirted, the force of her climax so powerful it was as if she were peeing, her juices mixing with the creature's cum and dripping down her thighs.

The plant creature's tentacles tightened around her, ensuring not a single drop of its precious essence was lost. It was a possessive act, a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through her even as she struggled to breathe around the tentacle in her throat. Her body was no longer her own; she was merely a vessel for its pleasure, a conduit for its life force. The creature's movements grew more deliberate, the tentacles inside her working together to milk every drop from her trembling form.

Y/N felt the potion's effects deepening, her thoughts becoming hazy, and her will to resist all but vanished. The creature's cum filled her, a warm, pulsating presence that seemed to resonate with her very soul. Her body responded instinctively, her muscles clenching around the tentacles, eager to keep them inside her. The plant's life force pumped into her, melding with her own until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began.

As the creature's climax reached its peak, she felt the tentacles inside her begin to withdraw, their suction cups reluctantly letting go of her sensitive flesh. The thick ropes of cum spurted out of her, painting the floor around her in a sticky mess. But before she could even begin to process what was happening, the plant's grip tightened once more. The tentacles holding her open slithered back in, coating her insides with the warm, viscous fluid, ensuring not a single drop was lost.

The creature's movements grew slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of her body around it. With a final, lingering kiss, the tentacle in her mouth slithered out, leaving her gasping for air. She coughed and spluttered, her throat raw and sore from the intrusion, but the taste of the potion remained, a heady cocktail of earth and magic. The tentacles around her neck and wrists loosened, allowing her to sit up, though she felt a strange reluctance to break the intimate connection.

As the plant's life force ebbed away, so too did the potion's control over her body. She felt the tentacles retreat, each one leaving her with a popping sensation that made her wince. The creature's form began to shrink, the tentacles withdrawing back into the soil with a wet squelch. The once vibrant leaves and vines grew limp, the glow in its veins fading to a dull pulse.

Y/N lay there, panting and drenched in sweat, cum, and dirt, her body feeling both violated and oddly satisfied. She watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the creature returned to its original state, the tentacles retreating into the soil until nothing remained but the withered plant she had sought to revive. The room was a mess of uprooted shelves and scattered potions, a testament to the creature's unbridled passion.

The bell above the door chimed, jolting her back to reality. She scrambled to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense encounter. A customer had entered the shop, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene before them. It was a young woman, a regular named Clara, who often came in for love potions and the occasional herb to keep her garden thriving.

Y/N tried to compose herself, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she took in Clara's horrified expression. The room was indeed a wreck - potions spilled, tomes scattered, and the once quaint and orderly space was now a chaotic jungle of tangled vines and broken furniture. "C-Clara," she managed to stutter, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure, "I can explain."

But Clara wasn't listening. She had spotted the withered plant, now devoid of its former vigor, lying in the center of the room. "What the fuck happened here?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. She took a tentative step closer, her eyes scanning the scene with a blend of curiosity and revulsion.

The witch tried to speak to explain the unexplainable, but her words caught in her throat. What could she possibly say? That she had brought the plant to life with a potion and it had fucked her senseless? That the creature had claimed her body as its own, feeding off her very essence? The truth was too ludicrous to voice aloud. Instead, she settled for a weak, "It's... it's a spell gone wrong?"

[cece693]

Brooding Edward (Edward Cullen x M! Vampire Reader)

I got a comment some time ago asking for more Edward Cullen fics, so I came to deliver :) Hope you guys enjoy it.

Summary: You don't know when your dislike of Edward turned into adoration, but you did know that you didn't like how close he was getting with the human, Isabella Swan.

tags: scheming Edward, jealous reader, hater to lover, making out, Bella used as a pawn in Edward's plan, mentions of Bella x Edward

Forks was a dreary town, always dripping with rain and cloaked in mist, a far cry from the places I’d roamed over the centuries. I’d arrived here on a whim, seeking nothing more than a quiet place to blend in, disappear among the mundane, and watch as the world turned on without me. But I wasn’t completely alone here. There were others of my kind, tucked away in the dense forests.

The first time I laid eyes on Edward Cullen, I knew immediately what he was—beautiful, yes, but also cold and distant, a façade of perfection wrapped around a soul that seemed perpetually weighed down. We didn’t speak much at first, just acknowledged each other as predators passing in the same territory.

But the more I saw him, the more I realized how irritatingly complex he was.

He wasn’t like the others—his siblings, his parents—who seemed content with the life they had carved out here, blending in with humans, attending school like everything was perfectly normal. Edward. had this air of constant torment, like he was wrestling with demons none of us could see. It grated on me. The self-imposed suffering. The way he would sit in class, staring out the window like the weight of existence itself was crushing him.

I couldn’t stand it.

“Edward’s always been like that.” Alice once told me when I asked why her brother seemed more brooding than the rest of them. She smiled, almost fondly, as if his moodiness was something endearing, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“You mean miserable?”

“He’s complicated.” she explained, and for some reason, that word irritated me even more.

Complicated. Right.

The more I was around him, the more I was drawn to observe his every movement, his every interaction. And it only made my disdain grow. Edward had this way of pulling people in without even trying—his impossibly good looks, the air of mystery that seemed to cling to him like fog, his quiet intelligence. Everyone wanted to know him, to understand him. But he kept everyone at arm’s length.

He was a contradiction—mysterious yet aloof, compassionate yet disconnected. And I couldn’t stop watching him.

It became a sick habit of mine, this strange fascination, though I told myself it was just that. I would catch glimpses of him in the halls at school, his expression always distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. He rarely laughed or even smiled—everything seemed so goddamn serious to him. His siblings would joke around, ease into their lives here, but Edward? He remained on the outskirts, as though he couldn’t let himself relax, couldn’t let go of whatever it was that tormented him.

There was something maddening about it.

It wasn’t until Isabella Swan came into the picture that everything shifted.

She was new, fragile, and completely unaware of the supernatural undercurrent running through Forks. But Edward saw her. And it wasn’t just passing interest. I noticed it from the beginning—the way his gaze would linger on her in class, how his jaw would tense when she got too close to any of the other students, or how he disappeared for days after their first encounter, struggling to keep himself in check.

I remember the first time I heard them talking, watching from a distance, seated in the cafeteria among the other Cullens. Edward’s voice was soft but strained, his gaze locked on hers like she was the most precious thing in the world. The intensity in his eyes, the way his entire being seemed to revolve around this human—it was unsettling.

"She’s different." he told me once when I couldn’t stop myself from asking why he was so fascinated with her.

"Different?" I echoed, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice. "She’s human, Edward. She’ll die in a blink of an eye. What happens then?" He said nothing, just stared off into the distance, as if the very idea caused him more pain than I could understand.

It was then that the slow burn of jealousy began to fester inside me, though I couldn’t name it at first. The fact that Edward, who seemed indifferent to everything, had suddenly fixated on this girl—this fragile, breakable human—made something inside me twist. I was used to seeing him as distant, untouchable, yet here he was letting his guard down for someone like her.

I wanted Edward’s gaze on me. His intensity. His focus. The realization hit me harder than I expected, and it wasn’t long before that jealousy bubbled over into anger.

One night, the tension reached a boiling point. Edward had just returned from dropping Bella off, his face drawn, like always, but with something else in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore. Satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that came from spending time with her. The kind of satisfaction I wanted him to feel when he was with me.

“Isabella this, Isabella that.” I sneered, my voice cutting through the stillness of the forest. Edward stopped in his tracks, his expression hardening as he turned to face me.

“What’s your problem?” His tone was cold, guarded.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my chest tight with the jealousy and frustration I’d been holding in for too long. “My problem is that you’re throwing everything away for her. And for what? She’s nothing special, Edward.”

His jaw clenched, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t know her. You don’t understand.”

“Understand?” I laughed bitterly. “What’s there to understand? She’s human. You’re a vampire. End of story.”

“It’s not that simple,” Edward hissed, stepping closer, his presence looming. “It’s never been that simple.”

I stared him down, anger boiling over into something sharper. “You think I don’t see what’s happening here? You’re losing yourself in her. You’re forgetting who you are, what you are. She’s going to be your downfall.”

He glared at me, and I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me roughly against him. “You’re wrong.”

Before I could snap back, Edward’s lips collided with mine like a strike of lightning, fierce and demanding, with none of the hesitation I’d come to expect from him. The initial shock froze me for only a second, but then the fire that had been building inside me for so long erupted, and I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer, forcing the kiss deeper.

His body pressed hard against mine, the coldness of his skin a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through me. This wasn’t like anything I’d imagined—there was no softness, no careful exploration—just raw, primal need. His lips left mine briefly, trailing down the line of my jaw, his breath cool against my skin as he whispered, “You think I’m hers?” His voice was low and dangerous. “I was never hers.”

I gripped his shoulders, shoving him back slightly, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He smirked, that infuriating, knowing smirk that sent another wave of frustration and heat crashing through me. His eyes darkened, the gold-flecked with something more primal, more dangerous. “My relationship with Bella means nothing to me.”

I tried to shove him away again, but he held firm, his grip on me unyielding, his body pressing me back against the rough bark of the tree. “Bullshit,” I growled, but the anger in my voice was already fading, replaced by something I didn’t want to admit. “You’ve been obsessed with her—”

“Lies.” he interrupted, his lips hovering over mine, so close I could kiss him again if I leaned forward. “I needed her to push you, to make you feel what you’ve been ignoring for months.”

My mind reeled. “You’re saying this was all some kind of game?”

His smirk widened, but it wasn’t cruel—it was victorious. “Not a game. A plan.” His fingers trailed lightly over my collarbone, sending sparks through me, and I hated how easily he could get under my skin, how quickly he could break down the walls I’d built. “I’ve been waiting for you to realize it, to stop fighting me.”

“Fighting you? You never said a damn thing.”

“I didn’t need to. I knew you’d come to me eventually.”

The kiss that followed was harder, more desperate, and I couldn’t stop myself from pulling him closer, the fire that had been smoldering between us now raging out of control. His hands roamed over my body, each touch stoking the flames higher. I couldn’t think, his presence overwhelming every sense, every thought.

“I'm yours,” he growled against my lips, his voice rough and possessive. His hands slid under my shirt, cold fingers tracing over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Not hers.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I grabbed his face, pulling him back just enough to meet his gaze. “Say it again.”

His eyes bored into mine, that same victorious glint dancing in their depths. “I’m not hers. I’m yours.”

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

*disclaimer: i'm not a great writer, nor am I good at writing characters*

Part 1:

On a cold, dreary night, you take solace in a speakeasy to escape your dreadful home life.

You, the reader, are stuck in what feels like a hopeless, loveless, and potentially abusive marriage that was arranged by you and your husband's parents as more of a political/business move.

So you find yourself sneaking out to the next town over at night whenever your "husband" is away. On nights like those, you left the ring at home. It was only a reminder of your hellish life, you wouldn't let anything reminiscent of your husband come with you to your little escape/happy place.

During your occasional outings, you befriended the speakeasy's owner/proprietress, Mimzy, who becomes your most trusted confidant because you didn't have any "friends" or family you could trust- they were the ones who put you in your living hell after all.

Mimzy also became your biggest fan and patron once she found out you're an artist/painter. Many of your paintings became centerpieces at the bar and your art became synonymous with this prestigious speakeasy of hers.

You pocketed all this money and didn't even have to hide the fact that you were painting. He hated art, so as long as it didn't stay in the house, he didn't care where it went. It was the one good thing you had going for you.

After a particularly prolonged period of time of your husband being home and having to endure so much of his bullshit, you find yourself seated at Mimzy's bar with a drink in hand.

A while into the night, but while the night was still young, you hear Mimzy's voice talking to a voice you've never heard before. You were a regular, so you knew all of the other regulars (you were more of an irregular regular, due to your visits being erratic because it all depended on when your husband was out of town).

But this voice caught your attention immediately. When Mimzy and this unknown man round the corner, your head whipped around, just to lock eyes with this new visitor to the bar.

Upon meeting your gaze, you are met with an unexpectedly warm smile, which makes you gasp and make you debate if the man or the alcohol was the culprit of the blush on your face.

Mimzy walked over with the man and introduced him and you to each other. You extended your hand towards him, and much to your surprise, he laid a gentle kiss upon the top of your hand and told you his name. "Alastor."

After witnessing this exchange, Mimzy giggles and runs along and goes to chat with the other patrons, leaving you and Alastor to chat on your own.

Oh and chat you do, yes indeed. You lose track of time and before you knew it, it was time to head home.

Not once in your life had you lost track of time talking to someone before. Never had you felt the butterflies in your stomach like that. The kindness and genuine interest this man showed you, being attentive to your every word, you felt alive. You don't know the last time you felt like this, if you ever have.

-> Part 2

[dollyfetti]

i wanted this to rhyme like a dr seuss story but lowk some of them don't make much sense so i apologize!! working on other katsmas stuff now, will hopefully get them out soon <3

grinch!bakugou once celebrated christmas, just once, in his life. though truly, it was only because of you, the perfect girl he'd envisioned as his future wife. he remembers it oh so clearly, that day, so grim and dreary when his punk 8 year old self felt the most bleary. stupid shoto todoroki, with his stupid calmness, had stolen your heart with ease on christmas eve.

grinch!bakugou doesn’t recall how you stared at him in agony when he’d threw a heartbreaking fit over the cruel laughs that had pierced him. he never saw the angry tears in your eyes, the hurt that you couldn’t speak. your quiet sorrow made him believe you were just as weak.

grinch!bakugou spent most of his life on a tall, lonely hill, avoiding the world below, hiding from all the chill. every few weeks, when couraged dared to grow, bakugou would venture to torment whoville, that idiotic little town, to spread his own woe. 

grinch!bakugou hated when little eri strolled into his cave and begged him to come to her town to celebrate christmas. he hated it even more when she whispered with a grin, that you’d be there too, at the whobilation as you'd always been.

grinch!bakugou not so subtly quizzed the precious girl about her “interview” with you, in a twist of a swirl. he’d scrunched up his nose when she shyly quoted your words, “he was a gangly thing, katsuki. i almost fell out my seat when he threw the christmas tree.. nobody knew he had such muscles.” if only you could see him now! all grown and spry, with jacked arms and thighs that could surely defy. bakugou's pride swelled, though he’d never admit, he'd certainly show you, just wait, just sit.

grinch!bakugou who had an internal wrestling match with himself before deciding he’d go. 

grinch!bakugou never hated shoto todoroki as much as he did this day, when he came upon him, the mayor of whoville, standing besides you in his usual cool sway. you, his darling, love, and lady. and believe it or not, bakugou was quite shady, throwing grunts and growls of curses toward the man.

grinch!bakugou couldn’t believe it when the whos around him began cheering at his participation in the whobilation traditions. when he’d harshly judge their puddings with a scowl, they cheered. when he rode around in the chair of cheer as the crowned cheermeister of the year (an odd affair), they cheered louder. when he won the sack race, you cheered too loudly, by mistake, joy bubbling from you, making his heart start to shake.

grinch!bakugou’s festivities were cut short when todoroki handed him a hateful “present” to cause pain, to remind him of his past days as a measly 8 year old strain. his scowl grew bigger still when half and half proposed to you with an abnormally large diamond ring with an icy thrill, along with a brand new car. whoville truly believed the brawn was going to blow up into the stars. 

eri thought for sure that he’d blow them all away, but the grinch had his own role to play. he didn’t like the spotlight, not unless it was for praise, but this time, he took it-- much to their daze. with a sharp nail, he scratched the shiny new ride before grabbing some mistletoe, standing with pride. he flocked up next to you with almost cheeky eyes, and bent over, yelling to all of the town, "KISS MY ASS WHOVILLE!"

that's when chaos began.

the great christmas tree, right in the square, caught fire, ablaze with a fiery flare. but that was just the start of grinch!bakugou’s plan to steal christmas away and ruin the the whos' year.

in a manner so vile, he dressed up as santa, sneaking through homes with a wicked smile. he swiped all the presents, the food, the lights, the furniture too-- and the evil did it with delight.

the next morning, whoville awoke with a cry. the town was in shambles, with no gifts left to buy. while eri’s father, aizawa, stood filled with shame as the mayor accused him at fault, eri climbed the eerie mountain once more, calling bakugou’s name.

she pleaded with him, "save the town, please do!" but he'd come to a realization before she arrived. however, her kind words still reached him, and his heart grew. so down he came, with a sleigh full of loot, riding through whoville to present their belongings.

the whos cheered with relief, but then you cried out, “wait!” you took your ring from the sleigh, and handed it to shoto, sealing your fate. "i’m sorry, my dear, but my heart belongs to another," you said, and then turned to bakugou, who also, turned around, before realizing you meant him!

grinch!bakugou, surprised, paused for a beat. though quickly, a wicked grin spread across his face, his joy complete. with a cruel cackle that rang out, dark and sly, he wiggled his finger at an astonished todoroki who'd sighed in defeat.

grinch!bakugou wrapped an arm around you with a loud, proud shove, still laughing in the mayor’s face. his true love was love. “i guess,” said the crowd, “he’s not changed that much, but perhaps he's found a soft touch.”