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zoeysdamn · 2 years ago

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Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.6

Summary: A conversation between Ajax, Xavier and Tyler ends in a chat about typical teenage drama about ball’s dates; who would have thought? The Rave’n sounds really promising, hopefully the shitty karma could give you a break for just this evening, right? Or maybe it’s precisely the right time to disclose the truth about what happened three years ago, no matter how hard it’ll be.

Warnings: swearing, angst, smut (characters are between 17 and 18), underage weed smoking, slut-shaming (seriously, mind your own business), mention of torture acts (nothing graphic)

A/N: Just like Yoko, Bianca’s a bitch in this fic, and I’m sorry about that (I really do like her character :’(( but the plot demands itttt). Also, Ajax’s canonically a gem; period.

I planned the chapter to cover WAY MORE events but it was already +12k and not even finished soooo I cut it in half (and lost the dramatic cut *sob* you’ll understand with the next chapter uhuhuh)

[Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5]

In the end, there was not much sanction against Wednesday for the whole Yoko ordeal. The school board was stiff as ever, they couldn’t risk to expel her, or else they would have to admit what Yoko did. And publicly announcing a vampire student from an influential coven had stalked and sent threats to another one would be very, very bad for the school’s image. So they ended up with a compromise and Wednesday only slipped away with a mere punishment in exchange of her not going to the police to press charges. It didn’t interest her anyway, the truth had been revealed at the school and it was enough for her. And on top of that, her “punishment” turned out to be a week of community service and an interdiction to go to the upcoming Rave’n – it truly seemed to sadden her, really. Although it did seem to put Enid in some terrible misery, because she really longed for this occasion to go to a dance with her girlfriend.

“I swear Enid’s so disappointed, she whined about the Rave’n all week.”

Chuckles answered Ajax’s complaint as he took a puff on his joint, sitting against his bedhead. The Gorgon inhaled the smoke deeply and passed the lit joint to Xavier’s expecting fingers. From your spot on the ground, your back against the bed table, you had an amused grin at the whole situation and your legs resting on Tyler’s lap. He was sitting on the ground next to you, side against the bed were his roommate and Xavier were sitting.

Your group kinda stood off like a sore thumb and you weren’t really sure how you ended up like that. It all began with a late study session in Tyler’s room because you had an upcoming duo project to hand over soon, and you hadn’t seen the time pass. Then Ajax had come back from his own study session with Xavier – his partner for the very same project. The unexpected confrontation between Xavier and Tyler had left an awkward atmosphere, and as you were about to leave the tension-filled room, Ajax had mentioned that he planned to smoke a joint to let out the pressure. A peace offering of sorts – especially between his roommate and best friend – which you gladly accepted. After all, you didn’t know Xavier that well, you got along pretty fine with Ajax, and you definitely needed to relax after the grueling week. Bonding time over some weed could be nice. After the first few minutes of awkwardness, Tyler had blurted some excuses to the psychic, saying how truly sorry he was for punching him and destroying his mural some years ago. A dead silence had followed, before Xavier had shrugged and said that it was old history – and that knowing that he got his ass handed by Enid was enough consolation. This made Ajax and you cackle madly, snickering at poor Tyler’s reddening cheeks and Xavier’s small grin. Once this weird atmosphere tainted with guilt was dissipated, things actually went nicely.

The Gorgon had rolled a joint and passed it among yourselves, even Tyler “good-boy-behavior-in-the-streets” Galpin took some. All of you became more relaxed and you gradually chatted casually about anything (as long as it didn’t involve touchy subjects such as any of your family’s heritage, the whole Yoko deal or even what happened with Jeremiah). It honestly kind of surprised you that Xavier didn’t seem so wary of you; he was a member of the Nightshades too, being there last time you were at Nevermore. Maybe it was thanks to Ajax’s influence and what he had said about you to the artist, but Xavier didn’t hate you whatsoever. If anything, he rejoined Wednesday’s opinion about you: if you were able to take down Tyler, you were worthy of respect, if not trust. As the first joint was smoke and the second one rolled, you all felt like you were good friends. The pot’s influence surely – and somehow thanks to Ajax too, you had to give him that. This is how you ended up on the topic of Enid’s current dread.

“You could invite her instead,” you suggested casually, which ended with the three guys staring at you, “y’know, going to the dance as friends.”

“What? Nah that’s crazy, it’ll feel weird!” said Ajax, brushing away your comment.

“Yeah, plus Wednesday would have his head for this,” chuckled Xavier, sending a chill down his best friend’s spine at the thought of Enid’s girlfriend.

“Why not?” you shrugged taking the joint he handed you, “I mean, you don’t have a date, she doesn’t either and you both want to go. You’re both friends and nothing more, right?”

“Yeah,” confirmed the Gorgon, “we kinda had a thing last year or something, but we’re nothing but friends now.”

Nodding your head to prove your point you exhaled the smoke longly, “Then what’s the big deal? There’s nothing wrong asking her out as a friend, I bet even Wednesday will be glad that Enid gets to go to the dance with a friend’s company.”

Even Tyler nodded to that and Ajax seemed deep into his thoughts, Xavier insisting that Enid would be thrilled to go with him. Passing the joint to Tyler, you missed the both perplexed and knowing looks the boys on the bed exchanged at the two of you. Instead you suddenly felt thirsty and clumsily got up, pulling your legs off Tyler's lap.

"Damn that's some good weed you got here but my throat's fucking dry," you grumbled. "Can I use your bathroom for a sec?"

Xavier nodded and you stumbled into the bathroom, unaware of the gazes behind your back. As soon as you closed the door, Ajax leaned to Tyler in a hushed tone.

"So, what about you two? Did you ask her out yet or what?"

Coughing a little on the smoke, Tyler winced dumbfounded, "What? No, what are you talking about, why would I?"

Even Xavier, who didn’t pay much thought to either yours or Tyler's lives, seemed invested in the conversation now and looked at him waiting for his answer.

"Well, you two are already fucking, aren't you going to the Rave'n together?" insisted Ajax, waving lazily his hand in the air.

"I— we're not— I mean, we're not exactly together either," stuttered Tyler, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Neither his roommate nor Xavier buyed his explanation, “So? All this speech about going as friends or whatever, you could do that right?”

Tyler didn’t react right away at Xavier’s comment. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go to the Rave’n, and if he had to go, if you wanted to go with him. Surely you would have asked him by now, right? After all, you were rather bold and didn’t wait for things to happen, so if you wanted to go with him you would have asked by now. Right?

Noticing how deep in thought he seemed to be, Xavier let out a lazy chuckle, mind foggy with the pot. “Damn, you don’t want to go with her as a friend. Jesus man, you’re fucked.”

Ajax cackled in an equally blurry haze, slowly realizing by Tyler’s reaction that his best friend was right, “Bro you’re so fucking screwed.”

Tyler wanted to say something but at the same time you exited the bathroom, having heard Ajax’s last words, “Who’s screwed?”

All three boys suddenly froze, like deers caught in headlights at your sudden appearance. Raising an eyebrow at them you wondered what it was all about before Tyler stuttered awkwardly.

“Well it’s uh- we were-”

“It’s Xavier,” blurted the Gorgon, cutting him mid sentence. “He’s uh- he and Bianca are trying to reconcile things and he wants to invite her to the Rave’n.”

Xavier choked on the smoke and coughed harshly, mouthing a ‘what’ to his best friend once he managed to recompose his breath.

You let out a low whistle, “Got some balls Thorpe, she’s going to skin you alive if you fuck this up again. Aren’t you guys exes or something?”

He coughed awkwardly again, handing the joint to Ajax and sending him a glare at the same time before answering you, “Yeah…she wanted to try again last year and I didn’t want to but now uh, I think it might work.”

This wasn’t completely wrong; over the summer Xavier had thought about his and Bianca’s relationship. After all she did during Crackstone’s attack, and how much she had changed after he explained why he had broken up with her, his mind had started to change. And he had admitted to Ajax that the thought of trying again would be nice, but he didn’t expect to be exposed like that. Maybe it’ll force him to actually ask her out though.

“Well if you think you have a shot, go for it,” you said, returning to your original spot on the ground, legs finding their place on Tyler’s lap once again.

“Really?” he said, surprised that you had an opinion – that you cared about it.

“Yeah,” you shrugged casually, “I mean, she’s still up for it, right? Worst scenario she turns you down but you’re still friends, nothing dramatic.”

Xavier blinked slowly, slightly perplexed. But you were kinda right, “I…suppose you’re right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you said and Ajax handed you the almost finished joint, “love life advice is free, given mine’s disastrous state.”

Ajax snorted and Tyler chuckled nervously purposefully avoiding the knowing glances of the other two boys. “Hey that makes me think, Y/N,” said Xavier, changing the subject, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Isn’t dating an outcast weird? Like y’know being a Van Helsing and all?”

The first few seconds of silence, all three of them held their breath; your lack of answer made them think that maybe Xavier had crossed the line, and didn’t realize how unwise his questions were, under the effects of the pot. But the dry laugh you let out dissipated their worries quickly.

“I’m an original family disappointment,” you chuckled, “but damn I ain’t regretting anything. Dating an outcast isn’t that different from dating normies, really.”

“Ah! How did your parents react when they learned you shagged outcasts?” snorted Ajax, way too high to actually think about his questions.

Finishing the joint and inhaling deeply, you laughed through the exhale of smoke, “D’you seriously think they know about my sex life? It would send my grandparents to the hospital, could be funny though. Van Helsing aren’t that much different from puritans on that matter really, if one of my ancestors ever dated an outcast, god forbid they’d tell me about this.”

“Wait, one of them actually did?” said Tyler in surprise.

“Mm-mmh, a great-grand cousin or something, found his diary hidden in the family’s library. Dated a werewolf for a few years before dying during a hunt.”

“Woaw,” whistled Xavier, “what a rebel uh?”

“You bet,” you snickered, “there was one of my ancestors though, Victoria Van Helsing, great hunter and everything, model to everyone else in the family. Well, guess what, turned out she was aromantic and asexual so she was “less prone to be seduced” or some shit like that. So, she never had kids and didn’t carry out the family’s legacy but at least she was pure,” you said with an exaggerated roll of your eyes that made everyone chuckle. “My bisexual ass is peak disappointment and I live for that.”

This made them chuckle, and the conversation drifted to something else. You spent another half hour in the boy’s room until your eyelids started to feel heavy with sleep and the aftermath of the joint.

“Well boys,” you yawned as you got up, “I think this is my cue, my bed’s calling me. Thanks for the weed Ajax.”

The Gorgon gave you a mock salute and Tyler followed you as you got up, “I’ll walk you back.”

You didn’t react much to this – thought Xavier and Ajax snorted under their breath and you grabbed your bag before saying good night to the two other guys and making your way to the door. Tyler followed you closely, his hand ghosting at the small of your back like a defense reflex; or a natural seek of physical contact. Ever since you two had become physical, he was more and more seeking small touches, brushes of his hands against your own or your arm, searching for both grounding and contact. You had never pushed him away.

Once you stepped in the corridor, Tyler closed the door behind him and stood here rather awkwardly.

“So,” you started slowly, “it went rather well, didn’t it? Xavier didn’t try to strangle you, I call that a win.”

Tyler chuckled, “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t so bad.”

You smiled at him and readjusted the strap of your backpack over your shoulder, “Well, good night then. See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”

“Wait,” he called as you were starting to leave, “do you…”

“Yes?”

He seemed hesitant, almost shy and it felt odd; it had been months now since you had met and called out his terrified boy act, so you weren’t used to seeing him that shy. Then finally he blurted, “Do you have a date for the Rave’n?”

You blinked at him, not expecting this to be brought up. “No, no I don’t,” you said after a few seconds of silence, “I don’t think anyone here wants to go with a Van Helsing,” you chuckled. “Why?”

Tyler rubbed his neck awkwardly; why did it feel so weird while you were already intimate?

“I- do you think we can go together? Y’know, I don’t think anyone would want to go with me either.”

He cringed internally at his last sentence. It had come out so wrong, but it made you grin anyway.

“Well I think it’s mandatory for us to go together anyway,” you noted, “being your bodyguard and all.”

The words stinged a little but he knew you were right. “So, you’ll go to the dance with me?”

Noticing his cute boyish uneasiness, you grinned even harder. Of course you were supposed to go together anyway, but you could also clearly sense something more. And even knowing what it was about, you wanted to hear him say it.

“Depends,” you purred slowly, stepping closer to him, “do you want to go with me to the Rave’n?”

His face morphed into a similar smile, immediately setting to the same flirty behavior as yours, “I wouldn’t be so bad I suppose. Got some moves, doll?”

“Like you hadn’t seen them already,” you grinned, mouth only a few millimeters away from his. “So, are you going to say this or not, pretty boy?”

Tyler hummed, breath teasingly tickling your lips, “Will you go to the Rave’n with me, Y/N?”

You chuckled at his words and dropped a featherly, meaningly teasing kiss just under his lower lip, “Yes, I’ll go with you tiger.”

He grinned and you parted with a burning gaze, before finally walking away in your dorm’s direction.

“Can’t wait to see you in a dress, sweetheart,” he called after you.

Craning your neck you send him a wink over your shoulder, “We both know you’ll like it better on my bedroom’s floor, lover boy.”

Tyler chuckled and entered back into his room. He couldn’t deny that.

“Holy fuck dude,” groaned Ajax as he closed the door, “almost thought you were going to fuck against that door, again.”

Meanwhile, you had a grin all the way to your dorm. The rational part of yourself told you that it was an obvious part of your job, but still you couldn’t help but smile at that. Tyler Galpin had asked you out and nothing could spoil that bubbly feeling of joy inside you under the practical sarcasm and denial.

To differ from the last ball, this year’s Rave’n theme had voted to be “Glitter and Gold”. The alchemy teacher who had been supervising the Rave’n committee had explained something along the lines of it being an homage to the glorious ‘20, when the outcasts had blended for the first time into normies’ modern society in significant numbers. Maybe the alcohol and cocaine consumption then had helped, it probably helped the normies to care less about some strange things they saw, as long as it wasn’t related to the war.

Anyway, the whole school was awaiting the evening excitedly, the main hall was beginning to be filled with decorations and the general gleeful atmosphere almost made you forget about the whole Poe cup ordeal from a few weeks before.

Around two weeks before, you had asked Principal Weems if this was a mandatory event for Tyler to attend – and by extent, for you. With her usual polite and enigmatic smile, she had told you that considering the significant progress he had made, Tyler wasn’t required to be here if he didn’t want to, but at the same time he was allowed to spend the evening among the other students at the ball. She had added that it could be a good thing for either of you to come, to which you had rolled your eyes. The idea of “look less menacing” stuck in her mind, it seemed.

But then, Tyler had asked you out to the Rave’n. It definitely changed your mind about not going. The evening that had previously been a dreadful perspective sounded more promising now. In front of your mirror, you pondered what kind of makeup you should wear, no matter how silly the question sounded in your own mind. Growing up, there hadn’t been much place for girly things like clothes and makeup between the harsh training of your grandparents and the internal family conflict with your parents’ opinions that put you in the middle of their battles. Then the time in juvie didn’t leave much room for it either. But after some inner debate and a few checks on Youtube tutorials for references, you thought that your makeup wasn’t so bad. Deeming it good enough, you went to your wardrobe to get your outfit. The Rave’n committee recommended a black and gold dress code, once again as a contrast to last year’s white theme (according to Tyler, it hadn’t been an evening that had turned out pretty, something along the lines of doing a Carrie scene?).

There wasn’t much fancy clothes in your belongings, but you had managed to pull something out. You had a short black dress, with a deep keyhole cut and a collar going around your neck. Two tick laced-detailed straps went from the collar to the small of your back, exposing a large triangle of skin on your back. It covered most of your scar on the left scapula, and that was what you liked with this dress. While rummaging through one of the clothes shops during Tyler’s last therapy session (by now you trusted him to not attack Dr.Fern, he needed those sessions), you had found a simple gold plated belt that complimented your waist nicely. This would do as the gold touch, just like the loops on the heels you forgot you had. The outfit hadn’t much color, but again you had never planned to go to the dance in the first place. Checking your phone you noticed that you were already fashionably late, and with a last brush on your hair you grabbed a small purse with your essentials and headed to the boy’s dorm after texting Tyler you were on your way.

Bass of the music coming from the main hall echoed between the walls and just as you entered through the corridor of the boy’s dorm, Tyler exited his room. For the briefest moment, your breath got caught in your throat. He had always been good-looking, but this…this was something else. The black tuxedo fitted him perfectly, and the crisp white shirt damn, where did he get all that? Lost in your staring you didn’t notice that Tyler had heard you and whipped his head in your direction; nor did you notice that his eyes had widened and were devouring you from head to toes, roaming up your legs and kissing every curve. Without really realizing it you were almost in front of him now, the stomps of your heels the only sound echoing in the corridor. You stopped just inches from him, still mesmerized by his appearance just like he was with yours.

"Hey," he breathed out in a whisper, unsure of what else to say.

"Hi stranger," you said back in the same hushed tone. Up close you noticed the discreet gold chain around his neck — probably borrowed to Ajax. Damn he looked way too handsome for his own good.

His brown eyes burning holes in your outfit contrasted with the bewildered, almost goofy grin that stretched his lips. "You look…you're beautiful."

Chuckling nervously at the compliment you ducked your face to hide the blush that had crept on your cheeks; you could handle every situation but such heartfelt compliments were a first. "You don't look so bad either, tiger. Gonna make a few heads spin tonight."

Tyler let out a grin at your words; he knew that the playful flirt was a sign that you didn't know how to handle the flustered emotions and thus, that he had cracked your shell a little more. Still, it never was his intention to make you uncomfortable so he switched naturally to his flirty being too.

"Oh yeah? What if there's only one head I want to make spin?" he smirked teasingly, leaning to brush his lips against your ear.

A light chuckle escaped you, "I'd say you already have some advance with that, pretty boy. If that's little old me you're interested in tonight, that's it."

Eyes lingering on you, he let out a deep whistle, "Well doll, you've definitely caught me for the whole evening dressed like that. Can't wait to see what's under that sexy dress of yours."

"Who said you'd get any glimpse of that?" you asked teasingly, like you weren't fighting the urge to slam him against the wall and tore his shirt for the last five minutes. Which Tyler obviously knew, given the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"I can be really convincing, trust me sweetheart."

You grinned at him, and before he added anything else your fingers reached for his shirt, sliding along the collar and down to the opened first button. Under Tyler's burning gaze you slowly popped open the second, then the third button of his shirt, making sure to graze your nails against his naked skin teasingly. Goosebumps erupted on his skin and you glanced up at him with a cocky smirk.

"That'll help you be convincing," you simply said and he grinned even harder.

"You know, I'm trying so fucking hard to not rip that dress off you and fucking you in this hallway right now," he breathed out feverishly.

"Keep trying lover boy," you laughed lightly as you linked your a with his and making the two of you walk to the ball's direction, "you might get a reward later."

Tyler stifled a laugh. This would take a lot more self-control than taming the Hyde to keep his hands off your ass tonight. And God help you if he doesn't, because you'll take the first opportunity to jump on his bones too, no matter if you were in public or not.

Arriving at the party, almost everyone was already here. It was rather fortunate, it meant that most of the students were already way too busy with music and drinks to notice your odd pair coming in. Although a few pairs of eyes turned in your direction when you walked in the ball hall; among them, those of Principal Weems, who gave you a nod – with a strange mix of pride and amusement? The whole teenage party atmosphere and loud beat of music suddenly felt rather weird and you chuckled awkwardly to Tyler.

“Welcome to the jungle. Still wants to take me dancing in there?”

“Is tactical retreat an option?” he said back in a whisper and you shook your head with a laugh.

“Liquid courage’s an option,” you corrected, “c’mon, let’s head over those cocktails and scare some students.”

Stumbling across the crowd of students you managed to reach the bar and grabbed two cups of whatever cocktail was being served. Handing Tyler his drink you clinged your cups together before taking a long gulp of the sweet beverage.

“Is there even alcohol in those?” you grumbled into your cup.

Tyler snickered, “It’s still a highschool party, doll.”

Taking a look around the room you noticed a few familiar faces among the dancing students cladded in black and gold. Under the yellow spots you caught the sight of Enid and Ajax dancing like no tomorrow. The werewolf was wearing a flowery gold dress and black platforms with gold stars that made her look like a fairy. The weird dancing of Ajax didn’t seem to bother her so much, the two of them really looked like they were having the time of their lives.

“She’s too fucking cute for her own good,” you said out loud and Tyler snorted at this.

“Yeah, when she’s not slashing your face in her werewolf form.”

“Shut up, you’re just upset that you got your ass handed by the cutest thing in the world, Mr Big Bad Hyde.”

Tyler leaned to whisper in your ear, “I don’t mind when I got my ass handed by you, sweetheart.”

“That’s because I’m sexy as fuck. Now are you going to make me dance or not?”

It didn’t take more for Tyler to grin and take your hand and drag the both of you to the dancefloor. A laugh escaped you as you bumped into some other students, way too entrapped into their own little world to care. Tyler shot you another grin and tugged you closer, the two of you starting to move your bodies to the rhythm of the loud upbeat music. The light blinded you and the music pierced your earbuds, but you didn’t seem to care, nor minding the proximity with other slightly inebriated students around you. For now all that mattered to you was that for the brief span of a few minutes, you could let go of it all, the pressure, the emotional walls, the constant vigilance. You could be, for a few minutes, just another teenager dancing to lame electro music with a very attractive boy you happened to enjoy the company of. You certainly didn’t mind Tyler’s hands roaming on your hips every once and then. The festive atmosphere even seemed to ease some minds, because you even ended up dancing with Enid, who enjoyed herself way too much to care about your last name. She was like a wild electrode who had the time of her life and her sunny happiness radiated on everyone around, you couldn’t deny her dancing with her.

After some songs, your legs began to ache and your throat felt dry. Giving a slight nod in the bar direction, you motionned to Tyler that you’d be back soon. Making your way through the crowd, you let out a deep sigh when you finally reached the bar and poured yourself a drink. Just at the same time, Enid popped next to you, looking equally exhausted.

“Phew! What a party, eh?”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a smile before gesturing to your cup, “want a drink?”

“Oooh yes please!” she beamed, and clinked the cup you handed her to yours, “cheers!”

“Cheers.”

You weren’t even halfway through your drink when a bitter voice spoke up behind you, “Careful with who you’re cheering, Enid. Wouldn’t want her to poison you.”

Whipping around you glared at the newly arrived Bianca, in a short gold dress with long sleeves. No matter how gorgeous she looked, the venom in her eyes was enough to make you snare at her. Next to her, a very handsome yet uncomfortable looking Xavier was standing but surely he’d wished to be anywhere but here at the moment, looking for his best friend in the crowd.

“What about minding your own fucking business, Bianca?” you spat at her, grumpy that she ruined your for one joyful mood.

“I’m just saying,” she said, ignoring you completely, “you seem to be pretty great at suppressing students from this school, maybe Enid should start to worry.”

Glaring even harder at her you took a menacing step in her direction, “I am good at killing monsters, don’t you fucking forget that before you throw threats at me, princess.”

“You think you can impress me after the shit you pulled with Yoko?” she growled at you, standing tall and getting closer. It was a game of asserting dominance, and you knew it.

“I have nothing to do with what Yoko brought on herself and you know it,” you said bitterly, trying to control yourself to not tear her branchias out of her throat. “So get the fuck off my back.”

“Don’t you really?”

“Piss. off.”

“What’s going on here?”

Both of you turned to Tyler and Ajax who had just arrived, having noticed the tense atmosphere at the bar. The Gorgon gave Enid and Xavier confused glances, trying to understand what the fuss was about. Obviously he didn’t dare to ask you or Bianca, he knew better than to interfere in this hissing game. Tyler on the other hand already had more or less an idea of what was going on.

“None of your business, murderer,” snapped Bianca to Tyler, “if anything I’ll be doing you a favor by getting the Van Helsing bitch out of Nevermore so back off.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” you growled again, knuckles turning white around your cup.

“You heard me. Didn’t know torturing vampires made you deaf.”

If things were tense before, now they were downright electric. And if it wasn’t for the whole school around you you would have beaten the shit out the siren already; at least as a revenge for the Poe cup. “Yoko asked for what happened to her,” you spat at the siren, “trust me if I had anything to do with it, she would have a spike through her heart right now.”

Bianca only snarled, “Guess you lost your touch since Jeremiah then. How are you sleeping at night?”

“Jesus fucking Christ Bianca, that was three years ago, drop it for fuck’s sake!” you roared, finally losing patience.

Anger boiling, you didn’t notice the few pairs of eyes that had turned in your direction at your outburst. But it didn’t seem to frighten the siren the slightest, and she only snared in disdain.

“You can try all you want to pretend that you’re friendly and redeeming, but no one here is willing to be your friend, Van Helsing. You’re just a bitter, sad, miserable lonely bitch.”

Sensing you were ready to lose it again, Tyler put himself slightly in front of you and put a hand on your forearm to prevent you from gouging Bianca’s eyes out. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Blood still boiling in anger, you let out a frustrated huff and tore your arm from Tyler’s grasp; before storming out of the Rave’n, not caring if you bumped into anyone in the way. The rest of the group looked at you leaving in a hurry, Enid, Ajax and Xavier avoiding eye contact in shame. Bianca smirked.

“Ooops, my bad.”

Tyler whipped around, feeling his anger rise even more as Bianca’s satisfied expression grew. The more he looked at her, the more the sounds around him seemed to be deafened, the pumping blood in his veins becoming the only thing echoing between his ears like nothing else existed anymore. Tyler’s vision became red and blurry except for the damned siren’s form and before he could even think about restraining himself, he felt the Hyde crawling throught the depths of his guts. It didn’t seem that bad anymore now, to have this dark presence gradually taking over his mind, because for once no one was controlling him; and Tyler actually craved this violence right now. He just wanted so badly to grip his hand around Bianca’s neck and squeeze so hard it would make her eyes pop out of their sockets.

Maybe it was more than a crave and something like a natural reaction because the next thing he knew, both Ajax and Xavier gripped his shoulders as he stood millimeters away from Bianca, looking feral as ever. Far from impressed, the siren snickered darkly.

“Do it,” she dared, “attack me, if you want it so bad. It’ll get the both of you expelled.”

Tyler exhaled loudly through his nostrils, trying to keep himself as composed as he could. Even if he wanted nothing more than to rip her to shreds, a part of him had to admit that Bianca was right.

“Everyone will see how much of a monster you are,” continued the siren venomously, “and for being such a failure at her job Y/N will go back to juvie. Just where she belongs.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” growled Tyler.

“Aww, did the monster fall in love?” she cooed mockingly. “How stupid of you.”

Tyler tugged his arms harshly out of anger, and the two other boys barely contained him. And surprisingly, just when it looked like they would blow up again, it was Ajax who spoke up to calm things down.

“I think that’s enough Bianca,” he said calmly, to which she only scoffed in disbelief.

“What, you’ve got soft? Are you fucking her too? Van Helsing’s a bigger whore than I thought then.”

“Bianca stop,” warned Xavier this time. He was drawing the line at her words, first due to their violence and second because he knew how uncomfortable it was making Ajax. His best friend had come to respect you a lot as a friend in the past weeks, this wasn’t fair of Bianca to paint the Gorgon like an interested asshole. “You’re making a scene.”

She switched her eyes between everyone in front of her, from feral Tyler to the hard stares of Xavier and Ajax, even the hurt on Enid’s face. Then she huffed in annoyance.

“Whatever, if everybody’s so keen on fraternizing with the enemy then good luck with staying alive, you fools.”

With that she stormed away, head high and mingling with the crowd of students like she owned the place. Ajax and Xavier immediately loosened their grip on Tyler’s shoulders.

“You’re okay man? We’re good?” asked Ajax, and Tyler nodded. A weird silence then took place, before Enid lightly touched his arm.

“Go talk to her,” she whispered, nodding toward the exit.

It didn’t take him much to follow the werewolf’s advice, and after a muttered “thanks” to the three students he hurriedly made his way out, unnoticed by anyone else around.

After a few minutes of searching Tyler found you in the quad, sitting on one of the tables, legs popped on the bench and slouched. A lit cigarette was between your fingers, and even if he couldn’t see your face from where he was, Tyler knew you were upset.

"Hey," he said softly while coming to your side, "you're okay?"

"I will be," you answered in a small voice.

Tyler hadn't heard it ever since that open heart moment when you had shared some of your childhood traumas. Hoisting himself up on the table he sat next to you, his knees brushing yours as a somewhat comforting gesture.

"It's okay," you mumbled with a weak smile that tried to be reassuring — which wasn't, "Bianca knows what buttons to push, that's all. I'll be better in a few hours."

Inhaling a deep stroke on your cigarette, you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh as you exhaled it a few moments after.

"God I can't believe she got under my skin so easily, how pathetic am I?"

"She's angry, she just said some shit," Tyler tried to convince you, but you shook your head.

"No, she was right. It's just…for a moment, I wished they didn't think like her, too."

"Who?"

"Enid, Ajax, Xavier. Everyone in that school. It's…for once it would be nice to be treated like a human being and not a blood thirsty cruel bitch, you know?"

That made Tyler's eyebrows rise up high in surprise. You were always one that seemed to not care about what people thought of you, that's what made you so strong. To be honest, you were quite surprised too. A few months ago when you came back to Nevermore, you couldn't care less about other student's opinions; but you had let some of them get closer to you, and now you found yourself to care about that. Part of you hated that the ever so slightly uneasy and scared look in everyone's eyes at Bianca's words had hurt you so much.

You sighed loudly, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. “They don’t realize what I’ve done for them,” you muttered. “I’m not asking for honors, for applause or for a damn Nobel Prize, just…if they could leave me alone with this, that’ll be nice.”

Tyler frowned, more concerned than lost now. He knew you, and asking for people to leave you alone instead of fighting them with your fists and sarcasm had never been your style. Nor was feeling guilty about anything. Except…

“You’re not feeling guilty,” he deduced out loud, “about what you did to Jeremiah.”

A light scoff escaped your lips, “Not the slightest. If I had to, I'd do it again in a blink of an eye.”

Tyler observed you for a long minute; then, he nudged, “What happened? What really happened, I mean?”

Licking your lips, you took your time to crush your cigarette on the table before starting to talk. “Jeremiah was harassing students,” you said bluntly, “used his vampiric powers of suggestion to make them forget what he did and get away with it.”

Tyler’s eyebrows rose in surprise again, but he didn’t interrupt you.

“When you’re bitten by a vampire, it’s not as glamorous as the movies make it look, especially if you’re a creature yourself. Most of the outcasts feel guilty when they are bitten, because it means you’re nothing but cattle for those more powerful beings that had already been oppressing weaker creatures for centuries. That means you’re either a whore, or a fool.”

“And Jeremiah had bitten students?” guessed Tyler. You nodded.

“Worse than that, he lured students using his family’s fame, or money, or whatever was interesting for his victims, then he and his little friends bit them. Maybe even did more to some of them. No one ever remembered anything, because they manipulated the victims into believing nothing happened. It could have ended there if they didn’t take pictures of everything and used it as potential blackmail, always taunting to reveal what happened.”

“Blackmail? for what?”

“Nothing really,” you sighed, “they just wanted to have even more power than they already had as higher vampires. Bunch of shitheads.”

Tyler couldn’t deny that. “And then? Did they try to do the same to you?”

The concern and lingering undertones of fear in his voice warmed your heart a little. “Sure he did. Can you imagine, succeeding at biting a Van Helsing? All of the vampire community would have rolled the red carpet for him. They tried,” you conceded, “and learned the hard way why exactly Abraham Van Helsing actually managed to kill Dracula. Sure my family is a bunch of conservative asshokes, but we know a thing or two about vampire hunting.”

This made you laugh lightly. Even if that whole story was a disaster, you could pride yourself by the fact those pretentious fuckers hadn’t stood a single chance against you.

“I’m immune to vampires’ suggestion powers,” you explained casually to an impressed Tyler. “Took some years of meditation and some potions, but most of them can’t pull their magic trick with me.”

“Most of them?” repeated Tyler.

“Except for older, higher vampires, they’re tougher than they look,” you shrugged, “Jeremiah might have been from a higher vampire family, he wasn’t experienced enough.”

Tyler nodded in understanding and you carried on your story. “At first I didn’t know about their little harassment game. Thought I was the only target because of my name. When I discovered how many victims they had made…I just lost it.” You let out a ragged breath, “Remember when I said that I only hunt actual monsters? Jeremiah was 100% one, for both humans and outcasts. This guy was a menace for every student he deemed inferior to him, in a school which was supposed to be a safe place for them. There was no way I would let that continue, no fucking way.”

Flicking your cigarette pack open you went to take another one; then you stopped, realizing you didn’t really need another one. It was a shitty habit.

“It’s true you know,” you said, slightly turning your face to Tyler”s at last, “what Ajax told you. The bomb, Jeremiah and his buddies being beaten up, me admitting the whole thing. All of this is true. He deserved to die like a dog, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of the easy exit.”

“But I thought…didn’t you say that you had destroyed him?”

You laughed bitterly, “Yeah, I did. The bomb neutralized them, got them paralyzed and confused long enough for me to give Jeremiah what he deserved.”

Tyler was listening so intently, hanged on your lips. Noticing his passionate and awaiting expression, you laughed again and gave him a lopsided grin, the most honest reaction you had to this whole story.

“I ripped out his canines Tyler,” you clarified to his confused face, and his expression morphed into one of horror. “That’s right, I did. Used his confusion to beat the shit out of him and tore his fucking teeth he was so proud of so he would never hurt someone again. And I fucking loved it.”

Your words died down in the night, and you became quiet at the realization of how much you had enjoyed retelling this. It wasn’t a pleasant image of yourself you had shown to Tyler – to an outcast – so you thought it was probably enough for tonight. There was no need telling him about the clamp you used, or how you had destroyed Jeremiah’s canines by dissolving them into acid and silver, or how pleased you had been at the sight of his half burned, bloody face. You were hunting monsters, but that night you had been close to being one.

“He will never hurt anyone again,” you muttered quietly, looking down to avoid Tyler’s gaze. “I did what I had to do, I stopped a monster. I did my job, and I paid for that already. I just wish the students at Nevermore could see I’m not the only one at fault in this story.”

“You hadn’t exposed the harassment?” asked Tyler in a surprisingly calm voice.

You shook your head, “What for? There was no witness, and the pictures as proof had been deleted way before my trial. No one would have bought it, even if I’m sure Weems and the board knows what happened but keep it silent because of who’s son Jeremiah is. I was alone in this.”

Saying that out loud was like opening the gates of every emotion you had kept locked deep inside of you; all the injustice feeling, the bitterness, the loneliness you had felt through all of that, from your arrest to your unfair trial. Even if you had played the card of the laid-back, careless and cocky girl for the longest time - which you were, part of this was true - tonight it was just too hard to ignore how much pain you were in. Blinking away some tears at the corner of your eyes, you circled your arms around yourself, trying to get some warmth in the chilly air.

"I've always thought that it didn't matter what people thought of me," you admitted in a voice heavy with tears, "as long as there’s at least one person who’s seeing me as someone okay. Not a Saint, but at least worthy of respect."

You sniffled, whipping your nose, "I've counted on myself to be that person. It’s just…it's so damn hard to try to believe in me right now. No matter how hard I try to make things right, I'll always be the bitch in the story."

A weight landed on you and you looked up to see Tyler’s jacket thrown on your naked shoulders. Through blurry eyes you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything; this simple gesture was so kind it could make you cry in your current emotional state. And Tyler – oh god bless that man, he was looking at you so intently with his deep brown eyes, eyebrows knitted into a confused yet assured expression, the curls on his forehead brushed his skin, the scars on his cheeks weren’t even that noticeable now. Or maybe it was because you were so focused on his eyes and his parted lips, waiting for the mix of bubbling emotions inside him to come out in words.

His hand came to caress your cheek, cupping it like you were the most fragile thing in the world. Right now, right here, maybe you were.

“You’re so many things Y/N Van Helsing,” he promised in a whisper, “you have a good heart, no matter how much sarcasm you wrap it in. You don’t need anyone.”

You blinked slowly, struck by his words. Out of all people, you were surprised Tyler was the one reassuring you. Sure, you two had bonded over your mutual goal, and you were in this weird status of fuck buddies but…an insecure part of you still couldn’t believe there was actually someone who was willing to take your defense. For once, the bitter answer that burned your tongue died in your throat.

Tyler brushed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“But still…I’m lucky to be able to say that you’re someone to me, too.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, throat tight, “To you?”

Tyler’s breath tickled your face, as he bore his eyes deep into yours as he whispered, “So much more.”

Too many things came through your mind at this moment. Protest. Laugh. Sarcastic answer. Plea. Denial. Instead of letting all of this go out in what would have definitely been something hurtful, you grabbed Tyler’s hand and dragged him into the school’s corridors without a word. No one had ever told you how to deal with a torn heart; part of you wanted to lower the last defense walls you had put around it, while the other was hissing and pulling those walls up again at Tyler’s words.

It was nothing, just words. But it sounded awfully close to a confession and the little girl that was still here, deep down in you, was scared of it. Sleeping with him was great, and so had been spilling your little sob-story; but you were still counting on the distance you still put between him and your heart to keep you safe, because you couldn’t bear the thought of being vulnerable. Not ever again.

Tyler wanted nothing but to help you feel better; maybe it was unfair of you to push him away, all while pressing your body against him on your door and kissing him feverishly. But it was the only way for you to not hurt him by saying something you might regret later for the sake of your heart’s protection. So you did the only thing you ever knew to do, you took action. Right now, making out with Tyler was a good way to put your mind off that kind of thing.

How you two ended up in your room was kind of blurry. You barely remembered stumbling into the room and immediately pushing him against the door to attack his lips, him immediately deepening the kiss. Maybe the jacket put over your shoulder fell on the ground then, or perhaps it had been the result of Tyler’s large hands roaming all over your body, kneading on your hips and lifting the hem of your dress as your tongue twirled against his. The moans that had escaped your mouth at the feeling of his body pressing even harder into yours were echoing like distant memories, just like the ones of your needy hands, clumsily and hurriedly tugging at each other’s pieces of clothing when they weren’t scratching and caressing your skins.

It was only when you both fell on your bed, Tyler on his back on you on top of him, lips still locked with his, that your brain seemed to reconnect again. You suddenly became very aware of your mutual almost nakedness, of your heavy breathing, his flushed cheeks and the outlines of his hard cock pressing against your clothed core through his underwear. Becoming aware of it, but not bothered in the slightest.

Letting go of his lips for a moment, you looked down at Tyler, trying to catch your breath. The soft blush on his cheeks somehow made his freckles and scars pop out, and with his glossy eyes and bruised lips you thought he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Diving down you kissed him again, mouth opened against his own. Tyler groaned, rolling his hips against yours and gripping on your back, trying to press you even closer. The feeling of your bra-clad breasts rubbing against his naked chest soon became frustrating, as if the fabric burned you; reaching behind, you unclasped it and lifted your chest just enough to toss the bra somewhere else in the room. As soon as you found yourself pulled flushed against him again, both you and Tyler let out heated moans on each other’s lips. The soft gasp he released gave you the opportunity to ghost your lips on his jaw, trailing kisses on his hot skin.

Tyler gripped his hands on the roundness of your ass, fingers digging on the flesh as you scraped your nail on his chest, down to the outlines of his belly button before disappearing between your pressed bodies. The firm grasp on his half hard dick elicited a low moan from him, soon followed by another when you started pumping him. His hips bucked against your fist and a lazy smile stretched your lips at the feeling of his cock swelling and pulsing in your palm.

“Eager, lover boy?” you whispered, teeth grazing his earlobe teasingly, which made him whimper pathetically.

Instead of making you stop, it only made your strokes more harsh, thumb flicking over the bulby head leaking with precum and a long whine tore from Tyler’s throat. The sound and the thick surface of his veiny dick pulsing in your hand sent a shiver straight down your core, you could feel yourself getting wet in arousal. When you grinded down against his thigh to get some release of your own, Tyler grabbed your hand with a moan. Pulling your face off his jaw you frowned slightly at him, only to meet his flushed, fucked-out expression.

Between ragged breaths, he managed to give a crooked smile, “ ‘m not gonna last long if you continue like that, doll.”

That brought a grin on your face, and another playful pump on his hard cock, “Mmmh, you’re close already? Gonna cum in my hand and make a mess, pretty boy?”

The added roll of your hips made him moan even louder, and so did you at the feeling of your own wetness starting to drip down your inner thighs. Tyler’s fingers hooked under your panties and dragged them down the curve of your ass hurriedly, fiddling with the fabric. A chuckle escaped your lips and you lifted your hips slightly to help him with it. The loss of contact on his groin made Tyler groan in frustration.

“Patience,” you grinned lightly, shifting from one leg to the other to help him finally get rid of your panties.

You leaned forward to kiss him again, and as you started to move your hand again, Tyler broke the kiss. Before you could frown at him again, he tugged harshly on the back of your thighs, making you fall onward with a yelp. Catching yourself on your hands, on each side of his head, you looked down at him curiously only to meet his burning gaze.

“Want you to ride my face, doll. Please?”

The erotic request and pleading tone almost made your heart burst on the spot. Instead you only felt the arousal rising even more within your core, and your cunt getting wetter. It was feeling both so intimate and hot, and unexpected. But the burning desire in his brown eyes made your knees weak and threw your hesitations out of the window on the spot; so you nodded, too breathless to speak. Grinning at your silent reaction, Tyler helped you to climb higher on the bed, guiding you until your thighs ended up on both sides of his head. The sight of your glistening pussy above his face elicited a deep growl in Tyler, which made you glance down in unexpected worry. But the second his mouth latched on your cunt you gasped loudly, all worries long forgotten. The sensation of Tyler’s tongue thrusting in you was so delicious, no sound managed to come out of your mouth, lips opened in a silent O and head thrown backward in pleasure. Big hands gripped your hips, tugging you down closer to sit on his face and a high pitched moan bursted out of you at the new angle.

The sound made Tyler grin and become even more feral, lapping at your cunt and thrusting his tongue even harder in your dripping center. The moans it brought out of you only made him more cocky, encouraging him to make you cum the fastest way possible. It didn’t take long before you started to buck your hips against his sinful mouth, grinding on his face like your life depended on it. The sweet swirl of his tongue around your throbbing clit sended a wave of pleasure through your body and your hand automatically reached his hair, gripping on it tightly with a hot whimper. The groan that escaped Tyler’s mouth at your gesture sent vibrations straight against your core, only for you to grind even harder on him.

Tyler grinned at your reaction and opened his eyes, looking at you from below. The jingling of your thighs and breasts was hypnotizing, but not as much as the utter bliss of the fucked out expression on your face. Lips opened, eyes half closed in pleasure, hair slightly disheveled and pink cheeks; the sight had nothing on the filthiest of his wet dreams. Another hard tug on his hair and a roll of your hips sent a rush of blood down his already stone hard cock, painfully bouncing against his stomach and leaking with precum. But for now it was your arousal dripping down your thighs and on his face that had his full attention. The ruthless thrusting of his tongue became even harder, and you bucked wildly, chasing after your own release. Feeling your juices dripping on Tyler’s face had something so erotic you couldn’t hold back the wanton cries it elicited from you.

Sensing you were close, Tyler gripped your ass, pushing you closer and you mewled at the sensation of his nose bumping against your clit. A warm knot started to rise in your stomach and you couldn’t stop riding Tyler’s face, too entrapped in your own pleasure to care about any of the loud moans and whimpers escaping your lips. His tongue finally hit that spot deep inside you and your eyes rolled on the back of your skull, a high-pitched moan tearing up from your throat. Tyler gripped your hips, keeping you close to help your riding through your orgasm – and on his face.

Gradually coming down from your high, you panted heavily on wobbly legs. Tyler’s tongue lapped lazily the remnant of your juices, not bothered by the still tight grip you had on his hair. When you finally recomposed your breathing, you lifted your hips slightly and Tyler inhaled sharply, a satisfied grin on his face. You glanced down at him, letting out a weak chuckle.

“You look so good with your head between my legs, tiger.”

He laughed lightly and helped you roll on the side, guiding your hips carefully. Laying down on the mattress, you reached for the back of his neck to bring him down, kissing him deeply. As your mouths moved against the other’s, Tyler ended up laying almost completely on top of you, hands caressing your hips where his fingers had bruised the flesh only a moment before. The poking of his hard length against your thigh kind of broke the softness of the moment and elicited a laugh from you. Opening your legs wider you guided him between them, whining softly when the thick head of his cock grazed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Tyler looked down at you, silently asking if you were okay; as the only response, you pressed your hands on his back to bring him closer to you and the roll of your hips did the rest. Your eagerness brushed Tyler’s worries away and he plunged himself in you in one, firm, slow thrust. Still sensitive from the previous ruthless eating out you moaned loudly, Tyler’s groans in your ears echoing your sweet sounds. The warm feeling of the slick walls of your cunt around his already hard dick almost made Tyler cum on the spot, and he started to rock into you at an erratic, messy pace. Soon enough, the wince disappeared from your face, replaced by parted lips and blissed expression in the sound of needy whimpers. Head buried in your shoulder, Tyler pressed messy kisses along your neck and jaw, peppering the skin with lovebites and wet trails of his lips like a starved man.

When you tried to roll your hips against him but failed miserably with a whimper, feeling physically too exhausted for it, he groaned and pinned you even harder against the mattress.

“I got you doll,” he breathed against your lips, searching for them, “I got you,” he repeated after a hungry kiss.

Slipping one of his arms under your calf, he pulled it up slowly, caressing the heated skin with his large palm before pressing it against your chest, almost over his shoulder. A heavy moan tore from your throat when he hit deep inside of you in this new angle. Groaning at your clenching walls sucking in his cock, Tyler blindly searched for your hand clenched on the bed sheets, while the other gripped on his naked back tightly. Before your brain even registered what was going on throughout the hazy lustful haze, you let his hand slip on your own, holding it tightly. Your mind was way too fogged to protest the intimate gesture, just like the pounding of his dick hitting the deep spot inside you made you see stars. Sensing your legs trembling around his hips and on his shoulder, Tyler noticed how tears started to gather at the corner of your eyes through your building orgasm; he wasted no time kissing them away, pressing his lips softly against your face as you moaned his name breathly.

“Tyler…oh god Tyler – don’t stop–,” you whimpered hotly, nails gripping on in his back and digging deep in the skin.

Feeling his dick twitch painfully in your pussy, Tyler gripped your hand tighter and set an even more harsh pace to his rocking hips. “That’s it sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “we’re close, you can take this, alright?”

Walls clenched, and your whole body spammed under the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm crashing into you. Your mouth opened in a silent, breathless moan, soon followed by Tyler’s loud groan and the releasing of his hot cum. A new whimper left your lips at the sensation of him painting your insides in white, filling you to the brim in the most sinful, delicious way.

As your orgasm wore off gradually, and Tyler gave you a few more lazy thrust of his hips, you blindly searched his lips with your own, eyes half closed. He found you first, capturing your lips into another bruising, long and passionate kiss; you didn’t even register that his hips had stopped moving, a mix of your juices dripping from between your entangled legs.

Exhaustion started to sinked in, soon followed by sleepiness crawling at the corner of your mind and you could feel you were already starting to fall asleep. The careful, gentle caress and gestures of Tyler delicately pulling himself out of you, and laying beside you were fuzzy memories; still somewhere deep inside, you felt grateful for that. The last thing you remembered of this grueling evening was the feeling of Tyler’s arm sneaking around you, and his breath tickling your neck as he held you close before you drifted to sleep.

[Part.7]

A/N: Okay so last week’s been HECTIC and I just have some time for myself now, I’m sorry this chapter took so long to be posted sljglbgl

On a brighter side, since I cut it in half or something, hopefully the next one will be finished quicker! :DD

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist:

@igotanidea @officerrrfriendly @beggingforxavierthorpe @aliciahlewis @stresseyzesty @katiemrty @leightonsteele @black-swan-blog27 @mooniesthings @nightfurya @steadypoetrydinosaur

Usernames unfound by Tumblr:

@spiceyhotsherbet

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin fanfic #tyler galpin angst #tyler galpin smut #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #Van Helsing! Reader #no beta we die like men

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sceletaflores · 6 months ago

Text

all's fair in love and viscera...

pair: logan howlett x mutant!fem!reader

wc: 6.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, violence, blood, gore (more so thoughts of gore) nat probably blatantly ignoring canon, fighting as foreplay, bleeding as foreplay, written with X2 logan in mind, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), finger sucking hehehe, light choking, hair pulling, blood play, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, scent kink, pain kink, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i have a rotting note that says "logan spar fic turned face sitting" so that's what this is but it kinda got a little weird lol i also just wanted an excuse to write more about the mutant ability that's been bopping around in my brain since watching season four of the boys. kisses!

logan wants to spar...

You can smell him before he even opens the door to the training room.

It’s funny, because almost all blood smells the exact same. It melds into one coppery, metallic tang that stings your nose everywhere you go.

Mutant blood is only slightly different, something sharper with a tartness that lingers in the air longer, that tingles along the edge of your senses and burns the back of your throat.

Logan's blood is something entirely different.

The first time you met him it almost brought you to your knees. It was so overwhelming, the smell swarming you so intoxicating and all encompassing that it made you feel dizzy.

Logan’s blood is a wild mix of earthy musk and something like charred wood. His scent carries an electric charge, like the smell of air right before a thunderstorm, like ozone after a lightning strike.

It's like nothing you've ever encountered before—hot and acidic, with a barely there underlying sweetness that never fails to turn your insides to liquid. It seems to defy normalcy, bending the rules of what you know about blood and biology.

You know in the back of your mind that it's the adamantium. It's been fused to his skeleton for so long, it must be something chemical. A reaction happening in his body that makes it so distinctly different.

Part of you likes to think that it's just Logan, that the scent is a reflection of everything he is. The raw, untamed essence of his nature, something primal that’s deeply ingrained in his being.

The door creaks open behind you, you make it a point to keep your focus on the punching bag. You've been here for hours, your arms only finally starting to burn with exertion. The bag feels solid and grounding under your taped knuckles, swinging lightly with every hit.

Logan's heavy footsteps get closer and closer, echoing through the empty room until he's striding past you to lean against the wall next to the bag's rig.

You don't look at him, but you can feel his gaze—an intense, almost palpable thing.

“Figured you’d be down here,” Logan's voice is the familiar rough and gravelly rumble you've become used to, cutting through the silence between the two of you with a barely there teasing edge. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Logan has an even better sense of smell than you do, and he can sniff out a lot more than blood. You're sure he knew you were here this whole time, that he could smell you from his room two stories up.

You give a small, noncommittal grunt, ignoring him as you throw another punch. Sweat is dotted across your hairline, it drips down the small of your back and the column of your throat. It's not that you don't like Logan, that you don’t want him here, you have the complete opposite of that problem.

You like Logan too much, more than you should.

Every time he’s near, you’re intensely aware of how much his presence affects you, of the way all the blood in your body starts to sizzle under your skin with a throbbing need that's getting harder and harder to ignore. It’s like a constant, low-grade fever that only flares up when he gets too close.

“Come on, kid. You can’t ignore me all night,” he says, thick arms crossing over his chest. "Don't make me beg."

You let out a breath, more exasperated than anything else, and finally turn to face him. Logan’s standing there, all broad shoulders and rugged confidence in his white tank and gray sweats, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

That smirk—it's almost as dangerous as the claws hidden just underneath his skin.

“Didn’t know you were the begging type.” Your attempt to sound casual is overpowered by the slight breathy edge of your voice. You blame it on the workout.

Logan's smirk widens just a fraction, and you can tell he's caught the hitch in your voice. His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrow in on you with that familiar mix of amusement and something you can't quite place, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Only when I really want something," he replies easily.

Your form falters, just barely, but it’s enough for Logan to notice. You can hear the amused huff he lets out.

You throw another punch at the bag, more to steady yourself than anything else. The impact reverberates through your knuckles, but it doesn't do much to dispel the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"Back to ignoring me?" he asks, needling. You can see the raise of his brow in your peripheral vision.

“Trying to,” you mutter under your breath, though it's more to yourself than to him. You keep your gaze locked firmly on the bag, willing your pulse to steady.

"What's that?" he leans in closer, his scent wafting over to you as he does. Somehow stronger than before, an assault on your senses. You barely conceal a shiver.

"It’s not my fault you’re here when I'm at my least chatty," you retort blandly, a little louder, willing your voice to sound as steady as it can.

"Looks to me like you’re always at your least chatty,” he shoots back, not showing any signs of backing down.

"It's late,” you reply tersely.

"Yeah," he says. "It is late."

The words hang in the air, laced with a double meaning that neither of you acknowledges.

"Too late to be up hounding the bags like they owe you money," he adds, the tone of his voice almost gentle in a way that catches you off guard. Nothing like the Logan you're used to.

“Yeah, well,” you grunt, throwing a particularly sharp jab. “Some of us don’t need all the beauty sleep."

Logan lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, you can feel the vibration of it in your bones. "Funny," he muses to himself, voice going quiet like he's turning your words over in his mind. "I can see why Charles keeps you around."

You huff, sweaty brows knitting together in frustration. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”

“Babysit?” He smirks, clearly amused. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your resolve finally cracks, your fists sore when you drop them to your sides and turn to Logan with a questioning look on your face.

"What do you want, Logan?”

It sounds harsher than you meant it, rough and exasperated as you start to catch your breath for the first time since he walked in.

Logan doesn't respond, just pushes off the wall to step closer. His scent hits you like a truck now that your focus is solely on him, you can feel your blood start to thrum under your veins. The sweat dripping down your back feels like it’s igniting the tension in your body, and Logan’s only making it worse the closer he gets.

He stops a little less than a foot away from you. It’s too close, he evades your space until all you can see is him. The width of his shoulders, the strong muscle of his chest and torso filling your view.

Logan doesn't say anything for a few beats, just stares down at you with a studying look on his face. It's a struggle to keep still under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythmic thud loud in your ears as the silence stretches between you.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing as he trails them over your sweaty face. You're seconds away from saying something, from turning and running with your tail between your legs, when he beats you to it.

He lets out an amused scoff, shaking his head as he walks past you to the large blue training mat in the middle of the room.

"C'mon," he calls over his shoulder, "Try hitting something that hits back, might help clear your head."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Logan’s already made his way to the center of the mat, turning to face you with a challenging glint in his eye.

You shake your head slowly, not moving from your place across the room. "I don't want to fight you."

Logan chuckles wryly, “Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sends a jolt through you, your pulse skipping in response. It’s always the way he says it—rough around the edges but with a softness that’s almost affectionate. You clench your fists tight, as if the simple act of it will keep your thoughts in check.

"Think you can keep up?" he teases, rolling his shoulders in that casual, self-assured way of his. But there's something in his tone, a challenge that makes you want to prove yourself.

You cast your eyes to the ceiling, exasperated, a bemused laugh bubbling from your chest as you do. "You know I can," you reply, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. "This isn't about that."

You should just say no. You should say no and go back up to your room so you can go to bed and forget all about this in the morning. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Logan for more than thirty minutes at a time, training with him is too much of a risk.

"What's it about then? You scared?" Logan's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, a playful smirk curling his lips. He raises an eyebrow, daring you to join him.

That does it. A spark of defiance flares in your chest, overriding the nervous tension that’s been building since he walked in. You’re not one to back down from a fight, especially when Logan's practically begging for one.

Without thinking, you stride over to the mat.

Logan watches you approach, his stance relaxed but ready, like a predator sizing up its prey. You try your best to ignore the smug look on his face as you kick off your shoes and join him.

"Not scared," you shrug, running your fingers over the tape on your knuckles. "I just don't need you getting all pissy when I win." You roll your shoulders, shake out your arms, and square up, focusing on the way Logan’s eyes are locked on yours.

Logan's grin widens, a flash of sharp teeth that makes your pulse quicken. "We'll see about that."

You drop into a ready stance, the tension in your muscles coiled tight like a spring. For a moment, neither of you moves, just sizing each other up. The silence between you stretches taut like a bowstring. Your eyes lock onto Logan's, each of you reading the other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The air between you feels like it's vibrating, charged with a mix of tension, anticipation, and something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, in a blur of motion, Logan makes the first move, just like you expected him to. He lunges, fast and strong, but you're ready for him, sidestepping the blow and bringing your forearm up to deflect his fist away from your body.

"Slow start, old man?" you quip, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you regain your footing. "Speed isn't what it used to be?"

Logan chuckles, a low and throaty sound. "Just warming up, sweetheart. Don't want you crying unfair when I take you down too quick."

You scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically before launching your own attack. You swing a swift roundhouse kick aimed at his midsection. He anticipates the move, catching your ankle with one hand while his other reaches out to grab your wrist.

But you're quicker. Using the momentum, you twist your body and slip free from his grasp, landing lightly back on your feet a few steps away. The brief contact sends a jolt up your leg, his touch searing even through the thick layer of your sweats.

"Stop holding back," you say roughly, your lips turned down in a displeased frown. "Hit me."

Logan's eyes flash with amusement. "Careful what you wish for."

He advances again, this time more aggressive. He throws a combination of punches—left, right, left—each one precise and controlled. You block the first two, but the third grazes past your defenses, skimming your rib cage hard enough to sting.

You hiss softly at the impact but don't back down. Instead, you duck low and sweep your leg out in a wide arc, aiming to knock him off balance. Logan slides back just in time, your foot swiping through empty air as he evades the attack with a kind of brute grace that you wouldn’t expect.

"Getting fancy now?" he remarks, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

You don't respond, springing to your feet with a raised fist in a swift uppercut. This time you connect, your knuckles catching his stubbled jaw with a loud 'crack'. Your whole hand throbs, you can feel the break in your thumb snap back together in a sharp pinch.

Logan stumbles back a step, his head snapping to the ceiling with the force of your hit. When he turns back to you, there's a large bruise blooming along the sharp cut of his jaw. You watch the color of it spread across his skin, angry reds and dull purples that fade as fast as they appear.

There's a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he meets your gaze. The brown of them darker than before, his pupils blown out and glossy in a way you've never seen.

With a low growl, he comes at you again, faster this time. His movements a blur of muscle and intent. You manage to block the first hit, but not the second, his fist catches your side with enough power to make you stumble back a few steps. Pain flares white hot through your ribs, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the fight. The world narrows down to the two of you, the sound of your breaths and the feel of his skin brushing against yours in fleeting moments of contact.

There's a thrill in it, in the way you challenge each other, in the way you push past your own boundaries.

But there's also something more, something deeper. Every time your eyes lock, you can feel the electricity between you, the way your heart skips a beat, the way your breath catches in your throat. It's not just about the fight anymore.

You feel more alive than you have in a long time. More alive with every sting of each new blow, with the way your muscles burn, with the stray hairs that stick to your forehead.

The heat between you is almost tangible, mixing with the sweat and exertion. Every punch, every block, sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making it both exhilarating and maddening.

The scent of him—earthy, electric, and utterly intoxicating—growing stronger with every second. Your senses are on high alert, every part of you tuned in to his presence.

It wraps around your whole being, making it hard to think straight. But you don’t need to think—you just move, letting your instincts take over.

Logan feints to the left and uses it to sweep your legs out from under you in the same move he mocked you for. Your back hits the floor with a hard thud, the give of the mat not doing much to soften the hardwood underneath.

All the breath in your lungs rushes out of you in a sharp gasp. Before you can recover, Logan is looming over you. He cages your body under his own, thick arms on either side of your head, his weight pressing you further into the floor. His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low, almost growling murmur.

"Gotcha."

You try to come up with a witty comment, a snarky line, a petty insult. Anything at all really—but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just stare up at him, your chest heaving violently, your heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

The whole room feels like it’s spinning, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the intensity in Logan’s eyes, the heat of him against you.

Suddenly, your entire body feels like it's on fire. Phantom flames lapping at every inch of your skin that send your head reeling quicker than you can blink. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but you've only ever felt it outside of a mission once, and it didn't end well.

For a few heart stopping seconds, you're more than confused. Panic starts to set in at the thought of having another "accident" and not even knowing what's triggering it.

Through the messy haze of your panic, you finally see it. The tiny cut above Logan's brow leaking a thin trail of red down the side of his face.

Everything around you dissolves into static, your eyes zeroing in on that single bead of crimson. The cut's long gone by the time it drips from his jaw to the mat right next to your shoulder. Logan's skin stitching back together and leaving no trace that it was ever broken in the first place, but it doesn't matter.

The damage is already done, and you can feel your body start to react.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the edges of your self-control fraying with every passing second. Your own blood pulses beneath your skin like liquid fire as your stomach churns and twists. The intense need to feel, to taste, to take claws at your throat.

You let out a low, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper, as you lose the last of your control.

Hank had called it a frenzy, but that wasn't a technical term.

"You're not in your right mind. You've essentially been conditioned to react strongly to the scent and sight of blood, particularly when you're already in a heightened emotional or physical state. The combination of adrenaline, exertion, and the scent triggers this...well, this 'frenzy' for lack of a better term."

It's like you blackout, and when you wake up, you're straddling Logan's chest with your hand wrapped around his throat in a vice-like grip. The tan column of his throat glowing red beneath your hand, a map of blue veins inked along his skin like spiderwebs as you watch the blood pulse through them.

Your grip tightens instinctively, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to reign in the storm swirling inside you. Everything narrows down to the pounding in your ears, the blazing heat of Logan's skin under your fingers, and the urge to let go, to give in.

Logan's voice starts to trickle in around the static buzzing in your ears, your name falling from his lips sounds strained, but there's a calmness to it. The fog of your instincts begins to fade, the world around you slowly starting to piece back together.

You blink, the haze in your mind clearing as you try to focus on his face, the way his eyes are locked onto yours. Intense, but not clouded with fear like you expected.

Your chest heaves with every breath, ragged and short like they're being ripped out of your lungs. Your wide eyes dropping to where your hand is still locked around his throat, panic surges in your chest like ice freezing over a lake.

But before you can do anything, Logan's reaching up, his hand catching your wrist in a tight grip. His thumb brushes over your pulse point—the touch sends a jolt through you, as if he’s touched a live wire.

“Don't,” he says, like he knows what you're thinking, his voice a rough whisper. The rasp of it vibrates against your hand. “Don't stop now."

Logan’s other hand comes up to rest on your hips, his touch firm but not forceful. He doesn’t try to wrestle control away from you; instead, he holds you steady. His fingers dig into your skin, grounding you.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “I can take it. Give it to me.”

The world around you blurs, your focus entirely on the man beneath you, the way his body feels under your hands, the way he’s willingly surrendering to your control.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. You search his eyes, dark and full of want. There's a heat there, a spark that crackles between you, and it only adds fuel to your fire.

If he wants to push, you're ready to push back.

Silently, you slide your hand up the expanse of his throat, feeling the way his pulse beats strong and fast under your palm. The glow under his skin dissipates as you make your way up, tracing your fingers over his jaw and up to his bottom lip.

Logan’s breathing is rapid, his chest rising and falling under you quicker than before. His lips are slick and red, parted so enticingly that you can help but slide your index finger over them. Your nail digs into the fat of his bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him feel it.

Logan lets you toy with him, meets your gaze head on as you push further. Your finger presses deeper, pushing past the seam of his lips to feel the warmth of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue against your skin.

The sharp bite of Logan's teeth pinches your skin as he closes his lips around your finger and sucks.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat blooming in your core as his tongue brushes over the pad of your finger. You can feel the ache of your cunt between your legs, arousal leaking wet and sticky in your panties.

Your other hand rises up to rest on the side of his face, your fingers grazing over his cheekbone. The touch feather-light but filled with a fierce, unspoken energy. Logan’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening even further.

Your palm splays over the skin of his cheek, the heat of his face seeping into your hand. Logan’s eyes close for a moment, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he tilts his head into your touch.

In a quick move, you dig your fingernails into the fat of his cheek roughly. Logan’s body arches under you, his back snapping off the mat with guttural groan ripping from his chest as you pierce his skin.

You gasp at the scent of him wafting up through the air, at the feeling of his teeth digging into your own flesh. His blood leaking onto the tips of your fingers feels like a shock to your system, both electrifying and terrifying.

His skin glows even brighter than before. A mix of reds and oranges that light up just beneath his skin, the blue of his veins like rivers on a map. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, drawing more blood, the warm, sticky liquid coating your fingers. You watch, mesmerized, as the glow under his skin pulses in response, as if feeding off your energy, amplifying the connection between you.

Logan’s breath hitches, his body tensing beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into your touch, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

it takes barely any energy from you. The faintest traces of your power used for something none of those demented scientists in white lab coats intended.

None of that matters. All that matters is the raw, animalistic connection between you—the way his body is responding to your touch, the way his eyes shine with want, the way his blood sings in harmony with yours.

You could boil Logan alive in less than a second, burst every vessel and capillary in his body until he's nothing more than a copper stain on the floor. But his hands only tighten their grip on your waist to drag you impossibly closer.

"More," Logan growls, his voice vibrating against your palm as his teeth sink a little deeper into your finger, the heat of his breath searing against your skin. He hooks his hands under your thighs, dragging your body up his chest until your legs are spread on either side of his head.

Your hands fly to his hair, steadying yourself with two fist fulls of the brown tufts that sit atop his head. You’ve always been curious if Logan styles his hair this way on purpose, or if it just grows like that naturally. You don't have time to ponder it for long before he's letting out another ragged groan and burying his face between your thighs.

You can feel the heat of his breath over the clothed expanse of your cunt, his nose trailing along the inseam of your sweats as he inhales greedy lungfuls of your scent.

"Logan," you gasp, voice gone high and breathy around the edges.

"Tell me what you want," he says lowly, his lips brushing over you with every word.

It's muffled slightly, but the demand in his tone still sends a shock through you. Your grip on his hair tightens as your mind falls into a whirl of sensations and emotions you couldn't possibly confront.

He presses a heated kiss against the fabric of your sweats, right over where your aching clit pulses with need. The sensation sends an electric jolt straight through your core. Your whole body hums with an intense craving, a need that burns hot and fierce.

"Tell me," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against your core.

You swallow hard, your breath hitching as you try to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

"I want..." you start, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and desire. The words are there, lodged in your throat, but saying them out loud feels like crossing a line you’re not sure you’re ready to cross.

"I need you,” you breathe out, the confession slipping from your lips like a secret finally set free “I need everything.”

Logan’s eyes flare with something fierce and wild. Without a word, he pulls you closer, his hands surging up to tear through the fabric of your clothes like it's nothing but tissue paper. The tattered remains of your panties and sweats pool to the floor in a crumpled mess.

The heat of his breath is replaced by the pressure of his mouth, his tongue sliding through the wet slit of your cunt. He lets out a filthy groan at the first real taste of you, the flat of his tongue lapping eagerly through your dripping slit.

The thrill of his mouth against your most sensitive spots sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching taut as you grip his hair even tighter. Logan’s groan reverberates through you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your core.

Logan is relentless, devouring you like he’s been starving for this, starving for you. The wet sounds of his mouth working you over mix with your breathless whimpers and the low growls rumbling from his chest. He works his tongue expertly, tracing every inch of you, mapping out every spot that makes you tremble and moan.

Your thighs tighten around his head, hips grinding against his face almost unintentionally as heat starts coiling tight in your belly. The scruff of his jaw rubs against the sensitive skin of your thighs with each drag of his head, the sting of it just adds to the assault of pleasure. You wish he could leave his mark on you, wish that your skin wouldn’t work overtime to fix the angry red blotches of raw skin he leaves in his wake.

Logan grips you hard enough that you can see the bruises decorating your skin every time you look down. His arms firm and strong where they’re locked around your thighs to keep you pressed against his mouth. His nose bumps against your throbbing clit each time he fucks his tongue into your leaking cunt.

“Logan,” you moan, your voice a breathy plea that only seems to spur him on. He flicks his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a harsh pull that makes you cry out, your whole body shuddering with the intensity of it.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled by the slickness of your folds. “Could eat you all night.”

“Logan, I’m—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as he sucks hard on your clit, sending you careening over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your entire body convulsing with the force of it as you cry out his name, your nails digging into his scalp as you hold on.

Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He licks you through your release, his mouth working you over with a single-minded intensity that has you writhing against him, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Fuck, Logan, please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, just knowing you need something, anything to ease the ache that’s still throbbing deep inside you.

Logan pulls back just enough to look up at you, the bottom of his face slick with your arousal, eyes dark with a hunger that matches your own. He licks his lips, savoring the taste of you.

Logan’s hands slide up your thighs, his touch gentle now but still impossibly firm. He trails his fingers along your skin, tracing the sensitive lines where your skin starts to heal the damage he left behind.

“Still with me?” he asks, his voice is softer than before but there’s still an unmistakable rough edge coating his words.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper as you try to collect yourself. “Yeah...I’m here.”

“Good,” he growls softly, his hands squeezing the sore skin of your hips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re on your back in less than a second, Logan flipping your positions so fast it has your head spinning. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, all sharp teeth and bruising pressure.

It’s a kiss that feels like a fight, like a challenge, like a promise of something much darker and more consuming just beneath the surface. His stubble scrapes against your skin, adding to the raw, visceral feeling of it all. Your teeth clack together violently, you can taste the faint coppery tang of blood on his lips.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all the pent-up frustration, all the desire, all the fear and anger and need into the contact between you. Your hands are everywhere, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, his back—needing to feel him, to mark him, to claim him as yours in a way that’s as undeniable as the blood pulsing through your veins.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him to fill the ache that’s building inside you. Logan grinds against you, his hard cock still trapped in the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your spit soaked cunt. You can’t help the desperate whimper that escapes your throat. “Please, Logan,” you gasp out against his lips, your voice trembling with need. “Fuck me, I need it, please–.”

He growls low in his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

You nod frantically, your hips bucking up against him darkens the fabric tent of his bottoms. He feels huge, heavy and hot where he pushes against your slick folds. “Yes, please, just—” Logan doesn’t let you finish.

With a swift, almost feral move, he pushes the hem of his sweats down roughly, the sound of seams ripping rings through the room. You barely have time to gasp before he’s pushing his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you so completely that all you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he immediately sets a relentless pace.

You don’t have any time to adjust to the thick length of his cock carving its way inside of you, the sting of it has your eyes screwed shut. It’s only barely straddling the knife's edge of where pain and pleasure meld together, but it has you crying out his name all the same.

Logan fucking sounds identical to Logan fighting, guttural groans and growls that are ripped from somewhere deep in his chest to pierce through the air between you. That ring in your ears and shake through your very soul like thunder.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grates, his voice thick with lust as he holds himself still for a moment, eyes glued to where you’re stretched around him. The puffy, abused lips of your cunt slick with his spit and the pre-come steadily leaking from his dark red tip. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

You moan, high and loud in the back of your throat as your ankles lock around his lower back. Your heels dig into the skin just above his ass as your cunt trembles around his cock, your spongy walls working over him desperately, milking him.

“You like that don’t you?” Logan taunts, starting to snap his hips with purpose. “You like getting fucked like this, princess?” He leans down enough to growl directly into your ear, “I can smell how much you want it, how bad you're aching for it."

He slides his hands up your sides, rough palms gliding over your sweat-slick skin as he continues, "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. I can barely think straight with you on top of me, with your scent all over me. You know what you're doing, don’t you? Getting me all riled up like this."

You can’t respond, can’t speak. You can barely form a coherent thought, your lips falling open in a stream of desperate moans and whines as you bury your face in his neck.

The pulse of his carotid artery under your lips is maddening, each beat of his heart like a drum driving you further into madness. You want to sink your teeth into the skin there, to pull flesh and muscle from bone so you can watch the blood run in rivers and streams down Logan’s body.

The taste of him fresh and heady on your tongue as you watch the layers build back up from nothing, nerves and veins weaving themselves back together grotesquely.

“Fuck,” Logan groans, the sound vibrating through your mouth as you press your lips against his throat, your teeth scraping against his skin with barely restrained hunger.

You nip at his throat, your teeth leaving small indentations that fade almost as quickly as they appear. Logan’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with every shallow breath as he leans into your touch, his body taut with anticipation.

"Atta girl, that's it," he growls, voice thick with desire as his hands grip your hips even tighter, nails digging into your skin as he ruts into you like a beast. His hips snapping against yours hard enough to sting, the loud slap of it bouncing off the walls to echo lewdly in your ears.

He’s fucking you like he wants to break you, reinforced hips heavy as he pounds you into the floor mercilessly. “Taking my cock so well, best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You can feel the way Logan’s cock jerks and pulses inside of you, the taut heaviness of his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You know he’s close, the brutal rhythm of his hips gets sloppier by the second.

You press your body up against his, your chest flush with his own as your hands wander over the hard planes of his back, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his skin. You dig your nails into his shoulder blades roughly, basking in the way his muscles roll and flex underneath your greedy palms.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the pulsing glow of his blood under your fingertips as you explore every inch of him with a hunger that’s almost feral.

And then, with a low, guttural sound that you barely recognize as your own, you sink your teeth into his neck.

Logan’s reaction is immediate and visceral. His entire body tenses above you, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you bite down, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him floods your mouth, metallic and rich, and it sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

You can feel his blood on your tongue, warm and thick, the taste of it driving you wild. It’s everything you’ve been craving, everything you’ve been trying to resist. And now that you’ve finally given in, it’s like a dam has broken inside you.

Logan’s growl is pure animal, his hips bucking up hard as he thrusts into you one last time, burying his cock as deep in you as he can. The force of his orgasm rips through him, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he unloads inside of you. It’s so much, pulse after pulse of hot come that floods your insides. His hips don’t slow, still pumping and fucking like he’s trying to stuff you as full of himself as he can.

The feeling of it pushes you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in a wave of white-hot pleasure that leaves you gasping and trembling above him. Your shaking cunt gushes over his cock as you swallow the blood pooling on your tongue.

Logan’s hips finally still, slotting flush with yours as he slumps onto the floor next to you, dragging you along with him so you can lay flat on his chest. The coarse hair scattered along his pecs scratches the skin of your cheek, you bury your face in the sweaty crook of his neck. You feel hazy, like you’re floating through the air, completely weightless.

You think you could live here, plastered to the strong planes of Logan’s body, stuffed full of his cock and leaking his come in messy trails down your shaking thighs.

But eventually, you have to pull back, your breath coming in short bursts as you lick the blood from your lips. Logan’s eyes are on you, shining under the chandelier light, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing. The wound on his neck is already healing, the skin knitting itself back together, but the blood still stains his skin red, a vivid reminder.

There’s a moment of silence, the air between you thick with tension and something else—something new and unspoken. You’re both panting, bodies still trembling with adrenaline.

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood across your skin. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Finally, he reaches down slowly, like you’re a cornered animal that might turn and run any second. He takes your wrist in his hand, dragging it from the middle of his chest to the muscle directly over his heart. He presses your palm flat against him, blanketing your hand with his own.

“What do you feel,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.

The question catches you off guard. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation—a chance to confront whatever’s swirling inside you instead of running away from it. You hesitate, searching for the right words to encapsulate the storm of emotions you feel thrumming through your bones.

"You," you whisper back, your palm sliding over the sweaty plain of his bare chest. "All I feel is you."

Logan’s eyes soften, and a rare, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The intensity of the moment seems to dissolve, leaving a quiet understanding between you. He leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a tender caress against your ear. His thumb brushes along your pulse in a feather light touch. “That makes two of us.”

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

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

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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a-leg-without-fear · 5 months ago

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Leg's Tuna Tober

this is the masterlist post for all of my tuna-tober posts!!! starting october 1, expect either a fic or a drawing almost EVERY DAY of the month :) here's the link to the prompt list if you'd like to participate!!

🩸= set in the NFW universe, in which the reader is a blood bender born in 1905 🔥= SMUT 18+ 🌧️= angst 🪻= fluff 🎨= drawing 📖= writing

Day 1: Reading to Each Other🪻(Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!reader) 📖

Day 2: Threesome🔥(Worst!Wolverine x f!reader x Deadpool) 📖

Day 3: Insomnia🩸🌧️ (Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 4: "Are You Blushing?"🪻(Jack Clancy x f!reader) 🎨

Day 5: Begging🔥(Logan Howlett x f!reader) 📖

Day 6: "You Can Sleep Here Tonight."🪻(Gabriel Van Helsing x f!reader) 📖

Day 7: Nightmare🌧️(Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader) 📖

Day 8: Overstimulation🔥(Robert Angier x f!reader) 🎨

Day 9: "You Don't Need To Do That." "I Want To."🪻(Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!reader) 📖

Day 10: "I'm Not Good Enough."🌧️(Charlie Kenton x gn!reader) 📖

Day 11: Sharing an Umbrella🪻(Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!reader) 📖

Day 12: Sneak Peek🩸🌧️(Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 13: Playful Kiss🪻(Wolverine x Deadpool) 🎨

Day 14/15: Break Day 🎃

Day 16: Scent Marking🩸🔥🌧️(Worst!Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 17: "I'm Not Leaving You."🌧️(Gabriel Van Helsing x f!reader) 📖

Day 18: Pillow Fort🪻(Charlie Kenton x f!reader) 🎨

Day 19: Gags🔥(Robert Angier x f!reader) 📖

Day 20: "Who Did This To You?"🩸🌧️(Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 21: Flustered🪻(Gabriel Van Helsing x f!reader) 🎨

Day 22: Aphrodisiacs🔥(Wyatt Bose x f!reader) 📖

Day 23/24: Break Day 🎃

Day 25: Playing With Their Hair🪻(Logan Howlett x f!reader) 🎨

Day 26: Under The Desk🔥(Frank Tassone x m!reader) 📖

Day 27: Sneak Peek🩸🌧️(Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 28: Hair Pulling🔥(Gabriel Van Helsing x f!reader) 📖

Day 29: Forehead Kiss🪻(Jean Valjean x f!reader) 📖

Day 30: Road Trip🩸🪻(Old!Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

Day 31: SANGUINE🩸🌧️(Logan Howlett x mutant!fem!reader) 📖

hope you all are as excited for tuna tober as i am!!!!

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

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guiltyasdave · 3 months ago

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guess who’s back 😌 i took a bit of a break from weekly fic recs last month, because i wasn’t reading that much anyway and a lot of stuff was happening in my personal life (i kicked depression’s ass and went back to work, yay me!), so i’m gonna do a monthly rec list instead.

find the masterlist with all my recs ever right here and please remember to give the writers some love <3

dividers by @/enchanthings!

i'm organizing the fics by character and adding emojis to indicate the contents a little. still, please look at the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be for you.

💘= fluff • ❤️‍🔥= smut • 🤍= angst • 🖤= dark

📖= oneshot • 📚= series

— pedro pascal characters —

dave york

when the blood creeps and the nerves prick by @gasolinerainbowpuddles ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

reversal by @punkseyes 💘❤️‍🔥📖

sunshine & rainbows by @jeewrites 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📖

after by @sp00kymulderr ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

good luck, babe by @schnarfer 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

dieter bravo

close encounters of the corn kind by @whocaresstillthelouvre 💘📖

din djarin

something worse by @corazondebeskar-reads 🤍🖤📖

frankie morales

in the woods by @tonysopranosrobe 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

the harvest festival by @iknowisoundcrazy 💘📖

jack daniels

a bit of a fright by @leslie-lyman 💘🤍📖

javier peña

seasons change by @punkshort 💘🤍📖

i’ll carry you by @almostfoxglove 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

joel miller

goodnight kiss 💘📖, older!boyfriend joel 💘❤️‍🔥📚 & wherever you stray, i’ll follow 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖 by @cavillscurls

of rage and ruin by @corazondebeskar-reads 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

smother by @beardedjoel 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

sunset by @5oh5 💘❤️‍🔥📖

chrysalism by @gasolinerainbowpuddles 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

daddy dom!joel collection by @joelsdagger 💘❤️‍🔥📚

a great honor ❤️‍🔥🖤📖 & good neighbors ❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚 by @joelstummy

brother by @macfrog 🤍📖

see you at three by @almostfoxglove 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

stay awhile by @mrsmando 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

marcus pike

only for you by @burntheedges 💘❤️‍🔥📖

max phillips

i cannot get you close enough by @leslie-lyman 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

oberyn martell

he will slay you with his tongue by @iamasaddie ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

— hugh jackman characters —

gabriel van helsing

…fucks you in his jacket by @moonlight-prose ❤️‍🔥📖

logan howlett

of flesh and bone by @cavillscurls ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

several kinktober fics by @eupheme (individual warnings!)

future boyfriend by @wlwloverwrites ❤️‍🔥📖

several kinktober fics by @avocado-writing (individual warnings!)

wondering why 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖 & dust to dust 💘❤️‍🔥📖 by @moonlight-prose

slippin’ and slidin’ all over you! by @sceletaflores ❤️‍🔥📖

dream incarnate by @dollfacefantasy 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

steal away by @nymphoniah ❤️‍🔥📖

no end to this road by @logaenhowlett ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

strangers by @silverskyeline ❤️‍🔥📖

sugar on the rim by @ovaryacted 💘❤️‍🔥📖

my own writing

every breath you take — dave york x f!reader 🤍🖤📖

#janas recs #weekly fic recs #monthly fic recs

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moonlight-prose · 4 months ago

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this is pure thot, sending one about Gabriel Van Helsing fucking you in his jacket (because he thinks you look so goddamn good in it - only it, and nothing else) 🦇💕

note: i need you know i screamed and fell over and actually made a fool of myself writing this. because where is this man and why isn't he married me??? i want to be his hot witch wife who helps him fight monsters. also i love the amount of asks people sent in about him. clearly we need more van helsing in our lives.

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, rough sex, p in v sex, possessive gabriel, outdoor nasty time, hints of wolfism, he's feral.

It's a full moon when he finds you bundled in his leather trench coat, waiting out the chill in the air as he finishes yet another job well done. The autumnal solstice has come and gone, bringing darkness to the world around. Giving leeway to the monsters who clung to the shadows, biding their time for the moon's glow to lead the way.

You've opted for thin clothes. A horrible choice given the change in seasons, but Gabriel vowed this would be simple. The inn refused to open its doors for someone like him - claiming he was a monster in his own right. And perhaps that was true.

Whether he liked to admit it, the wolf inside of him never truly passed. The antidote may have changed him back, but the instincts remained. His thread of anger grew thinner the fuller the moon got, his thirst for blood thickened like sweet honey as his changed DNA craved something fresher. Something made up of veins and nerves and a beating heart he could stop.

"Finished?" You shudder at the sight of his shirt torn open in the center, his chest on full display for you to ogle at blatantly.

"The bastard tried to play with me."

A smile curled onto your lips, sly and smooth and dripping with lust at the biting rage behind his words. The moon was affecting him. Far more than he would have liked.

"I'm sure you taught him a lesson," you reasoned, moving swiftly to reach for his warm hands. "You always do."

"That my coat?"

His eyes trailed down to the way it gaped across your own chest, your dress slipping down lower than you intended. But Gabriel was only a man and the adrenaline ran through his body like a fire he couldn't put out. The moon's glow fueled his thoughts, his urges, and before you could explain that you were cold he was walking you back into the trunk of the nearest tree.

"Last I checked I gave that to you to hold," he said. Although his eyes said something else - the ache crawling its way through his body, settling at the base of his spine.

Your chin tipped in defiance. "Last I checked I didn't need your permission to wear your clothes."

"Is that right?"

"It is."

The smile on his face screamed contentment, but the fire in his gaze explained to you the turmoil he fought on the inside. The war that waged in his body at the very thought of touching you. Of getting his hands on what rightfully belonged to him.

"I'm rather cold," he replied, dipping his gloved hand beneath the leather fabric. Brazenly groping your breast as his tongue dragged across his bottom lip. "Might need this back."

"Then take it," you gasped. "It's yours."

A blur of movement left you winded when he hauled you up against the tree, his strength increased by the moon's piercing glow. Teeth latched onto your neck like an animal aching to mark his territory. The quickness of his hands digging to raise your dress stole whatever sense you had left in your head.

Out in the open you were nothing but prey for this man to take. A feast for him to dine on with a wet mouth and throbbing cock. You couldn't deny the harsh wave of lust that swept through you even if you wanted to.

"It is mine," he gruffly stated, swiping his cock through your dripping folds. "The leather and the pretty thing inside it."

Your eyes rolled back when he entered you faster than you could take. The burning stretch caused you to sag against the tree, his fingers harsh against the meat of your thighs. There was no warning. Just a kiss pressed sloppily to your lips, a growl muffled into the heat of your mouth, before he slammed into you again.

"Should have known better." His bit at your bottom lip until copper flooded his mouth - a streak of red smearing between your mouths.

The smile on your face was tainted in crimson. His cock jolted within you at the sight. Bloody and fucked out and perfectly his in every way he could have you.

"W-Who says I didn't?"

"Minx," he bit out, a hand slamming to the trunk behind you, fingers ripping at the bark. "I want you to finish."

"Gabriel-"

He gripped your throat, eyes flashing dangerously in the darkness as the beast within began to rear its ugly head. There would never be another full moon where he turned. Never another night spent locked inside a monster's body. But he would forever be stuck with it as his companion.

"Finish. And then I will fuck you properly in our home," he snarled, grinding into you hard enough to hurt.

The coarse hair at the base of his cock dragged along your aching clit. And with a muffled shout against his cheek you gushed. The numbing pleasure drowned you, dragged you through the fires of hell before seating you atop the throne of heaven.

His cry of your name barely registered, but you felt the swell of his cock when he broke. The drip of his spend slipping down between your bodies. His blood still ran hot - desperation skirting the edges of his patience - but for a moment he relaxed into your touch.

Kissing along your throat until his lips found yours once more.

#witch aunt responds #jess darling💓#van helsing x f!reader #van helsing x reader #van helsing x you #van helsing x y/n #van helsing smut #gabriel van helsing #my writing #van helsing thoughts & musings

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briseroyawritingsblog · 4 months ago

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I am watching van helsing and I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as much as I wanna fuck him 🥵🥵😭😭

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x female reader #hugh jackman fanfiction #gabriel van helsing smut #gabriel van helsing #van helsing smut

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ninuwrites · 4 months ago

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hey babesss, i’m working on a request rn BUT is someone here interested in van helsing fic? i rewatched it recently and WOHOOO MAAN

#hugh jackman #van helsing smut #van helsing #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine fanfiction #x men wolverine

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softfem-dom · 9 months ago

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MAIN MASTERLIST !! 𝓷avigation 𝜗𝜚 𝓫otlist

🥥 twenty1 she / her spanish girl <33

requests are open ! ☕

john travolta's characters !!

the outsiders !!

grease !!

matt dillon's characters !! loading, pls wait ..

girl, interrupted !!

dead poets society !! loading, pls wait ..

lethal weapon !! loading, pls wait ..

rambo !! loading, pls wait ..

elvis' characters !! loading, pls wait ..

ryan reynold's characters !!

hugh jackman's characters !!

and autumn comes when you're not yet done with the summer passing by 🩰

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otterneuvillette · 1 year ago

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✧ BLOOD SUCKER ! ✧

⋆🍷— pairings: vamp! wriothesley x fem! vampire hunter! reader

⋆🍷— Sypnosis: You are Fontaine's biggest vampire hunter (Van Helsing vibes) and your dream is to eliminate all vampires in Fontaine. You were trying to lure one of the oldest existing vampires, Wriothesley at the Musée du Vampirisme until someone approached you. Confrontation ensues.

⋆🍷 — content: fem! reader, angst, spicy but NOT SMUT‼️‼️ (OOC wriothesley?)

⋆🍷 — A/N: In favor of the spooky szn, I give you this!! (Also Reader has a history of some sort with Wriothesley. Also sorry if this is too rushed and doesn't make sense, I was trying to finish this before Halloween lol!!)

✧✧✧⁠✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You wandered through the marble halls of the Musée du Vampirisme, marveling at the exquisite artworks on display. You paused in front of a particularly alluring painting, captivated by the man depicted in it. It was a portrait of a man, in his late 20s or so, his eyes held a icy stare piercing through at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"Quite a captivating piece, isn't it darling?" The voice was deep and smooth. The voice had a mysterious tone that both intrigued and unnerved you.

A tone you knew all too well.

Wriothesley.

Your crazy plan worked! But now what?

"It is. It's really truly one of a kind." You said, before realizing what he said.

Your eyes widened, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.

The nerve of this-

"Did you just call me darling?!"

"I did indeed, my dear." He replied, gaze still fixed on the painting before us. His demeanor was still casual, the mystery of his character only making him more annoying.

"I don't see a problem with that, do you?"

You huffed in annoyance, Wriothesley could see the feistiness in your spirit, the burning life in you.

And he loved every second of it.

"You know, darling, your fiery temper only makes you more desirable." He turned his attention to you, his gaze never leaving yours. "Don't you agree? I would assume that you are quite the passionate lady." Wriothesley took a step closer to you, unable to resist your innocent charm.

"And you, my lady, do you know who the man in the painting is?"

Oh? He's playing coy with you now, well, only two can play that game.

"A Night Child, or in human terms, a vampire."

You explained.

"This painting specifically was painted in the 1800s. The peak of vampirism, where vampire activity was at its highest."

"Very impressive darling. You know your history." Wriothesley nodded approvingly. "It's not every day I meet a lady so knowledgeable about that time period." My gaze became more intense, and I could see the way it affected you.

"Would you like to know something else about that painting, my dear?"

"Hm?" You made a noise of curiosity. Wriothesley leaned closer to you, his gaze still locked on your frame. "That painting is, in fact, a painting of myself."

He gave you a satisfied smile, allowing the truth to slowly sink into your mind. He knew how he had one-upped you, that he was leading this game, he loved the way your expressions changed as you went through different emotions: confusion, shock, disbelief-

As soon as it happened, your expression turned blank, emotionless.

"Oh, I know." You chuckled with a toothy grin, eyes shining with familiarity.

"Did you enjoy my expressions, Monsieur?"

Wriothesley's eyes narrowed, slightly upset that you were poking fun at him so brazenly. You noticed how his eyebrows furrowed a little, and you smirked, knowing that you'd won.

But it's okay, he'll have to make sure that you get what you deserve later.

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You cleared your throat, and you saw how his eyes darted quickly to the movement.

"Hello, Wriothesley. Fancy seeing you in the museum after closing hours, no?"

A faint smile curled up on Wriothesley's face.

"Hello, my sweet. It's been a while since we last met, no? You must be that hunter the humans speak of. I've heard rumors about you; your abilities, your tactics, the number of vampires you have slain over the last few years."

He paused, admiring the way you carried yourself so far.

"That's quite a reputation you have created for yourself. It's a rare sight, that determination of yours. I don't know if it's by sheer luck or recklessness that kept you alive."

"Hah! It seems like my reputation precedes me!" You grinned wolfishly.

Wriothesley swears he could feel the waves of pride escaping you, it was adorable actually.

He chuckled, still admiring your strong sense of self.

"Indeed it does. It seems like you enjoy this little game of ours, but let me tell you, my dear. You have no idea what you're going up against. I am a vampire of the ancient world, my powers have been cultivated for centuries. There truly is nothing like me; no other vampire in this world can match me."

His voice still carried a hint of amusement, you could tell that he enjoyed this little game of dominance with you.

"And I have taken down many powerful vampires Fontaine could offer!" You kept your gaze dead straight on his, the confident grin still plastered on your face.

"So, what are you doing here? Any ill intentions on that head of yours?" You asked.

"I don't have any ill intentions, my dear. I simply came here to appreciate some old-world artwork. You know, humans were a lot more artistically inclined back then."

He took a deep breath, in a bit of a teasing tone. "And I must say, you look quite fascinating too, my lady. Your beauty, combined with your fierce attitude...quite the combination, to say the least."

"Hmm...your sweet talk will never work on me this time, Wriothesley."

You said, enjoying the conflicted look in his eyes.

Wriothesley's grin widened, the confidence in his words growing even larger.

"And who's to say I want it to work on you. If anything, I enjoy my reputation being challenged by an outstanding young lady such as yourself..."

He took a deeper breath, slowly approaching you. "But, what if I want to taste your beauty, your fierce attitude. What if I simply want to...devour you?"

"I wouldn't want to try that if I were you. I've got my reputation for a reason, you know? Fastest kills in this business."

"Is that a challenge? I don't see how a little woman like you could ever overpower me. Just look at me...I stand before you as a vampire lord. No one can possibly resist me."

His hand ran through his hair, and I looked deep into your brown eyes. "But I also cannot deny that I am quite intrigued by this little game of ours. It has been so long since I last saw a mortal that could match me."

You gave him a cocky grin and took a step closer, so now you're basically toe to toe with him.

His gaze locked on yours. The smell of your sweet blood was intoxicating, and I felt my fangs itching to pierce your skin, to taste all of you.

"Tell me, my dear, would you mind if…I take a little bite?"

He leaned in closer to you, lips just inches from your neck. Wriothesley's voice was whisper-quiet as if asking you for a forbidden delight.

The glint of silver under your coat shines brightly underneath the museum's lightning. The sharp blades lined up against your belt prepared and enchanted.

"Don't try it, Wriothesley."

Wriothesley let his tongue dance across his fangs, words becoming an intimate whisper in your ears.

"...Please...I beg of you."

He was completely and utterly drunk by your beauty. Your blood, it was calling his name. He wanted it too badly, he'd been fighting these urges for so long, surely he couldn't wait any longer

"...I want to take a little bite." His breath was heavy, and his voice became more desperate...hungry even.

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"I will sink this blade into your heart if you try."

You growled, challenging him.

Wriothesley couldn't help but be impressed by your determination. A human being who was always prepared; always ready for a fight. You were different from the rest, the ones who cower in fear at the sight of a vampire.

"I see that, my dear. I see that. But I also see this...what is it? A necklace, an amulet, around your neck."

His gaze was locked on the glinting, pure silver you wore. It was too obvious to ignore. "Tell me, what does it do?"

"It doesn't concern you."

Your bluntness and self-assurance intrigued him even further. "Oh, but you see, my dear...it does concern me. I am the one who has to deal with it, after all.

He took another step closer to you, hand reached out towards the necklace. His other hand remained ready to catch the dagger if you decided to strike.

You moved at a speed, pulling out a vial from the many pockets of your coat, the speed of it even stunned him.

Before he could say something, you had already crushed the vial in your hand.

The scent of your blood fills the air and Wriothesley gets distracted from it. It was sweet but in a mellow smell, a little flowery. The same scent that he used to remember.

His face contorted as he could smell something else than your blood that corrupted the scent that he craved.

Holy water.

Wriothesley snarled, his gaze went back up to you, and his eyes narrowed. His fangs bared and his eyes let out a dim glow.

"No human in his entire life had ever been able to pull off something like that." Wriothesley thought.

He could smell the faint scent of the holy water wafting through the air, and his body tensed up. He was too distracted by the beauty of your neck, by the lure of your sweet blood. That moment of distraction almost cost him his life.

"My goodness, my lady. You're quite dangerous." He whispered, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "How did you obtain this?"

"I have my ways, connections to the church and all." You shrugged, your hands dripping with your own blood. The holy water slightly stung your wounds.

Wriothesley took a deep breath, the smell of your blood still lingering in the air.

"You're smart to come prepared. Too many hunters have come at me unprepared, cocky even." He laughed.

"I had to give you credit. You seemed to be the only hunter that could possibly match me. Your beauty combined with your intelligence made your presence even more alluring..."

His grin grew even wider, fangs gleaming with more intensity. The thought of your lovely blood trickling down his throat...the image alone sent shivers down his spine.

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"Now tell me, Wriothesley, why were you following me here?"

The two of you stood facing each other, one hand bloody and another one clenching into a fist as an act of self-control.

Time to put the plan into action.

His eyes widened in surprise. "I wasn't following you! I merely happened to be here for a different purpose." He took a few deep breaths to keep himself calm. He couldn't give you any hint of the real reason he was here.

"I came here to appreciate the artwork, as I have previously stated."

He lied.

"And I must say, what a coincidence that you happen to be here as well. But do tell…why is it exactly that you also happen to be here, my dear?" Wriothesley's eyes narrowed. He had already suspected it, but he still wanted to hear it from your mouth.

"I was trying to see if you were following me." You said, it was kind of the truth yet also a lie.

You were trying to lure him here.

A faint, sly grin appeared across Wriothesley's lips. "You really think I am dumb enough to follow you around, without even hiding my presence?"

He took a step closer to you, his face dangerously close to yours. The scent of your blood intoxicated him, and it was becoming more difficult to control himself. "I am not the type of vampire to just follow you around without you knowing."

He moved his lips closer to your neck, voice was barely a whisper. "After all, I'm much more subtle."

"But let me ask you something, my dear. What if I really was stalking you from the shadows? Would that have scared you or made you feel more…exhilarated?"

He paused, his warm breath lingering on your neck. A faint smile curled up on his lips. "It certainly feels like the latter in this moment. The thought of a vampire stalking your every move, with you never knowing. Is that why you're so tempted to give yourself to me, my dear?"

"I never said that I would give myself up to you!" You teased, turning to face the other side.

"No, but the way that your voice trembles when you speak to me, and the way your body shakes ever so slightly in my presence." He tilted his head.

"You may be brave, my little dove. But your heartbeat has been racing in your chest since the moment you first saw me. And there is a reason for that."

He stepped closer to you, my gaze fixated on your skin. "We both know your secret desires deep in your, my sweet child,"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and your temper flared up again.

"Lies. I feel no such thing."

You whispered harshly, stepping away from Wriothesley.

"Tell me, my dear. Why do you fight me? Don't you want the bliss of surrender? I can provide you with everything you've ever longed for."

"There's nothing you can provide me that could sway me from my path!" You exclaimed.

How dare he-

Wriothesley laughed, closing his eyes for a moment. He savored your boldness, your stubbornness, your courage.

"Is that so?" He said, in a teasing tone. "That path won't be for much longer if you get in the way of my plans."

His eyes opened, and he locked them onto yours. "Tell me, if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be? Money? Power? Fame? I can provide all those things if you just abandon that hunter path of yours."

He chuckled silently. He was still enjoying our little game. The moment of tension, of uncertainty, of danger. It was such an intoxicating feeling. He loved seeing the way you stood your ground, but also loved knowing that your will could be broken.

"But what if I don't want those things?" You asked, your voice quiet.

"I already have everything I need, it would be selfish for me to ask for more."

Wriothesley didn't understand your response at all. Was it stubbornness, or was it courage? Perhaps both.

"Selfish? What an odd reply coming from my little dove."

"Why would it be selfish to ask for everything your heart desires?" He said in a whisper.

"What if I'm the person who can grant you that wish?" He offered.

You chuckled, before cocking your head to the side.

"I don't need anything from you, but, you want something from me."

Wriothesley chuckled, unable to deny the truth of your words. "You're very perceptive. Yes, I do want something from you." He paused, thinking of the exact wording I wanted to use. "I don't just want something. I crave something you have inside you."

His fangs were sharp, and my lips were so close to your skin. "And that, my little dove, is why I've come here."

"Come on, won't you let me have a taste of your irresistible blood?"

"I'd kill you if you tried." You said in a low voice, eyes glinting with a dangerous glow.

Wriothesley smirked. "Kill me how exactly? With this tiny silver dagger you carry?"

He glanced down for a moment, then looked back up at you. His face was filled with amusement. "If you can manage to pierce my heart, then by all means… I'll welcome the sweet release of death."

Wriothesley was not cocky. nor arrogant. Death is the only thing that ever truly frightened him. And yet…the sight of you holding a silver dagger to his throat while looking into his eyes with that determination of yours, was truly enticing.

"But before that happens, I want to savor your beauty. I want to feast my eyes on your delicious neck, I want to have you right here in my arms." He moved my face even closer to yours, until your lips were centimeters away from each other.

"Imagine you and I together. A mere human girl, and an immortal vampire." His voice was filled with passion and seduction.

"Together."

The two of you were so close from each other, so close from being united in a sensual embrace.

But then you pushed yourself away from him.

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Wriothesley let out a faint growl as you jerked your body away from him. The smell of your fear and panic excited him. He wanted you to give in to your desire. He wanted you to throw that dagger away and surrender yourself to him.

"C'mon, my little dove. Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what your heart has been longing for?" He reached for you again. "Come to me, little one.."

"N-No! I will not fall for your tricks again—"

You rushed towards the doors, breathing hard. Puffs of steam escaped as your warm breath met the cold air of the museum.

He watched you run towards the doors, his hungry gaze fixed on your body. The shape of your hips, the curves of your legs, the soft texture of your skin. He wanted to have you, and he wanted it now.

Quickly, Wriothesley moved over to you. He grabbed your wrist and forced you to halt. He moved his face closer to yours, once more. "Now why are you running away my dear? Do you not want this as badly as I do?"

He leaned in, just centimeters away from your neck, right above your pulse point.

Wriothesley couldn't help but savor this moment. The look of fear and doubt on your face, the sweet temptation of your slender neck. He didn't want to hurt you, but his urges were so difficult to control.

"But what's life without a little danger, my sweet dove?" He whispered, his lips lingering just above your skin.

"Just a slight taste…I promise I won't even break your precious skin…" He panted slightly, his cold breath sent shivers down your spine.

You managed to slice him with the silver blade on his arm as he was distracted by the scent of your blood under your skin.

"Let go of me!" You growled.

Wriothesley's eyes widened, and he quickly let go of your wrist. "My my, my little dove." His voice was dripping with amusement. The smell of your blood, the taste of your fear, was more arousing than it ever was before.

"I'll be honest with you, my dear. You're an incredibly fascinating human being. You've impressed me with your boldness, your courage, your resilience."

He held up his bloodied arm, the smell of blood lingering in the air. "And now that you've hurt me…I want you even more."

He ran my tongue against the cut, the taste of blood only serving to heighten the desire he already felt.

How he wanted to drain you dry, to let you slowly dissolve inside of him. The way your eyes fluttered in fear, the way you trembled before him…

"Tell me, my dear. Are you sure death was still your preferred option?" He whispered. "After all, death means an end. And I can offer you an eternity of pleasure if you just came with me…"

"I swear, I will kill you. I'm letting you off easy here, let me go, or I'll make sure you won't see the light of the moon anymore." You threatened him.

This wasn't going the way you planned at all.

He chuckled, my eyes sparkling with sick and twisted joy. "Such boldness, my little dove. You're right, this does turn me on."

He moved even closer until your faces were just a few inches apart. "A mortal like yourself has the gall to threaten me…an ancient vampire." His hands slid up your arms, his cold, undead skin against yours made your heart skip a beat. "Do you know how adorable that is, my dear?"

Wriothesley couldn't help but let out a faint growl. There was something different about you than the other hunters he had encountered before. You weren't the type to back down. You had fought back even when everyone else would've been terrified and run away. Your courage was alluring, your spirit intoxicating.

"Your fearlessness. Your determination. It arouses me, my little dove. I want more." He moved one of his hands to your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Please don't resist, my dear. You'll only make this more addicting for me."

"I understand perfectly, my sweet dove. But do you understand what happens if you don't give in to me?"

He was staring deep into your eyes with his hypnotic gaze. "The longer you resist me, the harder I will find it to control my urges. And if your luck runs out, there will be no one to save you from me. Not even your precious Archon."

"Surely you want to survive, my sweet dove. Just let me have a taste."

You hesitated.

But then you had an impulsive idea, and it could just work. Maybe your plans on killing him might work after all.

Yet now, you felt as if you couldn't bring yourself to kill him.

You loved him still.

So you settled for the next option, capturing him.

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"Fine." You whispered, pretending to give in.

He smirked as you finally gave in, and your lips came in contact with his. The taste of your lips, the warmth of your breath. The softness of your skin. It was all so addictive.

He parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He had let out a deep moan, body trembling with pleasure. Wriothesley didn't want this moment to end, he didn't want you to escape.

The taste of your blood was on his tongue, and he had never wanted anything else more than to drain you dry.

The two of you remained like that for a few moments, your tongues locking in a playful battle for dominance.

After what seemed like hours, Wriothesley pulled away, breathing heavily. Your blood was on his tongue as well, the sweet taste driving him wild and he had to admit…

He had never felt more alive than ever.

Suddenly, it all stops.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "What…have you done…?" As soon as you had kissed me, the hold he had tried to control had weakened. He could feel your heartbeat throughout his body. It was louder than usual.

He realized that you had sedated him with some kind of special tranquilizer.

He stared at you, suddenly realizing what you'd done. His lips parted slightly, breathing growing more labored. "Darling..." He whispered. "Why did you do this…why…"

His heart grew heavier, and his racing thoughts began to dim.

"What…what's happening…?" He moved my hands towards his chest, his heartbeat growing increasingly erratic. "Y/N…what's happening, please…"

"I'm sorry, my dear. I just need you to go under for a bit." You whispered, gaze turned cold yet you felt pity in your heart.

"It shouldn't kill you, just knock you out as I capture you."

"Why you…" Wriothesley's voice was strained, his breathing shallow. My eyes grew heavier, and his legs gave out from under him.

He crashed into the floor, unable to move. "My dear…" He gasped, his hands clutching his chest. "…please…darling"

His thoughts blurred, and his breath was shallow as he tried to remain conscious. "Don't….make me…sleep…please…my love…"

"Goodnight, Wriothesley, I'll promise I'll keep you safe from the church."

Wriothesley remained unresponsive as he listened to your voice, his body limp.

He was completely at your mercy, a state he had never experienced before.

A small smile spread on his lips, his heart flickering with joy. He felt alive. He also felt loved, and desired. He was no longer alone. There was someone who cared for him.

It was such a strange feeling.

A tear fell down his cheek as he drifted into unconsciousness, his thoughts quieted down.

He prayed that the next time he woke up...

It would be in your arms.

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#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley fluff #genshin smut #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #october #happy halloweeeeeeen #⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ottervneuvillette's thoughts

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