#Round Ash Table

[thejourneymanandco]

Bespoke Pedestal Table with Tapered Edge

This is a handmade pedestal table made from solid hardwood finished in Omso Polyx. The round top and been tapered on the underside to the edge that give the table a fine and delicate profile and very light look. The centre column is turned from a solid piece of Oak and the base is a thick 40+mm and tapered to mirror the table top (the base is 10-20cm smaller diameter than the top depending top size and height).

The piece will made in three sections, top, post and base to reduce chance of damage and freight costs. The images are from the construction and will be adding images of the finished piece soon.

The aim with this piece is to produce a simple, clean and delicate design that is a very functional piece but with a minimal appearance. It is available in many diameter and height and can be used as a side table, display table, coffee table and much more.

Like all the pieces I make it has been made by hand to order (we hold no stock). They are made with traditional tools, hand planed and cabinet scraped to create a smooth surface. The timber natural features vary in each piece of timber which in turn makes each piece individual and unique.

[ashesforart]

for the Merlin ask game 11: Random Knights Headcanon? C:

Oh this is such a fun question, thanks for the ask!

I feel like I have not been given enough insight into random Knights + Merlin shenanigans in the series-- like you CANNOT just show me the scene in 4x01 where Merlin aids Gwaine and Percival in stealing food from the kitchens and then NOT ELABORATE FURTHER??

So all of that is to say that I have a headcanon that the Knights like to collab with Merlin a bit and use his easy access to Arthur's personal life (as his manservant) to pull fun pranks on him and whatnot. Wouldn't it be cute if they got Gwen in on it too??

[cuntyji]

gn//f//m reader, fluff, established rl

sukuna who quietly takes up a hobby of pottery and slowly leaves his trinkets around his house :(

it starts small. a tiny figurine, barely the size of your thumb, placed on your nightstand without a word. it's your cat, belly perfectly round, little paws tucked in, an expression so accurately grumpy that you almost think it’s store-bought. but no, the slightly uneven texture and the faint grooves of fingers along its back give it away—this was handmade.

then come the plates. at first, just quarter plates for the both of you. then bigger ones. serving bowls. one day, a dish so enormous appears on the dining table that you stare at it in horror.

"who are we feeding, the entire neighborhood?"

"your fatass cat," sukuna grumbles, arms crossed, but the corners of his lips twitch. "he won’t eat out of anything else now." and sure enough, your cat is sitting beside it, looking absolutely smug, tail flicking as if to say, "finally, a bowl befitting my stature."

the jewelry tray appears next, a shallow ceramic dish with a slight tilt because, as he explains, he’s still "figuring out how to make the damn things symmetrical." you paint it gold and pink, his least favorite colors, just to be annoying. he doesn’t complain. "not bad," he mutters, picking it up to inspect. "at least it ain't neon green."

but it’s the ashtray that really gets you. shaped into a heart, of all things. you stare at it for a good minute before looking at him, one brow raised. "shut up," he says before you can even speak.

"i didn’t say anything."

"you were thinking it."

you paint the heart ashtray a gaudy red and put tiny, illegible gold lettering across the rim that just barely resembles the words kiss the chef. when he notices, he lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "you're real lucky i like you," he mutters, flicking ash into it without hesitation.

the funniest thing is how he never makes a fuss when you accidentally break one of his pieces. you nearly cry when you chip one of the quarter plates, apologizing profusely, but he only shrugs.

"eh, i’ll just make another one."

"but it took you weeks—"

"yeah, yeah, and i’ll do it again." he nudges your forehead with a clay-stained knuckle. "quit looking so guilty, brat. it just means i get to see you smile over a new one."

you do. every time. <3

[spitefulsatanfics]

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

Word Count: 4,631

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Setting: Supernatural, Season 2 (set shortly after “Born Under a Bad Sign”)

Tones: ☑ Fluff ☑ Domestic Love (as domestic as hunters get) ☑ Pre-established Relationship ☑ Found Family Vibes ☑ Lovesick!Dean who tries so hard to be cool ☑ Reader overhears how gone he is for her and melts

Synopsis:

⸻

When Dean brings Y/N to the Roadhouse for the first time, it’s just supposed to be a pitstop. A beer, a burger, maybe a tip on the next hunt. But Ellen’s no fool, and Ash doesn’t miss much either—and neither of them can help but notice the way Dean’s entire world shifts a little when Y/N walks in the room. He’s trying to be cool. Chill. The guy. But when the woman you love knows how to stitch a wound, kill a wendigo, and laugh at your worst jokes? Well, you’re gonna talk about her. A lot. Y/N overhears every soft confession, every bashful brag. And when Dean finds out? Let’s just say… the flustered hunter is real.

⸻

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

The sun was dying slow and gold behind the Colorado hills when the Impala pulled up outside the Roadhouse. Dust rose soft around her tires like the place itself was exhaling—welcoming, wary, watching. It was the kind of spot that made your boots feel heavier and your shoulders feel lighter, if you knew what to do with a whiskey and had something worth bleeding for.

Dean popped the driver’s door, stepping out with his usual lean-and-stretch maneuver. The leather jacket creaked, the air smelled like beer, old pine, and maybe a dash of demon stink from some nearby town they’d just cleared out. But for once, his muscles weren’t tight with mission or guilt. Instead, his eyes flicked to the passenger door where she sat, legs tucked under her, hair wild from the wind.

“Y’ready for the madness?” he grinned, cocking a brow.

Y/N stepped out, slamming the heavy door closed behind her. “Please. I’ve seen you try to eat gas station sushi. I think I can handle your friends.”

Dean laughed—full and unguarded, the kind of laugh that made him look five years younger and a little more like the boy his mom remembered.

Inside, the Roadhouse was alive with the usual hum. Darts clinked. Glasses thudded. Ash’s ridiculous hair bobbed behind the bar as he scrolled something on his ancient laptop. Ellen looked up from a rag she was wringing out, sharp eyes landing on Dean. Then on the woman walking in beside him.

And like a switch flipped, her entire face changed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ellen said, a grin crawling slow across her face. “Dean Winchester, bringing a date into my bar?”

Dean instantly stiffened. “She’s not a date, she’s—”

Y/N was already giggling. “Don’t worry, Ellen. I know how hopeless he is with labels.”

That got a laugh from Jo, who popped out from the back room like she’d been waiting for the curtain to rise. “He’s definitely hopeless, alright.”

Dean groaned. “Great. A tag team.”

But Ellen wasn’t done. She came around the bar and sized Y/N up like a general inspecting a new recruit. Her eyes were sharp, measuring—but kind beneath it all. “You hunt?”

Y/N nodded. “My dad started me off with salt rounds and silver before I was potty trained.”

That got Ellen’s respect. She reached out to shake her hand.

Dean, behind them, tried so hard to play it cool. Just nods, casual, stoic. But his eyes betrayed him. Every second, he was checking Y/N’s face. Watching her reaction. Smiling like he’d swallowed the goddamn sun.

And Ellen saw it. Oh, she saw it.

⸻

An hour in and Dean had loosened up. The gang had made room at their usual table, drinks flowing, stories flying. Jo was trying to one-up Y/N with old salt-burn tales. Ash was explaining the finer points of demon detection with his “genius-level IQ,” which basically meant “I drink beer and hack things.”

And Dean?

Dean was floating. One arm over the back of Y/N’s chair, one leg half tangled with hers. He wasn’t even subtle. Whenever she laughed at something Jo said, he grinned like he’d won a war. Every time she reached for her beer, he was already sliding it closer.

Ellen stood at the bar, arms folded, watching the whole damn thing like it was a soap opera.

“You ever seen him like this?” she asked quietly to Ash.

Ash didn’t even look up from his screen. “Never. Dude’s whipped.”

⸻

Later, Y/N excused herself to the bathroom, and Dean got up to grab her another drink—leaving her jacket slung over the chair.

That’s when Ellen made her move.

“You got it bad,” she said, flat-out, wiping down the bar in slow circles.

Dean raised a brow. “What?”

She stared him down like a seasoned gunslinger. “Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. You’ve been grinning like an idiot all night. The only time you looked away from her was when you were blinking.”

Dean scoffed, scratched the back of his neck. “She’s cool. That’s all.”

Ellen leaned in. “You called her your girl three times already. And just now? You ordered her drink before she even asked. You don’t do that unless you’ve memorized someone’s whole damn soul.”

Dean blushed.

Actually blushed.

“Oh, man,” Ash mumbled from the end of the bar. “It’s terminal.”

Dean shot him a look. “Bite me.”

But Ellen smiled—soft now, not teasing. Just… knowing.

“She makes you happy, doesn’t she?” she asked.

Dean looked down at the bar top, swirling the condensation off his beer bottle with one finger.

“Yeah,” he said. “She does.”

And like some cheesy fate-orchestrated moment from a movie?

Y/N had walked up just in time to hear that.

⸻

He didn’t notice right away.

Not until she kissed his cheek when he handed her the beer, still warm from the bottle but even warmer from her lips.

He blinked. “What was that for?”

Y/N just smiled, coy. “Just… felt like it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

Ellen chuckled under her breath.

Y/N leaned closer, her voice low and honey-smooth: “Nothing, baby. Just glad to be here.”

⸻

Outside, later that night, Dean had her pressed against the Impala, arms on either side, breath puffing warm in the chill.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Heard what?”

Dean groaned. “You know what.”

She laughed. “That you memorized my whole damn soul?”

Dean groaned louder, forehead thumping to her shoulder. “God, kill me now.”

But she pulled him in tighter, fingers sliding into the back of his hair.

“Not a chance,” she whispered. “I kinda like lovesick Dean.”

Dean grumbled against her neck. “I’m not lovesick.”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased. “Tell that to the three different people you told I’m the best shot you’ve ever seen."

“I stand by that.”

“And that I make better pie than you.”

“Lies. Slander. I was drunk.”

“And that you’d give up the Impala if it meant keeping me safe.” Dean stilled. Pulled back, looked into her eyes.

“I meant that one,” he said, voice low.

Her breath caught. “Dean…”

He leaned in. Kissed her soft. Then whispered against her lips, “Ain’t nothing subtle about the way I love you, sweetheart.”

⸻

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading, you sinfully sweet sugar demons! If you ever wondered what it would look like if Dean tried not to be totally whipped in public and failed? This is it. Thank you for loving these soft moments with me, for believing in the kind of peace a hunter might dare to touch. Until next time, keep the pie warm and the Impala fuelled.

Love always, Little Devil 🖤🔥

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Don't save me.

Pairing: Geum Seongje x reader.

Summary: People told you that he was dangerous. A wild card. Not to be trusted. The redist red flag but didn't they know you're colorblind for him?

Warning: Toxic relationship, Bullying, Violence, Cheating?Arguing, Verbal abuse, Choking, Cream pie, P in v, Dirty talk, Plot with Smut?

You can't recall the last time you felt truly and undeniably happy. It has been so long since you laughed so hard that your stomach ached or smiled so broadly that your cheeks hurt. It's been a while since you experienced that exhilarating feeling of euphoria.

Middle school, you think.

Faint memories of laughter and jokes circulating, untouched lunches, and that once warm sensation. High school. Little you thought how cool and wonderful it would be.

What a load of bullshit.

A pained grunt escaped your clenched teeth as a strong kick to your stomach sent your body crashing against the steel gray lockers. Your head struck hard against the metal, and your body crumpled to the floor.

"Are you going to open that smart-ass mouth again, or should I just keep going?" Ha-yoon's makeup-caked face sneered. You didn't know why you snorted back a chuckle nor why a small, sarcastic smile had crept onto your lips.

"You think this is funny?" she screeched, her hand rearing back.

"Ha-yoon, cut it out," Eun-kyung's angelic voice said as her dark eyes finally glanced up from her manicured nails. She pushed off the wall, and Ha-yoon backed away immediately.

'Just like a loyal puppy. Obeying her Mistress's order'

Eun-Kyung sighed through her nose like she was tired of wasting her time. She squatted down, allowing her silky raven hair, which was pulled into a ponytail, to fall over her shoulder. With her elbows resting against her thighs and her cheek resting on the ball of her fist, she gazed at you with a look of boredom and disinterest.

"You're fucking pathetic when you run that mouth. It almost seems you like pissing me off." Rage flicked through her irises as she quickly grabbed your hair and slammed your head against the lockers. "Unless cunt!" She yelled and slammed your head again, harder.

Your vision blurred and your ears rang. Black surrounded the edge of your vision before you passed out. Cruel laughter and fading footsteps were the last thing you heard.

When you came too and began to walk to your small apartment, your head ached and throbbed. Despite that, it was manageable if you took some pain medicine.

You were going out with Seongje, your long-time boyfriend, at a new club with some guys from the Union and you won't let a headache and a few stupid bruises stop you from seeing him. Being with him made you feel so alive; with him, you were respected by the gang. You were Seongje's girl. And nobody was foolish enough to mess with you unless they wanted to be beaten to half to death.

Dating him wasn’t always a smooth ride. Arguments were common, and so were screaming matches. Things were thrown, and surfaces were punched, but he never hit you, nor did he aim at you. You understood he wasn’t a good person, yet he loved you in his own flawed way.

The dark club pulsed with music, and you could feel the rhythm with every step you took as Seongje led you, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. Flashing lights danced wildly around the room. Bodies moved, jumping and grinding against each other.

The group chose a round table to sit at, and soon it was cluttered with cigarette ash and empty bottles.

Sang-Ook, Dae-Ho, and Du-Ho were boys who attended the same school as Seongje and played together at Internet cafes. The twins were already drunk, laughing to themselves, and talking to Sang-Ook about which woman he was going to try to fuck and making crude jokes. Normal gross boy talk.

Seongje didn't say much; instead, he stared blankly while listening to the other boys, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You weren't interested in their conversation, so you simply snuggled into his side. You didn't know why he wanted to be there, but you followed him wherever he went unless it was related to gang activities.

Your eyebrows furrowed; the sudden pressure on your bladder was becoming too strong to ignore.

"Seongje," you whispered in his ear. He responded with a low hum of curiosity, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly with the sound. After a moment of hesitation, you shyly admitted that you needed to use the bathroom. Seongje chuckled, pulled out his favorite pack of cigs from his tiger-printed windbreaker, and lifted one to his lips, "Go," he ordered, nodding toward the direction of the bathroom.

"I'll be right back." You quickly got out of the booth. "Better. I don't like waiting." He lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled the gray smoke into his lungs.

You sighed in relief as you exited the stall and turned on the sink water. As you washed your hands, you remained unfazed by the sounds of the bathroom door opening and the clicking of two pairs of heels on the tiled floor. The two women giggled among themselves, and you could feel their intense stares directed at the side of your face. While drying your hands, you glanced at the wide mirrors above the sink.

A sickening dread dropped into the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar coral dye and blue highlights. Ha-yoon and Seo-Yeon.

'How were they here? Did they know you were going to be here? If they were here, doesn't that mean..'

You dared to meet Ha-yoon's gaze in the mirror. A mischievous cruelty sparkled back; she knew something, and if you didn't feel dread before, you certainly did now. Your breath quicked as you rushed out of the woman's bathroom.

You need to grab Seongje and go.

You stopped a few feet from the booth. This had to be a dream, a messed-up nightmare, but the painful shattering of your heart told you this was all happening.

Eun-kyung's honeyed giggles cut through the roaring music. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders like a river, her skimmy pastel dress fit her like a second skin and her soft pink lips curled into a flirty smile that beamed brighter than the lights that painted her and Seongje in rosy red as she idly played with his sliver chain—the chain you got him.

He simply sat there, his arm resting on the top of the booth above Eun-Kyung, his eyes intensely focused on her. His expression was unreadable, and when her beautiful eyes met his, you couldn't bear it any longer. You choked back tears as you pushed and squeezed past the people having the time of their lives.

You sniffed, your legs aching from the many rounds of walking you did in the nearby park for almost an hour. You didn't want to go home immediately; too much of him was there, from the many nights he stayed over.

You wiped the fading tears from your cheeks as you bent slightly to take off your shoes, throwing them down carelessly. Dragging your feet toward the couch, you paused and squinted your eyes. A figure was sitting there, a small red dote appeared from the darkness and the following smoke floated out in the illumination of the kitchen light. You inhale sharply and switch the living room light on.

Seongje stared at the blank TV screen for what felt like several seconds before adjusting his glasses. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, and his eyes fixed on your face. To anyone else, he appeared cool and unbothered, but you knew him better than that.

He was enraged.

"Where were you?" He leaned forward to put out his cigarette. "Why does it matter? You clearly were very busy when I came back from the bathroom." you shot back, your words sharp. He paused at your pointed response before finally extinguishing his cigarette in the wolf-shaped ashtray. "You let her..you let her touch you..and you didn't tell her to back off. Did you enjoy her company that much?" you asked, your voice breaking at the thought of the two of them together.

"You think I'd cheat on you? I may be a lot of things but a fucking cheater Isn't one of them." He spoke in a faux calm tone as he backed you into the hallway and into your bedroom.

"S-Seongje.." You warned.

"I thought My girl wasn't a dumbass." He ridiculed, a cruel smile stretching on his lips as he backed you more and more towards your bed

"Don't call me dumb! I'm not stupid! You jackass!" you snapped before letting out a surprised noise as you fell onto your bed, trying to escape from him. "Oh no, baby," he cooed mockingly. "I work with incompetent, useless punks. You're stupid if you think I would cheat on you with some one-and-million whore. Don't worry, though. I'll show you who I really belong to." Seongje shrugged off his windbreaker, letting it fall to the floor, and crept onto the bed after kicking off his pants and underwear.

You should be mad, pissed at him, shouldn't feel your treacherous cunt heat up, and gush slick but watching as he took off his shirt and threw it to the side, bare except his glasses and his chain. He was lean, and muscular in ways that counted, and his cock. His dick twitched as if sensing your admiring gaze.

He was above average length, so thick it struggled to stand up completely, and veiny. The glans was a darker shade than the rest of his skin; the slit oozed a pearl of pre-cum. And a trimmed bush around the base of his dick. His member was just as fine as him.

You happily helped him take off your clothes until you were both as naked as the day you were born. Seongje smirked smugly, the bedroom look you gave him made him want to take you right there but the urge to tease you won over. Seongje wrapped his arms around your spread legs and pulled your ass on top of his thighs. His dick slid between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and the tip rested on your bud; he drew back and snapped forward, giving himself a pussy job.

"Just fuck me!" You cried as he continued to fuck your lips and clitoris. "I don't know. Should I?" He questioned. You cried, frustrated, and bucked your hips to try and fail to trick him inside, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I accused you of cheating. Now fuck my brains out!" You screamed; Seongje simply hummed a 'good enough,' drew back until his cock head caught on your entrance, and he rolled his hips.

You both let a groan as he pushed into your tight, wet, gummy depths. The action alone was close enough to make you cum. His cock, lay heavy on your walls, and his veins brushed against those spots until he bottomed out. You grabbed his hands that gripped your hips and threw your head back, moaning loudly as he pulled out and slammed into you, "Can't believe, you think I'd give up this pussy," He grunted, thrusting harshly, the bed banging against the back wall "this is my fucking pussy. Mine." He growled pushing his hair away from his face before grabbing your neck, his fingers squeezing the side of your throat.

You gasped and moaned as you held his wrist, your eyes rolled back, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-" you blabbed, drooling. Seongje laughed meanly, his eyes shined amused "Look at this. Did I already fucked my girl cockdrunk?" He released your throat and lifted your hips up more, making him reach deeper; the loud clapping of skin, the moans, groans, and cures along the embarrassing squelching of your cunted filled the room. Seongje's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and his chain smacked against his sweat, glistening chest. Frustrated, he tore the glasses off his face, tossed them beside your head, and leaned down, his body covering yours. His large groped and knead your ass as he kissed you passionately. You wailed into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cummed.

Seongje pulled back, grunted as his eyes flutter shut, his hips slamming into your hips, his fast pace because sloppy as his dick twitched. He grunted one more time as his hot cum spilled into your pulsing pussy, painting you white from the inside.

"You were meant to be mine.." Seongje spoke up after you both cleaned up and laid together. Your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat lull you to sleep, "We were meant to be" he whispered into your ear, your eyes finally closing. If this was a dream from your otherwise miserable life you didn't want to wake up.

[konigslittleliebling]

König and reader stoned breeding!! But like (if you have the time ofc) sitting on his lap and sharing a blunt, while his hands slowly get more and more touchy all over your soft sensitive body! Or taking edibles beforehand and them hitting when he enters you!!

Accidentally he mentions breeding you and you lock your legs around him in instinct! Which only gets him going more!

(Am I 🍃 at the time of writing? Maybe)

mdni. cannabis, edibles, high sex, raw sex, breeding.

you pass the joint to him, allowing him to finish the rest as you puff out a cloud of the herbal drug. your boyfriend chuckles, fingers that are so much longer and thicker grazing yours when he takes it, positioning it between a pair of slightly chapped lips. (parched from the acidic juices of your pussy where he’s spent most of the night thus far.)

“mein lieb, i think we have a problem.” he inhales from what remains of the roll-up, potent and dizzying. an intoxicating fog fills the room, a haze settling over the bed. you’ve been fucking and smoking all night — you’re both so drunk on sex and cannabis that you couldn’t walk in a straight line if you tried. you can’t walk anyway, he was a bit too rough :((

he taps the burnt-down butt into the ceramic ashtray that had once sat precariously on the bed — three used filters already in it, surrounded by ash. it’s already fallen off the bed thanks to the number y’all did on the bed frame, ash stains and a fourth stub on the floor beside it. “it’s chipped.” you pout, fingertip coasting over the crack in the ashtray. “i made this myself.” you wince when the sharp corner pierces your skin and könig chuckles, lifting it to his mouth to suck it clean. “i was wondering why it has a hand-drawn penis on it, schatz. it is not very big, nein?”

“i did it before i met you.” you chuckle, shuffling onto his lap between beefy, outstretched legs. you pull your slender digit from his mouth, before licking your tongue in its place, tasting the metallic tang of your blood on his. “i’ll make a new one and draw yours on it.” he laughs at that, deep and hearty. “the ashtray will have to be much bigger then, little liebling.” you nod in agreement, smirking against his lips.

you sit up on your knees, straddling his mighty thighs. “baby… i wanna try something. just say no if it’s too much.” his blue eyes narrow at you, fair-haired brows knitting together. “please, lieb. not a strap-on. i do the fucking.” you gasp at the crude assumption, slapping his chest playfully. “oh my god, no! i’m steering clear of your ass, mister.” he hmphs with relief. “gut. so what is it?”

you smile, teetering over to open the drawer of your bedside table. his hands glue themselves to your bent hips, covering the red handprints and fingertip-shaped bruises that already mark them. you swallow a moan when he starts to grind your sticky cunt over his semi, one of its veins massaging your sore clit. bastard hasn’t been flaccid since he first pinned you to the mattress however many hours ago.

when you lean back up, you’ve got two powdery small cubes in your palm — one pink and the other yellow. könig frowns, slowing his movements of manually rocking your hips against his length. “candy?” he presumes, voice unimpressed and dare you say disappointed. you’ve got a devilish look on your face, lips tugging upward as if by invisible string. “sorta.” you say, ghosting your tongue over his bottom lip — tracing the raised skin of a scar that stretches to his jaw. “they’re pebbibles!” your excitement confuses him and his eyes dip to the sweets in your hand.

he takes the yellow one, examining it between his thumb and forefinger. “these are not circular. pebbles are round.” you roll your eyes at his pedantic approach. “it’s a play on words.” your hand — so small in comparison — takes gentle hold of his wrist. your fingers are too short to wrap around it entirely. “they’re boiled gummies.” you tell him, eyes widening when he shrugs and pops it onto his tongue. you stop him, hooking your finger into his mouth like a mother fishing a plastic, choke-hazardous toy from her infant. “which contain canna-oil.”

he just stares at you dumbly, probably offended that you’d snatched the sweet from his watering mouth. you’re hungry too, these munchies are hitting pretty hard, but you need him to know what he’s getting into. he’s never consumed the drug like this before — only ever smoked it. you knew someone once who reacted badly to an edible. “like, cannabis oil, babe.” his eyes light up with understanding then, and he plucks the gummy back. “ah, i see. so why did you do that?”

“i need you to know the risks—” but he pops it into his mouth, chewing it just once before gulping it down. you sit there dumbfounded, mouth agape with your own edible still in the cup of your hand. könig smiles, dangerous. you know that look; you see it every time he fucks his cock into your tight hole. he takes it from your fingers and lifts his hand to place the crystallised cube on your tongue, then gently closes your limp jaw. “go on, my little sonnenschein. let’s have fun, ja?”

you huff out a giggle, surprised. you weren’t expecting him to be so into trying something new. it took you a while to convince him to try a blunt; you thought dust would collect on your shelves by the time you got him to test an eddy. “you’re so sexy.” you snort, chuckling away like a tipsy teenager. he grins lazily and lopsided, eyes half-shut and reddened. “on your back, bärchen.”

you roll off him, legs spreading instinctively so he can position himself between them. you’re so wet from his dick already, a little looser thanks to the impossible stretch of his width. immediately, his mouth is on yours, pulling your lips apart with his teeth before curling his tongue with yours. you can taste the fruitiness of the edibles when your saliva mixes, lips smacking and nipping in a slobbery clash of teeth and groans.

you feel his purplish cockhead pushing at your entrance and he doesn’t even have to try because with a small twitch of his hips, he’s halfway inside, sliding in with lewd ease. for once you’re thankful for his previous force, he’s opened your cunt up so well already, the dregs of your combined cum acting as lubricant. you garble around his tongue as it fucks your mouth, muffling your moans. your high intensifies significantly as soon as he’s balls-deep, the candies choosing the perfect time to manipulate the inebriated senses of your neural waves.

he doesn’t waste time, thrusting his mushroom-tip against the spongy entrance to your cervix without pulling out. your mouth falls open, gaping at the sensation of him fucking into you without retracting a single inch and you glance between your sweaty bodies, your vision slightly doubled as you watch the base of him hammer against your hole over and over. his slick bush of curls brushes against your swollen, exhausted clit every time and you swoon, head thudding against the pillows. “könig~! s’good, fuck-” you’re a mess, babbling like a teething baby whilst the mountainous man above you drills his cock into the silky roof of your cunt.

“Scheiße.” he croaks, overstimulated and strangely sensitive already. “those were not aphrodisiacs, nein? i cannot keep going much— much longer.” you shake your head, nails clawing at his back and toes curling as he continues to pump you full of his dick. “no, just— stronger than what you’re used to.. ah!” your legs lock around his middle, feet unable to touch behind the large stature of his back. könig starts to shake, hips stuttering and muscles spasming.

“mein gott.” he stutters, balls slapping against the underside of your arse cheeks and he feels an abnormal tingling in said region. he feels alien, almost. “lieb, you’ll have to… mmf- let go now.” he knows he can’t hold back, his cock screaming at him to release his hot cum into your eager uterus. you’re not ready for a family, not yet. but you cling tighter, fingers biting into his skin. “no, baby.” you whisper, broken and choked. “give me a baby. please, könig. y’know you wanna.”

oh god, he’s so close. eyes scrunched up and teeth gritted.

“feels so good, könig. please, please please.” you’re pleading with him and lord knows how much he loves it when you beg for it. he falters, hips snapping wildly into yours. your room is humid, thick with the smell of sex and skin-on-skin. he crumples on top of you, a heap of mass as he breeds you thoroughly. his cum is so warm as it shoots through your cervix, painting your insides and claiming you completely.

you can smell it drooling from you — sweet and rich. you’re still milking him, drenching his cock with your climax as he still rolls against you slowly and clumsily. your hands glide up to stroke his hair and the short ones that grow down his neck — damp and sparse. “jesus.” you breathe, chest heaving and legs trembling. his tired laughter rumbles, vibrating against you. “we mustn’t say a word, meine liebe.” he lifts his head to gaze down at you and you hold his face in your hands, looking up at him quizzically. “about what to who?”

“to our child about how they were conceived.”

[honeyandruin]

Seared - Firefighter!Joel Miller x Reader

🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦

Pairing: firefighter!Joel Miller x Reader (modern AU)

Summary: You triage trauma. He runs headfirst into it. But nothing prepares either of you for what happens when restraint finally snaps.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Mutual pining. Rough, desperate oral (f!receiving). Semi-clothed sex. Overstimulation. Praise kink. Slight manhandling. Breathy filth. Joel is obsessed and possessive but soft where it counts.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Firefighter Joel owns me. This is a slow, burning collapse into obsession, filth, and the softest kind of ruin. Blame the wall. Blame the pie. Blame him.

🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦

You remember the first time you met Joel Miller like a scar—ugly, sharp, and still sensitive to the touch.

He came through the ER doors at a sprint, boots pounding tile, smoke curling off his jacket like he’d dragged the fire in with him.

There was blood. Soot. The sharp tang of scorched plastic. And a man—mid-twenties, barely conscious, bleeding fast from a shredded leg—half-slumped under Joel’s arm.

You were in the middle of a controlled chaos—three beds full, a psych hold screaming in bay six, and the urgent, endless ping of vitals slipping. But everything in you snapped to attention the second you saw that leg.

You were already moving.

“Over here!” you shouted, waving down the trauma team. “Get him on the table—move!”

Joel didn’t let go.

You grabbed for the gurney, but he was still holding him, like he didn’t trust you.

“I said I’ve got him—let go!”

He finally released his grip, and the rookie slumped into the arms of two med techs.

“Vitals are dropping,” someone called. “Pressure’s tanking.”

“Push fluids, get a line in—hang a unit, now!”

You were halfway through barking orders when you realized he was still there. Standing in the middle of the trauma bay like a goddamn statue. Covered in soot. Eyes locked on the kid being wheeled away.

You turned on him, voice sharp.

“Hey. Outside the bay. Now.”

He didn’t move. Not right away.

“I’m not leaving him.”

You stepped closer—just enough for him to register the authority in your voice.

“You’re in the way,” you said. Low. Firm. “You wanna help him? Let us do our jobs.”

His jaw tightened. For a second, you thought he might argue again. But then his eyes flicked to the team crowding the table, to the rookie fading fast on the monitor, and he backed up.

Just two steps.

You followed. Got him clear of the curtain.

“Are you hurt?”

He blinked. Like he hadn’t even noticed. Then looked down—blood soaked through the arm of his jacket.

“Split it on rebar,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You gestured toward the empty cot behind you. “Sit. Jacket off.”

He moved stiffly. Shoulders tight, face unreadable.

You grabbed gloves and gauze, snapped a packet of sterile saline, and started cleaning the wound without waiting for permission.

“You always this friendly?” He asked, voice low and flat.

“You always this dramatic?”

That got a huff of a laugh. Not quite a real one.

You wrapped his forearm in silence. Neat, quick, no-nonsense.

When you were done, you looked him in the eye and said, “You’re good to go.”

He didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t even nod.

Just stood. Walked out the same way he came in—like a storm that hadn’t finished.

And now, he’s back.

You smell him before you see him.

Burned plastic. Charred wood. Sweat and smoke and the unmistakable sharpness of blood just beginning to dry. The scent curls into the trauma bay like a warning, coiling around your ribs before he even rounds the corner.

Your shoulders stiffen on instinct.

You don’t have to look up. You already know.

Joel fucking Miller.

And then—there he is.

Framed in the doorway like he owns it. Same goddamn turnout jacket, open at the chest, the collar dark with soot. There’s blood trickling from his temple, a slow, lazy curl down the side of his face. His shirt’s torn, streaked black with ash and sweat, clinging to the wide line of his chest like it’s holding on for dear life. He’s favoring one side—ribs, probably—but not enough to admit anything’s wrong.

You press your tongue to the back of your teeth and pretend your pulse doesn’t jump.

“Tell me you missed me,” he says, voice low and dry, like he already knows the answer.

You don’t look up from the chart. “Tell me you didn’t come in here without a run sheet. Again.”

That huff of a laugh. Deep. Rough. The one that always sounds like it’s been dragged across gravel.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You look up slowly, eyes locking on his like a scope lining up a target.

“Miller,” you say flatly.

“That’s my name,” he says with a nod and a crooked little smirk that makes you want to wipe it off his face with a suture needle.

“What happened this time?” You ask, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Fall into a bonfire? Wrestle a flaming raccoon? Light yourself on fire for the insurance money?”

“Roof collapse.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Took a wrong step. Got lucky.”

You eye the way he’s holding his side. The way his jaw’s set too tight, like he’s trying not to breathe too deep. “Define lucky.”

“Didn’t die.”

“Not yet.”

You jerk your chin toward the nearest cot. “Shirt off. Sit down. Try not to bleed on anything important.”

He walks past you—slow, deliberate—and when he passes, your shoulder brushes his chest. Just for a second. Just enough to feel the heat radiating off him, to catch the scent of ash still clinging to his skin.

He eases himself onto the edge of the gurney with a grunt, then peels off his jacket. You hear the rip of Velcro. The shift of heavy fabric. And then, finally, the sound of him hissing through his teeth as he drags the ruined shirt up over his head and lets it fall.

You glance at him.

Big mistake.

There’s a deep bruise blossoming across his ribs—angry, purple, the kind that tells you he probably cracked something and refused to admit it. There’s soot along his collarbone, streaking down over muscle and tension. A cut over his temple, still bleeding. And somehow—somehow—he looks smug about all of it.

“You got a habit of showing up looking like a cautionary tale,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic.

“You got a habit of pretending that doesn’t bother you,” he fires back.

You dab the cloth to the cut on his brow a little harder than necessary.

He flinches.

“Sadist,” he mutters under his breath.

“I told you last time,” you say. “If you keep playing with fire, it’s gonna bite you back.”

“Fire doesn’t bite,” he says, eyes on yours. “It burns.”

You pause.

Only for a second. But it’s enough.

That look in his eyes—you hate it. The way it lingers. The way it makes your stomach tighten and your hands move too fast, like you’re trying to outrun it.

“You need X-rays,” you mutter. “I’m calling imaging.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Same difference.”

You swear softly under your breath and tape gauze into place with more force than is strictly necessary.

“You gonna keep playing nurse or are you gonna lecture me?” He asks, watching you like a man tracking movement in a fire.

You throw the soiled gauze in the bin. “You wouldn’t listen either way.”

“You don’t know what I’d do.”

Your head snaps up.

For a second, neither of you speak. The hum of fluorescent lights. The beep of distant monitors. The faint hiss of a blood pressure cuff inflating somewhere down the hall.

You meet his gaze and there it is.

That thing you don’t talk about. That static in the air when he walks in. That spark between teeth and tongue, between every insult and half-smile. That thread pulled so tight, it’s one breath away from snapping.

But you don’t say it.

You just strip your gloves off, toss them, and step back.

“You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung,” you say. “Go to X-ray. Now.”

He stands, slow. His bare chest rises and falls—slow, even, careful.

He reaches for his shirt.

You stop him with one sharp look. “I’ll get you something clean,” you mutter. “Yours smells like arson.”

He smirks. “Like you’d know what arson smells like.”

“Like you wouldn’t be the one who set it.”

He starts to laugh—then winces, one hand going to his ribs.

You don’t smile—you want to, but you don’t.

He grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulder. “You know my name yet?”

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure I had to write it on your discharge forms five times.”

He leans just slightly toward you. Enough that his voice brushes the shell of your ear.

“Use it sometime, sweetheart.”

You don’t watch him walk out, but you hear his boots on the tile, and you feel the heat long after he’s gone.

***

It’s almost midnight when he walks in again.

The trauma bay is quiet. Lights dimmed. Monitors muted. You’re charting under fluorescent hum, legs aching, your scrub top sticking to your back from twelve straight hours of triage, blood, and bullshit.

You don’t expect anyone to come through those doors this late—at least, not on foot.

But there he is: Joel Miller.

Still in uniform pants, but the jacket’s gone. His shirt’s rolled to the elbows, forearms streaked with soot and dried blood. His left hand is wrapped in what looks like a torn kitchen towel, soaked red through the middle.

No escort. No gurney. No paperwork.

Just him.

And that look he always wears when he knows damn well he shouldn’t be here.

You don’t speak at first. Just stare across the bay at him like you’re deciding if it’s worth the breath.

Finally: “Dispatch didn’t bring you in.”

“Nope.”

“Not logged on the board.”

“Nope.”

You sigh, setting your chart aside. “So this is a social call.”

He lifts the bloodied hand slightly. “Brought you somethin’.”

You push up from your stool and nod toward the exam table. “You’re lucky it’s a slow night.”

“Figured you’d still be here.”

The words aren’t soft—but they land that way.

You pretend not to hear them. “Let me guess,” you mutter, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Glass? Metal? Or did you try to punch your way through a flaming wall this time?”

He sits down with a grunt. “Wasn’t flaming. Just hot.”

You give him a flat look.

He shrugs.

You take the towel from his hand carefully, peeling it back from the raw mess underneath. Deep gash across the palm. Jagged. Ugly. No active bleeding now, but definitely a few foreign bodies buried in the flesh.

“You didn’t clean this.”

“I rinsed it.”

You shoot him a look.

“With hose water,” he adds.

You sigh again, louder this time, and begin gathering supplies. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins. “You love it.”

You snort. “I tolerate it. Barely.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just watches as you roll a tray over and start flushing the wound.

The room is quiet—just the hiss of saline, the clink of metal tools, the drag of your breath through your nose.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you say eventually. “Could’ve hit urgent care.”

“They’re closed.”

You glance up. “There are twenty-four-hour clinics.”

“Didn’t want to wait around.”

You pause. Eyes narrow slightly. “So you came here. After hours. Alone. No radio call.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “And?”

Your hands still for just a moment. You look back down. “You always show up broken, you know that?”

“And you always fix me.”

The silence that follows is heavier than before. You keep working—removing the last shard, checking the depth. He doesn’t flinch once. Just watches you, quiet, eyes steady on your face like he’s trying to read something you haven’t written down.

“You need a few sutures,” you say.

“I figured.”

You reach for the lidocaine. “This’ll sting.”

He doesn’t react to the needle. Not the pinch. Not the pull of thread through skin. Not even when you apply pressure to knot it off.

But when your fingers brush the edge of his wrist to adjust the angle, you feel it—that little shift in the air. The tightening of his jaw. The way his thumb twitches.

It lingers.

You finish the final suture and cut the thread. “All done.”

You reach for the bandages, wrapping his hand gently, clean and tight.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Just flexes his fingers once, testing.

“Thanks,” he says.

You look up at him. “Don’t make a habit of this,” you say.

He tilts his head. “Of what? Injuring myself?”

You shake your head. “Coming here when you don’t have to.”

His eyes stay on yours, heavy and direct.

“I did have to.”

And that—that’s the part you don’t have a comeback for.

So you toss your gloves, wash your hands, and turn away before he can see the way your throat tightens.

***

They pull you from the ER just after 3 a.m.

You’re halfway through a stale protein bar when the call comes in—mass casualty, three-alarm fire, structure collapse at a chemical warehouse near the river. EMS is spread thin. Triage is failing on scene. Your charge nurse tosses you a trauma pack and tells you to suit up.

No time to argue. No time to think. You grab your gloves, your gear, your clipboard full of vitals and field protocols. The medic van is already idling at the curb when you climb in. You barely feel the bump of tires hitting potholes. Barely register the sirens howling through the dark.

You don’t realize what you’re walking into until you see the sky.

It isn’t black, it’s orange.

The fire’s still active when you arrive.

Smoke curls into the clouds like something alive. Flames flicker from broken windows. The air is thick—acrid, chemical, heavy enough to choke on. You can taste it on your tongue before you even step out of the van. It burns low in your throat, settles in your lungs like ash.

The street is chaos. Water spraying from hoses. Lights bouncing off metal and glass. Firefighters moving fast, shouting over radios and wind. The sound of cracking steel echoes from somewhere behind the wall of smoke. You can feel the heat radiating off the pavement, even through your boots.

You barely have time to assess your surroundings before the shouting starts.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

The voice cuts through the noise like a knife. Familiar. Rough-edged. Furious. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Joel.

His boots hit the ground hard as he storms toward you. Helmet pushed back, jacket unzipped, eyes locked on you like you’re the fire he’s supposed to put out.

He looks worse than usual—smeared in soot, sweat clinging to his collar, black streaks along the curve of his jaw. His mouth is a hard, angry line.

You square your shoulders. “Nice to see you too.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he snaps. “This is a live zone.”

You shift the trauma pack on your shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, well. Sucks for both of us.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“This isn’t the ER,” he bites. “You don’t have gear, you don’t have certification—”

“And you don’t have enough medics. That’s why I’m here.”

He stops, just in front of you. Not touching. But close enough that you feel the heat coming off his gear. Close enough to see the soot melting into the lines around his eyes.

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying not to lose it.

“You think this is some kind of field trip?”

You glare at him. “I think people are dying. And if you’re gonna waste your time barking at me instead of letting me help, you can answer to the guy bleeding out behind the truck.”

His nostrils flare but before he can speak again, someone shouts across the lot.

“Three pulled from the northwest corridor—one unconscious, two ambulatory. We need help over here!”

Joel looks toward the smoke—then back at you. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word. He just turns and starts running, boots hitting the ground hard and fast. You hesitate for only a second before following.

The scene is chaos.

There’s debris scattered across the asphalt—metal, splinters of glass, a half-melted helmet. The west wall of the warehouse is blackened and skeletal, like something chewed through it from the inside. You can hear the building groaning with every gust of wind.

Joel leads you past a downed ladder, ducking under fallen conduit, motioning for you to keep low. You ignore the sting in your throat. Ignore the sweat already slicking the back of your neck.

Two firefighters are kneeling near the edge of the perimeter, their patients sprawled on burn sheets. One is a teenage girl, barely conscious. Another is coughing violently into a mask. The third is flat on his back, unmoving.

Joel drops to one knee beside him. You drop beside the girl.

She’s pale. Clammy. A nasty burn blooms across her arm, blistered and angry, skin peeling at the edges. Her respirations are shallow. You slip on gloves and call for fluids, reach for your saline, get a vitals check.

Your hands move on autopilot. Triage first. Airway. Burn dressing. You shout orders without thinking, and someone hands you the oxygen tank you asked for before your mouth finishes the sentence.

You hear Joel behind you, yelling for a C-collar. The edge in his voice cuts clean through the haze. He’s snapping orders, coordinating movement—controlling everything.

Except you.

When you reach for a roll of gauze from your kit, the strap on the bag snags. You lean harder, trying to twist free, and your boot slips—wet pavement, blood or water or oil, it doesn’t matter. Your balance goes.

You brace to hit the ground—but you don’t. A hand catches your arm, yanking you back with a force that knocks the breath from your chest. Fingers clamp around your sleeve, hard and unrelenting, like he’s trying to root you in place. Joel’s. You know it before you even look. His grip is tight—too tight—but you don’t pull away. Can’t. His other hand plants against his thigh to steady you both, his body a wall of heat and strength and barely leashed adrenaline. The contact isn’t gentle, but it’s not rough, either. Just solid. Certain. Grounding. Enough to remind you that he’s there. That he saw you stumble. That he didn’t hesitate. You freeze. The space between you crackles with something unspeakable—panic, fury, relief. He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you. The silence hangs heavy, full of everything you’re not ready to face.

Your pulse kicks against your throat.

“I’m fine,” you say quietly.

His fingers twitch once and then release. He steps back, not looking at you again.

A shout rises from behind the firetruck—another firefighter staggering through the smoke, half-dragging an unconscious man.

Joel is already moving.

You catch up just in time to see him ease the man down onto the pavement.

Mid-thirties. Heavy build. Covered in soot. No response to stimuli. Skin cool, lips gray.

Joel’s voice is tight. Controlled. Barely holding it together. “He’s not breathing.”

You’re already moving, dropping hard beside him, fingers searching for a pulse you know you won’t find. “No carotid. Start compressions.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t speak. Just drops to his knees, laces his fingers together, and starts compressions—fast, deep, brutal. Like he’s trying to beat the man back to life with his bare hands.

You kneel across from him, tearing open the airway bag with blood-slick gloves.

“Thirty compressions. One breath. Go.”

He nods, jaw clenched tight, and counts under his breath. Sweat slides down the side of his face, dripping from his temple, his focus unshakable. His shoulders rise and fall in rhythm, harsh and punishing.

You tilt the man’s head back. Seal your lips over his. Breathe.

Once.

Again.

Again.

One minute. Two. Time twists, folds in on itself. You lose track. There’s blood on your gloves now—thick and tacky—but you don’t know whose. Joel’s breathing hard, jaw flexing with every compression. His eyes never leave the man’s chest, like he’s willing it to rise on its own.

Then—

A sound. A shift. A cough.

Wet and rattling.

Both of you freeze.

Joel jerks back, bracing on his heels as the man gasps for breath, lungs struggling to remember how to work. You stare, stunned.

“Airway’s back,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He’s alive.

Because of both of you.

Joel doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He just looks at you. And you look back.

Sirens wail in the distance. People are shouting. The air is thick with smoke and panic. But all of it dulls beneath the weight of that look. His face is filthy—soot-streaked, bloodied, bone-deep tired—but his eyes soften. Just a little. Like something inside him has cracked, and he hasn’t figured out how to put it back together yet.

You don’t say thank you.

You don’t need to.

***

You’re still awake when he knocks.

The shower didn’t help. Neither did the tea. You’ve tried cleaning, pacing, pulling the sheets back and getting into bed, then climbing right back out again. It’s like your body’s still at the scene, lungs full of smoke, hands stained with blood that isn’t yours. The adrenaline wore off, but the buzz underneath your skin hasn’t left.

The knock is soft. Measured.

You almost don’t answer.

But when you open the door, he’s there—shoulders tense, arms crossed, like he hasn’t moved since he watched that man start breathing again. Joel doesn’t look at you right away. He stares past you, like stepping inside might ruin something.

You don’t say a word. Just take a step back, and he follows without asking, crossing the threshold like the decision was made long before he got here. He doesn’t sit. Neither do you. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence blooms between you—thick and awful, too loud in the quiet. You clear your throat, voice low. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

He sniffs, slow, rubs a hand along his jaw. “Yeah. Well.”

You watch him for a second. The way his mouth moves like he’s chewing on something, jaw tight, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“Joel.”

His gaze snaps to yours.

You take a breath, arms folding over your chest. “If you came to tell me I shouldn’t have been there, save it.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not gonna tell you that.”

“Then what?”

He stares at you for a long time. His voice is quiet when it comes.

“You almost fucking fell.”

You blink. “I didn’t.”

“You almost did.”

You shake your head, exhausted. “I was fine. You caught me. We saved him. End of story.”

Joel’s mouth curves—not a smile. Something bitter. “You always say that. Like none of it sticks to you.”

You step closer. “You think it doesn’t?”

“I think you’d rather bleed out than admit something got to you.”

The words hit harder than they should. And maybe you’re too tired to deflect.

“Why do you care?” You whisper.

Joel doesn’t move.

So you step closer. “Why do you show up like this? Why do you follow me home and act like you're still mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“No?”

“I’m—”

He cuts himself off. Jaw flexing.

You press. “Then what? Because if you’ve got something to say, say it, Joel. Otherwise—”

He’s on you before you finish.

The kiss hits hard—open-mouthed, desperate, more teeth than tongue. His hands slide into your hair, tugging, tilting your head just enough for him to drink from your mouth like he’s been dying to.

You gasp against him, one hand fisting in his shirt. He groans when you pull him closer, his thigh sliding between yours. He walks you back until your spine hits the wall, and he keeps going—hip pressed to yours, his body radiating heat.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he mutters against your jaw, hands at your waist, voice cracked and hoarse. “I saw your foot slip and my fucking stomach dropped. You could’ve fell on a piece of metal, or been burned from some debris–”

You try to breathe, but it comes out a moan instead when he rocks into you, his thigh pressing where you need it most.

“I was fine.” You choke out, words getting stuck in your throat.

His hands slide under your shirt, rough palms on soft skin. He doesn’t ease into it—he grabs, pulls, peels fabric back until you’re gasping against the wall. His mouth is on your throat, biting down just enough to make you arch.

“I should leave,” he breathes.

“You won’t.”

He growls—growls, deep in his throat, his hand sliding your panties down, slow and rough, the drag of fabric scraping your thighs as he falls to his knees like gravity doesn’t give him a choice.

You gasp, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders for balance, your back pressed hard to the wall as he drags his mouth along your hip—hot breath, scratch of stubble, the wet swipe of his tongue just above the seam of your thigh.

“Joel—” you whisper, but it’s not a warning. It’s a plea.

He doesn’t respond. Not with words.

He lifts your leg, flings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, and pushes you open with both hands—his palms flat against the inside of your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. You feel exposed, helpless, trembling against the drywall while his mouth hovers just inches away.

Then he licks you.

A long, slow drag of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to your clit, deliberate and unhurried, like he’s been thinking about this for months and plans to memorize everything. Your hips jerk. He presses harder into you, anchoring you to the wall with his body, mouth sealing over your clit like he means it.

The moan that rips out of you is loud—sharp and raw and wet. He groans in return, the sound vibrating through your cunt as he works his tongue in circles, messy and open-mouthed, like he’s starved for it. His beard is already slick with you, the soft scrape of it catching as he drags his tongue lower again, flattening it against your entrance, then back up.

Your head thumps against the wall. You’re gripping his hair now, one hand tangled in the strands at the back of his neck, the other white-knuckling his shoulder.

“F–fuck, Joel—”

He moans again, louder this time, and moves one hand to your ass, grabbing a handful and using it to pull you harder against his mouth. He’s not slow now. He’s feasting—no rhythm, no restraint. Just sloppy, hungry licks and tight suction on your clit, like he wants to make you come so hard you forget what you were fighting about.

You cry out again, thighs shaking, the leg he’s holding twitching against his shoulder.

His eyes flick up, catch yours, and there’s something wild in them—something proud.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps, voice wrecked from the inside of your thighs. “Let me taste you.”

He seals his mouth around your clit again and sucks—hard.

You come like he’s dragged it out of you.

Your legs threaten to give, hips stuttering forward as your entire body locks, spasms, shudders against his face. You choke out a noise that doesn’t sound like yours—high-pitched, desperate—and his grip only tightens, mouth still working you through it like he’s not done yet.

He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering—truly shaking—and trying to push his head away, thighs twitching from overstimulation.

Only then does he pull back, mouth swollen and wet, beard soaked with you.

You’re panting. Glowing. Wrecked.

He looks up at you from his knees, gaze heavy, chest rising and falling like he’s been running.

“Turn around,” he growls.

You blink, still dangling from your high. “What?”

His hands move to your hips, already guiding you. “Get your ass up those stairs.”

“Joel—”

He stands in one smooth motion, towering over you, already hard beneath the press of his jeans. He kisses you—filthy, open-mouthed, wet with the taste of yourself—and you moan into him, dizzy.

Then his hands are on the backs of your thighs, and suddenly your feet are off the ground.

You yelp—latch onto his shoulders.

“You said I wouldn’t leave,” he murmurs, breath hot at your ear. “So now I’m staying. Upstairs.”

He carries you like you weigh nothing.

One hand under your thighs, the other on your back, his mouth at your neck as he takes the stairs two at a time. You cling to him, panting, already squirming in his grip. You feel his cock pressing into you—hard, thick, barely contained behind his zipper—and he grinds up into you once with a groan before tightening his hold.

You reach the top of the stairs. Your bedroom door hits the wall. The sheets haven’t even been pulled back.

He throws you onto the mattress like he’s waited forever to ruin you.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you.

Joel doesn’t bother with your shirt—just yanks it up, shoves it over your chest until it’s bunched beneath your arms, and groans at the sight of you laid out for him. You’re already flushed, skin damp, your cunt slick and shining from what he just did to you against the wall. But that’s not enough for him. Not nearly.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost angry. “Fucking glowing. Can’t even sit still.”

You try to answer, but he’s already climbing over you, already grinding his hips down, and it’s the thick press of denim against your bare core that pulls a gasp from your lips. You’re soaked—dripping—and the friction makes you twitch.

He kisses you hard. Messy and breathless. His tongue slides against yours as he fists your bra and yanks it down to mouth at your tits, teeth dragging over one nipple while his hand works the other. You arch under him, panting, moaning, thighs falling open without shame.

Joel groans into your skin.

“Can feel your pussy through my jeans,” he mutters, grinding slow. “You gonna come again just like this? So fuckin’ needy you’ll soak me through?”

Your hips buck. You gasp—louder now. “Joel—please—”

That’s all it takes. He sits up, rough with the button on his jeans, yanking them down just far enough to free his cock.

And God. You see it for the first time—thick and flushed and dripping at the tip—and your cunt clenches so hard it hurts.

He catches the way your eyes go wide.

“What?” He says, almost smug through the grit of his voice. “Thought about this? Thought about what it’d feel like?”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He grabs your thigh, pushes it open wider, and drags the head of his cock through your folds—slow and slick, gathering the mess between your legs like he owns it.

“‘Course you did,” he says, low. “Bet you’d touch yourself after work thinking about this. Thinking about me. Weren’t you?”

You nod, frantic, and he smirks—just a little.

Then he pushes in.

One slow, brutal thrust, stretching you wide, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasp—high, broken—and his jaw goes tight.

“Jesus,” he grits. “Tight as fuck. Squeezin’ me like you’re not ready.”

He pulls back. Pushes deeper.

You arch, crying out, one hand slamming against the headboard for balance.

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—”

“You take it,” he growls. “You take it like it’s the only cock you’ve ever needed.”

He drives into you—again, again—hips slapping hard, rhythm quick and punishing. The sound of it fills the room. Skin on skin. The wet drag of your cunt every time he thrusts back in. Your breath stutters, sharp and wrecked, as your legs shake around him.

You’re already close again.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Joel—too—”

“No,” he demands, grabbing your jaw, holding your face still so you see him. “You can take it. You’re gonna fuckin’ come again. Look at how good you’re doin’.”

Your whole body trembles. You don’t just feel the build—you ache with it. It coils tight behind your ribs, in your spine, threatening to snap.

He sees it.

He wants it.

He leans in, his mouth right at your ear, voice low and rough:

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

You do.

You shatter—violently, with a gasp that turns into a sob, your body locking up around him as your orgasm takes you hard and deep. Your cunt clenches so tight around his cock it pulls a groan straight from his throat, and he fucks you through it—never stopping, not even when your legs shake and you beg with your eyes.

“Too much?” He asks again, tone softer now, taunting but fond. “Then why’s your pussy still begging for me?”

You moan, half-sobbing, and he melts for it—his hand sliding down between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit, still thrusting, still buried deep.

You jerk, try to twist away. “Joel—”

“One more,” he pants, voice tight. “You got one more for me. Wanna feel you fall apart while I come inside you.”

You’re crying out now—overwhelmed, skin buzzing, body wrung out and oversensitive—but you nod.

He keeps going. Gentle now, but deep, cock dragging slow and deliberate, fingers working your clit with practiced precision.

You come again—this time silent, lips parted, tears sliding down your temple.

He groans when it hits you. Watches it take you. Then his rhythm falters, jaw clenching, breath turning ragged as he finally loses it.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna come—inside—Jesus—”

He slams in one last time, burying himself deep with a grunt as he comes, cock twitching, hips grinding to a halt. His body shakes above yours, muscles locking, hands fisted tight in the sheets as he pulses inside you.

You feel full. Marked. Claimed.

It’s quiet for a long moment. The only sound is your breathing—his heavier than yours, both of you wrecked.

Then, finally, his weight sinks down, body folding over yours, face pressing into your neck.

You’re trembling. Sweating. Boneless.

But you feel his lips press once, gently, against your collarbone. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he whispers.

***

You’re not sure how long you lay there—still panting, the sheets twisted beneath you, sweat drying between your breasts—but at some point, you feel his breath slow. His hands soften.

And when he lifts his head, when his eyes finally meet yours, they’re different.

No edge. No fire. Just something warm and wrecked and reverent.

He swallows hard.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse, thumb brushing over the damp skin beneath your breast. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You expect him to leave the room, to tell you to meet him, to retreat into silence now that the heat’s gone.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts you gently—carefully—into his arms like you’re something breakable. His jeans are still hanging low on his hips, your shirt still bunched under your arms, but he moves like none of that matters. Like the only thing he cares about right now is you.

You don’t protest. You melt.

He carries you to the bathroom in silence, the sound of your slowed breath the only thing between you.

The light he switches on is dim. Warm. The water he runs is the perfect temperature. You barely have time to process the steam rising from the tub before his hands are on you again—pulling your shirt over your head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist as he slips off your bra.

“You okay?” He murmurs, soft as silk.

You nod.

He studies you. Then leans in and kisses your forehead—just a breath of contact, but enough to make your chest ache.

You step into the shower, and he follows.

His hands don’t grab this time. They glide. They trace your skin like they’re memorizing it. He starts with your shoulders, your arms, his palms broad and steady as the water pours down over both of you. He soaps you slowly—fingertips pressing gently into the knots along your spine, rinsing you like you’ve got all the time in the world.

When he moves to your hair, you sigh—deep, content, leaning into his touch without thinking. He lathers slowly, careful not to tug. His hands are strong, but tender. He massages your scalp, brushes suds away from your temples with his thumbs. Every once in a while, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, or the top of your spine, or the back of your neck. Not sexual. Just there. Grounding.

He rinses you. Kisses you again.

You turn, wet hair slicked back, face tilted up.

He looks at you like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before. Like something cracked open back on that bed and he’s still trying to understand what came out.

Then he leans forward—foreheads touching, water dripping down your noses—and whispers, “You feel okay?”

You nod and whisper, “Yeah.”

And for the first time since he walked into your home, he smiles.

It’s small. Subtle. But real.

He kisses your mouth—slow and soft and utterly undesperate—and then towels you off with that same kind of devotion. Wraps you in one of your own oversized shirts. Lets his hands linger a little when he pulls the hem down over your thighs. Not greedy. Not teasing. Just… affectionate.

Then he lifts you again—easily, like you weigh nothing—and carries you to bed.

The sheets are still messy, still smell like sweat and sex, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lays you down gently, then slides in behind you, his arm curling around your waist like it belongs there. His chest presses against your back, solid and warm. His breath fans across the back of your neck.

You reach down and guide his hand up beneath your shirt, settling it over your ribs. His fingers flex just once—then go still.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You’re really staying?”

His arm tightens. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

And he means it.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing—slow and even, heart thrumming steady against your spine. His nose nuzzles into your shoulder, one thigh bracketing yours. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

And maybe tomorrow the world will come crashing in. Maybe it’ll all get complicated again.

But for now—

You’re full. You’re held. You’re his.

And nothing has ever felt so safe.

[wendichester]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ two winchesters walk into a bar²,

summary. making a quick stop at harvelle’s has never been more fun

pairing. dean winchester x jo's cousin!reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1888

notes / warnings. needless to say we're the worst cousins in the world // explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, teasing, dirty talk, power play, alcohol, mild possessiveness, dean being the cockiest little shit

ᯓ★ read part 1

You should’ve left this morning.

Packed up your things, kissed Jo on the cheek, and peeled off down the highway like you always do — wind in your hair, music too loud, heart untouchable.

But instead? You’re here.

Back at Harvelle’s. Same stool. Different outfit. Lower neckline.

You claim it’s just another whiskey before the road. But the truth? You’re here because Dean said don’t be a stranger — and your spine’s still tingling from the way he looked at you when he said it.

He’s already there when you walk in. Feet up on the booth across from him, arms spread wide like he’s posing for sin itself. He spots you, and that smug little smirk curls up slow.

“Back so soon?” he drawls, voice like warm gravel.

“Jo owes me a burger,” you lie.

He doesn't buy it for a second.

“You sure that’s all you came back for?” he asks, eyes flicking down your frame like he’s checking for hidden weapons. Or weakness.

“Depends,” you say, sliding into the booth beside him. “You still being friendly?”

He hums low. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Dean leans in just a bit — his shoulder brushing yours. “How well you can handle your cousin being jealous when she sees you sitting here.”

You laugh, soft and dangerous. “You want to mess with the girl that fixes your drinks?”

He doesn’t answer. He just tilts his beer to his lips and lets the silence burn between you like a slow fuse.

Jo’s behind the bar when she spots you two — and her expression instantly flattens. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Dean grins. “She missed me.”

You wink. “He’s a bad influence.”

“No shit,” Jo mutters, slamming a glass down a little too hard.

Suddenly, you're having way too much fun.

It starts small.

Dean orders you a drink before you can. Slides it across the table like it’s a peace offering laced with something illicit. His hand lingers too long when your fingers brush. He leans in to whisper something snarky — and doesn’t pull away.

He’s warm. Smells like smoke and soap and the kind of laundry detergent that makes you think of motel rooms and leather seats. His thigh brushes yours. Once. Twice. Then it just stays there.

You shift. He doesn’t.

Jo’s watching like she wants to throw a holy water bottle at both of you.

Dean catches her glare and leans closer, voice low. “She’s gonna kill me.”

You smile, all teeth. “Maybe you deserve it.”

He chuckles — and it’s dangerous, that sound. Makes your chest tight.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs.

“You like it.”

You should’ve left. You really should’ve left.

An hour in, you’re on his lap.

Not intentionally. Not… not intentionally, either.

The booth’s too small, the group’s grown — someone brought cards and a second round of drinks. Jo has retreated to the bar like a defeated general. And Dean? Dean just patted his thigh and said, "You want room or not, sweetheart?"

So yeah. You slid in.

Now you're perched sideways across his lap, one leg crossed over the other, dress riding high and a little wicked.

And Dean?

Dean’s hand is on your thigh.

At first it’s harmless. Friendly. Maybe even gentlemanly, if you squint hard enough and lie to yourself.

But then his thumb moves.

Just a stroke. Absent-minded, casual — if casual felt like a live wire.

You shift slightly, pretending to adjust your dress. His hand follows.

Higher.

A little higher.

Your breath catches.

He doesn't look at you — just keeps talking to Ash and sipping his beer like he’s not drawing invisible circles on the sensitive skin of your leg.

And when his fingers creep even closer to the line where your thigh meets heat?

You squeeze his arm.

Hard.

He grins against his glass.

"You okay there?" he murmurs, voice like silk over sin.

You hum sweetly, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Touch me like that again and we’ll be the reason Jo torches this place down.”

He makes a noise — low and rough — like you just threatened him and turned him on.

“Wanna test her patience?” he asks.

You pause. Smile.

“Dean,” you whisper, voice like a dare, “I am.”

Jo storms over ten minutes later like she’s had enough of the flirting and the smug and the thigh-touching that isn’t subtle at all anymore.

She slaps down a plate of fries in front of you like she’s trying not to aim for your head.

“You,” she points at Dean. “Out.”

Dean blinks. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh.

“You think I don’t see what’s going on over here?” Jo hisses.

“I’m just sitting here.” Dean grins, hand now completely still on your thigh, a picture of innocent corruption. “She’s the one in my lap.”

You raise your hand. “Guilty.”

“Jesus,” Jo mutters, glaring between you both. “You’re like gasoline and a goddamn match.”

Dean leans forward, still grinning. “Yeah, but you’ve gotta admit — we make a hell of a fire.”

Jo throws her hands up. “I hate both of you.”

You sip your drink, smirking. “Love you too, Jo.”

She storms off.

Dean chuckles, soft and satisfied. His fingers trace one last teasing line just under the hem of your dress, and this time? You don’t stop him.

“You always this much trouble?” he murmurs.

You glance at him, eyes dark. “Only when it’s fun.”

He raises his brows. “And this is fun?”

“Dean,” you murmur, words syrupy slow, “this is so much fun.”

His grin goes full wolf.

“Can I make it even more?”

You barely have time to blink before his hand is on the move — slow, deliberate, fingers skimming up the inside of your thigh like he’s reading Braille in a dirty novel. You jerk, instinctively, but it’s too late — the dress doesn’t stop him. Nothing does.

And suddenly, he’s touching you.

There. Right there.

Skin to skin under the hem, where no one can see but you feel everything — the graze of his knuckles, the unmistakable slide of fingers stroking over your panties, testing the dampness like it’s a damn compliment.

You choke on your breath.

The table bursts into laughter at something Ash says. Dean just chuckles — all cool and casual, like he isn’t two seconds from breaking every decency law in the zip code.

You shoot him a look. Sharp. Wide-eyed.

His eyes flick to you for the briefest second, lazy and smug, like he knows.

He presses his fingers in.

Just slightly.

And oh — oh you’re wet. Already. Your cheeks go scarlet.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath, lips brushing your ear like it’s an inside joke. “No one’s got a clue.”

They don’t.

Jo’s still at the bar, but she’s watching you like she’s waiting for Dean to try something. She has no idea it already started.

And Dean? He’s playing it cool — talking to Ellen now about hunting routes and some crap you can’t even hear because all the blood’s rushed between your legs.

You shift on his lap, trying to breathe, trying not to grind down, because his fingers are back — two of them now, stroking slow over the soaked fabric like he’s savoring it.

“Keep that poker face,” he murmurs. “Or they’ll all know how bad you want it.”

You squeeze your thighs around his hand, but it does nothing. If anything, it traps him tighter. His knuckle drags against your clothed clit and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste copper.

“Dean—”

“Hm?” He’s sipping his drink again, calm as a cat in the sun.

“You’re such a fucking—”

“A gentleman?” he offers sweetly. Then dips a finger under the edge of your underwear. Just enough to make you jolt.

You gasp — and laugh immediately after, high-pitched and breathless, covering your mouth like Ash just told a really inappropriate joke.

No one questions it.

Dean’s fingers dip again.

Lower.

Skin to slick skin now, fingertips barely ghosting your folds. He doesn’t even move much — just rests there, warm and teasing, a whisper away from slipping inside.

You shiver. You want to grind against him. Instead, you sit stock still like a statue carved by lust itself.

Jo glances over.

You smile. Pink-faced. Shaking a fry like it’s your new personality.

“Everything okay?” she calls, suspicion laced into every word.

Dean’s the one who answers.

“Peachy,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “She’s just a little warm.”

You swear you’ll kill him later.

He slides one finger inside you.

You nearly drop your drink.

The heat between your legs is electric. He doesn’t go fast — just enough to remind you he’s there. Inside. Real. And you’re on his lap, legs spread, heart pounding like a war drum while he finger-fucks you in a goddamn bar booth.

No one knows.

No one.

Dean's hand stays hidden, his body blocking any curious eyes. He murmurs something about cars to Ash, never missing a beat, while his finger curls — just so — and your eyes roll back for half a second before you blink them wide again.

You’re breathing through your nose like you’re in labor. Every shift, every twitch of his hand sends a wave of ohmygod rolling up your spine.

And the worst part?

You're close.

So close.

You clench around him without meaning to.

Dean exhales — low, dark, impressed.

“You’re filthy,” he whispers. “I fuckin’ love it.”

You fist the edge of the table, lips pressed shut in a fake smile.

And then—

He adds another finger.

That’s it.

Your hips jerk just slightly. Barely a twitch. But enough that you know you’re not gonna last. Not like this.

“I need air,” you gasp suddenly, rising so fast you nearly knock over your drink.

Dean lets you go with an amused little smirk.

“Want company?”

You glare at him, flushed and trembling. “I swear to god—”

But he’s already standing.

You don’t wait for approval. You bolt toward the back door of Harvelle’s like a sinner sprinting from church.

Dean follows.

The door swings open and slams behind you — the back lot bathed in silver moonlight and shadows. The cicadas are loud. Your heart’s louder.

You don’t speak.

Dean grabs your wrist, turns you — slams you gently against the Impala’s side with a thud and a dark, dangerous smile.

“You’re soaked,” he says, mouth brushing yours.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

His hands are on you again before you can finish — shoving your dress up, dragging your panties down just enough.

“I could’ve made you come in there,” he murmurs. “Right on my fingers. Bet no one would’ve even noticed.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you gasp.

“Yeah?” His mouth moves to your neck. “But you’re the one who sat on my lap.”

You kiss him then — hard, desperate, filthy. His hips pin you to the car, and the metal’s cold but his body’s burning. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and it only makes you wetter.

He drags a hand between your legs again.

“You want me to finish what I started?” he growls.

You nod, breathless. “Please.”

And he does.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[the-modern-typewriter]

I think I saw that one of your fav authors is VE Schwab. I actually found your blog while I'm waiting for one of her books at the library. I love how you both do power dynamics and flow! I 💕 your blog!!!

I would love to see a possessive king who has to keep recovering a prince that's betrothed to him but keeps running.

Thanks for giving me my fix while I try to last the months long wait at the library! 😂

"You're clever enough to keep escaping despite all odds," the king murmured. "Why aren't you clever enough to realise that will never end where you want it to?"

The prince glared at him.

The king helped himself to another sip of tea, before he finally deigned to glance up from his breakfast table. Implacable. So seemingly genteel among the fine trays and silver, as if he were not a thing of avarice and dominion made flesh.

"Even should you make it all the way back to your kingdom," the king said, "they'll send you straight back. They gave you to me, remember? You are my betrothed by right."

"They don't know you. If they'd known who was truly asking-" The prince bit himself off, his fists curling.

The king hummed.

"And you think telling them of my true nature will spare you it. That they'd fight for you?"

"Of course they would."

"And would they fight for you like I would?"

The prince stared.

The king smiled, pleasantly, and slid a plate of hot bread rolls across the table towards him. An indication to sit.

The prince did not, though his legs felt jellied with the exhaustion of running. He said nothing.

"I'd fight for you like a holy war," the king said, voice too soft for such dark eyes. "Like laying siege to paradise. I'd fight for you in a thousand year campaign. I'd reduce your kingdom to a citadel of bones and ash before I let them keep you from me. I'd begrudge you no amount of bloodshed, no horror, because you are mine." His head tilted. "How would your former people fight for you?"

"Honourably," the prince snapped, mouth dry. "Kindly. I am their prince!"

"Perhaps." The king shrugged. "Or perhaps they'd begrudge. Resent the ordinary lives wasted and the livelihoods ruined by their pretty little princeling who thought he had the right to marry for love. As if he were just a man."

Bile burned up the prince's throat, at that.

"Merely something to think about," the king said.

"Maybe I won't go home then! But even five minutes away from this place, away from you, is a blessing."

The king did not seem offended or bothered by that, any more than he had the prince's glare or numerous defiances. It made the prince want to shake him until his teeth rattled.

"Do you not care that I do not love you?" the prince demanded. "That I do not wish to be yours?"

The pleasant smile flickered off the king's face for the very first time and what was left was terrible.

The prince took an automatic step back, though he did not consider himself a coward.

The king rose from his chair, rounding the table. The prince looked around at the guards but they were the king's guards, no matter their official job title, and they only stared ahead unmoving. No doubt, they would stare even if he started screaming. Crying. Pleading.

The prince backed up another step before forcing himself to hold his ground. His shoulders squared as the king came to a stop in front of him. He braced for - he wasn't sure what.

"I will say this once, and only once, my clever prince." The king stroked the backs of his knuckles gently down along the prince's jaw, nudging his gaze back when it tried to slide away. The prince's breath hitched. "If I did not care, I could keep you with broken legs in a straight jacket, blind and dumb and mute until I felt you'd learned your proper place here. I could marry you tomorrow without care for your own customs, rituals or comfort. Do you understand?"

The prince felt a little dizzy.

"There a worse fates in the world than being mine," the king said. "The sooner you understand that, the sooner you might make a home in this place that you are not so eager to run from."

"So I should thank you?" It came out hoarse.

"I do not expect you to thank me. I know who and what I asked for when I asked for you."

The king's hand dropped and, for the first time, the prince felt strangely bereft of its heat. Its grounding presence. He swallowed.

"Get some rest," the king said, his pleasant smile back, "if you will not join me for breakfast. You have had a difficult night, from what I've heard, and I'm sure your next attempt to flee this place will be no less gruelling. You'll need your strength, love."

The prince let himself be led back to his chambers in a daze.

[milksuu]

ᴀ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱʜ & ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ───── ♛ | 𝗣𝗧.𝗢𝟮

pairing: dark!hiccup x f!mute!reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: yandere, kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, blood/violence, grotesque imagery, elements of horror

synopsis: You regretted the day they left him for dead. And you’d regret the day you ever saw him again—he’d make sure of that.

“Wake up, sleepy-head.” A childhood voice echoed like a distant memory in the void behind your eyes. Tearing through the dark threads of your subconscious. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

With a choked gasp, you emerged from the black pool of your mind. Your vision swam in a blurry haze, dimly lit by the sole fire pit in the room. When you blinked away the last smoke and ash from your lashes, you noted the ache of your body propped against a chair. 

Your sight then glazed over a long table displaying a feast only a vulture could salivate for. Unknown smells emanated from a mangled and strangled pheasant served past its due date. And across the table, something much worse. Skeleton bones seated tortuously, broken and dashed in all places. One with its skull completely detached from its person to serve as wicked center piece.

Your lips twisted into a nauseous bow.

“What, not hungry?” 

That same voice split through you again. Snatching your attention towards the head of the table, where Hiccup busied himself nonchalantly with a plate of his own. 

“Can’t say I blame you.” The scathing sounds of cutlery sent your nerves aflame. You wondered how such an ordinary sound could be so cruel to your ears. “Being kidnapped never opened up anyone’s appetite. Which is a shame, since that means I always end up having to do it.” 

You watched, eyes wide and round, as he sliced the belly of the roasted bird in a slow, agonizing horizontal line. 

“I’m just joking. You don’t have to sit there and watch me eat. You can leave if you want. I won't chase you.” He took a slow, meticulous bite, before his dulled eyes lulled to peer at you with a devouring glint. “Unless you want me to.”

Sucking your breath tight against your ribs, you shifted your gaze back to the table. A sight that wasn’t any better to look at. Not with all the scattered remains of guests that never made it past a sickening appetizer, and you weren’t a fool to think you would fare any better. Especially if you decided to entertain the obvious game of chase he’d proposed. 

You wanted no part in it. Whether it was being forced to swallow putrid catch, or fleeing until your limbs were detached from you—he wouldn’t receive the satisfaction.

Not from you, at least.

With a purse of your lips, your fingers pushed away the plate. Then a snap of pheasant bone bent between his fingers. You wondered if that would be your neck. You flinched when he breathed out a bitter chuckle. 

“I get it. My cooking's probably not the best. Hard to learn when you’re busy doing...other things.”

Your skin prickled when the chair scrapped against the stone as he stood. The clanging of his prosthetic growing louder in your ears, sending your heart into a gut churning beat. You held for breath as he reached in front of you, thinking he'd steal your very last. Instead, he grabbed a pitcher and gave your cup a gracious pour.

You made no attempt to accept.

His lip edged with amusement as he served himself the rest before taking a generous swig. A thin dribble streamed down his chin, down the curvature of his neck. It the made the remaining soot in your mouth cotton your tongue dry.

You stood to reason you didn’t have to eat, but surely, you still had to drink. And if he had drank from the same pitcher, then...

When he wiped the wet of his skin and turned a shoulder, you quickly took the cup and drank without a sound. 

“You’re right,” he drawled openly, circling the head of the table. “Why waste time chewing bad food when we have so much talk about. I would ask you to go first, but that might take a little longer. I’ll be quick, though. Promise.”

When he turned, you hastily placed the cup back onto the table, pretending as if you hadn’t succumbed to his offering. 

“When you’re down a leg a short of a few meals, you almost get the sense that death is trying to tell you something. But everyone knows vikings are stubborn; we don’t listen to anything. So, after you and everyone else left for me for dead, I limped till my bandages were soaked red, and ate till my body was paralyzed.” There was a beat in the air as he rimmed the cup with his index finger. “From poison, obviously.”

Your heart and stomach sank when you realized what he had done. What you had done. You covered your shaking mouth with your hand, wishing you could take back the liquid you swallowed. 

“You know, at first I thought I was just another run-of-the mill starving idiot, eating whatever animal or plant I could. Poisonous or not. Until I stopped blacking out and waking up with a mouth full of dirt. Which really saves you from those moments when you’re just minding your own business at a Northern Market tavern, and some random up-to-no-gooder decides to spice up your drink. Boy, you should’ve seen the look of surprise on his face.”

He set his emptied cup and picked up the decapitated skull piece at the table's center, scratching at the nicks and dents in the bone.

“And what I did to it afterwards.”

The corners of his mouth pinned themselves to his dimples. It turned the once endearing sight into twisted holes that looked more like nails had dug cruelly into his cheeks.

“Oh. Don’t worry. The poison won’t kill you. I mean, it almost killed me. Couple of times, actually, but not you. Can’t have that wrench in my plans.” 

Hiccup sauntered towards the fire pit blazing to be fed with whatever he had to offer. He muttered something underneath his breath, seeming to argue with the skull he juggled between his hands. 

“I bet you’re wondering if I killed my dad. No, not yet. Vikings—stubborn, remember? We just talked about this. You can’t stab a mountain and hope it bleeds. You wither it down, break it apart, stone by stone. Until it just…” Hiccup tossed the skull into the fire’s arms, watching it feed its hot stomach with human remains. “Turns to dust.” 

He clapped the bone debris from his calloused fingers. 

“It won’t be much longer until my dad’s failures pile up like a heap of rubble, and just to spite him, that’ll be the foundation of where I’ll begin. Become the leader he could never be. A leader who brings actual peace and prosperity to Berk.” There was a crack of laughter, and he grasped his head to steady himself. “Against my own dragons! How hilarious is that?” 

The howl carried across the innards of the cave was never a gust of wind, but the screeches of dragons bellied deep within the mountain. Echoing through the cavernous walls, enough to shake the rocky fangs protruding from the ceiling.

“You can’t tell me that’s not pure poetry. His so-called biggest failure—me—becomes what he always thought I could never be. What he now fears I can be.” He twisted, pacing to place himself at your side, lurking close to your ear. “Chief.”

You remained silent, as you could only do. Even if you weren't mute, you wouldn't be able to say anything coherent. The poison bit into your lips, slithered down your throat to curl inside your chest and claw its way through every remaining part of your body. It chewed into your muscles till you felt like nothing more than pliable clay. Still, you wanted to defy it.

Defy him more than anything.

Without so much a look or inclination to respond to him in a manner he could understand, you simply dragged a nail against the wood of the chair. In that subtle, mono glyphic language Gothi had taught you.

You drew the scathing remark: To Hel with you.

“That’s not very nice to say. But if that’s where you’d like me to go...” He spun the dinner chair, gripped the arms of it, and pinned you with his presence alone. “Then how about I drag you down with me? I could sure use the company.”

Before you could comprehend the fact he understood you, the rough of his hand swiftly captured the underside of your arm. A rush of blood drained from your head as he yanked you to stand. You stumbled in his grasp as he dragged you closer and closer to the fire pit roaring with heat. The effects of the drug coating your nerves, making it impossible to fight every pull and tug of your body.

 Would he throw you in?

You were answered physically when his fingers unlatched, and your weight crumbled to the floor, inches away from licking flames.

"Go ahead." The command was blunt, a crushing blow to the back of your head. “Show me what Hel’s got in store for me.”

Your temples throbbed as you raised your chin, staring into the gaping mouth of the fire. Every part of you screamed to run away, but the flames beckoned you to stay, calling for the taste of poison in your veins.

Your ceremonial dagger—dropped at your side—whispered for you to take, take, take!

Spell bound by the incantation, you took the dagger in your trembling hands. Heard the sharpest point of iron begging to meet your skin. Obliging, you let it drink from a horizontal line in your palm. Not letting it be too greedy, you fed a serving of blood to the heart of the fire. It sparked and writhed hungrily, consuming every drop, wanting to lap it down to your tendons if it could.

When plums of smoke formed, images danced inside the clouds. The crash of black waves against the jagged cliff rocks. The flash of lightning through an never ending storm of ash. The cries of those you knew, drowned in a sea of jowls and wings. It stung your eyes and tears lined your vision, desperate to deny it all. Wanting the God's to reconsider. Worse part of it all....

....you stood at his side.

Consumed wholly by your mortifying entrancement, you hadn't noticed the scripture you'd written in blood on the stone. Hiccup crouched at your side, his head tilted in amusement.

"I always liked how bad you were at hiding what you were feeling," he said, taking your face in his leathered hands. "It's kinda cute, except now in a pathetic sort of way."

You choked on a silent cry as his thumbs brushed away the tears scolding your flushed cheeks. He brought your mouth a mere breath away, and whispered cruelly against your lips.

"Guess Hel has everything I want."

[queer-ragnelle]

Beginner’s Guide to Medieval Arthuriana

Just starting out at a loss for where to begin?

Here’s a guide for introductory Medieval texts and informational resources ordered from most newbie friendly to complex. Guidebooks and encyclopedias are listed last.

All PDFs link to Google drive and can be found at @arthurianpreservationproject. This post will be updated as needed.

Pre-Existing Resources

Hi-Lo Arthuriana

Medieval Literature by Language

Retellings by Date

Films by Date

TV Shows by Date

Documentaries by Date

If this guide was helpful for you, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi!

Medieval Literature

Page (No Knowledge Required)

The Vulgate Cycle | Navigation Guide | Vulgate Reader (French)

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle (Middle English)

The Marriage of Sir Gawain (Middle English)

Sir Gawain and The Green Knight (Middle English)

Sir Lanval (French) | Sir Launfal (Middle English)

The Welsh Triads (Welsh)

Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory (Middle English)

Squire (Base Knowledge Recommended)

Owain (Welsh) | Yvain (French) | Iwein (German) | Ywain (Middle English) | Íven (Norse)

Geraint (Welsh) | Erec (French)| Erec (German) | Erex (Norse)

King Artus (Hebrew)

Morien (Dutch)

Knight (Extensive Knowledge Recommended)

The History of The King's of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth (Latin)

Alliterative Morte Arthure (Middle English)

The Marvels of Rigomer (French)

Jaufre (Occitan/Tagalog)

Le Bel Inconnu (French) | Gliglois (French) | Wigalois (German) | Vidvilt (Yiddish) | Sir Libeaus Desconus (Middle English) | Carduino (Italian)

Here Be Dragons (Weird or Arthurian Adjacent)

The Crop-Eared Dog (Irish)

Perceforest | A Perceforest Reader (French)

Le Roman de Silence (French)

Grail Quest

Peredur (Welsh) | Perceval + Continuations (French) | Parzival (German) | Parceval (Norse)

The Crown by Heinrich von dem Türlin (Diu Crône) (German)

The High Book of The Grail (Perlesvaus) (French)

The History of The Holy Grail (Vulgate) (French)

The Quest for the Holy Grail (Vulgate) (French)

The Quest for The Holy Grail (Post-Vulgate) (French)

Merlin and The Grail by Robert de Boron (French)

The Legend of The Grail (French)

Lancelot Texts

Knight of The Cart by Chrétien de Troyes (French)

Lanzelet by Ulrich von Zatzikhoven (German)

Spanish Lancelot Ballads (Spanish)

The Lancelot Compilation (Dutch)

Gawain Texts

Sir Gawain and The Green Knight (Middle English)

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle (Middle English)

Sir Gawain Eleven Romances and Tales (Middle English)

Sir Gawain and The Lady of Lys (French)

The Knight of The Two Swords (French)

The Turk and Sir Gawain (Middle English)

Perilous Graveyard (French)

Roman van Walewein (Dutch)

De Ortu Waluuanii (Latin)

Valvens Þáttr (Norse)

Tristan/Isolde Texts

Béroul & Les Folies (French)

The Romance of Tristan (Prose Tristan) (French)

Tristan and The Round Table (La Tavola Ritonda) | Italian Name Guide (Italian)

Tristano Panciatichiano (Italian)

Tristano Riccardiano (Italian)

Tristan and Iseult by Gottfried von Strassburg (German)

Byelorussian Tristan (Russian)

The Tristan Legend (Norse)

Educational/Informational Resources

Encyclopedias & Handbooks

The Arthurian Companion by Phyllis Ann Karr

The New Arthurian Encyclopedia by Norris J. Lacy

The Arthurian Handbook by Norris J. Lacy & Geoffrey Ashe

The Arthurian Name Dictionary by Christopher W. Bruce

The King Who Was and Will Be by Kevin Crossley-Holland

Warriors of Arthur by John Matthews, Bob Stewart, & Richard Hook

Essays & Guides

A Companion to Chrétien de Troyes edited by Joan Tasker & Norris J. Lacy

A Companion to Malory edited by Elizabeth Archibald

A Companion to The Lancelot-Grail Cycle edited by Carol Dover

A Companion to the Gawain-Poet edited by Derek Brewer

Arthur in Welsh Medieval Literature by O. J. Padel

Diu Crône and The Medieval Arthurian Cycle by Neil Thomas

Wirnt von Gravenberg's Wigalois: Intertextuality & Interpretation by Neil Thomas

The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac by Jessie Weston

The Legend of Sir Gawain by Jessie Weston

[solarstranger]

a/n. haven't written something as self-indulgent and self ship-coded as this in a while. been feeling worse than usual lately, and i've since identified one of the reasons for that being the graduation season looming over me :') as someone who can't finish uni because of my chronic illness, seeing my next batch of friends go and graduate is definitely a bittersweet experience that never stops being bittersweet, and is also something that i can't easily talk about with people in my life who are not going through the same thing. so i figured, why not write about it instead? i hope you enjoy this! (1.0k)

“and then i’m gonna go to the mall in a bit,” you finish, looking up from your laptop just in time to see bakugou walk towards your desk with a cup of coffee in hand, eyebrow raised in question.

“i’m gonna buy my friend her gifts,” you explain when he doesn’t say anything, opting to stand idly across from you instead. “you know, the one who’s graduating tomorrow?”

“yeah, i know the one,” he nods curtly, then: “you don’t want me to come with you?”

you hesitate for a moment before opening your mouth to say something, although by the time that you do, it’s already too late—bakugou has already gotten the message.

“i get it,” he nods again, toying with the little dynamight plushie you have by your clock. “you want your alone time.”

“it’s not that,” you start, half-lying, “i’m gonna go to some make-up stores and you’re gonna get bored.”

“i don’t get bored looking at you try stuff,” he corrects you without missing a beat, before taking a cautious sip of his beverage. “besides, you like having me around while you shop, remember? i scare away the sales ladies so that you get to browse in peace.”

“yeah, well—”

“it’s okay, dumbass,” bakugou huffs, the way he always does when he’s getting a bit exasperated. “you don’t have to pretend or some shit.”

“i’m not pretending,” you attest stubbornly, and when he only tosses you a knowing look: “ish.”

at that, bakugou snorts, reaching over to snap your laptop closed. you look up at him, your face contorted in a way that says, ‘what gives?’

the ash-blonde only shakes his head, before rounding your table and taking you by the wrist. you begrudgingly let yourself be pulled by him and into your living room, where he plops you down in your two-seater couch right next to him.

“talk,” he commands as soon as you’re face to face.

you frown. “i don’t have anything i want to say.”

“you look like you’re gonna implode,” bakugou retorts, leaning over to place his mug on the coffee table. “your therapy appointment’s not until tomorrow.”

“don’t remind me,” you grumble.

“well, someone’s got to,” he sighs, “or else you’re just gonna keep thinking until you’re gonna go crazy.”

“too late,” you quip, wringing your hands together, “i think i already have.”

“is it the graduation season?” bakugou asks instead, tone careful. you blanch at the inquiry, although you manage to school your expression quickly enough not to give yourself away.

and when you don’t say anything: “because if it is, then you’ve got to tell me. so that i can counter whatever bullshit your brain’s telling you.”

“it’s not that,” you shake your head, gaze downcast, “well—i mean, it kinda is. but it’s not the whole thing.”

“then, tell me the whole thing.”

“i’m tired, katsuki.”

“then talk to me tired. you don’t have to enunciate or make your voice loud or some shit,” he counters, and as if to further drive home his point, scoots over until your thighs and shoulders are touching before taking your hand in his and placing it on his lap.

“there,” he declares, satisfied, “now, talk.”

you sigh, letting him play with your hand. “what do you want me to talk about?”

“whatever you want. for example, how you feel about seeing your friends graduate.”

“i’m happy for them,” you immediately answer.

“but?”

you turn your head to look at him, frowning. “does there have to be a ‘but’?”

“no,” he responds calmly, massaging your palm, “but i can tell there’s something else.”

“what, like me being envious of them?”

bakugou grunts. “your words, not mine.”

“i’m not envious,” you retort defensively, angry that he’s wielding your words against you, although that anger quickly dissipates into exhaustion. “at least, i think i’m way past that.”

“where are you, then? if not at that point?”

“i don’t know,” you say lowly, shrugging lightly. “i guess i’ve stopped dreaming about what it’s like to finish my degree.”

you pause for a second, letting that sink in.

then, you bump your shoulder with his. “you’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

at that, bakugou whips to look at you, offense etched all across his sharp features. “hah?”

you lean back, chuckling dryly at your wisecrack. “you’re disappointed your girlfriend might be a dropout forever.”

“oh, fuck off, y/n.”

that makes you bark out a laugh, while bakugou’s scowl only deepens.

“stop it,” he demands when you don’t stop laughing, quaking in your mirth. “i said stop it, y/n.”

“i know, i know,” you cackle, “i’m sorry.”

“you’ve gotta stop talking shit about yourself like that,” he gripes when you finally manage to put a lid on your laughter, muscled arms crossed petulantly in front of his broad chest.

“i’m not,” you argue, smiling. “i’m just telling the truth.”

“yeah, well, fuck that,” he spews, shooting you a dirty look. “my girlfriend’s the smartest woman i know, so it doesn’t fucking matter if she finishes college or not.”

“why, thank you,” you laugh again, “although your insulting tone kinda juxtaposes the very nature of your statement.”

“and you’re just further proving my statement by using fancy words such as juxtaposition,” he rebuts, side-eye viciously unrelenting.

“you’re serious, though?” you find yourself asking after the air falls into a lull, with neither of you uttering a word.

bakugou glances at you, still frowning. “serious about what?”

“that you think i’m the smartest woman you know.”

“not only the smartest woman, dumbass,” he huffs again, shaking his head. “smartest person.”

“okay, now you’re just gassing me up.”

“i’m just telling the truth,” he shrugs, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “and you better fucking believe it.”

“i honestly don’t think i can,” you say truthfully, before flashing him a shy smile anyway. “but i’ll try.”

“you better,” he spits aggressively, before, muttering under his breath so softly you barely miss it: “…the fucking prettiest, too.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[highway-143]

in the dark- nishimura riki

genre: fluff, smut, vampire au

pairing: vampire!riki x fem. villager!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @vrusha01 @minkilicious @planetmarlowe (TAGLIST IS OPEN!)

word count: 8.8k

now playing: bite me, still monster, and given-taken- enhypen

(proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to harm any idol in the story

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

it had been weeks.

not really. it was two days.

two days of the most antagonizing pain riki had ever felt in his life.

he couldn't control anything. his constant thirst for blood, to the point where he was practically starving without it was absolutely horrid.

but his rut was so much worse.

vampires only went through one every four years, and the last time riki had one, he had a partner to cure the ache. but now there was no one.

his old village had burned, down to the very last weed. and everyone had ran. families gathered their children and fled, trekking to another kingdom.

and riki was left alone. he had taken a short trip to the sea to get away from the rising suspicion that the town was beginning to place on him.

he came back to ashes.

his mate had left with her family, leaving him without so much as a note.

so riki left. the village held no more meaning to him anymore. he started his journey, hiking through snow-capped mountians and flower filled valleys to another village.

one that was perfectly thriving. from where he stood on a hill surrounding the quaint town, he could see everyone going about their business.

farmers were sowing their crops, merchants were flaunting their goods for sales, and he could just barely make out the sound of metal on metal coming from the blacksmith's workshop.

and so riki started building. it wasn't his strong suit, but he wasn't a terrible craftsman. he had enough supplies to build a small home, a square room with a bed tucked in the corner, a table and chair opposite it, and a round basin on a counter.

it wasn't much, but it was his home. for now.

he got a job as a farmer, raising the herds of sheep, pigs, cows, and a flock of unruly chickens that didn't take a liking to him.

nobody really knew riki. he spent most of his days in the fields, sometimes swinging an axe at trees or tending to the crops. when he wasn't working, he was at home. his house on the hill rarely visited by villagers.

and that's where he was now, laying on his bed. his back arched as a pathetic moan slipped from his lips. his hand was fisted around his hard cock, pumping swiftly, the throbbing slowly subsiding as he jerked himself off.

this was what his rut did to him. he couldn't fucking see straight when it happened. every attempt to play the normal (or as normal as an isolated man could be) villager was too hard. he constantly had to take breaks at work to relieve himself of an erection, his pants strained to the point of tearing.

when riki finally came, hot liquid spurting from his softened member, he started to think.

he had a few options. one, he could keep his act up and potentially be discovered. (the amount of raw meat he was buying was suspicious, even under the guise of his "all meat diet")

two, he could find a mate. he was too new to the town, too secluded in his house on the hill. nobody would trust him farther than they could throw him.

three, he could take a trip. maybe hike into the woods, lay low for a few weeks, feast on foxes and deer for his blood intake.

three was the best option. it was the only option at this point.

riki started packing his belongings into his satchel. some extra clothes, flint and steel, a knife, bread, and blankets. he rolled up a small burlap tent and strapped it to the bag, locking the door and walking into the forest.

a few hours later, he finds himself at a waterfall, the flow into a pond providing a peaceful enviornment, but also a good place to set up a camp.

riki got to work, pitching the tent next to the pond. he gathers rocks and branches, creating a ring with the stones for a firepit.

and again, his hunger overcame him.

riki's eyes slowly shifted, the chocolate colored irises tinted with a reddish hue. his incisors stang with need, gums tingling at the root.

he needed blood.

as the sun set, riki began to stalk. he used the shadows of trees to his advantage, his vampire instincts telling him what to do. where to go.

a rabbit hopped to a rock by the pond, finding its perch on the slippery surface. riki crept behind it, his feet making almost no noise against the fallen twigs and plants.

the rabbit dipped its head closer to the water, preparing to take a sip until-

squeak

riki's hand shot out, grabbing the creature by the neck. he squeezed, the rabbit thrashing in his grip.

and then it went limp.

dead.

riki licked his lips and bit the animal in its side, finally getting a taste of blood.

but it wasn't as good as human blood.

nothing could beat its sweet, coppery taste. the slight burn as it poured down his throat. riki imagines the rabbit to be a human, the blood tasting a little better in his imagination.

the games had only just begun.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

"y/n! come here, there's someone here to visit you!"

you slowly walk down the stairs, closing the door of your bedroom behind you as you mother calls you from the living room.

"hello, y/n. it's good to see you." says dongmin. his voice is bland, like he has nothing of real importance to say, just words being forced out of his mouth.

dongmin was another villager. he lived on the opposite side of town, closer to the mountians that surrounded the valley than most. his family was well known, his father was the butcher, mother the best seamstress in town.

but dongmin was, to put it bluntly, a fool. he skipped school frequently, choosing to spend the day with his other delinquent friends, exploring the forest or mountians. he was a frequent troublemaker in the town, pulling stunts that any self respecting man wouldn't dare to try.

"dongmin was hoping you would accompany him on an evening stroll tonight, how does that sound?" says your mother, giving you a look that said "if you have any idea what's good for you, you'll go."

you sigh and turn your head to dongmin, nodding. "yes, i would be happy to join you. give me a moment to grab my things."

dongmin frowns and stands up, waiting by the door as you climb the stairs to your room.

when you come back down, your scarf wrapped around your shoulders and your hands wrapped in lace gloves, dongmin holds his arm out. you hook yours around his and he guides you out of your home.

"so, dongmin. what's all this about?"

he sighs and shakes his head. "my parents said it was about time i find a woman to marry."

you stare up at him in shock. sure, dongmin was a handsome boy. he had sharp features and a strong body that was only accented by his fitted clothing, courtesy of his mother, but you couldn't imagine yourself attatched to such a brute of a man.

"and you chose me?"

"do you really think i would choose you?" he asks, laughing sarcastically. "my parents chose you because you're the mayor's daughter. i don't want some prissy socialite princess. i don't even want a wife yet." he shakes his head again. "but i don't really care. i'll just marry you to please them."

you laugh incredulously. "so, let me get this straight" you say, hand tightening around dongmin's bicep. "you're only going to marry me because it's convenient. did you ever stop to think i don't want to marry you? that i have choices too? or did you perhaps think that every woman just pines after you?"

dongmin pauses, his steps halted at your bold words. "yeah, pretty much."

you pull your hand off of his arm and push him, hands splayed against his chest as you heave with all the force you have in your body.

dongmin stumbles back, staring at you in shock.

"oh you messed up, princess." he says darkly, his eyes turning into something meaner.

dongmin reaches out and grabs you by the arm, bruising your skin as he pulls you with him. you beat your free arm against his hand, trying to pry yourself out of his grasp while he drags you toward your home.

"let go! let go of me you filthy bastard!" you scream, only earning a tighter grip and a glare from dongmin.

"who's the bastard here? me or the little bitch who won't do as her family wishes?"

you furiously dig your heels into the dirt road, trying to stop dongmin, but he only pulls you harder, tugging you towards your front door.

your mom opens it, looking confused at the screaming.

"what on earth is going on?"

"he-"

dongmin cuts you off. "your daughter is refusing to marry me. i suggest you talk some sense into her, or else my parents won't keep up their end of the deal with you."

"y/n! what in the world has gotten into you!? apologise to dongmin right now!"

you bite back snarky comments and mutter "sorry."

"give her a few days to think. i promise you she will have an answer soon." your mom says, patting dongmin's arm in the exact spot where you were just hitting him.

"fine." dongmin turns and walks back down the road, not giving you a second glance.

after a long scolding from your mother, you find yourself locked in your bedroom, instructed to not come out until you agreed to marriage with dongmin.

the evening glow cast shadows around your room, figures appearing on your walls that once scared you as a child.

but the meadow outside your window was beautiful. lit with the same glow, the sunlight cast golden light onto the scattered daisies and dandelions. the grass waved in the wind, bringing the scent of spring to your nose as you gazed out at the pretty scene.

without even thinking you begin to climb. you lower one boot-clad foot out of the window, eventually swinging the other out to sit on the edge.

it was dangerous, but you didn't care. the beauty of the meadow was calling to you, your room was growing more and more suffocating by the minute.

so you jumped. right off the second story window.

thankfully, there were a few hay bales there to break your fall, but it still didn't feel good. your dress caught on a few reeds and you had to pause to untagle them.

you grab a lantern from the hook by the front door and run, racing through the meadow, past a small home on the hill, and into the forest.

(㇏(•̀ᢍ•́)ノ)

riki groans into the frigid night air, his hands working at his cock so fast, the skin was turning red.

he pumped erratically at his hard member, trying to calm the incessant throbbing that seemed to follow him all day.

he didn't wear clothes anymore. it didn't matter here, and it made everything easier anyways. whenever he got hard, he didn't have to fumble with his pants or catch his shaking fingers on his shirt.

he let a loud moan escape his lips, his hips stuttering against his hand as his load of cum poured onto his hands, his thighs, and then the ground, soaking the soil below him.

and then he freezes.

because he hears a voice.

"hello?" you call, seeing the faint glow of embers illuminating a tent near the pond.

you were a frequent visitor to the area, the calming beauty of the flowers near the water's edge providing solace when your parents were too infuriating.

you hear scrambling coming from the tent, and it rustles as a figure appears, coming out of the tent and into the glow of your lantern.

"what are you doing here?" asks the tall man standing in front of you.

and you gasp, averting your gaze.

because he was naked.

"i... uhhh.... i just..."

the stranger smirks, stepping closer to you. you try your hardest to look in any direction but his, try to pretend you dont see anything.

but you cant help it.

the way his chest is so perfectly sculpted, abs shadowed in the glow of your light. his shoulders taper to his waist, the slope so effortlessly smooth.

and then his hips lead to-

your eyes snap up to his face, stopping yourself from looking at his cum-soaked dick.

and god, his face.

his hair fell around his ears, not long, but enough to where it was unruly and slightly tangled. his eyes were like a crystal ball, his dark gaze piercing your eyes, a faint reddish hue to their color in the dim lights. his nose was perfectly angled, casting a shadow over his high cheekbones, and his lips were so beautifully full.

his grin widens maliciously. "what are you doing here, sweetheart?"

"i... i came to get away. to relax." you manage to say.

"relax? so late at night?"

"yeah." you walk over to the pond, taking a seat on a rock. "why are you here??"

he struts over to you, taking a seat on the ground below you, legs spread provocatively.

"i came to get away too. needed a break from everyo-"

you cut him off, unable to focus on his words while he sat so sexily.

"excuse me, can you... cover up? it's a little uncomfortable."

"what's wrong, sweetheart? never seen a naked man before?" he laughs at the blush that spreads across your cheeks.

"please."

he stands and walks to the tent, leaving you to wave your fingers through the cool water of the pond.

riki pulls on his trousers, debating his next move. he should gain your trust, become your friend. but the temptation to feast on your blood, to fuck you senseless, to break you, was too great.

he needed something, anything, to get him through this rut. and having such a pretty little meal like you would be the perfect way to solve his problem.

riki climbed back out of the tent, his pants fastened around his waist now. but there was still a bulge in the fabric.

"as i was saying," he starts, startling you from the trance the water had you under. "i came out to take a break. people can be too much, you know?"

you laugh bitterly. "yeah."

"what's your name?" he asks.

"y/n. yours?"

"riki. nice to meet you. what happened to you? why are you running so late at night?"

you shake your head. "my parents want me to marry a complete retard of a man. they locked me in my room. i had to get out."

"fair," says riki, nodding his head and pursing his lips. "i get that."

"do you mind if i stay here tonight? there's a cave behind the waterfall that i have some blankets and stuff stored in."

riki looks at you in surprise. "really?" he asks.

"yeah."

he laughs and walks back to his tent. "be my guest."

you wait for him to go back into the tent before preparing to go to the cave. the pond surrounded the waterfall, so the only way to get into it was to swim in. you had done it plenty of times before.

but riki wasn't there any of those times.

no one was.

so when you begin to remove your dress, unbuttoning the front until it slid from your shoulders, unlacing your corset, and pulling off your undergarments, you feel exposed.

you've never felt so vulnerable. riki stayed in the tent, but knowing he was only mere inches away sent a thrill through your body.

you dive into the pond, the icy water sending a much needed shock into your system. when you reach the waterfall, you duck under and pull yourself up on the rocks hidden behind it, climbing into the spacious cave.

the box of blankets and food that you had brought in were still there, untouched. you pull a blanket around your shoulders and huddle against a smooth patch of rocks, the sound of the waterfall helping you relax as you drifted off to sleep.

(㇏(•̀ᢍ•́)ノ)

riki crawls out of the tent, the light of morning sending a glow through the little grotto. he starts another fire, and gets up to find his prey once more.

but then he stops.

because your clothes, all of them, are sitting right there. right by where he slept only minutes ago.

he groans at the thought of you, somewhere behind that waterfall, naked. completely vulnerable to him. unable to call for help.

unable to run away.

he picks up your corset, feeling the soft leather bend in his hands, tracing the line of where your breasts once rested.

then he snatches your undergarments, the lace panties so delicate, so you.

and riki brings them to his nose, sniffing the fabric, smelling you.

his hand immediately travels to his bare dick as he inhales your scent, fingers sliding around his hard member, hips thrusting into his hand.

damn, he wishes it was you. wishes it was your little hole he was pounding into, ripping apart.

so he does the next best thing. he wraps your panties around his cock, the cloth burning it as he thrusted into it.

and when he finally came, he let it gather in your panties, the garment catching his thick release, sure enough to stain it.

riki groans and tosses the spent material to the ground, along with the rest of your clothes, as he starts to hunt.

today's victim was a fox, the unsuspecting animal meeting the same fate as the rabbit, and many others before it. riki sinks his teeth into the dead body, drinking his fill of it's blood.

and wishing it was yours.

(㇏(•̀ᢍ•́)ノ)

riki makes his way back to the camp, hoping to find you awake.

but he is disappointed. your clothes are exactly where he left them, and nothing looks touched.

that's when he has an idea.

he picks up all of your belongings, carrying them to a fallen tree, the leaves providing a hiding spot for the bundle of fabric that riki held.

the perfect way to keep you vulnerable.

riki chuckled to himself and went back to his tent, waiting for you to come out.

and his wait was not in vain, because only minutes later, he heard a splash that could only be you hitting the pond.

he climbed out of the tent, faking sleepiness as he went to the fire, pretending not to notice you swimming under the water.

you surfaced near the rocks, gasping for air as you climbed out, pushing the hair away from your face.

and when you catch riki staring, you let a shriek sound through the woods.

riki just laughs, watching as you desperately try to hide your bare body from his gaze.

"where are my clothes!?" you say, practically yelling.

riki plays dumb. "what clothes?"

"the clothes i was wearing yesterday," you run over to the tent, crawling in and giving riki a splendid but infuriating view of your ass as you grab the quilt and wrap it around your chest. "the clothes i left right there."

"i never saw any clothes," riki lies. "maybe an animal took them?"

"yeah..." you say, irritated. "how the hell am i getting home now?"

you sit on the rocks, watching the waterfall, not even noticing as riki stands up and goes to the tent.

he comes back over to you, clearing his throat to get your attention.

you look over at him, and see him handing you a shirt.

"thanks." you say, smiling up at him.

"sure."

riki smirks to himself as he heads back to the fire. he has your trust. it was too easy.

he can't help but adjust himself in his pants as you sit by him at the fire, his shirt hanging just below your ass, and your nipples peaking against the thin blouse. fucking sexy.

his breaking point was when you turned to him, starting to ask a question.

you never got to finish.

because riki cut you off by tackling you to the ground, pinning your arms to your sides as he sat on your legs.

"riki, what the hell are you doing!?" you scream, twisting your body in a desperate attempt to get out of his grasp.

he remains silent, bending down to press a soft kiss to your neck, sucking on your skin.

you moan in pleasure, and riki laughs, his smile pressing against you.

"what are you doing?" you repeat, this time less urgently.

"what i wanted to do last night, sweetheart"

and then he bites.

you scream in pain as his teeth pierce your skin, the sensitiveness of your neck not aiding in how much the bite had hurt. you feel his tounge stretch out to suck the puncture, sucking on the warm liquid pooling out of you until you began to feel lightheaded.

and then everything went black.

(㇏(•̀ᢍ•́)ノ)

you wake to the feeling of water on your face.

not just water, rain. the trees above you provided minimal cover from the droplets that were falling from the sky faster and faster.

you roll over, and immediately throw up, your gut heaving as you emptied your stomach. your ribs ached as you lay back down, acepting the splashes of rain on your face as you recover.

what happened last night?

your hand trails up your uncovered body, trying to find where that stinging sensation was coming from.

riki.

he bit you. he drank your blood.

what was he?

you sit up, head spinning. your body feels so sore, especially between your legs. your thighs hurt with a pain you had never experienced before, your cunt feeling stretched and... used.

did he... there was no way.

you storm to riki's tent, finding him laying back on the quilt.

"afternoon, sweetheart. you slept all day." he smirks up at you, hands resting behind his head.

"what did you do to me!?" you scream, not caring how both of you were naked. that was the least of your worries.

"what do you mean?" says riki, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"you know what you did, you fucking pervert!" you grab the end of the quilt and drag riki out into the rain, his smirk never ceasing even when the water soaks his face.

"yeah, i do. and it was worth it."

you scoff and kick his leg, making him laugh. "you know, you were pretty tight while you were asleep. it felt so fucking good. but next time, i want to hear your screams as you beg for me to ruin you."

"you must be stupid if you think there will be a second time."

riki stands up, hair soaked from the rain now. "there will be a next time," he growls, grabbing your chin with his hand. "you know why? because you're mine. all fucking mine." he leans down to press his lips to your ear, making you shiver at the touch. "and you know you want it. don't fucking lie, sweetheart. you love the ache between your legs, you want more. am i wrong?"

you whimper as his hand grips your waist, holding onto you like you would run away.

you should've ran.

but you couldn't.

riki pulls you against him, and you give a halfhearted fight, not willing to admit that the way his cock pressed between you was glorious.

he tilts your chin up to look at him, and then his lips crash onto yours.

the rain continued pouring, now in torrents as you and riki embrace, lips locked in a passionate dance fuled by anger and need.

riki nips at your lip, pulling at it as he moves away.

"where are you..."

he answers you with a jump into the pond, and you follow him, joining him as he swims for the cave. the rain pattered against the rippling surface of the water, riki's strokes creating waves through the pool.

when you had reached the dark room, riki was on top of you again. his lips trailed over your jaw, working their way down to the curve of your collarbone.

and you moan when he presses his hands against your chest, neading your breasts as his lips trailed firey kisses around your neck.

he paused at a particularly sweet spot below your ear, licking and nipping at your skin.

and then he bit you.

again.

the burning pain had your body writhing in riki's grasp, your hands clenching on his biceps as he dug his fangs into you, taking more of your blood.

but he held back. enough so you wouldn't pass out. so you would stay awake while he fucked you.

you whimper when he pulls his teeth out, the two puncture wounds leaking blood. your head spun from the feeling of riki's hands on you, mingled with the loss of blood. everything was too much.

riki's dick rubs against your stomach, and he starts grinding against you, slipping a thigh between your legs to apply a small amount of pressure to your cunt.

you groan at the feel of him, the impossible hardness of his cock grazing your skin was heaven.

"feel that, sweetheart?" he moans, his grinds against your pelvis never ceasing. "feel what you fucking do to me? damn slut, walking around like that. you deserve this, yeah?"

your only response was his name, called out like a plea.

because it was. it was a plea for him to destroy you.

riki pushes you to the ground, forcing your knees to the cold stone. he bends over you, settling between your spread legs.

"little whore. so fucking needy," he groans, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder harshly, like it was a sack of potatoes.

"riki... please!" you whine, tugging at his shoulders.

he smirks again. "begging now, sweetheart? please what? please let me go, riki? or maybe please fuck me, riki. please fill me up like the good little cumdump i am." he mocks you, giving your thigh a slap.

"ah- riki, please... please fuck me!" you groan as riki's thumb presses against your clit, rubbing your tender nub as he chuckled.

"new it. fucking knew it. such a little slut, begging for a vampire to fuck her. such a needy little baby." his fingers leave your clit, and you whine at the loss of stimulation. riki slaps your thigh again, causing tears to well up in your stinging eyes. "you take what i give you, slut. don't whine to me when i'm about to give you my fucking cock."

riki lines his dick with your entrance, and shoves in, not giving you any warning before he was fully sheathed inside of your pulsing cunt.

"ah, so tight. tighter when you're awake, shit..." he starts thrusting into you, his cock easily sliding in and out of your wet pussy as he pounds into you.

a tear falls down your cheek, and the sobs follow, painting your face like the rain falling outside. riki's cock buried into you, hitting so deep you jerked at every thrust.

"crying, huh? what does a little whore like you have to cry about? fucking begged for my dick, now take it." riki thrusts harder, the sounds of his wet skin against yours echoing through the cave. everything sounded so loud.

when riki sensed your orgasm approaching, he pulled out, keeping you on the brink of release.

"riki! please... i need..." you grasp for his arms, hips scooting towards him, trying to push his dick back into your needy hole.

"aw, sweetheart, what do you want?"

"wanna cum! please!" the desperation is etched across your face as riki laughs at you.

"you cum when i cum, slut."

you whine as riki pushes back in, his cock filling you so perfectly. exactly how it was supposed to.

when riki finally started feeling his orgasm approaching, he let a loud moan rip from his swollen lips, filling the cave. "want to cum, sweetheart?"

you nod wildly, words failing you as you cried.

"ah.. gonna fucking fill you with my babies, yeah? gonna send you back all filled with me, carrying my kids.... gonna be a mommy, yeah?"

"yes, riki... please, please give me your babies..."

his hips smack against you one final time before his seed spills into you, filling you up while you shook around his cock, clenching around him.

"god, y/n... fucking perfect... my sweetheart," riki smiles and collapses over you, his dick buried deep inside of you, keeping his cum in you for as long as possible.

"riki," you whisper, afraid.

"what?"

"y-you're a vampire?"

"you thought i bite people for fun?" he flashes his sharp canines at you, a little grin gracing his full lips. "yeah."

you stare at him in fear. "what does that mean?"

"well technically, i'm half vampire. i can live normally most of the time, i can go in the sun and stuff, but i do have the ruts and i need blood every once and a while."

your brain expands, taking in all the impossible information he was giving you. "so... when is it over?"

"'bout two more weeks. that's why i came out here. it was easier."

"hmm...."

riki's hand grips yours, and you fall asleep next to him, the cool cave calming your heated bodies.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

"i need to go back now," you say to riki, his eyes filled with sleep and hunger from you waking him so early.

"mhmm..." he groans, grabbing a stick to toss in the fire.

"people will wonder... it's been a whole day."

he nods and frowns. "why can't you stay out here?"

"riki, my family will worry. if they haven't already started to. and i will come back for you, i promise."

"swear on the moon."

"the moon?" you look over at him, confused.

"a vampire thing. it's like swearing that you will uphold your promise no matter what, like the moon is always there no matter what. it's there even during the day, always watching."

you laugh and comply. "i swear on the moon."

but as riki watches you go, wearing nothing but the shirt he had given you and carrying your lantern, he couldn't help but worry.

because what if you didn't keep your promise?

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

everything was quiet.

it was creepy, the way the town was so lonely and cold during the first hours of dawn. a faint glow came from the horizon, turning the sky a lighter shade of blue where the sun would soon rise.

you dart down to your house, climbing up the wall and into your room, shutting the curtians quietly.

the whole house was quiet, the sounds of your parent's and sibling's snoring coming from their rooms.

you silently tug off riki's shirt, the flowy material soft in your hands as you stares at it with teary eyes. you stow it inside your pillow, hiding it from your family.

you slip into a nightgown and climb into bed, tugging the covers over your shoulders and feigning sleep when you hear footsteps outside your door.

your mom knocks against the wood, and you pretend to stir from sleep. "what?" you call, rustling in your bed.

"let me in." she says, voice flat.

you stand and open the door, and your mom barges into your room.

"i know you haven't decided yet," she starts, "but it doesn't matter anymore. you will marry dongmin, you will uphold the family name, understood?"

your protests were futile. your mom cuts you off at every attempt to argue that you wouldn't marry dongmin.

you couldn't.

not when riki was in the forest, waiting for you. needing you.

and you needed him. needed the escape he offered, needed his dominance to ground yourself in the mess that was your life.

your mom leaves the room, leaving you a fit of tears, your hand caressing the marks riki had left on your neck.

you wouldn't marry dongmin.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

now that you were being forced into marriage, you were out of your room. all day, in fact. you were dragged around town by your mother, preparing for the wedding.

four days. that's how much time you had to find a way out.

you could run, but you didn't know how to survive in the wild for a long time, and you had never been farther out of the valley than the waterfall.

you could camp there, but it was close enough to the town that search parties would look for you there.

so your best bet was to destroy the arrangement from the inside. but you couldn't figure out how.

after a long day of delivering invitations, you collapse on your bed. everything was too much.

you needed riki.

so you pull on his shirt, grabbing a pair of working pants from your older brother's wardrobe and pulling them on.

you hike past the house on the hill and into the forest, lamp in hand, anticipation swirling in your veins.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

riki sighs, his arms floading at the surface of the pond. it was relaxing, really. the way the water clung to his body, cooling the heat that had been there all day.

his head snaps up as he hears the rustle of leaves. perhaps a deer, coming to drink from the pond, a perfect meal.

but it wasnt a deer, it was you.

riki groaned at the sight of you, hair loose and flowing down your shoulders, his shirt clinging to you with sweat.

and you weren't wearing anything under it.

your breasts rubbed against the fabric, nipples showing behind the thin material. so provocative.

so beautiful.

you sit at the water's edge, leaning forward to look at riki, a look of uncertianty painted across his face.

"i promised," you say, grinning as riki swims closer to you.

"yeah, you did." he breathes across your face, sweeping your lips into a tender kiss. "i knew you would, little whore. my whore"

you moan into his lips, his tounge swiping across your mouth, then barging in, prying your jaw apart as he tasted you, swirled his tounge around yours.

you reciprocated, tounge caressing his fangs, eliciting a strangled sound from riki's throat.

"don't fucking do that," he says, gripping your arm. "i can't take it... shit"

you look up at him, eyes big and sweet. "riki, let me help you," you whisper, the words charged with something bigger than the both of you could possibly imagine. "let me take care of you."

riki moans and tugs you into the pond, moving towards the cave.

you wade into the water, still clothed as riki guides you under the waterfall and lifts you into the darkness.

he sits down, pulling you into his lap and resting his back against the cavern wall. his hands slide under the band of your wet pants, pushing them down your legs gently.

you rub your hands over his bare chest, massaging his taut muscles as he kisses you, teeth digging into your bottom lip. every noise was amplified in the cave, every shift heightened in the darkness, the waterfall covering most of the sound.

riki whimpers against your mouth, gripping your hips as you rolled them against his hard cock. his senses were hightened in the damp cave, the cool rocks on his skin grounding him as his dick throbbed for you.

"please-" he moans, biting your lip. he couldn't think straight, he was lost in you. lost in you scent, your body, everything.

you grip his cock, earning a few supressed noises from riki as you lined him with your entrance, slowly taking all of him in, sitting on his lap fully.

"ah- sweetheart... fucking hell, you can't do this to me." his lips trail from your lips to your neck, licking at the spots where he had bit you before, nursing the red scars.

you whimper and start rolling your hips, riki tensing below you, his hands bruising your waist through his thin blouse as he held on to you for dear life.

his pitiful wimpers fill the cave, his pelvis jerking as you fucked him, riding him to the brink of losing his mind.

"ah-ah... sweetheart, please... please, fuck, i can't" he digs his head into the curve of your shoulder, you could feel the wetnes of his hair fall down your back as you rode him harder, thighs burning.

you squeeze riki's arms, almost close to your release. "cum for me, riki... please"

he goans and spills into your slick cunt, his cum painting your walls white as you shiddered around him. his teeth dug into your shoulder, but the pain was less noticeable while you rode out your high. he lapped at your wound like a hungry beast.

because he was. he was a hungry vampire with a thirst for blood.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

riki holds you close, his arm wrapped around you as you sit against the cave wall together. his hand threaded through your messy hair, stroking your head. the sensation was absolutely wonderful, his long arms holing you close.

like somebody cared for you. about you.

"what's happening with the marriage?" he asks, carefully treading the sensitive topic.

you sigh and curl against him, tracing your fingers over the outline of his abs. "well, there's no way out. they're forcing me to marry dongmin."

"dongmin? you mean the butcher's son?" asks riki, looking down at you.

"yeah, why?"

riki laughs and shakes his head. "that little douchebag wouldn't know what to do with an apple if his parents didn't tell him first."

you chuckle. "yeah. i don't want to marry him though. my parents are adamant about it."

"mhmm..." riki rests his head on yours, the pressure soothing you off to sleep.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

"lets go, y/n." your mom grips your wrist, pulling you out the front door.

today was the day before the wedding. and everything was wrong. you hadn't seen riki in two days, too tired at the end of the day to hike to the pond. dongmin followed you everywhere, along with your mom. there were eyes on you at all times, even while you slept.

now was time to get your dress. your mom took you to dongmin's mother, mrs. lee's shop, having her fit you for the dress.

the fitting was fairly normal. as normal as a room filled with resentment could be, at least.

when mrs. lee has you take off your dress and stand on a pedestal, she gasps.

the bites.

she saw the bites. the marks riki had left on you, the ones you thought could be hidden by high necked dresses and well placed hair.

but no, now your mother and mrs. lee knew.

"what is that!?" yells your mother, face red in anger.

"what is what?"

mrs. lee shakes her head. "you have bites, dear. what are they from?"

you fake innocence. "i don't know what you're talking about, i haven't seen any bites."

"well dear, they're clear as day. do you have bedbugs perhaps?"

"maybe," you say, nerves shot with fear. "i probably do. but they'll go away."

mrs. lee nods her head, fiddling with scraps of fabric. "it's fine, we'll just have to do a high neck dress."

you bite back a groan, sitting straight while she messed with the dress. your mom glared at you, sending a chill through your body.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

that night, you climb out your window again.

you had to see riki.

the lantern provides better sight in the haze of dusk. you took some fruit from the basket in the kitchen, slipping a few apples in your pockets as you ran through the field.

the house on the hill was lit, a faint glow coming from the windows, dimmed by red curtians.

you speedwalk past it, trying to go to the forest unnoticed, but a whistle stops you.

your head swivels, searching for the sudden noise. you look towards the house and see riki hanging out the window, smirking at you.

"riki!" you drop the lantern and run to kiss him, hands cupping his jaw.

"hey, sweetheart," he says when you break apart. "i missed you."

"me too." you agree. riki offers you his hand and you climb through the window, sliding into the tiny room.

"i didn't know you lived here," you spin around the room, taking in the place that a vampire called home. "it's cute."

"you know how much i love cute things," says riki, laughing while shaking his head.

"you like me, i'm pretty cute!" you joke, sitting next to him on his bed. he was so obviously hard, his erection showing through the fabric of his trousers. it took all of his strength not to pounce on you, not to fuck your brains out on his bed.

"yeah, i do."

you sit in silence for a heartbeat, words that the two of you left unspoken threatening to show themselves in the candlelight. you had so much to tell riki, and not enough time.

"riki, i-"

"y/n-"

you laugh at the awkward situation, and riki rubs the back of his neck with his hands. "you go" he offers.

"i like you riki. more than i should. i know that all this... physical... stuff was just because of your rut, but i've fallen in love with you. and i feel like i'm drowning and nobody can save me, except for you. the wedding is tomorrow and i don't know how things are going to turn out, but i love you, and i had to tell you before it was too late."

all riki can do is look at you in amusement, his eyebrow raised cunningly.

"i'm in love with you too, y/n. every moment with you feels so right. i feel so comfortable with you, so normal. being a vampire doesn't matter to you, and the fact that you were so willing to help me was what made me realize that this is love. when you talked about the wedding and dongmin... i got so angry. all i want to do is protect you, to help you like you helped me. but i don't know how to do that." he buries his head in his hands, shoulders hunched.

you rub his back, his spine tensing at your soft touch. "its okay, riki... i will find a way to get out of it. i can't marry him... i won't. i swear on the moon i'll find a way."

he leans over to you, pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss, his mouth moving in perfect harmony with yours. he grabs your chin with his hand, pulling your lips harder into his, opening his mouth to you.

you climb onto his lap, straddling him and gripping his shoulders while he deepened the kiss, his hands finding your waist. he kissed you so passionately, promises laced with need as he groaned into your mouth.

promises to keep you safe, to love you as much as he could.

he twisted your bodies, laying you gently against his bed. "sweetheart, i'm gonna try and go slow for you... but i might break... i'll try."

"do whatever you want, i love you."

"fuckkk-" he groans, lips catching yours in another eager kiss.

he slipped his hands under your waistband, pulling your pants and undergarments down your shaking legs. his calloused fingers scraped across your skin sensually, every brush like fire on your already hot skin. he laughs as an apple rolls out, the sentiment sweet.

"let me taste you... please?"

you nodded your head, words unable to form in your mouth. riki worked his way down, spreading your legs wide, arms pinning them down.

"damn... baby, your cunt is so gorgeous..." riki groans as he leans his head down to smell you.

and then his tounge sticks out, giving a tiny lick to your clit, and you spiraled.

everything felt so new, so amazing, that you could barely breathe. every sensation pushed you closer and closer to the brink of collapse. riki moved a hand to your folds, slowly twirling circles around your hole as he sucked on your clit. his fingers gathered your slick, and he shoved them in his mouth, sucking your taste off of his digits.

your legs trembled around his head, his strong arms the only thing keeping them from snapping back around his head. his tounge darted out in precise movements, licking through your folds.

his cock was throbbing now, the pain only made up for by how sweet you tasted. riki unbuckled his pants and pulled them off, rubbing his member with his hand. there was already a pool of precum on the tip, dripping down his length.

he sucked on your clit, your eyes fluttering at the feeling of his wet muscle on your cunt. you thrusted your hips up into his face, begging for more.

your hands found their way to his head, threading through his thick, dark hair, pushing him deeper into you.

he laughed against your pussy, the vibrations enough to make your legs twitch violently. his tounge jutted into your hole, sending a harsh moan from your mouth.

"ki... ah- i'm gonna cum, please!" you whined, his tounge swirling inside your pulsing cunt. every sense was heightened as you were pulled closer to release. riki's lips continued their assault on your aching hole, sucking on your swollen folds.

he continued pumping his dick, almost close to cumming himself. "cum on my face, baby" he groaned.

you snapped, the pressure building in your stomach released as you pulsed around his tounge. your legs closed around his head, holding him in place while he lapped up your wetness.

his own relief came as well, his cum flowing from his dick in rivulets, pouring into his hand and onto the floor. riki climbed over you, pushing his cum covered fingers into your mouth.

you groaned around his digits, his salty taste filling your mouth as you licked his fingers clean of his cum.

"fuck," he moaned, taking his hand away. "so beautiful... taste so good"

your hands wrap around him, nails scraping his back as he kissed you again. you could taste yourself on him, and riki could taste his release on you.

everything else seemed to dissapear, it was just you and riki on his bed, loving each other so passionately that the rest of the world was quiet.

but as you were wrapped in riki's arms, the sounds of night echoing outside, you couldn't worry about tomorrow. because all that mattered was that riki was with you now, loving you now.

and you wished it could last forever.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

you wake to the sound of birds chirping.

the moring light seeped through riki's curtians, painting the room in a hazy red light. his arms were wrapped around your back, hand tracing patterns on your spine.

"morning" he says, smiling with sleepy eyes.

"hey" you reply, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips.

you lay in his embrace, his warmth enveloping you as you started drifting back to sleep.

and then you froze.

you shot up out of bed, eyes wild with fear. "shit, the wedding!"

riki groans, rolling over. "just stay here"

"riki, i can't..."

he frowns, brows furrowed. "yes, you can."

"they're gonna look for me if i don't show up."

you stand up, collecting your clothes from the floor. "i'm sorry, ki. i will find a way out" you slip your pants on. "i swore on the moon, remember?"

riki turns, looking out the window, hiding the tears that were beginning to form in his dark eyes.

you don't notice as a tear falls down his red cheek, his hand sweeping up to collect it quickly. "yeah."

he stands and walks over to you, grabbing your hand. "if you dont find a way, please know that i love you. that someone loves you."

your own tears start to fall, and you pull riki into a hug. "don't say that, ki... we have to keep up hope, please."

another tear escapes his eyes, slipping into your messy hair. a mark of how much he cared for you left unknowingly.

"i know."

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

dongmin stands next to the reverend, his hair styled nicely for the first time in forever. flowers surround the aisle, the field set up for a wedding ceremony.

your legs shake with fear as you walk between the aisles of chairs filled with people you barely knew. your hands trembled around the bouquet of roses that you held, threatening to drop them.

your gaze catches riki's house, only yards away. your eyes well up with tears as you walk towards a life that you didn't want. one you never wanted.

the piano that had been wheeled out plays a hymn that should've brought happiness, but only scared you. the tune of the keys sounded otherworldly as you reach the reverend.

your parents glare at you with knowing eyes, telling you not to mess up without even uttering a word.

the reverend starts speaking, his speech sounding like another language as you stare blankly into dongmin's eyes.

on the hill, riki gazes out his window, watching the ceremony. the words carry on the wind, the reverend's voice reaching his home.

sobs filled his body, his heart feeling like it had been crushed under your foot. he shouldn't have done this. he shouldn't have gotten attached.

but he did. and now you were getting married to somebody that wasn't him.

the tears turn to rage as he watched dongmin start talking, presumably speaking false vows, promises that would undoubtedly be broken.

he snaps, jumping from his bed and racing out of his house, running barefoot down the hill to the venue.

you stare at the reverend as he turns to dongmin. "do you, lee dongmin, take y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"yes."

"and do you, y/n-"

"wait!"

the crowd turns their heads, confusion spread across everyone's faces as they searced for the face of the deep voice that interrupted the ceremony.

riki stands at the end of the aisle, bent over and completely out of breath.

your mom jumps up. "what are you doing?! who are you!?" she shrieks, voice strained.

"i..." riki catches his breath, looking up at your shocked face. "i came to save y/n"

your mom stomps over to him, grabbing his arm. "she doesn't need saving."

he tosses her off with ease, his height an advantage as he walks up to you. "yes, she does. doesn't anyone see how unhappy she is? how much she doesn't want to be here?" he turns back to the crowd. "or are all of you blind? does she look like a bride filled with joy?"

dongmin pulls riki away from you by the shoulder, and riki shoves his hand away. "don't you dare touch me, bastard."

dongmin steps closer to riki, grabbing his wrist. "i do what i want." he whispers. "leave. this has nothing to do with you."

riki doesn't bother to stay quiet. "i won't leave. you know why? because i love y/n. i really love her. and i'm willing to do whatever it takes to get her away from you."

dongmin laughs and shakes his head. he looks down at you, his chest shaking with sarcastic laughter. "what did you do? little whore. probably slept with him, huh?"

you stay quiet, scared. riki stands between you and dongmin, shielding you from him. "so what? it doesn't matter what happened. she doesn't want this, so why are you forcing her?"

dongmin glares at riki. "fine, you can have the little bitch. fucking used anyways."

riki growls and grabs dongmin by his arm, pulling him back and-

crack

the next thing you know, dongmin is curled on the floor, blood pouring from his nose. everyone is scrambling, either to help him or to talk to you, bombarding you with questions and accusations.

riki turns to you amidst all the chaos, wiping blood off of his fist, pulling you close to him. "did i mention you look beautiful?"

you laugh and give him a kiss, turning to find your mother, who was pressing through the crowd to get to you.

"i won't marry him, mother. i love riki. that should be enough for you."

she pauses in her tracks, looking from you to riki, then back at you.

she frowns, but nods her head, a silent acknowledgement of your decision. one she might not be happy about, but can agree to.

as the masses disperse, you walk over to where dongmin was sitting on the grass.

you lean down to him, whispering so only he can hear.

"this is for being a complete asshole"

and you kick him in his soft spot, riki's laugh ringing loud and deep from where he was standing behind you.

(㇏^.ˬˬ.^ノ)~♡

a.n- oh my lorddddd that was a roller coaster for me.... i cant with vampire riki damn.... also i realized like halfway through its giving disney movie meets dr. quinn vibes help ToT again, if you want to see more vampire aus lmk and the taglist is always open if youd like to join!

as always, comment or reblog if you liked it!

masterlist you might also like: number 10- n.rk

[jacksabbotts]

aaron hotchner x consultant!reader tw .' graphic descriptions of crime scenes/murder , religion-fueled murder , slight body dismorphia?? ( reference to readers unusual ring size and reader size difference compared to "other women" )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

imagine going undercover with boss!hotch as your husband

the team sat at the round table, eyes flicking between open files and the overhead screen. case photos scrolled slowly: a rotting wooden chapel, a girl in white laid out like a saint, ash streaked across her forehead. latin scrawled in red chalk on the wall behind her. and most disturbing of all, a cross—upside down—made of bones.

‘two victims,’ strauss said, voice crisp. the section chief's mere presence put the whole team into fight or flight mood because erin strauss didn't just pop down to say a hearty hello and she sure as heck didn't assist on cases.

which meant this was one for the ages. the gears had already begun to turn in your head as you stared at the crime scene photos in the file in your hands.

'one female, one male. both members of a religious commune in missouri. self-identified as the shepherd’s light. neither made contact with anyone outside the compound for months before the male body was found in a ravine three miles from the property line. the woman was found in an abandoned chapel. cause of death for both was ruled exsanguination and dehydration. signs of prolonged restraint.'

emily leaned back in her chair, frowning. 'so they’re bleeding out and starving people to death?'

'the cult calls it ‘cleansing',' hotch replied. 'and they made it very clear they don't like outsiders.'

garcia, stood off to the side of the board, with her tablet in one hand and her remote in the other. she made a face as she once again forced herself to look at the crime scene. 'so fun.'

'locals haven’t been inside the compound in years,' garcia added. 'the only way in is through formal initiation. the leaders only allow married couples past the outer gates.'

morgan’s eyebrows rose. 'they screen for sin but not murder? this can't be the unsub's first kills so how did he even make it in to the inner sanctum?'

'we have no information other than what is showed to the public,' strauss said. 'which is why we'll need to get someone inside. two of you will need a strong cover. married. clean. it needs to be convincing.'

the air shifted.

silence wrapped around their necks like a noose. you'd felt it before it was said. the gaze. the expectation. it was only logical that you would play the wife part of this undercover mission. you were the only one with the cultish knowledge to be able to pull it off.

all that was left was to pick your soon to be husband. strauss turned toward hotch.

'you and our consultant will pose as husband and wife.'

you blinked. 'wait—what?' you knew it was a possiblity that hotch would have to fill the role of your so called husband, but morgan was undoubtably stronger, reid smarter, but for some reason you reveled in the idea of being married to aaron hotchner ( even if it was purely for show ).

hotch barely moved. 'we have the best age profile. and you the familiarity with their theology.' morgan let out a low whistle. 'hope you like cuddling, hotch.' he teased.

garcia gasped. 'oh in holy matrimony!'

reid blinked. 'why not send in actual agent?' he spared you the most minute glance before turning back to strauss. you didn't know why you suddenly felt so defensive, it wasn't like anything reid could say would take this moment away from you.

'because you’re not a cult-linguistic iconography expert, spence,' you said, flipping open the case file once again. 'and you’d crack in five minutes if someone asked about your sex life.'

hotch remained still. arms crossed. jaw tight.

'your cover story is already in place,' strauss continued, as if she knew you and hotch would agree without a fight.

'married three years. no children. former catholics turned ‘spiritual seekers.’ you’ll be taken in for a one-week initiation. stay within the plan. do not go off-script.'

you caught hotch’s eye across the table. he didn’t flinch.

so you smiled.

'can’t wait to see what kind of honeymoon suite we’re getting.' you mumbled as you turned to the exit, but you did not miss the tinge of red forming on the tips of hotch's ears.

✧

the compound was nestled in a pine-heavy pocket of nowhere missouri. the gravel path to the front gates was flanked by hand-painted signs :

he is watching.

all flesh must be made new.

the wife shall submit.

it was disturbing to say the least. 'charming,' you muttered as the car rolled to a stop.

two men in identical beige jackets approached the vehicle. they smiled without their eyes. you and hotch stepped out slowly, letting the october air hit your skin like a slap.

hotch’s wedding ring glinted in the morning sun and damn if it didn't make your stomach turn. yours, however, felt too tight. no one ever got your ring size right. they always thought that because you were a woman that your were supposed to have thin and dainty fingers.

but there was nothing dainty about you and you had learned early on to embrace that.

'brother elijah and sister miriam,' the taller one greeted. 'we’re honored you found us.' hotch’s voice was low, steady. 'we’re honored to be here.'

the guards walked you through the gate and into the commune. it was quiet—almost eerily so. children ran barefoot across the grass but didn’t laugh. a woman hung linens beside a chapel with a broken stained-glass window. the chapel were the second victims body was found. they hadn't even tried to repair it ( so much for worship ). the was no hint music. no hum of technology.

just cold silence.

the cabin door shut with a soft click, and the silence that followed was immediate. heavy.

too heavy for what was supposed to be a happily married couple of three years. you dropped your duffel bag onto the bed without ceremony and toed off your boots, each thud against the wood a small rebellion. the mattress creaked as you sat on the edge and looked around.

minimal. one bed. one crucifix nailed to the wall ( unsettlingly similar to the one hanging upside down over the latest female victim ). the air smelled like old cedar and pressed linen.

you glanced over your shoulder. hotch hadn’t moved.

he stood just inside the door, still upright, still zipped up to the throat like he could armor himself in authority. he hadn’t taken off his jacket. hadn’t put down his bag. his eyes scanned the space like it might explode.

you let the silence stretch, but not for long. 'loosen up, husband,' you said finally, not bothering to hide the dry amusement in your voice. 'we’re home.

hotch didn’t answer. he stepped forward just enough to set his go-bag in the far corner, beside the bureau. not a wasted movement. every muscle under his jacket seemed braced—like you were the threat, not the cult the two of you were literally infiltrating.

'i’ll take the floor,' he said, already reaching for his sweatshirt to fold into a makeshift pillow.

you raised an eyebrow. 'don’t be dramatic, hotch.'

'i’m not.'

'really?' you rose slowly, walked past him to the window to draw the curtain closed. 'one bed. two adults. fully clothed. no risk of heresy. i think you’ll survive.'

he didn’t argue—but he didn’t agree, either. that was hotch in a fucking nutshell : a man who said more with silence than most did with full speeches.

you changed behind the modest privacy screen near the wardrobe. the chill in the air raised goosebumps along your arms. you pulled on a tank top and sleep shorts—nothing you hadn’t worn around him before, technically, but the context now was… sharp and somewhat loaded.

when you stepped out, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. his eyes flicked to you, barely a second. then away.

you watched his jaw clench once. twice.

he lay down without another word. flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest like he was preparing for burial.

you joined him a second later, slipping under the rough cotton blanket. the mattress dipped, and still he didn’t turn.

you both stared at the ceiling, the dim outline of the crucifix above you casting shadows in opposite directions.

the silence crackled.

'you always this fun on your honeymoons?' you asked, voice light, but not without weight.

he didn’t answer. not at first anyway.

just one breath—held.

then : 'try to get some sleep.' you let out a quiet laugh, short and bitter and after a moment he let one out that mirrored yours.

and god help you, you wanted to hear it again.

THE END

[teamackles96]

The Moment

❧ Summary: You and the Brothers decided to hang out at the Roadhouse after a hunt. But seeing Jo and Dean together, stirs something in you.

❧ Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

❧ Wordcount: 1121

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Masterlist

After a hunt in Nebraska, you and the boys found yourselves at Harvelle’s Roadhouse. You’d earned a drink, maybe two, to unwind and catch up with old friends.

Jo had never been subtle about her interest in Dean. From the moment you met her, it was clear she had a thing for the green-eyed Winchester.

Right now, she was leaning in close to him, her voice low as she laughed at something Dean had said. He was nursing a beer, looking somewhat relaxed, but you could tell his attention was divided. It was like you could practically hear Jo’s thoughts, urging Dean to notice her, to make a move. She watched him intently, taking in every detail—his eyes, his lips, the way the light hit the freckles on his tanned skin. Her gaze flicked between his eyes and his mouth, sending signals you didn’t need to read between the lines to understand.

You were too caught up in the scene at the bar to notice Sam had shifted in his seat, his eyes following yours. He noticed how you barely moved, how your attention never wavered from Dean and Jo.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, his voice bringing you back to reality. You looked down at the beer bottle in your hands, picking at the label. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, though you weren’t sure if it was a lie or not.

Sam’s brow arched slightly. “You’ve been watching Dean and Jo for a while now.”

Your stomach tightened. You hadn’t thought Sam noticed, but there was no way he wouldn’t. You didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing even harder on the beer bottle. “I haven’t been watching them,” you said, voice a little too defensive.

Sam just tilted his head, a look of amusement mixed with understanding on his face.

“Okay, maybe I have,” you admitted reluctantly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Sam was quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then, as if the words came from nowhere, he asked, “Why don’t you tell him?”

You froze. “Tell him what?”

“That you have feelings for him.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I don’t—” But you were interrupted by Ash returning with fresh beers. He set the bottles down on the table without missing a beat, oblivious to the tension between you and Sam. You hadn’t even realised Ash was missing from the table

You looked at Sam, cheeks burning with embarrassment. How did he always know? The guy went to Stanford, after all—he could read you like a book.

You took a long drink from your beer, trying to suppress the overwhelming urge to flee.

“I need to get some air,” you muttered. Without another word, you grabbed your jacket and bolted from the table.

Unfortunately, to get to the door, you had to pass by Dean and Jo.

You slid your jacket on as you walked past them, pointedly not looking in their direction. As you reached the door, you felt the familiar sting of jealousy and frustration twist inside you, but you buried it beneath the cold night air that hit you as soon as you stepped outside.

The moment the door shut behind you, you leaned against the Impala, taking a deep breath and staring into the dark stretch of road. The cool wind tugged at your hair as you took a long swig from the beer bottle in your hand.

Just as you lowered the bottle, you heard the door open and close behind you. You rolled your eyes before even turning around, fully expecting Sam to follow you for another round of uncomfortable questions. But when you did turn, it was Dean.

He straightened his dad’s old leather jacket as he approached, his hands in his pockets, a slight frown on his face.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft and warm.

“Hey,” you replied, a little too quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

Dean shrugged, his shoulders relaxed. “Came to check on you.”

You couldn’t hide the surprise from your voice. “Me? I’m fine, just needed some air.”

“Yeah?” He nudged your shoulder with his, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Ash and Sam’s nerd talk too much for you?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Something like that.” You took another quick sip of your beer before looking at him. “You don’t have to stay out here with me, you know.”

Dean’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression was still light. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What? No, it’s just... I saw you in there with Jo, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Dean’s gaze softened, his hand moving to your shoulder, pulling you into him in a casual, comforting way. “You’re not getting in the way of anything, trust me.”

Before you could say anything else, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. The warmth of his body felt good, but it sent a wave of nerves through you.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his broad shoulder as the two of you stood in silence. The night was quiet except for the faint howl of distant coyotes and a strange high-pitched whine that seemed to be coming from nowhere.

Your brow furrowed as you noticed the source of the sound. You looked down, realising that Dean’s ring was tapping against your beer bottle, his fingers inching toward it like a kid trying to sneak a sip.

“Are you trying to steal my beer?” you asked, straightening up and looking at him, eyebrows raised.

Dean’s face twisted in mock innocence. “What? No!”

“Dean!” you laughed, though you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I can see your hand!”

Dean threw his hands up in exaggerated surrender. “I just wanted a sip!”

You couldn’t help but grin, shaking your head. “Let’s go get you a drink, buddy.” You patted his thigh gently as you walked toward the Roadhouse. Dean huffed slightly but followed you.

As you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, not expecting much, but the words slipped out before you could stop them: “You had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

Dean stopped in his tracks, his voice barely above a whisper. “There was a moment?”

You turned, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile as you met his eyes and winked, carrying on through the door into the Roadhouse. 

[writingoddess1125]

The old men of One Piece finding out they have a child with you.

Shanks, Buggy, Mihawk X FemReader

Healthy mix of Angst and Fluff.

Support me on Ko-Fi

Part 2

Buggy

"You two get your asses down now!" You yelled, trying to stop the two blue haired boys from destroying the restaurant further. Your two identical twins sons where only 11 years old but they were trouble- Double Trouble as everyone called them. Benny and Danny, who had given themselves the Nicknames of Bee and Dee- cause of course they did.

It wasnt just their dramatic tendencies, destructive nature or lack of volume control that made them silkar to a know pirate but also their appearance Who was non other then- Buggy the Clown. While they did lack the trademarked rounded red nose. They did get almost everything else- Long nlue locks, watercolor eyes and that crooked smile of theirs- it really wasn't fair how your genes didn't even have a chance-

It hasn't exactly been your best of moments when you conceived your children- Having been a performer on the famous pirate ship you ended up sleeping with your Captian one night on his Silly Throne. A few weeks later you started to feel unwell and realized you had been pregnant. In a moment of panic you fled the ship the next time it docked- Running from your Crew and Captian to never be seen again.

Once realizing you were on your own. You did what you could to make a living- opening a flashy little restaurant and using it to raise your two trouble makers. Dee running past you with a giggle snapped you from your thoughts, frowning as you set down your customers order infront of them before following the boy.

"Mom Mom! Look!" Bee yelled as he stood on one of the tables pointing out the window of the restaurant at the open ocean, Dee taking his place next to his twin. You walked closer to see what your son was looking at, the fog being thick that night as you tried to focus on what he was seeing.

Squinting your eyes you finally saw it- a Ship. As your eyes focused you saw the Jolly Roger and gasped, Ice feeling like it ran through your vain. You grabbed the boys quickly and backed away from the window. As if on cue the alarms set to alert that pirates had arrived. The sounds of canons hitting the town soon peirced through the alarms and the whole town erupted in chaos. You rush from the windows to the back of your restaurant.

Rushing down the stairs you knew Buggy and the crew would level the town to ashes. The best place to hid being the cellar, while it was small it would hopefully keep you and your boys safe. "Mom what's happening!?" Dee cried as he did his best to keep up with your fast pace. You didn't bother responding as you rushed to the old underground cellar lifting the rug and opened its little door.

"Mom I don't want to go down there!" Bee cried as you lowered him in the cellar first, Dee following soon after as you tried to sooth them.

"I know I know my loves, But do as I say- Stay quiet and-"

You paused as you heard the sound of crashing from out in the dining room followed by screams. Quickly you climbed in with your boys and lowered the wooden door of the cellar above you and frantically tried to place the rug so it fell onto it before plunging you and your sons in darkness.

You sat there shaking, holding your boys close to your chest as you heard the sound of someone walking towards you. Your hands shaking as you held them closer, feeling the moisture of your sons tears soaking into your dress.

You heard the sound of footsteps starting to search the room above you. Previously looking for valuables or anything interesting-

"Captian! I found the liquor!" The voice above you called out, Clearly grabbing the cases of rum that sat in the room above. Heavier footsteps followed into the room, hearing the cackle that made your skin stand up on end.

"Grab it all and whatever people you can find! We have a show tonight afterall!" You heard Buggy voice sound. The crew mate clearly rushing out with the cases while Buggy remained. You heard him turn through the room, ready to leave before his heavy steps landed on the cellar door above you it's old wood groaning at the weight. Your eyes widened as you realized you'd been caught, Without time to react the door was ripped open and you couldn't help but release a scream.

Buggy- In his hands you see his signature blades as he grinned down in the cellar. Reaching down and grabbing you by the hair and yanking you out-

"A new audience memeber!- wait" He raised an eyebrow as he held you up higher by your hair and looked over your crying face. His eyes looking over your face. "I know you... (Y/N)?" He asked questionably before his eyes shot to see a flash of blue dart at him and kick him as another one came to try and pull you from his grasp.

"Let her go!" "LEAVE OUR MAMA ALONE!" Your boys desperately screamed as they weakly tried to attack the man holding you. Buggy dropping you quickly as he stared down at the three of you, You quickly pulling the boys away from him and behind you.

A awkward silence following this as Buggy released a shaky breath before laughing loudly. A insane laugh that had him doubled over, before looking at you again with crazed eyes. A few crew members coming into the room after hearing their Captian laugh, especially at the sight of you, their former crewmate and two boys that looked like their Captian.

"Freaks, Take these three and lock them in my personal Quarters. We got a family reunion!"

Shanks

"Mommy I have Missy Luc-ia ready!" You heard your daughter call out. Setting out the freshly frosted cupcake, onto the countertop, that she was just barely taller then. Smiling down at the bright face before you- She may be only 4 but she was the sweetest girl.

"Thank you Vivian. Can you grab the order list for Mommy?" You ask, getting an exaggerated nod and running off. Her mess of bright red hair bouncing with each step. A little clone of her dad, The famed Shanks 'Red Hair' a former fling of yours.

It had been a nice little relationship you two shared, him coming by every other week to meet with you when his ship restocked. Buying random pastries you knew he bought to get close to you, always complimenting your Baking skills and sweetness. Which ended up to many passionate nights both in your own bed and on Shanks ship. The last time you met, Shanks told you he had to go for a while and didn't know if he's return. Tears shed as you watched him set sail- having the feeling you'd never see him again.

As if the gods had sympathy for you or wanted to use you as a cruel joke you fell pregnant. Giving birth to your daughter who ended up being a Shanks part 2. A giggly and happy baby with unique red hair, while she was a perfect mix of the two of you in terms of face she inherited Shank's smile, hair and eye shape.

As you packed the poorly frosted cupcake that your daughter had made. Ignoring the fingerprints in its frosting- you hit it in the back of the fridge you'd never tell her you couldn't sell it since she had eaten part of her work and replaced it with the true finishes product to be delivered.

As you finished your packing you heard the bell of your bakery door chime.

"Welcome to the Sweet treats bakery, how can I help yo-" the words froze to your lips as you saw Shanks. Eyes wide at seeing him again, it was clear he had delt with some serious wear and tear by how the world seemed to settle on his shoulders a bit more.

"(Y/N) long time no see" He said softly as he stared at you, mentally still trying to process what you were seeing. He stepped forward, Looking ready to explain himself away before the sound of tiny footsteps drew him in- Seeing the little girl holding a notepad with all your orders and running to you. Out of muscle memory you scooped your daughter and placed her on your hip, she smiled at you and held the order book out to you again which you gingerly took.

"Here you go Mommy!" She chimed, Looking at you as she noted your shocked face. Her gaze following the now shocked man, He looked like a breeze could knock him down as he stared at her then you then her again.

"Shes mine isn't she?" Shanks asked, his eyes never leaving the little girl on your hip. Vivian looking at Shank's then you confused at what was taking place. Before you could respond however it seemed Shank's answered his own question. Laughing loudly in utter joy and jumping forward towards you, scaling the countertop like it wasn't even there and crashed his lips against yours happily.

"Ha! I'm a Dad!!" He cheered, Taking his one arm around you and starting to spin you and Vivian who at first was scared. But hearing the giggles from the man started to as well- the two even laughed the same which made the Red Haired man even happier.

"Y-Yes Shanks. She is yours...This is Vivian" You said softly, watching Shanks lean in close to view his daughter. It was like he had found the most amazing treasure in the world and it shone in his eyes.

"Vivian, Such a beautiful name for the most beautiful girl in the world" He said in awe, earning a shy smile from Vivian.

"Vi, This is... this is your Daddy" You say softly, watching Vivian look up at you then back at Shanks. Hesitant at first before holding out her arms tk him, taking the opportunity he scooped her up in his single arm and held her close. Tears welling up in his eyes as he looked at her delicate face, her chubby little fingers touching his face and looking over him.

"You're my Daddy?" She asked innocently. A smile breaking over Shanks face as he nodded and held her close, tears pouring down his face.

"That's right baby girl- I'm your Daddy"

Mihawk

It had been 16 long years since you had laid eyes on Mihawk- a simple one night stand that had long consequences that followed. Your son, your beautiful baby boy who you named Alucare.

It had been at a bar, the two of you drinking and simply talking. Before one thing lead to another in the alleyway next to the bar- You truthfully cringed at the thought of how embarrassing it was to be undone by a few nice words, a charming warlord and some drinks.

"Mother, which one did you want?" Your son asked, snapping you from your thoughts pointing to the fishmongers selection, his emotionless face like a carbon copy of his father's.

Truthfully he looked too much like his damn father- same yellow eyes, black hair, very tall form, stoic face the only thing missing was the facial hair Which you thanked The Gods for since you didn't think you could stare at your one night stands face forever. Alucare did have some differences, he had your nose as well as kept his hair longer. The thick spicy locks hitting the center of his back which you helped him care for. But truthfully that was really it-

You also knew that other people would star long at your boy, a few times Marines having come up to see your son when he was walking to school or going to the market. He knew who his father was, having Marines who had seen him in battle tell him as much. However he never seemed to care, just giving them a frosty look that made them back away before leaving. Whenever you'd brought up the topic of His father he often would sit quietly for a few moments before saying he wasn't interested in such a conversation which you respected.

"Hmm, that one is fresher-" You say sweetly as your boy grabs the fish and plops it in the basket, Handing the merchant the berries.

Always the gentleman he would take your arm in his as the two of you walked. He would hold the heavier baskets and give you only bread or a small bag of fruit. He was too kind as a child, you felt bad at times at how his eyes seemed to know the struggles you had faced when he was born and tried to help you out now that he was older besides your persistence.

"Alucare, I heard from your teachers yoh got very high marks again. Do you want to celebrate? Maybe a nice dinner is in order? Or-"

"It's just a test Mother. No need for so much trouble" He said softly, giving a hint of a smile at his words. You chuckled at him and shook your head. Stubborn too.

You felt your son stop midstep- Glancing up at him as his face turned to stone before your eyes.

"Honey?" You call to him, before following his gaze at what had caught his attention. Across the market a dark figure stood, You immediately felt your heart drop to your stomach as you knew instantly who it was- Mihawk standing there with the same stoic expression as Alucare but his eyes seemed to be a bit wider. Most likely the closest to shock that could come over his face-

You tugged slightly to turn back, not wanting to create a accidental scene but your son clearly had other plans. Instead starting to walk again, His arm still holding yours as he kept his gaze at Mihawk. You expected Alucare to stop infront of Mihawk- a blowup or something but. No.

Alucare just walked past Mihawk- Like he wasn't even there. His face staying forward as no words passed. As you continued to walk you turned to look behind you where you saw Mihawk, he seemed to stagger on his feet like someone had finally peirced him with a blade.. but it seemed to be a invisible one to his heart.