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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.

He stands like a statue.

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk.

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!”

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry��wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.

What in the hell was going on?

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out.

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.

A secluded home. Nothing around.

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

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imyourbratzdoll · 7 months ago

Text

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔

🕊️a whore's farytale masterlist🕊️

summary - the town's beauty (you) finds herself bargaining her life for her fathers, will the cursed beasts go easy on her? or figure out that she's the one who can break their curse?

warning - smut, monster-fucking, choking, blood play, oral, creampie, name calling, being restrained, biting, refused orgasm/edging, foursome (sorta), being passed around, swearing, death, forced voyeurism, obsessive man, grabbing, groping, trapped, held hostage, slight angst.

18+ only please, the gifs I use aren't mine, header created by me.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The story began with three brothers, they were the same in personality but so different in looks. But the universe had other plans for the pompous Princes, the night of their party was the night a certain witch decided to teach them a lesson, one that would not only make their personalities the same, but also their looks. The sound of music and chatter could be heard from outside the castle with how loud it was. Ari, Logan and Geralt– the Princes, are dressed exceptionally well. Only the finest of clothing fits their bulky forms, expensive jewels decorate their body. Ari and Geralt both have their hair tied back in a slick ponytail, one longer than the other. A silky silver matches Geralt’s light gray suit, while Ari wears a silky blue, matching his darker blue suit. Logan has his hair slicked back, although slightly messier with a few strands falling in front of his face, the look doesn’t make him any less handsome. He wears a silky black suit, the colour looking almost devilish on him.

The brothers split from one another, Ari strides toward a beautiful blonde, twirling her as he pulls her toward the dance floor. Logan stalks off to the bar, glaring at anyone that gets in his way and Geralt heads toward a group of women, already flaunting themselves at him. The party is wild as the guests enjoy themselves, none aware of the storm brewing outside. An old woman trembles as she stands before the large doors, her wrinkled hands shake as she knocks, the sound echoing throughout the room, stopping the party momentarily. The three brothers turn, looking at the door and then to each other, a scowl on their faces, wondering who dares interrupt their party. Logan head tips back as the alcohol slides down his throat before he slams the glass down, his other two brothers express their deepest apologies. All three head towards the door, it may seem a bit extreme, but the three never go anywhere without each other. The only thing that they didn’t do together was share a woman.

Ari’s hands wrap around the handles, flinging the door open and they scowl down at the ugly old lady before them. “What do you want?” The men stand there, their bulky builds taking up the whole doorway.

“P–Please, may I come in for some shelter?” The old woman shivers, her nimble hands trembling and she clutches three roses. She offers them to the three princes, “I offer these roses for your kindness.” Her lips quiver, the cold seeming to get to her.

Logan scoffs. “God, no. Find somewhere else you wretched old hag.” The other two nod, not hiding their disgust. A shriek escapes their lips as suddenly the ugly hag magically shifts into a beautiful woman. “What the…”

Her face is set in stone, a harsh glare in her eyes. “Despicable. You’d think Princes like yourselves would be kinder. But, alas you have failed the test.”

“What? What test? You are welcome to come in, Miss.” Geralt stumbles, shamelessly checking out the Enchantress. Her lip curls as though she can see the dirty thoughts swirling around in his mind.

Her head tilts, the three roses suddenly being encased in three glass domes, the beautiful flowers floating in the centre. “No. For the curse to be broken, you will have to find someone that will want you, all of you.”

Ari scoffs. “Please. We can have anyone want us, are you blind?”

The Enchantress smirks. “What I mean is for them to want all of you in your true forms.” Suddenly magic swirls around the men and their bodies begin to grow and shred, thick luscious fur replacing flesh. Sharp claws replace nicely kept fingernails, eyes turning a bright golden-yellow. Growls begin to fill the air as canines spurt from their gums, replacing their human teeth. The usual men now beasts stood at eight-feet, towering over the witch and before they could strike, she disappeared. Her words rang in their head. ‘If you do not find someone who truly wants you before the last petal falls, you will be stuck as beasts forever.’

Years pass and nearby in a small village, a beautiful young woman named Y/n-Belle hurries through the town. You greeted people as you passed by, a warm smile resting upon your lips. You hurried over to your favourite store, which happened to be the bookstore, a giant grin appears as you push the door open and stumble through, the excitement vibrating throughout your whole body. Y/n-Belle was a very strange, but smart woman, you were the only one in town that got excited about books and reading, causing you to become an outcast and lonely within the people. But you didn’t mind, you were quite content with living in your fantasies.

The bookstore owner heads over to you, a smile on his face as he hands you one of your favourites. A book that you’ve read a thousand of times, yet would never tire of reading it. You smile, a dreamy look appearing on your face as you peer down at the book, your soft hands grabbing it gently, fingers stroking the cover. “This is my favourite! Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise…” You pause, your imagination flashing before your eyes as you play out the words in the book. You blink, coming back into reality and you give the man a smile. “Oh, thank you very much!”

You spin, your blue and white dress swishing around you. You rush outside, the book already opened and your eyes flickering over the words as you walk. Your head was stuck in the book, not noticing the town's most handsome hunter heading straight for you. “Y/n-Belle!” You were hoping that if you ignored him that he would go away, but that did not seem to be the case. He stopped in front of you, nearly causing you to topple over. Gaston chuckles, “the whole town’s talking about you! It’s not right for a woman to read,” He shakes his head, chuckling as if the thought alone was funny. Yet, you had somehow figured that he’s never picked up a book in his life, his small mind proving that the more he talks. “It’s about time you got your nose out of those books and paid attention to more important things— like me!” He boasts, puffing his chest out like he is the most desirable thing to live and breathe. Truthfully, none of the men in your village caught your fancy. You were more into, well… Beasts.

You desperately try to get away without being rude, not in the mood to deal with a petulant child. You could see your escape, but as you opened your mouth to leave. Gaston’s “friend” joined, beginning to insult your father without much of a hello. Your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. “My father is not crazy! He’s a genius, but you are too stupid to realise that!” You blow up, letting your anger consume you without thinking properly. An explosion interrupts the men from responding, the sound coming from your cottage where your father is currently working on something. Without much thought, you take off running.

You arrive at the cottage, finding your father. Gaston’s words replay in your head, you sit on top of a barrel that is in your front yard. “They think I’m odd, Papa.” You play with your fingers, picking some dirt from underneath your fingernails.

“Don’t worry, Y/n-Belle. My inventions are going to change everything for us. We won’t have to live in this little town forever.” He says with a giant smile, one that used to give you hope to his dreams. But they slowly begin to dwindle as his inventions haven’t gotten any better, but you don’t want to ruin his dreams by voicing your concerns. You watch as he mounts your horse, Philippe, setting off for the fair with his new invention. “Goodbye, Y/n-Belle! Don’t worry about what others say, you will go places!”

Maybe you did still have hope, especially when he gives you another one of his smiles and a wave. You return it, watching as he goes. “Goodbye! Good luck, I believe in you, father!”

Still at the cottage, you don’t know that your father got lost on his way and the events following would eventually lead you to your future, whether it be good or bad. But it would definitely be strange, and full of twists and turns.

You sit inside, your head in your book again. Even though you had read it many times, it would still be your favourite. You are pulled out of your fantasy world as you hear a knock at the door. You get up, slowly opening it and sighing as you see Gaston on the other side. “Gaston! What a… pleasant surprise!” You force a tiring smile on your lips.

Gaston strolls in, taking his shoes off, exposing his dirty and very used socks. He takes a seat at the head of the table, placing his dirty feet on top of your favourite book, causing it to become dirty. A scowl appears upon your face at the disrespect of this man. “Y/n-Belle! There’s not a woman in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes. Do you know why? Because I want to marry you!”

You huff silently, knowing that the only way you could get out of this is if you politely decline and make it seem as though you weren’t worthy of him. “Gaston, I’m speechless!” You gnaw on your bottom lip, hating that this disgusting pig of a man won’t leave you alone. “I’m sorry, but… but…” You swallow, knowing you will have to force these words out. “I just don’t deserve you!” You force back scrunching your nose in disgust, watching as humiliation falls upon his face.

Without a word he stumbles out, hastily putting on his shoes causing him to trip, slipping into some mud. You peeked out, placing a hand over your lips to cover the giggle that threatened to escape past them, watching as the villagers gathered around, hoping to see some sort of wedding or at least a celebration. Only to witness their friend and fellow villager fall into some mud, causing Gaston to feel even more humiliated than before. You’d hope that would at least knock his ego down a few pegs.

You waited until everyone had disappeared from your home before rushing out to feed the chickens. You hear something causing your head to whip around and you find your horse, Philippe, alone without your father. You head over to him, checking for something, anything. “Philippe! What are you doing here? Where’s Papa?!” He whines anxiously and you immediately rush to the house to grab your cloak before running back to him and climbing onto his back. You feel frightened as you think of all the possibilities of what could’ve happened to your father. This feeling pushes you to return to the mysterious forest, allowing you to find a castle that looks like it has been abandoned for many years.

You try and steady, Philippe, brows furrowing when you spot something on the ground. With swift movements, you dismount your horse and move toward the object. A soft gasp passes your lips as you recognise your father’s hat. Without a second thought, you hurry toward the gloomy castle, pushing past the heavy doors and deciding to wander the vast deserted corridors. Your main focus was to find your father, no care of what may happen to you. “Papa? Are you here? It’s Y/n-Belle!” You were met with silence, you continued your search not knowing of the objects that are alive because of the curse within the castle walls.

You stumble along as you finally discover your father locked away in a cell. You gasp, having to kneel as the only opening was at feet level. “Papa! We have to get you out of here!” Suddenly you felt as though you were being watched.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You shouldn’t be in our castle, Little one.”

“Leave now!”

Your eyes widen when you hear three different voices coming from within the shadows. “Please, let my father go! Take me instead!”

There was a scoff filled with curiosity from the shadows. “You would take his place?”

“S–step into the light please…” You asked. Your expression morphed as you stared horrified at three huge, ugly Beasts– well, they weren’t ugly… But you wouldn’t let them know that between your thighs you felt yourself clench around nothing. You gulped, you didn’t want to be anywhere near these monsters, but you agreed to take your father’s place. “I–” You swallow the saliva that gets stuck in your throat. “I would. I will take his place.” Your words left no room for argument, you were putting your foot down. You didn’t know that you signed up for forever with the three Beasts.

As the words left your lips, one of the Beasts grabbed your father from his cell and dragged him throughout the castle, once outside he was thrown into a carriage that would take him home. The other two begin to walk, causing you to follow behind nervously. The third joining immediately, you let your eyes wander. Taking everything in, it felt like one of those books you always had your nose buried in.

Your voice cuts through the silence, sounding as though it echoes through the dark halls. “D–do you three have names?” As I don’t want to continue calling you Beasts in my head, you think the last bit to yourself. Knowing it would be rude of you to voice out loud.

“Ari.”

“Logan.”

“Geralt.”

They growl out, hardened eyes landing on your tiny form. Ari steps toward you, towering over you as you shiver, your eyes wide and you try to shrink into yourself. “Our castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like…”

Geralt cuts in. “Except the West Wing.”

You stare back, innocently asking. “What’s in the West Wing?”

Their bodies tense and they glare as Logan growls out. “It’s forbidden!” Geralt opens a door to your new bedroom and pushes you in.

“You will join us for dinner. That’s not a request.” Ari stares you down, stopping you from protesting. They shut the door and stalk off, separating to different parts of the castle. You lie down on the bed, burying your face into the pillows. You knew you would never escape this prison, nor would you ever see your father again. Maybe you should’ve married Gaston, at least then you wouldn’t be stuck with Beasts.

The disgusting truth though was how much you weren’t disgusted by their forms. Their behaviour. It was definitely something out of those books you read, just less romantic and more animalistic. You huff, shaking your head of those thoughts. You will in no way let them find out about this. It was something different than other women would fantasie about and you didn’t want those… FREAKS! To judge you.

You refused to go to dinner when the time came, knowing you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself if you stayed in the same room as them for too long. Oh, how your father would be disgraced by the woman you’ve become. You had grown bored and hungry and had decided to wander the castle in hopes of finding the kitchen. With quiet footsteps, you exited your room and tiptoed down the halls, peaking your head around corners and stopping whenever you heard the slightest of noises.

You were no fool, the Beasts had been mad when you refused to dine with them and if one of them were to find you wandering the halls in search of food. Well you fear you may become theirs instead. Though, you wouldn’t mind them… No, you couldn’t let your thoughts wander for too long.

A small squeal passes your lips when you finally stumble upon the kitchen, happily making your way over to the fridge before a voice interrupts, causing your heart to drop into your stomach.

“You know… If you had come to dinner. You wouldn’t be so hungry now.” The voice was deep, a growl slipping through with each word. You spin, eyes wide as they land on Logan, how had you missed such a big figure? You squeak, not knowing what to reply with. Logan raises a furry brow, “Cat got your tongue, Little one?” He moves fast, now towering over you. “Or should I say Beast?”

Your thighs press together, a whimper slipping past your lips and your wide eyes stare up at him. “I–I…” Stupid, why the hell would you try to speak when you’re in this position? Your voice would give you away, you daft bimbo. You scowl at yourself, how could you be so dumb when you were the only one to read in your village? You gulp as he leans in with a smirk. You don’t know that their senses had heightened with their transformation, you had practically given yourself away since you broke into their castle.

“Hmm? No words?” Your hunger forgotten and replaced with something else. You notice how his hand, though actually a paw, comes up, a lit cigar between his clawed fingers, bringing it to his lips, puffing on it as he stares into your eyes watching as you follow his movements. “Ya know, my brothers are angry with the fact you ignored their invitation.”

Your eyes roll and you scoff. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to dine with those that are keeping me hostage.” His brow raises again, not expecting so many words to pass your lips. You gulp, where the hell did that come from?

“Huh, so you do say more than four words.” He leans closer if that was even possible, “Better watch your tone with me, Little one or else I’m gonna have to do something about it.” With those words, he disappears and you whimper. Fantastic, the only pair of knickers you have on you and they are completely drenched. You wouldn’t be surprised if the other two could smell you wherever they were.

You shakily prepare a small meal, hurriedly eating it so you don’t have another run in. When you finish, you swear you hear someone speak. But looking around, you find no one. Your brows furrow, are you finally going insane? You begin to get up when you hear it again.

“Excuse me, Miss.” You look around again, what the hell? “Down here, Miss.” You look down and let out a small squeak of surprise, there stands before you a small clock that seems alive? He blinks up at you, a smile on his face? “Hello. I am Cogsworth. I am sorry for frightening you.”

“I–it’s f–fine.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine. You didn’t frighten me, just a bit startled is all.” You try to smile, “Have you been here this whole time?” You hoped he hadn’t, you wouldn’t want to know what an object thought of the previous events.

Cogsworth shakes his head. “No, Miss. Master Logan ordered that I escort you back to your quarters. He doesn’t want you wandering about… In your condition.” His eyes squint, as though he understands yet how could you know he would? You had no clue that the alive object was once a person.

“Oh, okay.” You stand, smoothing down your dress about to follow but you stop. “Actually, Cogsworth. Would you mind giving me a tour of the castle, please?”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as though he was hesitating before he nods. “Okay, follow me. Miss.” You spend most of your night getting acquainted with your new home before you stop underneath a dark staircase. Noticing how Cogsworth seems to want to hurry past it without acknowledging it.

“What’s up there?” Your curiousity seeps through your words.

Cogsworth practically shakes as he answers. “Nothing, absolutely nothing of interest at all in the West Wing.” Your interest piqued as you heard West Wing. You watch as he’s too busy focusing on ensuring the two of you don’t get caught, especially near this staircase. Allowing you to escape unnoticed, racing up the staircase and into a long hallway lined with broken mirrors.

“Well… That’s bad luck for many, many years.” You wet your lips as you cautiously opened the doors at the end of the corridor. You enter the dank, filthy room strewn with broken furniture, torn curtains and grey, gnawed bones. Your eyes wide, taking it all in before they land on the only living object or should you say objects. There behind a glass dome were three shimmering roses. Entranced, Y/n–Belle lifted the cover and reached out to touch one soft, pink petal. You were so entranced that you did not hear Ari enter the room.

“I warned you never to come here!” He advanced on you. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” Your daze had been broken, desire now replaced with fear. You became terrified of his rage, causing you to turn and run. You run out of the room, down the stairs and past Cogsworth and a candle? You didn’t have time to stop, you needed to leave. Not even your lust for your fantasy to come true could stop you. Your feet had taken control of your body.

“Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here another minute!” You flee, finding your horse and taking off. You gallop through the snow until you are met with a pack of fierce, hungry wolves. Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you don’t know whether to scream or breathe. Through your terror, you forgot about the horse you sat upon. He reared, causing you to fall to the ground, tumbling into the snow below. They were advancing on Philippe, so with quick movements, you found a large stick and defended your horse.

“Stay back!” You swing, swiping at them. Hoping and praying that they would leave. Their attention moved from your horse and you would’ve sighed of relief but instead you choked up, the wolves had now turned on you. Their canines bared as they snarl. Oh no, no no no. You thought, brows furrowing as worry fills you. Well, at least they are no longer after Philippe.

You shriek as they pounce, about to rip you apart until suddenly a large paw pulls the animals off of you. It was Ari and you notice Logan and Geralt standing behind him. Anger evident on their faces, you knew it was directed towards you for leaving and now nearly getting yourself killed. You struggle to your feet, stumbling into a pair of arms as all you can do is watch the wolves turn and strike Ari and Logan, fierce growls filling the cold air. The wolves were no match for the two, being torn off and flung as a ferocious howl escapes the Beasts, surprising the wolves before they flee into the night.

Logan grunts while Ari stumbles, collapsing into the snow. Wounded. The brothers attention now focused on him, Geralt’s hold loosening and this could’ve been your chance to escape. But what did you have at home? And when you looked at the fallen Beast, you knew you couldn’t leave him. Even though he had his brothers. Logan and Geralt pull Ari up, arms wrapped around him as he leaned against them. He was not the fighter of the two and not even he knew why he didn’t let Geralt fight in his place.

The Beasts barely spare you a glance, they began to walk away, expecting you to get on your horse and leave. But you didn’t move, with a heavy heart you watched them walk from you. Did your chance slip through your fingers? Philippe nudges you, looking at you with those big eyes and you sigh. He nudges you again, gesturing you to look and when you do, your mouth opens. The three Beasts had stopped, as if they were waiting for you and without a second thought. You grabbed your horse and raced toward them, offering your horse for Ari to rest on and to get to the castle faster so you could tend to his wounds.

Back at the castle, you cleaned Ari’s wound. “Thank you… For saving my life even though you didn’t have to.” You whisper, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I… I hope you can forgive me for running.” You look up from his wound to his face, not knowing the feeling he feels when you look at him like that.

His paw covers your hand, “There’s nothing to forgive, Beauty. I’m the one who should apologise for scaring you.” You shake your head, his gaze gets distracted by the way your hair frames your face and how the light of the sunrise hits your skin, causing you to glow. “Do you think I’m okay enough to walk for a bit? I have something I want to show you.”

Your brows furrow, looking between his wound and him. His face makes it hard for you to say no, but you also didn’t want him to hurt himself by moving too much. You look up again, being met with puppy dog eyes which makes it harder to resist when he’s not exactly human looking. “...Okay! Okay, but only for a little bit. I don’t want you hurting yourself and ruining all of my work.” You assist him as you help him up, allowing his arm to wrap around you. Which is quite difficult seeing as there is a massive height and size difference. Oh god, you begin to think what else is huge… How would you be able to possibly fit it inside of you? You shake your head, ridding yourself of those thoughts, hoping that the Beast wouldn’t catch on.

Ari leads you through the halls before stopping upon two large doors. He leans forward, opening them and you both walk inside. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. “Oh my god!” You look around, a gasp escaping your lips. “This is so beautiful! I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!”

Ari had smiled a real smile for the first time since he was a child. “Then it is yours.” You look at him in disbelief, you could’ve dropped to your knees right then and there.

…

Okay, so you did. You fell right to your knees, not caring that they scraped against the carpet or that a squeak of desire left you as you finally gave into your desire. Ari stared wide-eyed down at you, his mouth wide open as shock filled him. He was not expecting that, if he had known all it would take was giving you their library, he would’ve done that from the beginning. “What… What are you doing?”

Your eyes widen, finally reality hits. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!” You go to stand, but his paw stops you, keeping you in place. You could feel your knickers dampen. Not the same ones, they had mysteriously gone missing when you went to shower before tending to Ari. But you were thankful to whoever laid out new clothes for you.

“I didn’t say you had to get up. I just have never seen someone drop to their knees so fast.” He felt himself harden, his cursed body did come with an added bonus. He was now much larger than his human self, he wasn’t small before. But now it was monstrous.

You watched with wide and lust filled eyes as his pants expanded, stretching to the point it looked as though the seams would break. “Can… Can I?” You gesture to his bulge, looking up at him with large, doe eyes.

“Fuck.” He nods, growling. “Go ahead, Beauty.” His golden-yellow eyes stare down at you, canines digging into his bottom lip as you press your hand against the bulge, feeling it, squeezing it. Your hand is tiny compared to him, causing a whimper to slip from your lips and a growl from his. “You gonna play with it or suck it?” He growls, frustrated. You squeeze your thighs together, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. You let out a moan as his member springs free. Nearly slapping you in the face with how big it is.

You lean forward hesitantly, kissing his weeping tip before bringing it into your mouth and sucking. Your eyes slip closed as you moan around it, it felt so perfect against your tongue. It was a struggle to get the whole tip in your mouth, right now you could only get a small bit in. But you were going to make this work, you didn’t know when another opportunity like this would present itself. Ari watched from above as you struggled to fit him inside, groaning at the sight.

Your tongue flicked over the slit, collecting the pre-cum that leaks out. You let out a whimper as you slowly move further down his cock, taking more of him inside of your mouth. You can feel yourself dripping onto the floor with how wet you are. Ari’s paw slams down on a nearby bookshelf, his growls fill the room, echoing throughout the castle. You rest your hands on his furry thighs, gripping them as you force more of him in, mouth stretched as wide as it can, sucking him in. One hand moves to the rest you can’t fit in, no matter how much you try and force it to. You wrap it around the base, twisting and jerking while your head bobs up and down, tongue swirling and tracing his veins, causing more sounds to escape the Beast.

You don’t notice the two brothers that hide in the shadows, watching you suck off their brother. They felt themselves become filled with hope and desire, knowing you were the one that would break their curse. Ari grips your head, holding you down as he cums down your throat, watching it overflow and drip from the sides of your mouth, trying to swallow everything desperately like the good girl you are. When he pulls his cock free from your mouth, all three Beasts take a sharp breath at how good you looked covered in cum, your eyes glazed over with a need to be fucked.

After the events in the library, everything began to change. Throughout the month, you would find yourself suddenly pushed up against a wall, lips attached to any exposed flesh, hands beneath your dress or groping your breasts. You were so sexually frustrated, the Beasts would rile you up only to leave you wanting more. They would never let you cum, they weren’t even trying to get themselves off. You began to spend your time with them, always sitting on one of their laps, never straying far. If one found you reading or even just simply existing. You’d suddenly be under them, at some point you had cried, begging them to fuck you.

That evening you were sitting on Geralt’s lap, your lip pulled between your teeth as he gently grinds you down on his bulge. Stopping whenever he felt you were too close. Logan lounged across from you, a cigar dangling carelessly between his smirking lips as his dark eyes watched you. Your gaze was pulled from Logan when Ari leant behind him on the chair. “Are you happy, Y/n–Belle?”

You hum, a bit dazed and distracted by the tingles zapping between your thighs. “Yes. I am very happy, I only wish I could see my father and know he made it home safe. I miss him very much.”

Ari hummed in response, turning as if he’s searching for something. Geralt continues his torture on you, making your head fall back as you near your orgasm again, whining when he stops, taking it away. “There is a way.” You blink, trying to focus on what Ari is saying. He moves toward you, handing you a magic mirror. In it, you see your father being locked away as the town gathered around, lit torches in their hands as they chant about killing the Beasts and saving you. An unhappy look crosses your face as you see Gaston leading it. “If you need, you may go if you like.” The Beasts didn’t want you to leave.

You shake your head, “There is no point. There is a group already heading this way, it would be stupid of me to leave now.” Stupid Gaston always ruining your peace. Why was the man so adamant on marrying you? You stand, “I am going outside for a bit of fresh air, is that okay?” You could not think straight when in the same room as them, it was like all common sense flew out the window and the only thing you wanted was for them to use you.

Ari nods, Logan and Geralt scowl when they hear about people coming to their castle. Geralt had seen the look on your face when seeing that man appear in the mirror, a plan forms and he decides to share it with his brothers. Who wouldn’t love a live show?

Your coat flows around you as you exit the castle, cold air immediately hitting you. You wander over to the blooming rose bushes, gently brushing your fingers over the petals. A sudden squeal escapes you as someone grabs you, putting their arms around you and whispering into your ear. “Hello, MY Y/n–Belle. So far from home, why not come back, huh? Come back and I’ll forgive you, Y/n–Belle, come back and we can marry.” Gaston’s voice caused unwanted shivers to roll through you, his was not the voice you wanted to hear nor the arms you wanted around you.

“I will never marry you! Why can’t you get that through your thick head?!” You struggle against his grip, teeth clenched as your words come out rough. “You have gone mad, Gaston!”

Gaston grinned evilly, “Good thing I don’t care, Y/n–Belle. Once I have killed the Beasts, you will be MINE.” You watched as the villagers tore through the castle’s doors, the sound of shouts and a fight breaking out can be heard over the howling wind. “Come. You shall take me to the Beasts, so that I can rid of them and claim you as my own.” His grip on your arm is bruising, dragging you past everyone and up the stairs. You didn’t know why he had chosen this direction, the castle was huge, there was no way he’d be able to find them so quickly… Unless he had been watching, waiting.

“Ah huh! The Beasts! You are not as terrifying as her lunatic of a father said you were!” He pulls you closer to him, three sets of growls ripple through the air as they watch your face become pained. “I shall kill you at last, so that I can claim Y/n–Belle as my own.”

“There’s three of us and one of you. What makes you think you can take us?” Geralt growls, his eyes firmly set on Gaston’s. You shivered, you didn’t know whether it was from fear or horniness. You felt yourself throb and nodded to yourself, definitely the latter. “I suggest you let go of our HoneyBelle.”

Gaston chuckles, pulling a gun from. Well you don’t exactly know where? It was definitely not in his hand or anywhere really when he grabbed you. “This. I am the best hunter there is. I shall have all three of your heads mounted on my wall by morning.” It was a wonder how his head never exploded from how big his ego was. It was almost as big as well… Your mind began to drift again and you had to shake your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts, it wasn’t the time.

The Beasts smirked, they had learnt to read your body well. Their Little one, Beauty and HoneyBelle was thinking inappropriately at an unfortunate time. You had come out of your daze in time to notice the designs on the wall come to life. Like a snake, the marble vines slithered across the floor and wrapped around Gaston’s leg. “What is this?!” He tries shaking his leg, letting go of you from the distraction. You squeak as arms pull you toward them, you look up to see Ari before he places you behind him. Gaston snarls, seeing you had gotten away. “You freaks! You think you can defeat me?! I AM THE GREAT GASTON!” He roared, but he was no match for a Beast's roar.

Having shrunk into himself as Logan roared back, it allowed the vine to pull him into a room that was conveniently set up. It dragged him over to a chair placed in the middle of the room, the arms had strangely been taken off. Gaston was harshly placed down onto the chair, the vines wrapping around him and the seat, securing the angered hunter. “I will escape this foolishness and take Y/n–Belle as my own!” He struggles against the vines grip.

The three Beasts stalk into the room, pulling you gently, but possessively along. Logan pulls you to stand in front of them, from Gaston’s perspective. You looked so tiny before them, you didn’t even look that tiny next to him and he was the tallest in the village. The Beasts towered over you, looking menacing to everyone but you.

“You will see who she belongs to. Won’t he, Little one?” Your thighs press together, feeling yourself throb between them and you nod. “Take off your dress.” Your hands move shakily as you lift your dress over your head and gently toss it to your side, Gaston’s eyes widen as he finally gets to see what he’s been wishing for. Maybe the Beasts are going to let him have a taste before he kills them. He smirks at that thought, becoming cocky once more. Logan moves toward you, staring at the hunter as he grasps your breast, squeezing it before rubbing your hardened nipples. “You see this? See how she reacts to our touch?” He growls, everyone in the room watches as you whimper, eyes watering and thighs pressed tightly together.

“Why don’t you go and lay on his lap, Little one.” He tells you, “On your stomach, no touching.” He glares at Gaston as he says the last part. Knowing in some way that the hunter would try and possibly slip through those vines like the slippery git he is. Logan’s paw hits your arse, pushing you forward with a slap. You squeal, timidly walking over to the bounded man, laying across his lap, the vines seem to welcome you instead of digging into you.

You bite your lip as you watch the Beasts stalk forward, coming closer. You whimper as Ari kneels between your legs and Geralt stands above your head. Logan stands directly in the middle, staring down Gaston who greedily stares down at you, his mouth opens and everyone knows he’s about to say something, but a vine slithers up and covers it before he can speak. Wrapping itself around until he’s gagged and bound.

“Such a pretty sight, Beauty. Are you ready to cum after all of this waiting? Hmm? We know we’ve been depriving you of it.” You moan at his words, not being able to respond or place your head down because you were too focused on the giant bulge in front of you. You throb at the sight, you could never get over how large they were.

“It seems she can’t reply at the moment, Ari. Our girl is a bit dumbstruck.” Geralt tilts his head, looking at Gaston. “Whores, you understand right?” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as his gaze turns back to you. “Why don’t you take my cock out, HoneyBelle. Show this human what you prefer.” You whine, squirming in Gaston’s lap as you reach your hands out quickly, the Beasts chuckle at how desperate you are.

You had only seen Ari’s cock, none of the other Beasts would give you the pleasure to see theirs. It felt like such a punishment when you could feel them, but you weren’t allowed to see. When you saw Ari’s you thought he was the biggest that you’ve ever seen, obviously you were wrong. Geralt seemed to at least be an inch longer, maybe more. Your eyes flickered over to Logan’s clothed cock, wondering if he was bigger than these two.

Geralt moves your head back to him, your mouth falls open as he guides his member inside, forcing it in unlike Ari. Speaking of, the other Beast dives between your thighs, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense pleasure that shoots through you. Your moans vibrate around Geralt’s member, causing him to tilt his head back and let out a roar. He holds your head in place as he begins to thrust back and forth, fucking your mouth like it’s his own personal fleshlight. You drool from being used, allowing him to thrust in and out easier.

Ari palms your arse and thighs, holding you close as he devours your sweet cunt. His tongue thrusts in and out of your glistening hole before switching to lick and suck your puffy clit, taking the little bead between his sharp canines. A giant grin appears on his face as your squeals can be heard around his brother’s cock, your squirms become frantic and your toes curl. He laps your sweet juices up, knowing he would never let you go after having tasted you.

Gaston grunts, becoming disgusted with himself as he hardens at the sight, his growing bulge pushes against your stomach. Twitching as you continue to squirm against him. Logan’s glare sharpens as he notices.

“Stop.” Everything ceases and you whine, tongue hanging out of your mouth, eyes crossed and cunt tingling as you wonder why the pleasure had been stopped. He waves his paw, gesturing for you to be pulled up. You squeal as Ari pulls you up, his large bulge presses into your back, quite close to your shoulders with how tall he was. “Are you getting off on our Little one?” The growl echoes throughout the room and goes straight to your cunt.

Logan pulls you from Ari’s hold, holding your hip with one paw while the other pulls his pants down, releasing his thickened member. You feel it slap against your body and jolt, a gasp escaping you. You had a guess that he definitely was the biggest between the three. He grasps his throbbing member in his hold, stroking it as he directs his leaking tip against your sopping cunt. Logan holds eye contact with the defenseless hunter as he thrusts into you, stretching your walls wide. Your head falls back into his chest, no sounds escape your opened mouth as you are speechless. You swear you could see colours with how delicious the stretch felt, you had never felt so full before.

The Beasts and the hunter gulp as they see the bulge appear on your stomach, it slowly disappears as Logan pulls out slowly only to thrust back in. Your arms flail about as you try and find something to grip onto, your hands grab onto his biceps, arms and fur as he begins to pound into you. Growls fill the room as Logan picks up his brutal pace, slamming in and out of you like a wild animal. His grip on your hips tighten, canines bared as he lowers his head down to your exposed neck.

“Logan!” His brother’s eyes widen as they go to stop him, but it’s too late. Logan latches onto your neck, sinking his canines into your flesh and growling as your warm blood seeps into his mouth. Your eyes roll back as your cunt clenched tightly around the Beast. Your back arches, nails digging into his flesh as you scream, cumming around him repeatedly.

“Logan!” A different shout comes through. Not his brother’s, but yours. You cry his name as he continues to pull orgasms from your small body, fucking into you harder and faster until he pulls away from your neck and roars, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his thick, angry tip and coat your walls. Filling your tiny cunt to the brim, possibly even making its way into your stomach before it drips out, coating your thighs white. He suddenly feels weakened as he pulls out of you, he stumbles back and falls. Ari catches you as they stare at their brother wide-eyed.

“The curse! It must be the curse!” The brother’s exclaim, looking at each other before looking at you with wide grins.

“Are you ready for more, Beauty?” You nod rapidly, already feeling desire take over as you think about these Beasts using you again. He pulls you over to the hunter, pressing you into the side of the chair, your breasts pushing into Gaston’s face, back arching as Ari grips onto you and you grip the chair tightly as he guides his throbbing member into your used cunt, his eyes roll back at the feel of how tight you are. “Fuck, Beauty. So perfect for us.” He leans forward, flattening his tongue against your wounded neck, licking up your blood before sinking his teeth in as he begins to pound into you, pushing you into the desperate man. Gaston is forced to suffer as your bare breasts press into him whilst you get fucked by another man. Ari towers over you, covering your whimpering form. His cock slides in and out of your fluttering hole with sharp thrusts, already feeling his end nearing. He slides his paw to your stomach, pressing on the bulge before continuing to travel down to your puffy clit and plays with it.

You jerk, mouth falling open as your walls tighten around him and your juices flow out, coating him as you cum, your toes curl and your moans fill the room. Ari follows quickly behind, stuffing his cock deep inside of you as he lets go with a roar, filling you with his cum alongside his brother’s. You feel your stomach filling from a weird angle, as he slides out of you, you look down to see your stomach bulging a tiny bit. You whimper, your cunt pulsates as you move toward Geralt, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desperate to be filled again. Not noticing Ari slumping against the wall, his body draining.

Geralt growls, gripping your throat between his clawed fingers. “You want more, HoneyBelle?” You nod, pouting. Your eyes glazed over. “What a slut you are.” He tuts, “I want to test something out first.” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as he slides his cock deep into your used cunt with one quick thrust. Watching your eyes roll back for possibly the twentieth time that night, he was surprised they hadn’t gotten stuck. He stills and you whine, clutching him, your hips move as you bounce yourself up and down his cock. His grip around your throat tightens. “I want you to watch, HoneyBelle.” You pout, looking at him before he turns your attention to poor defenseless Gaston.

Your eyes widen as you watch the vines slowly remove themselves from his body, you clutch Geralt tightly as Gaston blinks, he slowly stands and with a vicious growl, he pulls out a dagger and launches himself towards the two of you. Your cunt tightens around the Beast and with wide eyes you watch as Geralt swipes his paw that isn’t gripping your throat, his claws dig deeply into the hunters throat, large slashes appear as Gaston’s body drops. His face permanently set in a shocked expression. You whimper, feeling yourself drip around Geralt’s member.

You blink, looking innocently at his face as he smirks. “Just what I thought. You are a very nasty whore, HoneyBelle.” You clench around him, the paw that is marked with Gaston’s blood comes up and grips your face while the other moves down to hold onto your thighs. You felt so dirty, but in a good way. You don’t notice him moving you over to a wall, the vines from before slither over, wrapping around your wrists and ankles as they hold you open for all to see. Geralt grins, sliding his bloody paw down your body, leaving a trail of blood that mixes with your own. “I’m going to fuck you now, HoneyBelle. So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Hard.” With his last word, the Beast begins to pound into you, splitting you open.

You scream and moan, your nails digging into your palms. You can’t help but struggle against the vines, wanting, NEEDING, something to hold onto. Your head hits the wall as your half–lidded eyes watch Geralt ruin you, fucking you like the wild Beast he is. His golden-yellow eyes never leave yours. Not until he leans forward and digs his canines into the very same spot Logan and Ari did, reveling in the taste of your blood, the feel of it flowing into him, dripping down his chin.

The feeling of his cock splitting you open and his canines ripping through your flesh cause your vision to go white as you cum, squirting all over the Beast. Your arousal coats him, dripping down his thick member. Geralt growls, slamming into you harder and faster, his head now out from your neck, eyes watching you before he buries himself inside of you. Cumming deep into you, his gaze flickers down and he watches as your stomach bulges a bit more from being filled by three different types of cum. He grins, slowly thrusting as he emptied himself inside of you before pulling out and falling to the ground like his brother’s.

The vines don’t pull away, you hang against the wall. Your eyes flutter as your mind is dazed. You swear you see gold swirling around the three Beasts bodies, causing your brows to furrow as you try and blink away the cloudiness. You were saddened that in place of your Beasts were normal human men… You broke their curse.

The three brother’s groan, slowly dragging themselves up from the floor. Their eyes scan each other before looking down at themselves, seeing their human selves. “Finally. The curse has been broken and I am no longer bound as a Beast.” You whimper, causing their eyes to shoot toward you.

Ari moves over, hands skimming your soft body. “Hello, Beauty.” You frown.

They were handsome, you weren’t blind. All three of them looked different to each other and their animal form. Ari with medium length brown hair and pretty blue eyes, a bushy beard covering some of his face. Logan with short dark brown hair that somehow had styled small horns on top and hardened blue eyes, a slight beard covering his face. Then there’s Geralt, different from the two with his long white hair and golden eyes, a five o’clock shadow rests on his face. You stared at the brothers. They were gorgeous for humans, somewhat god-like but deep down, you desired the Beasts within them. Somehow, it made them… More.

Geralt smirks at his work. “I am not going to lie, I will miss being a Beast.” Logan grunts at his brother’s words. The vines finally unravel from your wrists and ankles, allowing Ari to catch you and carry you over to the bed.

You would later learn that the men wouldn’t stay just men, the Beast still lived within, especially when they tasted your sweet blood before the curse was broken.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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juniperskye · 19 days ago

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Take A Seat.

A lil Blurb - Based on the following request: Please Aaron Hotchner x BAU! fem reader smut? like they are just lazily making out on the couch and things get hot? (Reader rides Hotch like her live depends on it and Hotch clingy for dear life while she does it)

Hotch x Fem Reader

Word count: 607

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, Fem reader, pet names, SMUT, porn with no plot. Let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Aaron had just returned from a two-week long case, and you were feeling pretty needy. Jack had been spending the night with his aunt and you had never been more grateful for that fact. The second Aaron had walked through the door you had pounced on him.

That was nearly thirty minutes ago now. His go bag, shoes, and suit jack long forgotten in the entryway.

Now, Aaron was sat on the couch with you straddling his lap. Your shirt had been tossed over somewhere near the coffee table and the buttons on Aarons had been pulled open in a heated frenzy.

He was sucking deep purple marks into the skin where your neck and shoulder met while you grind your hips down into his lap. A moan slipped past your lips as Aaron nipped at your skin. His gaze lifted to meet your own and if you looked anything like he did…you were both completely wrecked. Hair tousled, lips swollen, pupils dilated and dark with lust, desperate. You knew what he needed and even more so, you knew he was going to give into your desires before anything else. That’s the thing about Aaron…he was a giver.

“I need you.” You gasped as Aarons lips pressed into the top of your barely covered breasts.

“You have me sweetheart. Take whatever you need.” He mumbled, pulling the lace of your bra down to expose your peaked nipple.

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips when his teeth grazed over the sensitive nub. With shaking hands, you moved to pull at his belt, trying to free his achingly hard cock. It had been straining against his slacks, pressing hot against your core for the better half of the last half hour.

Aaron tapped your thigh, signaling you to stand momentarily to allow you both to rid yourself of the remaining clothing you had on. After a moment of tender hands assisting one another to undress, you made your way back to your previous positions.

As you lower yourself back into Aaron’s lap, he guides his cock into your waiting entrance.

“God your cock feels so good.” You groan into Aaron’s ear.

“That’s it baby. Take what you need.” Aaron praises as you find your rhythm.

The room was hot, salacious sounds of skin slapping against skin the only audio in the room. Your hands were white knuckled, holding the back of the couch as you bounced up and down on Aaron’s cock. His hands gripping your hips, supporting your movements. While his face pressed to your skin, moving from your neck to your breasts as you moved against him.

The sounds escaping both you and Aaron were pornographic, loud and uncontrolled as you both neared peak.

“Aaron baby I’m close!” You gasped.

“Cum for me sweet girl, let it go.” He instructed.

After a few more thrusts, you felt the band snap, orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. All the while Aaron is now guiding your hips, chasing his own release. His hands wrapped around you in a bruising grip while his lips attach to your skin.

Sweat was cast over your skin, your hands were holding onto Aaron’s shoulders, you’re thankful for his grip on you as you are sure you’d have collapsed by now. His continued ministrations have sent another wave of pleasure to wash over you and the convulsions of your pussy finally sending him over the edge.

Aaron painted your walls with a grunt of pleasure, and as his breathing settled, he placed a sweet kiss against your lips.

“I missed you.” You whispered.

“I missed you too sweetheart.”

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dixonsbrat · 1 year ago

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𖥔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𖥔

summary ; coriolanus needs to learn how to relax.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; smut. 18+ content. minors do not interact! handjob (male receiving). swearing. spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

coriolanus’ determination to achieve the plinth prize was palpable. the coveted prize, awarded annually to the top students at the academy, granting them money and essentially a free ride through the university, was all he had been focusing on.

countless books lay strewn across his desk, balls of crumpled up paper scattered around the room, as he stood before it. leaning against the old wooden table as his arms firmly held him steady. it was a clear indication that coriolanus had been pushing himself, striving to make every word and every thought count.

while it was something to admire, that didn’t stop the worry that had been seeping in. it wouldn’t have been obvious to most, but to you, someone who spent a lot of time with him, you could see the dark circles that had begun to encapsulate his eyes, the way his hair was slightly disarrayed, or the fact that he hadn’t even completely changed out of his academy uniform. only his bright red pants and blue shirt still firmly clad on his body.

he doesn’t hear you come in, doesn’t hear the thud from you closing the door, or you dropping your bag on the chair in the corner of the room. too enthralled by his textbooks and whatever scribbled nonsense is written in them, that it’s not until you wrap your arms around him from the back that he finally takes notice of your presence.

a smile spreads across his face as he places a hand atop of yours, “what are you doing here?” he asks, surprised but pleased to see you.

you pull him closer, embracing the feeling of holding him in your arms after barely getting to see him that day. the smell of roses filling your senses as you drink him in, “tigris let me in, said you’ve been cooped up in here all afternoon. plus, i… missed you.”

“i really missed you too, my love, but i-”

“-have so much to do. i know,” you cut him off, finishing his sentence. the same sentence you had been getting for weeks now. “which is exactly why you are going to put away the books and spend some time with your girlfriend.”

you can physically see the gears beginning to turn in his head, trying to think of a way to let you down gently. you didn’t take it to heart, you knew how important it was for him to win the plinth prize. you were the only one outside of his family that did.

“you already know you’re going to get that prize, coryo,” you sigh, “nobody even comes close in comparison to how hard you’ve been working for it, but you’ve gotta stop spreading yourself so thin.”

“i know, but tigris and grandma’am-”

“-would agree with me, that you need a night off,” you press a gentle kiss to the back of his shoulder, and pull him in even tighter. his head lulls back to lean against yours, blond curls falling into his face as a sigh leaves his lips. he knew you were right. “you’re always taking care of everyone else, let me take care of you for once.”

he turns to look at you now, eyes big and dewy, a mixture of surprise and understanding as he comprehends the hidden meaning behind your words. however, before he can utter a single word in response, your hands gently glides along his abdomen, gradually tracing its way down to were the band of his pants delicately meets his waist. his breath catches momentarily, captured by a flicker of anticipation, while his unwavering gaze remains fixed upon your own, unyielding and brimming with unspoken emotions.

“you’ve been working so hard,” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost tauntingly, but he hears you all the same, “... let me help you relieve some of that tension.”

coriolanus swallows hard, falling into your hands, both physically and metaphorically, and he surrenders with a nod. it brought a smile to your face to see the hard exterior he put on crumble, become powerless, and just from your mere touch.

his back stiffened as he leaned against you, watching as your hand roamed lower now, trailing down to where he was confined behind his pants. a shaky breath escapes him and he shifts on the balls of his feet, waiting with anticipation as you finally make contact with his now pulsing bulge. nothing separating you except for the thin material of his underwear.

“y/n,” he sighs, your name falling from his lips so gracefully.

you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, pleased to see the effect you had on him. “shh, don’t think about it, you do enough of that as it is. just relax,” you push on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, as a bright flush spreads across it.

you could feel him getting harder in your grasp, his breaths growing shorter and lower, eyes flailing closed with desperation. your hand runs circles around him, groping him where he needed you the most. it brought you pleasure just to hear the soft moans escaping him, watching him lose control to you.

his chest rises and falls at a dramatic pace, his patience wearing thin, but that was all part of the fun. you wanted him needy, begging for you to touch him.

“fuck, y/n,” he gasps, illiciting a stroke of excitement in you.

deciding that he had enough of you teasing him, you waste no time delving into his underwear and releasing him from the constraints of his pants. an audible sigh of relief comes from coriolanus as you do so, his body shuddering slightly at the warmth of your hand finally making contact.

he rests in your hand, his largely endowed member, all pretty and pink at the tip. you stroke him teasingly, rubbing the end with your finger to gather the pre-cum that had trickled out, using it to help you start stroking him. he shudders from the movement, struggling to stand still as you slowly pump your hand up and down his shaft.

you remove your hand momentarily to collect some of your spit and when you hold him once more he shudders, struggling to stand still, and his hips begin to move involuntarily. if there was one thing coriolanus loved more than you pleasuring him, it was watching you pleasure him.

tucking his chin against his chest, he watches as your hand works his length, pumping back and forth with ease. his hips jut forward, begging for more, until it all becomes to much and his hands lurch forward to grasp onto the table before him, just like they were when you walked in.

“let it out for me, baby,” your voice is reassuring in his ear, sweet and soft, full of promise.

hearing you speak to him in such a way pulls a moan from the back of his throat and he just about loses it. his body tightens at the same time, hips bucking himself into your hand faster as the coil in the pit of his stomach finally bends and breaks.

he clamps his teeth down on his lower lip to muffle his moans, trying to remain quiet so that no one else could hear what the two of you were up to. his knuckles turn white as he gently bangs his fist down on the desk, and it’s only seconds before your hand is warm with his cum.

“fuck me,” he whisper-shouts, eyes clenching shut as his hips jut and dick twitches in your hand.

“that’s my boy,” the comment pulls a small chuckle from coryo as you remove your hand, his white secretion now coating it, “though, it does seem like an awful waste. i guess it’s a good thing i’m not done with you yet.”

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mysindividual · 2 months ago

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Unknowingly, hers | Aaron Hotchner

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: A rainy night in a bar, an undercover task, coquetting with your boss — what else could you wish for? After days of trying to catch the murderer, and one stagnant investigation without any solid leads, the team ultimately uncovers how their unsub targets his victims. You could only think of one strategy: set up an ambush. An ambush that put you and your supervisor in an uncomfortable position, leading in the need to engage in flirtatious interactions.

warning: boss x subordinate, age gap, MUTUAL PINING, pre-established rship, mentions of alcohol, rape, killing.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

Aaron Hotchner was not a man who would allow himself to be distracted from a task, much less a man who enjoyed sitting and sipping beer in some smoky bar, flirting with women — even if it was just for show. His work always came first — that was why he agreed on this charade. He was devoted to work more than his own self, always his number one priority, and his now ex-wife could attest. So knowing that fact and knowing himself, there was absolutely nothing that could distract him from work. Or there ought not to be. So what had changed now?

In his line of work distractions were never good. They could be, what one would say, fatal.

Chilly droplets of dew trickled from the glass surface, down into his pocket where he tightly grasped the bottle, giving him the sensation that it was his own cold sweat running down his temples.

He might not have even noticed it was getting overly hot until the moment you sat down beside him. About to ask you for a drink, his what was supposed to be a flitting gaze paused on you and in that agonizing moment he watched as you took off your jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, leaving you in a red t-shirt and jeans that hugged you around your waist and hips.

The taste of his cold beverage was not enough to quench the fire in his throat.

What on earth was the matter with him!

He swallowed, his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Irritated by the mere idea, with a frown on his face as dark as the weather outside, he looked back at the bottle he was holding. Why was he staring? Why was he even thinking about it? He needed to focus. You were embarking on a mission that held importance for the whole team. The case was put on hold due to a lack of information and leads for days, weeks. Until two days ago when you showed up in his office, with newspaper in your hands and sugary crystals glued to your lips — why did he remember that? — and finally provided him with the first solid lead in a long time. Concluding this case meant a sense of relief and a good night's rest for the team.

God, he didn't even notice or hear when the bartender approached. Or when in the midst the cacophony of noise you ordered your drink, then how could he carry out this task?

He stole a side-glance at you, only then wishing he didn’t.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way your fingers tenderly curled around the glass and brought it up, pressing to your lips. Despite the surrounding and background noise that busted around the bar — clink of bottles, soft music playing, the hum of conversation, the men cheering for their football team playing on the TV — Hotch found himself able to discern the sound of that shot sliding down your throat in a slow motion, just momentarily tingling beneath the sensitive skin on your neck.

While you were not paying attention, he allowed his gaze to move from your face, down the skin of your neck and arm, to the glass held in your fingers, then finally settling on your lips.

“Just one." You made two promises there.

You promised the first time, setting your glass down on the bar counter once you felt his glance on you, disapproving your way of handling. However, much to your shock, he remained silent.

Just one. You promised the second time — but this time to yourself — once you caught a glimpse from the corner of your eye that he was giving you one of those looks that initially shook the earth beneath your feet and then stabilised you.

Just one because one was needed to put you in a right mood — the ideal ambiance in a corner of your mind, not as distant as one might assume. Just one because you were scared to risk how’d you behave yourself in his presence in this atmosphere.

And he let you take just one because he knew the two drinks did the charm for you.

One was absolutely harmless.

Two… made you into a fiddler.

2 days ago

"Advertisement?" He paused in the middle of flipping a page in his file, glancing at you skeptically from beneath his dark eyebrows, weighing the possible veracity behind your words. Then, you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips only then being hyper-aware of how you’d left your office.

You found yourself muttering an apology, glancing sideways, your fingertips ever-so-slightly brushing the sticky sugar away. And offered, "Take a look."

Minutes ago, inside the privacy of your office, surrounded by 4 walls, you were enjoying your lunch break.

To be quite frank, it was not how you typically chose to spend your time off. You would be out or in the cafeteria with the rest of your team, but the situation in the last few days was a little different. Venturing outside — past your office — provided a great opportunity to run into your boss, which you’d been attempting to steer clear of recently. And so you were sitting in the comfort of your chair, your legs crossed on the table, a doughnut in one and the newspaper in the other hand.

Rising fuel prices.

California wildfires.

British police find car bombs in London.

You found it impossible to continue reading. The purpose of a lunch break was a time-out from work. So you flipped through a couple of pages to reach the back section of the newspaper where the advertisements were located. You’d been wanting for quite some time now to find yourself another car. And so, you skimmed through some advertisements, while others you carefully read, until one finally caught your attention.

It was one of the less prominent ads, and the yellow letters and caption were the one that allured you every time. Every 4th of a month.

Find love! Find gay friends! Find you! FIND OUT! If you are looking to find more about sex, love, or relationship with other guys — congratulations! You've just found it!

You sat upright in the chair, the heels of your boots echoing off the tile floor. With the doughnut firmly gripped between your teeth, you held the newspaper with both hands now and brought it closer to your eyes.

An ultimate guide on how gay men get guys.

"Oh, God!" You exclaimed, hastily taking the doughnut out of your mouth and putting it back in the box on the desk, grabbing the newspaper and making your way to Hotch’s office.

“That has to be it.” Leaning back deep in his chair, Derek played with the pencil in his hands. "We have already analyzed and investigated into all the rational methods that the unsub could’ve used to reach the victims.”

"Absolutely." Garcia added and hurriedly continued speaking in a barely understandable manner, as if reluctant she might acknowledge her mistake. "I checked everything: their online activities, credit cards, surveillance footage... Nothing."

"We know that none of these victims used online-blind-dating sites, or whatever. We know they've never set foot in a gay bar before. So how did the killer get to them? Their family and friends never suspected, let alone knew, that they were gay." Rossi explained. "The victims themselves weren't aware of their homosexuality.”

“And this ad right here…” You unfolded your arms and leaned forward on the desk, glancing at Hotch briefly before focusing down where your finger tapped the new, textured paper. "It provides exactly that. To find themselves from within. This has to be it.”

“We also know the profile." Hotch finally replied, not taking his eyes off you. "I want you to find all the previous newspapers in which these ads can be found. The meetings’ location, time and place, must be announced somewhere in there. There’s a possibility the messages will be encrypted, so take Reid with you. And Garcia…” You nodded in agreement, and he stared at you for a minute longer before shifting his focus to Garcia, who stood behind you, picking at her nails. “Find everything you can about this ad and how the victims were able to contact the advertiser."

The murder seemed linked to the ad, and Hotch’s instincts were usually accurate because they were not mere guesses, but predictions based on numerous factors, all considered in light of his experience.

Gathering all the needed information, the team agreed on the strategy.

“We need someone inside. Someone who will play a confused young man, curious, eager..." Rossi didn't even get a word out, and everyone's gaze — some sneakily, some more openly — were fixed on Reid who was ready to protest but decided otherwise. Arguing with all of you was pointless. Besides, he was the only young man around — he’d remember this and gladly rub it on Derek’s nose.

On the other side of the table, Derek and Emily quickly agreed on teaming up.

"I agree. But if possible, I would like to avoid this long-awaited undercover mission, and be the one to stay behind with Garcia. My stomach still hurts." Waving his hand at his stomach, Rossi grimaced.

“Do you realize we are discussing a man who managed to overpower four men, rape them, and then kill them?" Reid objected.

"Y/L/N and I will join." Hotch said expressionlessly, interlocking his gaze with you just for a second.

Join how? You wondered, your elbow on the armrest, your chin resting on your fist. Garcia stood up, placing documents atop each other, muttering under her breath. "Nothing easier… just be the two of you, but together."

Hotch's eyebrows snapped together, meeting your eyes briefly once again before he looked to the side at Garcia with barely tamed fire in his eyes. "I'm sorry?"

“I- um- sir…” Garcia stuttered and you seized the opportunity to leave the office before Hotch unleashed that smoldering fire on all of you.

Glancing behind your shoulder, Garcia ran after you with a swift pace you'd never seen her take before. Together you both hurried down the stairs and rushed through the glass door, cursing each other before parting ways in the hallway — each heading to your own den.

And that was how you got here.

“So… A gay man in a straight people’s bars.” You finally spoke, trying to sound casual even though this meeting wasn’t. “Finds his victims who are also gay and kills them the same night. At first glance it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Without knowing what we know — it doesn’t.” Hotch replied, then took a sip from his bottle. The victims had never before crossed the threshold of the bars in which they met with the unsub. The unsub found them the same night, and then killed them. “But it was a smart move to throw the cops off to a wrong path.”

“Definitely.” You agreed. “In this modern digitalized world who’d even bother to check the newspapers.”

When he didn’t say anything in return, you sighed, leaning towards the bar, pushing the empty glass away.

"You two look like a date gone wrong." Even with the music playing, Derek's amused voice could be heard loud and clear through the small earbud piece. You leaned back slightly to catch sight of Derek and Emily dancing lavishly together.

“Like every date Y/N goes to.” Emily added, smirking at you.

That earned them a reproachful look from their boss.

Nice, now your boss knew how lame your dating life was.

But nonetheless, you laughed, and the warmth of your laughter enveloped Hotch's heart. Looking back at you, he softened and watched as you swirled the ice cubes in your fresh Coke with a small red straw. Then bringing the straw up to your lips, you took a sip. Now it was his jaw that clenched.

“Incorrect…” you playfully remarked, your eyes sparkled as you held his gaze determinedly over the rim of your glass, and that victorious grin on your face transitioned into something affectionate, something intimate. “This one takes the cake."

“Sir! I told you gotta act!”

"Garcia." Aaron warned.

“I can multitask, sir.” She quickly added, with a hint of reverence. “I have a reputation I intend to keep. So no, no developments as of now."

"Could he possibly know we've found out?" You asked.

"I doubt it."

While talking, Aaron usually had the tendency to look around the room, examine the faces and look for any signs of trouble. The bar had an overall sense of amusement, with sporadic bursts of loud chatter and individuals savoring drinks such as beer, neat whiskey, or some mixed drinks and sodas with straws. Couples, friends, loners — everyone was busy either drinking, dancing, or... kissing.

His hand trembled, holding onto the beer tightly as he brought it to his mouth and chugged, grimacing. "What happened with Brad?" He finally asked, taking you aback just a little.

It’d been a few days since that conversation with him about Brad, and it had quite bothered you that he hadn’t asked you anything about your final decision.

"Who is Brad?" You chuckled, your head dropping slightly before looking up at him again, a warm smile forming on your lips that... It stole something from him, something he couldn’t express crisply enough. In this very casual manner, you appeared …beautiful while brushing back the hair that skimmed your cheeks.

He frowned, glancing down, collecting his thoughts. At some point along the way you had become a distraction. Pushing that realization aside with a blink, he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. He looked at the beer he was holding like it was an escape — a safe haven from your gaze. He had nearly consumed all of his drink. Hotch had been refraining from alcohol for some time, now it was starting to affect him. He did drink stronger drinks alone in his apartment or at Rossi’s after his divorce, and even then he noticed he couldn’t keep up with it the way his younger self used to. Yeah. It had to be it.

“Well, I suppose it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, in fact it was you who helped me realize. Some mistakes aren’t worth repeating twice. So cheers to that, sir.” You swivelled sideways and towards him, holding your glass up before taking a sip.

Sir. There that came again. It was not that he hated being called ‘sir’, damn, Garcia called him that too many times and the thought never appalled him. He was just not used to hear you call him ‘sir’. It was mainly ‘Hotch’, sometimes even ‘Hotchner’, or if you were being a little tease then you referred to him as ‘boss’.

“Sir!” Garcia’s voice came through, cutting his thoughts in half. “He’s here!”

You shared a knowing glance.

And then suddenly, some guy sauntered in, physically placing himself between you and Hotch. The action was unexpected, quite bold. However, you then realized that to most outsiders, the two of you probably didn't appear to be a couple. In this very bar, couples around you were doing…things, and the two of you hardly spoke at all.

“Hey there sunshine.” He drawled, leaning against the bar, looking down at you. The tall man didn’t mind or acknowledge Hotch at all. He had black lush hair, probably devastatingly blue eyes, in his late 20s – early 30s. Closer to your age than Hotch was anyway, he thought to himself. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Finding yourself in this awkward position, before you could even answer, Hotch cleared his throat. The latter turned around peevishly just enough to give Hotch gray glares, and arching an eyebrow, replied disgusted. "I didn't ask you... pal." And he turned to you again, a jolly smirk on his face.

So Hotch was right. The man had devastatingly blue eyes.

Aaron glanced annoyedly at his beer. If he could have, he'd have smashed that bottle on his head. But decided to go with a more rational option and patted the man’s shoulder.

"It's showtime." Derek's voice sang in the bug.

"She's busy... pal." Your boss countered, his voice low and tinged with warning.

"Doesn't seem so..." He now addressed Hotch over his shoulder, choosing not to let your companion bother him or to take his eyes off of you. “…pal.”

The man’s finger made way under your chin and he tilted your head backwards, hovering over you.

“Oh ‘xcuse me…” You scoffed disapprovingly at the boldness of his action, moving your head away from his touch. Bristled.

The crease between Aaron’s eyebrows deepened further, keenly resolute. He felt the bubbles of anger simmer inside him, waiting for the right sign to explode. He smothered a sigh, steeling himself. If he had been on assignment somewhere on the field — any other, or on a real date with you — he'd have handled the situation in a much different way. Instead, he put his hand on the man's shoulder again, but this time firmly, and pushed him away from you.

"I said..." The baleful timbre of Aaron’s voice carried the same threat evident on his face. He reached out and grabbed the stem of your chair. The tiles beneath creaked as he dragged the chair towards himself, closing the gap between the two of you. Your knees accidentally brushed against his leg and the familiar warm sensation returned to your stomach, causing your pulse to quicken. "She's with me." Something ickered in Aaron’s eyes. You were unsure how to interpret it.

"And what could a woman like her want with a grump like you?" You heard the guy say, stepping towards Hotch, his chest puffed out.

You had to stop it before it escalated.

Deliberately, you inched closer, your gaze meeting Aaron’s. Behind your flashing eyes, he could see both — a permission and an apology for what you were bracing yourself to do.

“It’s okay…” You began gently, swallowing as you placed your hands on Aaron’s knees, stroking his legs. You couldn't look away from your boss's eyes, and as you smiled, subtly wrinkling your nose at him, you could have sworn that the muscles under the denim fabric hardened even more than they had just a moment before. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Being in such proximity, it was impossible to ignore all the things Aaron noticed about you — the depth of your bottomless eyes, shiny lips, the peachy scent of your hair was the only scent worthy in this noisome crowd. He was definitely drunk, a bit tempted. Never had he ever been intoxicated solely by the subtle scent of a shampoo.

"Well, if you wanna have real fun, I'll be sitting over there." He winked at you, pointing somewhere behind you.

You both watched as the man walked away, only then ending the charade. An awkward tension set between you two that made you feel every beat of your wilding heart. In a profound quietness, you both swivelled around and towards the bar. In a deafening silence, both of you, reflected on it without acknowledging that you longed for that intimacy.

“I-…”

“Do you see him?” Hotch spoke over you, back to business. You quickly glanced over your shoulder and back to Aaron, nodding.

“Ok. Good.” He pressed the earpiece with his finger. “Morgan?”

“He’s talking to Reid.” Garcia spoke instead.

“It’s definitely him, Aaron.” Rossi confirmed.

“We have a bit of a situation here.” Both of you looked at where you last saw Emily and Derek. You couldn't get the proper view at the two of them sitting in the booth now, but it looked like a group of women stood beside their desk.

Morgan, you rolled your eyes playfully. And then…

"Wait..." You frowned, and Hotch watched as the gears in your head turned before recognition dawned on your face. You looked up at him. “Isn't that Joseph Moetski?"

Hotch glowered, thinking. The newsdealer. He still hadn’t had a chance to look back and see for himself, but it would make perfect sense. After all, Joseph was a newsagent and the team had known about him —you had worked with him in an occasion or two when you first started working for Hotch. He had the access to all the media: magazines, newspapers, television, and so on.

Aaron drew closer towards you, not wanting to blow your cover away, now his whole body facing you. You felt a dangerous flutter in your heart as you looked at him squarely into eyes, never anticipating what he was about to do. He reached forward to move the hair from your face back over your shoulder and then tucked some behind your ear. His gaze was dark and intent — you could see the concentration in there, maybe even slight tenderness, and it sent your mind in wild directions.

Your hair was very silky and soft under his palm, the focus of his vision shifted from the man who was seated beside Reid a few meters behind, to you.

“Garcia?” His spoke coolly, professionally. But there was nothing professional about the way he was watching you. You ducked your head and gently stroked the skin on your neck, a lively red blossom of color rose up your cheeks, a hesitant smile stretched across your face. It was such a small gesture. And then his big hand rested on the side of your neck, using the opportunity to feel your skin — something he’d never admit to himself. Hoping he couldn’t feel your telltale pulse, you had to remind yourself that he was your very professional never-crossing-a-line boss.

It was a dangerous game to even think about something like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. For years you’d been harbouring feelings for him — platonic or not, and this was not going to help.

“Bingo! It’s him!”

“Sorry to interrupt you, birdies.” A bartender interrupted and you both turned around, almost jumping from your seats. “The politics around here are: you have to order another drink… or get the hell out of here. And as I can see, you drank all of yours.” Crossing her arms on her chest, she asked. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

As Hotch took the chance to order new drinks, anxiety creeped up your back, and you looked back over your shoulder just in time to see Spence holding the back of his head as well as the unsub running toward and past the two of you.

Gripping your gun close under your clothes, you reached out and tugged on Hotch's shirt. “Hotch!” You promptly got to your feet and chased after the suspect.

You heard a chair fall onto the dark tiles of the floor somewhere behind you, disgruntled and angry shouts and remarks from people who were bumbed or knocked down by the man you were running after.

Fortunately, the unsub cleared a way for you, allowing you to quickly catch up with him, grab him and push him. His face met the ground, and hastily you sat on top of him, pushing his hands and securing them on his upper back. But to say you were struggling would be an understatement. The unsub was a strong man, twice your size, so when he managed to free one hand from your grasp it was a no surprise. He attempted to pull you upwards and you sat unsteadily on his back, swaying like you were at a rodeo, a quick "whoa" slipping out of your mouth. Hotch rushed to help you, kicking the unsub’s feet, and without a second thought, his chest pressed against your back as he leaned closely from behind you, his arms wrapped around you as he assisted in restraining the suspect before Emily approached and put the handcuffs on.

The third party — Reid, watching it all unfold in front of his eyes, couldn’t help but smile at you both even through the throbbing pain in his head. You were just like Mulder and Scully. Tangled and messy, unable to see it, yet still fantastic as a team.

Now the only thing left was, he concluded, for you two to realize it finally.

In all that rush and adrenaline kicking in, neither of you did have time to process or relish the way your bodies melded together.

But this whole night was something that would keep you both up tonight and wouldn’t let you get that well-deserved good night’s sleep.

#aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #unknowingly series

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athenamikaelson · 4 months ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 10

Word Count- 7.2k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, violence, death, Damon’s ass/Damon BEING an ass, shitty Google translate, spelling mistakes(I'm wayyy too tired to edit this rn)

A/N- some of this is not canon just because I love a character too much and she deserved better in the show.

“Are you just going to keep sulking in here,” I ask from my position in Damon’s doorway.

Damon answers me back with a loud groan mixed with what I believe to be a growl, “Tell me again why you’re here. And why I haven’t killed you yet?”

If I had just met Damon I would be scared of what he just asked me, but after these past weeks of knowing him, I’ve realized most of his threats are half-assed. So I just shrug and walk into his room.

“My mother and brother are away for the week visiting family, leaving me home alone. And, well, I don’t feel like having “he who shall not be named,” come and kill me in my sleep. And you haven’t killed me because you don’t want to. I’ve called you many bad names to your face, and yet I stand here, unharmed."

“Here you stand annoying the hell out of me. Again.”

I roll my eyes and sit on the edge of Damon’s bed. Damon still hasn’t moved from his position under the covers.

“Damon,” I turn over my shoulder to look at him and he lets out yet another groan to acknowledge he’s listening, “I’m going to be honest with you.”

“Nothing new there,” I hear him say under his breath sarcastically.

“You’re kind of embarrassing to watch right now,” I turn to see him fully glaring at me now, “You’re how old? Like five thousand years or something like that? It’s time you grew up.”

“Says the high schooler.”

“Says the man in love with a high schooler,” I bite back which has him shutting up momentarily.

“You don't know anything,” He says as he finally sits up in his bed. His white sheet falling down, revealing his naked chest. I quickly avert my eyes, not because I’m attracted to him but because seeing Damon half-naked would be like seeing my annoying ass distant cousin naked. No, thank you.

“Don’t bullshit me, Demon-spawn,” I point an accusing finger at him resulting in him glaring at me some more.

“I know you have feelings for Elena, everyone and their bloody mothers knows. And as much as I like Stefan, I also don’t think it should be something you need to feel bad for,” I think momentarily and tap my chin in thought, “Well, okay. Maybe a little bad because she’s 17 and you’re like 1,000 and she’s also your little brother’s girlfriend,” I catch Damon’s deadly look and stop rambling, “Moving along…What I’m trying to say is that we can’t control who we catch feelings for. And honestly, Elena’s pretty and nice as hell so I don’t blame you there. But what we can control is how we choose to express those feelings.”

Damon just stares blankly at me and I feel like I’d be better off giving a toddler this speech.

“What you’re doing right now, sulking and getting mad at everyone around you for something that is out of our control isn’t helping anyone. It’s only making things worse. Elena’s my best friend and I know she’s scared out of her mind right now but doesn’t want to say it because it'll cause more stress for the people she loves. What she needs right now is all of us. After tonight is over and Elijah’s elixir brings her back then you can go back to your hissy fits but right now,” I stand up and face him, planting my hands on my hips in a power pose, “You need to get your ass out of bed and get a fucking grip.”

Damon and I hold each other’s glares for a straight minute before he huffs, throws his blanket off of him, and gets out of bed. I have to fight a smirk as I get overly proud of my pep talk.

“I’m really starting to miss when it was just puke coming out of that mouth of yours,” Damon growls as he walks to the bathroom and pulls down his boxers without a second thought. My eyes fly out of my head as I get a full look at Damon’s white ass. I quickly turn around and gag.

“Dude! Seriously, warn a girl!”

---

“I don’t remember you being so…talky,” Damon’s voice yells from over the water of his shower.

I frown as I think about his comment and sit back down on the edge of his bed facing the front door and not the bathroom. Not wanting to get a face full of his behind again, or worse…ugh.

“I…don’t think I’ve ever been talky. There has never been a reason for me to be,” I say back to him not really caring if he hears or not.

A moment later I hear the shower water stop and his footsteps padding around behind me.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Damon says from next to me and I slowly turn hoping he’s at least half decent.

Thankfully, he has covered his behind with jeans and is currently slipping a shirt over his chest.

I think about his question and then shrug my shoulders, “I’ve never really had friends to talk to, and whenever I had tried talking to people they just hadn’t cared. So I never really saw the point in talking.”

Damon stops fixing the buttons on his shirt momentarily to look at me. His eyebrows are drawn together and the look in his eyes isn’t one I think I’ve seen from him before. Something about it almost seems kind of…human. But within another second it’s gone and his lip upturns into a smirk.

“People are a waste of time anyway. The only good thing about them…,” He takes a step closer to me and leans down so he’s in my face, “Is there blood.”

I huff as I stand up and push past him heading towards the door, “And here I thought I could actually have a half-decent conversation with you. My mistake.”

I start walking through the halls toward the living room where Elena, Stefan, and Elijah are. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Damon catch up to me so we’re walking side by side.

“You’re kind of annoying,” He says and I have to fight the urge to not punch him.

“Gee, thanks,” I go to walk faster but he catches up to me again.

“What I mean is…,” He pauses for a moment trying to find his words, “You may be annoying but that doesn’t mean what you have to say is pointless or something that shouldn’t be heard. Screw anyone who tells you otherwise…or just kill them.”

I look at him with a confused look matching the confused feelings I now have, “Thank you? I think.”

“Don’t mention it,” He leans down and glares at me, “Seriously, I will kill you if you tell anyone what I just said.”

I suck on my teeth and then nod my head, “And there’s the Demon we all know and loathe.”

“Right, back at you, Pukey.”

I watch as Damon’s eyebrows furrow as we get closer to the living room and as we enter he speaks up, “Then why are we letting him break the curse?”

I follow Damon into the living room and see Elena and Stefan sitting together on a sofa and Elijah standing before them. Elijah’s eyes lock onto mine and I acknowledge him by sending him a small smile which he just returns with a nod. Okay, Rude.

“We can kill him today. With Bonnie,” Damon says and I realize we’re talking about him. At the mention of him, I begin to clench my fists as a surge of anger rises through me but stop myself since I don’t feel like accidentally cutting myself in a room of vampires. I take my seat on a loveseat next to Elena, who sends me a warm smile before turning towards Damon.

“No. Bonnie can’t use that much power without dying.”

“I’ll write her a great eulogy,” Damon’s words have me turning in my seat and glaring at him. So much for my speech getting to him.

“It’s not an option Damon,” You tell him, Elena.

Stefan sighs, “Alright, how do we break this curse?”

“Well, the ritual itself is relatively straightforward. The ingredients, so to speak you already know,” Elijah answers.

“The moonstone,” Stefan says.

“A witch will channel the power of the full moon to release the spell that’s bound within the stone. After that Klaus, being both a werewolf and a vampire, will sacrifice one of each.”

“And where do I fit into it,” Elena asks him.

“The final part of the ritual. Klaus must drink the blood of the doppelganger…to the point of your death.”

Elijah’s words have both Stefan and I taking deep breaths.

“And that’s where you come in.”

Elijah goes to the shelf behind him and opens a little wooden box, “This is an elixir that I acquired some 500 years ago for Katerina. It possesses the mystical properties of resuscitation.”

“So I’ll be dead..”

“And then you won’t.”

Damon the grouch speaks up, “That’s your plan? A magical witch potion with no expiration date,” He turns to Elena, “You want to come back to life, what…What about John’s ring?”

“Those rings only work on humans. The doppelganger is a supernatural occurrence. Odds are…the ring won’t work.”

“I’ll take those odds over your elixir. What if it doesn’t work Elena?”

“Then I guess I’ll just be dead.”

Damon shoots his brother a look, but knowing Stefan, he’ll go with whatever Elena wants. Even if he doesn’t agree. Damon realizes this too before shooting another glare at the group before leaving the living room back to where we originally came from.

“Do we know if Klaus has everything he needs to do this? Does he have a werewolf?”

“Klaus has been waiting over a thousand years to break this curse. If he doesn’t already have a werewolf my guess is by tonight, he will.”

—

I watch from my position on the couch as Stefan follows his brother outside. That’s going to be a fun conversation.

Elena approaches Elijah, “You’d think he’d understand why I’m willing to do this.”

“Why are you?”

“I’m the key to breaking the curse. Klaus is here because of me. If I don’t stop him, then he’s gonna hurt people. It’s that simple.”

I frown sadly to myself and fight back the watering that has started in my eyes. This isn’t fair. None of this is.

“You know, there’s a possibility this elixir won’t work. I don't want to mislead you.”

“I know the chance I’m taking.”

The tense atmosphere is broken by a door slamming shut and a woman yelling from the foyer.

“Jenna, Jenna!”

“Get out!”

I quickly rise from my seat and go to follow behind Elena to check on Jenna, but a hand grabs my own, pulling me back.

“Wait here,” Elijah’s stern voice says to me as he drops my hand and follows behind Elena. I watch his retreating figure and shake my head. Who tf does this guy think he’s talking to?

I run towards the foyer and freeze when I see Ric standing there. Or Klaus, I guess. My breathing gets faster and I’m debating on whether to swing on him or pass out.

“Jenna, put the cross-bow down, okay? It’s me.”

Stefan joins us and Elijah comes to stand in front of me, not before shooting me a disapproving look.

“What’s going on,” Elena asks the two adults.

“It’s me, Elena, I swear, okay? He let me go. Klaus let me go,” I frown at Ric’s words and look to Elijah to see if he can tell if Ric is telling the truth or not but his face is completely still.

“Prove it,” Damon who has now joined says.

“Okay, uh, the first night you and I spent together Jeremy walked in right when-”

“Ok! It’s him,” Jenna exclaims as she drops her weapon. Ew. Everyone in the room throws glances at each other before turning back towards Ric.

“Why did he let you go,” Stefan asks.

“He wanted me to deliver a message. The sacrifice happens tonight.”

—-

“Katherine was there,” Ric says from his position on the couch. We all moved back into the living room to keep discussing our plans for tonight.

“She’s under compulsion. Damon snuck her vervain but she can't leave until Klaus tells her she can.”

“Where is Damon,” Elena questions, and I get a bit unnerved. Not knowing where Damon is is not an ideal situation.

“I saw him go upstairs,” Jenna says.

Elena stands up and goes towards his room and I go to follow her but Elijah grabs my upper arm, “I need to speak with you,” I begin to argue back as he pulls me into the next room.

“Dude let go of me,” I hiss at him and he drops my arm and stares blankly at me.

“Do not dude me, Elskan,” Elijah says with that stupid monotone voice of his that makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do Elijah,” I whisper yell to him so the others don’t overhear us, “And stop with that stupid nickname.”

Elijah narrows his eyes at me, “You are making it incredibly hard for me to protect you.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” I roll my eyes sarcastically, “I didn’t realize you actually cared, since you’ve been acting like you don't.”

Elijah’s narrowed eyes morph into ones of confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously! One second you’re making all these promises to protect me and being all nice and stuff and then the next moment you won’t even acknowledge my existence.”

“It would be impossible for me to not acknowledge your existence, Y/n. There is not a single moment where I am not searching for you. This situation,” He gestures between us, “Is not something I take lightly. And keeping you safe is now my most important mission in this life. So I apologize if I have hurt your feelings whilst doing that.”

I’m frozen as I listen to Elijah and he takes a single step towards me. He reaches his hand up and brushes a stray hair behind my ear.

“You have no idea how long I have waited for you,” His words have me frowning in confusion as he brushes his finger across my cheek, “But, I fear that if I let myself get too close then it will only put you in more danger and I would rather dagger myself before ever letting that happen.”

My chest and my brain don't seem to be working properly as I just stare wide-eyed at the man in front of me. I try to think of something, anything really to say but I can’t seem to get my mouth to form a sentence.

A loud bang comes from upstairs and Elijah gives me one more look before exiting. I feel like I’m on autopilot as I walk towards the noise, catching sight of Ric and Jenna running towards it as well. I make my way up to Damon’s room and gasp as I see Stefan with a very big piece of wood through his stomach. Ric tries to grab Damon but the ladder pushes him off him before walking out of the room.

“Okay, Jenna, downstairs in the basement are some blood bags,” Ric tells Jenna who is standing in front of me, “Go get them, now. Go!”

Jenna leaves as Elena rips the wood out of Stefan. I walk over and kneel next to them as Elena holds and tries to comfort her hurt boyfriend.

“I’m so sorry,” Stefan groans out.

I frown, confused, “Why is he sorry? He’s the one who got stabbed?”

I’m ignored for a moment as Elena shushes Stefan until he passes out and with tearful eyes, she looks over to me, “Damon he…he fed me his blood. Y/n, I don’t want to be a vampire”

'My chest practically caves in on itself as I hear my friend's small sobs and shake my head in denial, “No…no. There has to be another way. There has to be Elena,” I stand up and look at her once more, “You’re not going to be a vampire.”

—

I storm through the halls and down the stairs until I see Damon in the living room pouring himself a glass of whatever alcohol he has on hand. That anger from before rises at the idea of what he just did.

“You selfish bastard,” I storm over to him and I see Elijah try to stop me from the corner of my eye, only to receive my hand in his face. And as Damon turns around to look at me he receives my fist in his face.

Damon hisses as my fist flies across his cheekbone and I fight back tears at the pain in my knuckles. I’ve never thrown a punch before but I didn’t realize it would hurt this much. Jesus.

Damon looks back at me as if my punch did nothing to him, which it probably didn’t and I expect him to charge at me, and I’m assuming Elijah does as well because he moves next to me. But all Damon does is stare at me, raise his glass to his lips, downs it, and then exits the living room.

“You’ve never thrown a punch before have you,” Elijah’s voice has me turning my gaze over to him.

I look at him sheepishly, “Is it that obvious?”

Elijah stares at me and from his face I think he's trying to debate whether to be amused by me or scold me, “A bit, but I applaud you for the effort,” Elijah’s eyes dart towards my hurting hand and he picks it up with his own and inspects it.

“You’ll have some bruising but thankfully there appears to be no breakage.”

I let out a pained hiss as one of his fingers brushed against my middle knuckle. He instantly stops and looks at me.

“I can heal you if you’d like,” He asks me and I remember back to when he healed me the first time. It feels like another lifetime ago.

“I’ll be fine,” I dismiss him and he nods but doesn’t drop my hand. He does reach his other hand up and uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear off my cheek.

“I’m sorry about Elena,” I quickly remember why I punched Damon in the first place and go to question about the elixir but he shakes his head as if he already knows what I’m thinking, “It won’t work any longer. Damon made sure of that when he fed her his blood. When Elena dies she’ll wake up as a vampire."

I shake my head in denial and feel the tears reach my eyes again, “No... Elijah. There has to be another way! Please tell me there’s another way.”

Elijah’s features form to one of sorrow as if he can feel the pain I’m in, “I’m sorry, Elskan. I truly am.”

I shake my head and bite down hard on my lip to try to stop my tears. Elijah reaches up his hand though and frees my bottom lip from my teeth with his thumb.

“Come here,” Elijah says as he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around my body. The smell of something masculine, almost smoky, surrounds me as he rests his chin on my head. After everything that has happened, if I were to die like this in his embrace, I don’t think I would regret it.

—

I wipe the remnants of my smeared mascara as I look at myself in my car mirror. After Elijah left the Salvatore’s saying he had some loose ends to clean up before tonight and to not get myself into any more trouble, I went to check on Elena.

She hugged me for about ten minutes straight and I just rubbed her back as she cried into my shoulder. And I may or may not have cried along with her, feeling heartbroken for my friend.

Elena and Stefan then left together to go spend her last day as a human together, which is as bittersweet as it is heartbreaking. And after bidding Jenna and Ric a goodbye I found myself driving to the Mystic Grill. That’s why I am now sitting in it’s parking lot trying to collect myself and trying to keep myself busy for what is to happen tonight.

I open my car door and hold my bruised hand tentatively as I push through the front door to the Grill. I had seen a “Help Wanted,” sign here the other day and if I hopefully survive the night I’ll need a job for the summer. Not being a trust fund baby really sucks ass sometimes.

Matt Donovan sends me a warm smile as I walk past him. I'd never really talked to the guy other than the few times in class where he’d ask to borrow a pencil or if I could help him with some math equation, but he always seemed sweet. Unlike the stupid jock stereotype, I’ve gotten used to seeing in this town. After being told by Elena what happened to his sister and that now he lives by himself as a 17-year-old because his mom’s a deadbeat, I feel bad for the guy.

I let out a low groan as I stop my walk towards the bar which is currently occupied by the demon overlord himself. I debate to myself if I should just turn around, but a hand on my shoulder shocks me.

Ric stands there with his hands raised up in apology, “My bad Y/N. Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”

I look at Ric and sigh, “I’m just glad you’re you again.”

Ric nods his head in agreement, “Ya, me too. I didn’t hurt you while I was Klaus right?”

I shake my head, “No Ric, and even if you did it wouldn’t have been your fault. You had no control over yourself.”

Ric sends me a warm smile and nods, “I feel kind of violated, to be honest.”

I snort at his joke, “I don’t blame you.”

“I need a drink,” Ric says as he walks with me up towards the bar and my knuckles start to burn as I stare at the hair on the back of Demon’s head.

“I’ll have the same as him,” Ric says to the waiter as he sits on Damon’s right and I sit down on his left. The waiter then looks at me for my drink order, “A Shirley Temple, please. And a job application?”

The waiter, a half-decent-looking man, smirks as he pulls out a pad of papers from behind the bar and hands them to me before going back to making drinks.

“Job searching, Pukey,” Damon asks from beside me and I stare forward not looking at him.

“Ric,” I call to him and he turns to look at me, “If Damon’s here who do you think is guarding the gates of hell?”

Rics snorts out a deep laugh and I can see Damon scowling from beside me. The waiter comes back and gives Ric his bourbon and me my Shirley Temple. I accidentally grab it with my injured hand and try to cover the hiss I let out, with a cough.

“How’s your hand,” Damon asks from next to me. I’m surprised that his voice doesn’t sound completely sarcastic.

I turn and glare at him, “How’s your face?”

Damon sends me a smirk and gestures to his unmarked face, “Perfect.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my Shirley Temple ignoring whatever the two men next to me are talking about. That is until a voice that has my heart doing a fucking backflip in my chest calls from behind us.

“Gentlemen? Why so glum,” A deep British voice asks and I could’ve sworn goosebumps went up my arms at the sound. What the fuck?

All three of us turn to match the voice to the face and…Holy shit.

A tall dark-blond man stands about a foot length from me. At this distance, I can see the different shades of blue in his eyes and the small freckles that decorate his perfect nose.

I hear Damon groan from behind me and I’m not sure why as I’m too busy ogling the pretty man before me.

“Klaus, I presume.”

I blink. And then I blink again. And then once more as I’m frozen staring at Klaus. The Shirley Temple in my hands starts to shake as I can’t take my eyes off the man.

“In the flesh. Thanks for the loner, mate,” Klaus smirks at Ric and if I wasn’t in total shock right now I’d defend him. But the man I’ve thought of killing for the past week is standing right in front of me and I was counting how many fucking freckles I could see on his goddamned nose. There’s thirteen.

Shut tf up Y/n?!

Klaus hasn’t looked my way once and although I should be glad about that a part of my lower stomach drops at the fact.

Damon stands from his seat and goes to face the man, “Any reason you stopped by to say hi?”

“I’m told you and your brother fancy my doppelganger. Just thought I’d remind you not to do anything you’ll regret,” Klaus’ warning doesn’t seem to sway Damon as the ladder lets out a laugh.

“Thanks for the advice. I don’t supposed I could talk you into a postponement by any chance, huh?”

Klaus lets out a chuckle and I swear my heart just skipped a beat. What the fuck Y/n?!?!??

“You are kidding,” Klaus asks and then turns to Ric, “He is kidding, right?”

“No, not really.”

“I mean, come on, what’s one month in the whole grand scheme of things,” Damon asks and I realize that he’s doing this because he doesn’t want Elena to die with vampire blood in her system.

“Ya, I mean one month is like,” I pretend to count on my fingers, “Like thirty days. I don’t see why you can’t wait that long. You’ve already waited over a thousand years, what’s thirty days?”

I ask the man and this finally has Klaus acknowledging my presence. But honestly, from the way he’s looking at me, I wish I would’ve kept quiet. His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips curve upwards into what I hope isn’t a snarl. Damon must’ve noticed the look too because he moves in front of me blocking me from Klaus’ vision and him from mine.

“Let me be clear,” I hear Klaus’ deep voice say, “I have my vampire, I have my werewolf. I have everything I need. The ritual will happen tonight. So if you want to live to see tomorrow don’t screw it up.”

I catch sight of Klaus’ back as he strolls away.

“Would I be a bad person to say I kind of hope his werewolf was the Jules’ chick,” I see Ric shoot me an “Are you serious” look and I shrug, “Hey, she was the one who tortured me. I still got the little knife scare on my leg to prove it.”

Damon doesn’t say anything as he sits back down and sighs.

“You’re gonna screw it up, aren’t you?”

“You think if I took his werewolf out of the equation she might…get over the fact that I tried to turn her into a vampire?”

“Nope,” I say popping the p.

“I think it won’t matter, because you’ll be dead.”

“But without the werewolf he can’t preform the ritual tonight which means I would have bought her one month before the next full moon.”

Ric shakes his head, “But you’ll still be dead.”

Damon leans into him, “Are you gonna help me or what?”

Ric looks at him for a moment, “What do you want me to do?”

I slurp up the rest of my drink, throw a five onto the counter, and jump up as the two men next to me watch me wearily.

“Alright gentlemen, dream team time!”

Ric raises an eyebrow while Damon shoots me a look of disgust, “I don’t know what the hell that was, but you’re not coming along.”

I frown as I grab my application and follow behind the two men, “Why the hell not? I want to help.”

Damon whips around to me, “Look kid, not happening. There’s already too much shit going down and I can’t be babysitting you, making sure you don’t get killed on my watch. So go back home and we’ll see you tonight. Capiche?”

Damon turns back around and walks to his car. Ric sends me one last smile and a shrug of his shoulders before following behind. I watch the two men drive off and I sigh as I stand in the middle of the parking lot. Anger and sadness building in me, when I realize just how useless I truly am.

—

I try to give Elijah a smile as he opens the SUV door for me. But with the mood I’m in I think the smile comes out more like a frown than anything else. Elijah must notice this too as he reaches his hand out for me to take. I debate it for a moment, 1. Not being a big fan of PDA, and 2. Stefan and Ric are with us and I don’t want them to be angry with me. But then I remember that my best friend is going to die tonight so a little PDA isn’t that huge in the grand scheme of things.

Elijah seems elated as I place my hand in his and he guides Stefan and I through the woods toward the creepy ass witch house where Bonnie, Jeremy, and Ric are.

“The sacrifice is completed in stages as the full moon sets,” Elijah explains to us. I feel his hand squeeze mine in comfort and I squeeze his back, “First the werewolf is killed, then the vampire’ and finally the doppelganger. Once Elena dies, the curse will be broken. Klaus will become a hybrid.”

Stefan comes to walk next to us. His eyes go down to Elijah and I’s intertwined hands briefly before looking back up to me. When I send him a weary smile, he sends me a small one in return calming down my nerves.

“So when do we attack,” Ric asks from behind us.

“Elena’s death will activate his dormant werewolf side. He’ll be vulnerable during the transformation. That’s when Bonnie comes in.”

“And you’re sure Bonnie will survive this,” Stefan asks and I’m thankful at least one of the Salvatore brothers has a heart.

“If she can deliver him to the brink of death I’ll finish the job myself.”

Stefan and Ric nod.

“Could I talk to Elijah for a moment,” I ask the two men who share a look before nodding and moving towards the house.

Elijah turns towards me, “What is wrong, Elskan?”

“Are you going to be able to do it?”

Elijah frowns and shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

“Elijah you’re going to be killing your brother. I know siblings are a pain in the ass,” I think back to Theo and thank whatever higher being is out there that he left town this week, “but even when you hate them…you still love them. I’m not judging you for what you have to do. I’m just asking, are you ready for what you’re about to do?”

Elijah’s face is solemn as he processes what I asked, “Klaus wasn’t my only sibling,” I frown as he continues, “There once was a time when we were all together. But Klaus ruined that when he dumped their bodies in the middle of the Pacific.”

I let out a strangled gasp at Elijah’s confession. His pain evident on his face.

“Elijah…I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elijah steps forward and holds the side of my face with his free hand, “You’re so good. So…pure. I didn’t want to strangle out the light you have inside you with my demons.”

“Elijah, you’re not the only one with skeletons in their closet. Trust me. But I want you to be honest with me. I need you to be. If this,” I gesture between us, “whatever this is. Is going to work. I’d never judge you. I know sometimes I can be a lot but that doesn’t mean I don’t anything but happiness for you. I don’t know what this means but you make me feel something I’d never felt with another human being.”

Elijah stares at me and something in his eyes tugs at my chest, “What is that?”

“Safe. You make me feel safe, Elijah. And I know I’m not some supernatural immortal and I can’t throw a punch to save my life. But, I want to make you feel that way too. However, I can.”

I start to get embarrassed as Elijah stares at me silently and I really wish I would’ve just kept my mouth closed.

“ᛁ ᚹᚨᛚᛚ ᛚᛟᚡᛖ ᛇᚢ ᚢᚾᛏᛁᛚ ᚦᛖ ᛋᚢᚾ ᛖᛗᛈᛚᛟᛞᛖᛋ, ᚦᛖ ᛟᚲᛖᚨᚾᛋ ᛞᚱᛁ ᚢᛈ, ᚺᚢᛗᚨᚾ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᚺᚨᛋ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛋᛖᚾᚲᛖ ᚷᛟᚾᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚾᛟᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᛒᚢᛏ ᛗᚣ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ. ᛒᚢᛏ ᛖᚡᛖᚾ ᛏᚺᛖᚾ ᛁ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛋᛏᛁᛚᛚ ᛒᛖᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛏᛟ ᚢ. ᛖᚡᛖᚱᚢᛏᚦᛁᚾᚷ ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᛁᛊ ᚢ,” Elijah says in some old language I can’t place.

“What exactly did you just say to me,” I ask, expecting the worst.

Elijah smiles and places a kiss on my temple, “I feel safe with you as well, Elskan.”

“I’m going now,” Stefan interrupts us and I move away from Elijah shocked.

The sense of warmth and peace I just had completely washed away as soon as those words left Stefan’s mouth.

“You should get inside Y/N. Bonnie needs you,” Stefan says to me making me frown. But I nod as I walk through the threshold of the house. Elijah follows me as I stand next to Ric. After a moment Bonnie and Damon walk up the basement stairs and out the front door. I frown as Ric and I follow them and Elijah squeezes my hand once more before dropping it as he passes through the threshold. Ric and I are pushed back though.

“What the hell?”

Ric yells from next to me, “Bonnie! What is this?”

Bonnie turns back towards us, “I can’t put anyone else at risk. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do this! What if he goes after Jenna,” Ric asks angry.

“Jenna safe locked in at the Salvatore’s.”

“Damon?”

Damon sends us a look, “Sorry buddy. She’s right.”

I look to Elijah for help but from the look on his face he doesn’t seem surprised.

“You knew.”

Elijah turns to me one last time, “I meant what I said about protecting you. If I have to kill my brother to do that, I will. I’m sorry, Elskan. I will see you soon.”

I watch silently, as he turns his back on me and disappears into the woods. So much for trust.

—-

I watch as my history teacher paces in front of me. Jeremy’s unconscious body lay on the couch next to me and Elena's estranged bald father who looks like Charlie Brown watches us wearily. If you had told me I’d be in this situation a month ago I would’ve called you crazy and set up an appointment for you with my therapist mother. But here I am. Yippee.

I stand up, and both of the grown men watch me, “Just using the bathroom. Wait…Does this place even have a bathroom,” I ask but groan when I get no answer. I’m about to make my way out of the room when a piercing pain slices through my chest.

It only takes one scream from my lips before Ric is at my side. His mouth is moving but the sheer pain I’m experiencing makes it so I can’t process his words. I watch with teary eyes and sobs coming out of my mouth as Ric lifts his hand from my chest and his eyes widen. The crimson liquid coating his hand is the last thing I see before the world goes black.

—

3rd Person POV-

Bonnie screams out her spell as she crushes Klaus’s body. Fire burns around them as the once powerful Original lay in agonising pain. From the shadows, Elijah stalks towards his younger brother.

Elijah stands above him. A mask of anger covers his face as he leans down to stare at the man he once called a brother and a friend.

“Elijah?”

Klaus stares up at the man he once saw as his protector, and for the first time in centuries, Klaus feels true fear.

“Hello, brother.”

Stefan and Bonnie watch from afar as Elijah plunges his arm into his brother’s chest. Wrapping his hand around his still-beating heart.

“In the name of our family…Niklaus…”

“I didn’t bury them at sea,” Klaus’ desperate voice halts Elijah momentarily before shaking off what he believes to be a trick.

“I know about Y/n,” Those four words have Elijah pausing, “I know what she is to you. And I know she's the same to me.”

The hand that was once clenched around Klaus’ heart slacks as Elijah stares at his brother in horror.

“You’re lying,” Elijah snarls.

Klaus shakes his head, “I wish I was, brother. But I’m not. And if you kill me what do you think will happen to her. Are you really going to take that risk?”

Elijah’s once cool face breaks and turns into one of horror as he looks at his hand that is in his brother’s chest.

Stefan noticing this lapse of judgement speaks up, “Elijah, don’t listen to him.”

“Elijah,” Klaus says, “Think of her.”

“Do it and I’ll take you both out,” The Bennet witch threatens.

Elijah looks up to her, “You’ll die.”

“I don’t care.”

Stefan and Bonnie watch in horror as Elijah speeds himself and his brother out of the flames and into the night, leaving only silence and heartbreak.

—

“Why are we going to this again,” My brother asks from the hallway outside my room as I fix my black dress in my mirror. My hands freeze for a moment as they land on the spot on my chest that was bleeding just the night before.

-Flashback-

I woke with a gasp and before I could get a second to breathe I felt someone grasp my shoulders into a hug.

“You’ve really got to stop freaking me out like this,” A soft voice says into my ear.

I pull back and my eyes widen to see Elena with glossy eyes staring back at me.

I shake my head confused, “What happened? Did the ritual happen? Who died? Are you a…,” I pause before finishing my last question.

Elena sends me a smile and shakes her head, “They found another way.”

I feel a smile break out onto my face and I go to sit up to hug her but a sharp pain in my chest stops me.

“Don’t move ok. Just lay still,” Elena coaxes me back onto the coach I’m lying on.

“What happened?”

-End of Flashback-

In Elena and Ric’s spark notes version of the night, about 20 minutes after Stefan, Bonnie, and, Elijah left for the ritual I fell down to the ground in pain, screaming and yelling, and when Ric went to check on me I had blood spilling from my chest. Right above where my heart is. Ric said there was so much blood he couldn’t find where it was coming from but after holding pressure on it for another ten minutes the bleeding had stopped and when he moved his hands from my chest I had no wounds that showed I had been wounded.

Alaric told me he was surprised that I was still breathing after losing the blood that I did. He also told me that while I was unconscious he found Damon slipping me some of my blood. And if I wasn’t as sore as I was I’d have bitched him out. I’ll just put that on the back burner for now. As well as figuring out what the hell is wrong with me. Bonnie said she couldn’t feel any spells or curses on me so at least that’s a plus. I guess. Also, I haven’t seen Elijah in over a day. Honestly, I don’t know if I could face him right now anyway. I’m pissed that he betrayed us, but there’s a part of me that is happy he didn’t kill his brother. A part I’m not telling the public because right now I’m off to a funeral for Elena’s dad who did die.

Elena told me he had Bonnie do some spell that switched his life for hers. And as much as I disliked the guy, I got to give it to him he showed up in the end. RIP Charlie Brown.

“We’re going because Elena’s my friend and her dad died, Theo. Try to not be an asshole for the afternoon please,” I say as I meet my brother at the front door of our house. My mother and he came back early last night because she had to get home for some work thing. Typical. But that also means I get to be with Theo for the day and after almost dying yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to say goodbye to him, and today could’ve been my funeral he’d be going to. A chill runs down my spine at the thought and I fight back a set of tears.

“Okay, I promise. I’m sorry,” Theo says as he notices a tear fall down my face.

I smile at my little brother and pull him into a hug.

“I knew you missed me,” I can hear the smirk in his voice as I laugh into his suit jacket.

“Ya, whatever loser let’s go.”

—

I watch with tear-filled eyes as Elena places a rose on her biological father’s grave and then walks over to her parent's matching graves and places roses on them. Theo stands next to me with a solemn expression on his face, Jeremy is next to him, Bonnie, Caroline, and Tyler stand behind us, and Jenna is on my left as she holds Ric’s hand. I turn to look over my shoulder and I catch Damon’s eye as he stands against a tree. And for the first time ever I almost swore he smiled at me. Damn, maybe he’s dying too.

—

“I’ll be in the car,” Theo says to me and begins to walk away but not before bringing Jeremy in for a bro hug. I watch as my brother safely gets to the car and then I begin to walk over to Elena but see her already crowded with our friends. My gaze goes towards Damon who stands facing the graveyard and I frown.

“I have a bone to pick with you. You can’t just go and put blood into people’s mouths while they’re-” I say as I approach him.

“I’m happy you’re ok, Y/N.”

Damon’s interruption and the sincerity in his voice make me halt as I approach him.

“Wait…I think I’m hallucinating because I could’ve sworn you just called me by my actual name,” I walk up to him and jokingly smirk, “You dying or something?”

“Tyler Lockwood bit me.”

Oh. Fuck.

Translation-

“I will love you until the sun explodes, the oceans dry up, human life has long since gone and I am nothing but my soul. But even then I will still belong to you. Everything I am is you.”

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thef1diary · 5 months ago

Note

Congrats on 3k bby! So I saw the prompt “Don’t you want to play with me?” and omg is that Danny coded. Like I can see something during the offseason where he and reader are both at home, and she’s doing laundry or something and just walks in on him jerking off. And of course we all know our cocky mf has no shame and is just like, “what, you were busy?”

Thank you for encouraging my brainrot 💛

Off-Season | D. Ricciardo

a/n: thank you lovely! I will always encourage danny brainrot and I loved writing this one. 18+ content

prompt: “don’t you want to play with me?”

wc: 600+

masterlist 3k celebration

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The off-season usually meant some much needed downtime for you and Daniel. Yet, even with Daniel at home during the break, you found yourself busier than ever. You've been sorting out the house, tackling chores that have piled up while you were travelling to accompany Daniel during the hectic racing season. Today, you've decided to finally start doing laundry, the heap of clothes growing until it was impossible to ignore. As you headed to your bedroom to collect the laundry basket, your mind was running through the mental to-do list that never seemed to end. You opened the door to your bedroom and came to an abrupt halt.

Daniel is there, naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand wrapped around his cock. His strokes are slow and deliberate, his eyes immediately locking onto yours as you entered.

You stare at him, momentarily taken aback. Your gaze roams over his body shamelessly, taking in every detail as if it was the first time you've seen him naked. His curls are messy, indicating that he ran his hand through it multiple times. His bottom lip is bitten raw, a sign that he's been holding back his moans, trying to stifle the breathy whispers of your name as he edges closer to an orgasm. Daniel's thighs are spread, giving you a clear view of every inch of his tattoos. His hand is fisted around his cock, precum coating his fingers.

You snap out of your trance when a low groan leaves his lips, still moving his hand up and down his cock in a teasing manner. His eyes meet yours again, a playful glint shining in them.

"Don't you want to play with me?" he asks, his voice a mixture of amusement and desire.

"Seriously, baby?" you asked, a smirk curling at your lips.

"What? you were busy," he spoke casually, as if it was a good explanation.

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "What were you thinking about?" you asked, your tone turning sultry as you take a step closer, the laundry basket you were here for momentarily forgotten.

"You, of course," he replied without hesitation, his eyes darkening with lust as they trace the curve of your body.

"What about me?" you lean closer to him, your voice dripping with seduction.

“How much better it would feel to have your mouth around my cock instead of my hand," he breathed, his gaze locked on your lips.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you let his words sink in. "Is that so?" you whispered, your voice low and teasing. You let your fingers graze the inside of his thighs, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch.

With one hand, you gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail and kneel in front of him, settling between his spread legs. His breath hitches, and you see the anticipation in his eyes, moving his hand away from his cock. He gently pushes a loose strand of hair that slipped away from your grasp away from your face.

Just as he thinks you're about to wrap your lips around him, especially with the way your lips parted, you reach under the bed and grab a couple of dirty socks. His eyes widen in disbelief as you stand up, tossing the socks into the laundry basket.

He calls your name when you pick up the basket, turning to head out the door. You pause, looking at him expectantly. Daniel struggles to string a sentence together, but he manages to ask, "are you kidding me?"

You chuckle, giving him a playful glance. "Maybe you should stick to using your imagination since you couldn't wait for me."

He groans, falling back on the bed as he hears the door click shut, his cock still painfully hard awaiting your warm mouth.

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taglist: @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @namjoonswaifu @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @chilling-seavey

#di celebrates #thef1diary fic #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic

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slvticz · 3 months ago

Text

WAKING UP WITH MINGHAO / xu minghao

you woke up wrapped in the warm embrace of your man. the soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over his tousled hair and peaceful face.

his steady breath against your neck was soothing, and you felt exhausted from the night before. he looked so adorable, with his lips slightly parted and his long hair scattered across the pillows.

smiling quietly to yourself, you carefully slipped out of his embrace, making sure not to wake him. you reached for your phone on the bedside table, the screen blinding you momentarily. squinting, you quickly adjusted the brightness, worried about waking him up.

6:52 a.m. wow its early, you heard a soft groan and felt him shift beneath you. “baby?” he murmured, his voice groggy as he slowly lifted himself. “why aren’t you asleep?”

you grinned at him. “morning to you too, baby.” you leaned in for a quick kiss, which he returned with a sleepy smile. “i just woke up. did i wake you?” you asked worried you irrupted his slumber.

he shook his head, smiling as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. with a surprised yelp, you found yourself on top of him.

“hao, what are you doing? it’s so early for this!” you laughed, you in fact loved this and he knew it too. as the room fell into a comfortable silence as your laughs and giggles faded away, you gazed into each other’s eyes.

you shifted to make yourself more comfortable, noticing his daring smirk. “what’s on your mind?” you asked, resting your chin on your hands while your elbows propped up on his chest. his fingers traced gentle patterns on your back.

“you know you’re beautiful, right?” he said softly, his eyes exploring every feature of your face. “i’m so lucky to wake up to your pretty face.” he cupped your cheek, his thumb making small circles on your skin.

he drew you closer, your lips meeting in a slow, lazy kiss. when you pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile. “you’re so cute, you know that?”

“thanks, baby,” he replied as you rested your head on his chest. his fingers moved through your hair with a comforting rhythm. “when you’re ready, i’m taking you out.”

you lifted your head in curiosity. “to where?”

he kissed your forehead and smiled. “don’t worry, you’ll see,” he said, gently guiding your head back to his chest.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #minghao imagines #minghao smut #minghao fanfic #minghao scenarios #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #the8 fanfic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone.

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night.

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash.

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up.

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods.

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain.

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches.

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.”

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow.

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed.

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall.

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor.

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood.

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression.

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale.

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.”

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years.

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.”

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood.

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten.

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal.

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest.

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin.

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art.

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons.

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling.

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out.

You ease at that.

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.”

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?”

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips.

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding.

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap.

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs.

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?”

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in.

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door.

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside.

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches.

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides.

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs.

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.”

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly.

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.”

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.”

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb.

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver.

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all.

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him.

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle.

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth.

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it.

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut.

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger.

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.”

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all.

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off.

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material.

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows.

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head.

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing.

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him.

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man.

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into.

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.”

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display.

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important.

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern.

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet.

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids.

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.”

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh.

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure.

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?”

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek.

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord.

That was really all that matted.

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night.

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug.

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward.

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?”

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree.

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes.

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger.

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

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