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butterbabyflapjack · 2 months ago

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✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 1): 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

✧˖° chapter 1

Hello again, Miami.

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left.

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it.

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit.

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said.

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond.

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already.

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal.

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt.

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive.

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it.

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood.

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all.

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me.

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out.

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit.

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch.

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached.

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in.

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I?

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.”

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.”

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you.

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?”

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!”

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?”

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn’t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?”

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first.

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It’s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued.

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at.

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?”

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction.

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it.

Interesting.

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you.

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite.

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.”

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already.

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer.

This should be fun.

✧˖° chapter 2

#brian moser x reader #brian moser x you #brian moser #dexter #reader insert #wild animals #slasher x reader #fanfiction #rudy cooper #ice truck killer

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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Bound to happen || Billy the Kid x reader

Summary: Billy knew what would happen when burping his newborn child, yet he still insisted on doing it anyways.

Warnings: vomit, breastfeeding? I think that’s abt it.

Wc: 373

A/n: I wrote this for the second time because I accidentally clicked onto a notification from tumblr and it didn’t save 😃

Divider by @pommecita

You sit in the cozy rocking chair, cradling your three-month-old daughter, Kathy, in your arms. The soft glow of the lamp in the corner casts a warm light, creating a serene atmosphere in the room. As Kathy nuzzles against you, finding comfort in her mother’s embrace, you catch a glimpse of your husband, Billy, watching with a curious and intrigued expression.

Billy has always been fascinated by the wonders of the female body, and the act of breastfeeding seems to captivate him. You can see the admiration in his eyes as he observes the gentle bond between you and Kathy. It’s a quiet moment, filled with the subtle sounds of your daughter’s content suckling.

“Ever think ‘bout how incredible it is, what your body can do?” Billy breaks the silence, his voice filled with wonder. You glance over at him, a smile playing on your lips. “Absolutely,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride in the marvels of motherhood.

The fascination in Billy’s eyes deepens as he continues to watch. After a while, he shifts in his chair, a newfound determination on his face. “Mind if I give it a shot?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye. You raise an eyebrow, amused by his curiosity. “Breastfeeding might be a bit challenging for you, dear,” you tease.

Billy chuckles, “Not that, but how about burping? Can I try burping her?” You nod, “Of course you can, Billy” passing him your precious bundle. He carefully takes 3 month old Kathy from your arms as she’s practically swallowed by Billy’s arms.

Billy, now holding Kathy with a mix of uncertainty and excitement, positions her against his shoulder, You watch as Billy gently pats Kathy’s back, slightly rocking her. “This is fun-“ Billy freezes as he feels something drip down his clothes back.

You stifled a laugh as he shuts his eyes, his nose crinkling from the smell. “Jesus,” He groans as you grab a cloth and wipe his back, Kathy’s staring at you over Billy’s shoulder with her blue doe eyes. “Well, that’s a first,” he says, glancing at Kathy, who looks equally surprised by her own actions.

After you finish wiping his back and Kathy’s mouth, Billy readjusts her in his arms. One hand behind Kathy’s head while the other was just under her bottom. Kathy looked up at her father with an innocent expression. “How could I get mad at you, darling?” He sighs, kissing her cheek as she breaks into a smile. You look over Billy’s shoulder just as your daughter smiles, Billy and you aweing over her cuteness.

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superiorsturgeon · 4 months ago

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Jamie: (Arkos son) *scratched and dirty from a series of harrowing adventures* Mom! Dad! 😭

Pyrrha: *charges forward and wraps Jamie in a hug* MY BABY!!! 😭

Jaune: *slams into his wife and son with a tearful hug* What happened to you?! We were so worried when you disappeared from school!! 😭

Jamie: *hugging his parents* Well…I was actually kidnapped from school by someone, but through a series of harrowing adventures, we developed a bond and she had a change of heart and brought me home! 😃

Pyrrha: YOU WERE KIDNAPPED?! 😱

Jaune: Who is this person?!

Jamie: Here she is right now!

Cinder: *also exhausted, scratched, and dirty from a crazy series of bonding adventures* Hello, Cinder here…! 😅

Jaune: *draws his sword* CINDER?!?! 😱

Pyrrha: You touched my son?! I’ll kill you!!! 🤬

Jamie: Well yeah, we started as enemies, but through a series of shared adversities we learned to work together and-mom, wait!! 😨

Jaune: *holding his son back* Don’t worry, Jamie, your mother will be done in a few minutes. 😤

Pyrrha: 😡

Cinder:

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #cinder fall #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc x pyrrha nikos #rwbabies #Jamie Nikos-arc

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moonselune · 8 months ago

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Yo can we get one with the ladies where they find out tav has a kid, like they're at the city at home? Or maybe one where tav likes to surprise back hug them with a lil kiss on the back of the neck? Either way appreciate your work here 😃

Oh my god I cannot tell you how much I loved this prompt !! The second request is sitting in the drafts ready to be posted but I'm thinking I might include all of the BG3 crew, so look out for that one !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

BG3 Ladies Reacting to You Having a Child Waiting for You in Baldur's Gate:

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

As you approached Minthara in Baldur's Gate, your heart raced with nervous anticipation. You hadn't told her about your daughter, unsure of how she would react. But as you stood before her, your young daughter clutching your hand tightly, Minthara's eyes softened with surprise and intrigue.

"Well, well," Minthara murmured, her voice tinged with amusement as she looked down at the small child beside you. "And who might this fierce little one be?"

Your daughter, sensing the attention, straightened up proudly. "I'm D/N," she declared, her voice surprisingly bold for her age. "And this is my mama."

Minthara's lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah, I see," she replied, her tone carrying a hint of approval. "Protective, aren't we?"

You began to apologize for not mentioning her earlier, but Minthara raised a hand to stop you, her gaze still fixed on your daughter. "No need for apologies," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "A mother's love is a powerful thing, and secrets can be… advantageous."

Your daughter, sensing the tension between the adults, suddenly piped up with a mischievous glint in her eye. "If you hurt my mama, I'll feed you to the gnolls!" she declared boldly, her tiny fists clenched in determination.

Minthara raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her features. "Is that so?" she responded coolly, crouching down to meet your daughter at eye level. "Well, I happen to know some rather hungry spiders who would love a feisty little girl as a snack."

Instead of cowering, your daughter's eyes lit up with excitement. "Spiders?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with delight. "I love spiders!"

Minthara straightened up, a rare smile softening her usually composed expression. "Well then," she said, addressing both you and and your daughter, "it seems we have come a mutual understanding. Your daughter is indeed formidable, much like her mother."

You let out a relieved sigh, grateful that Minthara had taken the unexpected situation in stride. As you watched her interact with your daughter, who was now regaling her with tales of her adventures and spider encounters, you couldn't help but marvel at the bond forming between them. In Minthara, you saw a side rarely glimpsed by others—a blend of strength and compassion that made you love her even more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach's eyes widened as she watched you approach, a small child clinging shyly to your side. Her surprise was fleeting, replaced almost immediately by a warm smile that lit up her face as she crouched down to the child's level.

"Well, hello there!" Karlach greeted cheerfully, her voice carrying genuine delight. "Who might this little warrior be?"

The child peeked out from behind you, eyeing Karlach with cautious curiosity before shyly mumbling their name. Karlach chuckled warmly, reaching out a hand to gently tousle the child's hair. "Pleased to meet you, little one. I'm Karlach!"

You couldn't help but smile at the ease with which Karlach embraced the unexpected situation. "Karlach, I should have told you sooner about…" you began, feeling a mix of relief and nerves.

Karlach waved off your concern with a carefree laugh, straightening up and ruffling the child's hair once more. "No need to explain, love. I love surprises, especially ones as adorable as this."

She turned to you with a playful glint in her eye. "Besides, I've always wanted to be the cool adult who teaches all the best tricks." Without missing a beat, she scooped the child up in her arms, eliciting a squeal of delight from them.

"Let's see if you can handle a tickle monster!" Karlach teased, lifting the child high and spinning them around playfully. The little one erupted into giggles, clinging to Karlach with unrestrained joy.

As you watched Karlach interact with your child, your heart swelled with gratitude and affection. Her effortless acceptance and enthusiasm eased any lingering worries, reinforcing your belief that she was someone special who embraced life with open arms.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

As you entered Baldur's Gate with a mix of apprehension and excitement, your heart skipped a beat when you saw Shadowheart waiting for you. Her typically stoic expression softened ever so slightly when she noticed the small figure standing beside you, clutching your hand tightly.

"Who's this?" Shadowheart asked, her voice carrying a rare note of curiosity as she glanced down at your child.

"This is my daughter," you replied, introducing your daughter with a gentle smile.

Your daughter, feeling the weight of Shadowheart's gaze, hid shyly behind your legs, peeking out with cautious curiosity. Shadowheart knelt down slowly, meeting your daughter at eye level, her demeanor surprisingly gentle.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Shadowheart said, her voice warm yet hesitant. "I'm Shadowheart."

Your daughter regarded Shadowheart with wide eyes, clearly assessing the priestess with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Sensing Maya's hesitation, you stepped in, reassuring both of them.

"Shadowheart, I'm sorry I didn't mention my daughter earlier," you began, feeling a pang of guilt for not disclosing your daughter's presence sooner.

Shadowheart raised a hand to stop you, her eyes softening with understanding. "You don't owe me any explanations," she replied quietly and you smiled at her with love in your eyes, relieved she understood what you had to do.

Throughout your time in Baldur's Gate, you watched as Shadowheart and your daughter gradually warmed to each other. Shadowheart, usually reserved and aloof, surprised you one evening when you returned to find her carefully plaiting your daughter's hair. She sat patiently, a small smile on her face as Shadowheart worked with steady hands.

"It looks beautiful," you murmured softly, leaning against the doorframe and watching the scene unfold.

Shadowheart glanced up, her cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment at being caught in such a tender moment. "I… just thought she might like it," she replied, her voice quiet but sincere.

You crossed the room and knelt beside them, running a hand through your daughter's hair. "Thank you," you said softly, meeting Shadowheart's gaze with gratitude. "For everything."

Shadowheart's expression softened, a rare smile touching her lips as she returned your gaze. In that quiet moment, as your daughter giggled and Shadowheart continued her careful work, you felt a warmth in your heart that spoke of a newfound understanding and acceptance—a family formed not by blood, but by love.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

As you entered Baldur's Gate, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirled in your chest. You had kept your toddler a secret for various reasons, but now that you were reunited, you couldn't wait to introduce Lae'zel to them. Holding your child's hand tightly, you approached Lae'zel who was waiting for you, her gaze curious and guarded as always.

"Lae'zel," you began, your voice tinged with both nervousness and excitement, "this is my son."

Lae'zel's eyes widened slightly, a rare expression of surprise crossing her features as she looked down at your son, who was peering up at her with wide eyes filled with curiosity. Your son had a head full of tousled hair and cheeks dotted with freckles, their tiny hand gripping yours firmly.

"This is… unexpected," Lae'zel murmured, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as she crouched down to Rowan's level.

Your son regarded Lae'zel with unabashed fascination, their eyes scanning her armor and weapons with childish wonder. Sensing the tension, you gently encouraged your son to say hello to Lae'zel.

"Hi," Your son said tentatively, their voice a soft murmur filled with awe.

Lae'zel hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to interact with such a young child. Awkwardly, she reached out to pat your son's head, but your son surprised both of you by leaning into Lae'zel's touch, a small smile spreading across their face. Then to your surprise, your son lunged for Lae'zel, who caught them with ease.

"You have big eyes," Lae'zel remarked awkwardly, trying to find common ground with the toddler.

Your son giggled softly, clearly enjoying the attention from this new, imposing figure. When Lae'zel attempted to hand your son back to you, they immediately protested, their lower lip trembling.

"No, L-Lae'zel," Your son stuttered, tears welling up in their eyes.

Lae'zel looked at you helplessly, clearly out of her element. "They… they want to stay with me?" she asked incredulously, her tone uncertain.

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you saw how your son had taken to Lae'zel despite her initial awkwardness. "They seem to really like you," you said softly, reaching out to reassure your son.

Lae'zel sighed softly, her expression softening as she looked down at your son. Gently, she adjusted her hold on your son, making sure they were comfortable in her arms. "You have a warrior's grip," Lae'zel remarked quietly, a rare hint of warmth in her voice.

Your son beamed at the praise, their tears forgotten as they snuggled against Lae'zel's shoulder. "Warrior," your son repeated happily, their tiny hands grasping at Lae'zel's armor.

Lae'zel met your eyes briefly, a small smile playing at her lips. Despite her initial reservations, it was clear that she was warming up to your son's affectionate nature. As you watched them together, you felt a surge of gratitude and happiness.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

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loveandleases · 9 days ago

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Guess who's here with another AU ask??? 👀

Supernatural scenario: The ROs are perhaps bounty hunters or just a simple fantasy character and, somehow, they are 'bonded' to a vampiric or demonic MC who is just...CHOOSING to stay with them (cheekily or affectionately soff, I leave that for you to decide!). How would they handle it and what would change once they hit that rela stage?

(I actually have about 3 more questions, but I wanna make sure you don't get overwhelmed! 💜)

Also, can totally picture MC being demonic or vampiric due to being sold to the supernatural at a very young age by their parents to protect Jade - sorry for le dark headcanon 🤣

Ally~ 😃 You're making me want to work on... the thing. Nothing like some supernatural fun. (totally imagining a monster au similar to a certain vn 😉) (The amount of world building I did for each of these... I"m going to have to write these at some point I think.)

❤️ Cam - (Of course it turns him on.) (Hunter/Vampire)

He became a hunter to protect MC—an inside-man kind of deal. To join the hunters, Cam had to become bonded to a vampire, and who better than his bestie?

Pre-Relationship Stage:

It’s always been this way—an unspoken co-dependency. Cam is shunned by other hunters, who see MC as nothing more than a killer, a tool. But because they’re friends, he keeps his emotions in check, pushing down his feelings and curiosities. To a point. That breaking point? Learning that some of the 'approved' blood MC drinks come straight from the source. (jealous lil guy)

Relationship Stage:

“No sucking” from anyone else. Period. That is problematic, considering the hunters still expect MC to feed. But the rules the hunters made to maintain some separation (aka no drinking from the person you're bonded to) were thrown out the window. Why shouldn’t they be? Cam offers himself on a silver platter—pain or no pain. (whimpering mess)

Given that his blood strengthens their bond, heightening everything: their emotions, their strength, even Cam’s life itself. He’s more protective, observant, clingy—and completely unapologetic about it. He reeks of MC and doesn’t care. Ask him to step in front of a stake. He’s already there.

💙 G - Long gone are the days of cleric G. Somehow, they've moved onto Necromancy. (I blame Emmrich Volkarin.) Plus, the amount of longing. 🫦They didn't imagine being tied to anyone, especially not a damn demon. It takes a certain level of control to use their magic. They raise the dead, command spirits, bend life and death to their will. Fate might have been involved, at least that's what they say. The one time G goes against the plans laid out for them, this happens. They tried to banish MC… and ended up bonded instead. 🙄I'm not saying someone performed a poorly worded ritual...

Pre-Relationship Stage: There was a freedom before, even though G had to obey the Necromancy Guild's order. They were left to themselves. Yeah, that's out the damn window. Their is a tether between them now, an unexplainable connection. Who knew a demon would be breaking down G's well planned barrier. They could leave, but for some reason, they don't. So, reluctantly, G lets them in. Who knew a Necromancer and a demon could have a good friendship? Though they do argue... a lot. MC has a well of knowledge they just want to share.

Relationship Stage: It was a slow process to get to the realization that there was something more there. They touched everything within each other. A lifeline. G's magic pulled from MC's very existence. And MC's existence pulled from G. Each kiss felt as if they were swallowing one another whole, but they weren't they were just melding into one another. G was making MC's existence permanent, and MC was making G human. They made G feel things they couldn't dream of, nor conjure up.

Before G hid behind a well thought out mask, even when they were affected by their emotions they could hide it. But not now, not around MC. They could feel each other's emotions, each other's very breath of life. And when they were close to one another, they could feel it as if it was a flame being stoked.

💚 Kara - (Different type of vamp bonding.) It began as a night meant for fun, a little indulgence, and a taste of danger. What started as a (blood) drunken kiss quickly escalated when Kara’s curiosity got the better of her. She’d always wondered—what would fangs against her skin feel like? Would it hurt, or would it thrill? Neither she nor MC were aware of what came next. The bond was accidental, a tether neither of them sought nor understood.

Pre-Relationship Stage: They weren't strangers, but their connection was surface-level - a mix of camaraderie and flirtation. Devoid of true depth. To be bonded to someone you're hiding secrets from, or choose not to admit a crush about, it's hell. MC could feel her emotions, each little time she tells a white lie there's an undercurrent, a change in her scent that just gives her away. It left her vulnerable. The bond forced her to confront a part of herself she'd long buried. She wasn't used to being truly seen. Always just an extra - the fleeting face people desired for a night but forgot by morning. But MC stayed. What began as obligation grew into something real.

Relationship Stage: Kara had loved before - or at least she thought she had. In her mind, those fleeting connections had been important at the time, but they were ephemeral. Everyone eventually took what they wanted and left. She'd believed she had nothing to offer anyone who could outlive the span of her years. Yet with MC, it was different. They didn't want anything grand or eternal. They didn't want power, her beauty, or her lineage. All they asked for was her time, a precious little thing she'd never realized could be enough to give. With MC, Kara found herself letting go of the guilt of caring. She embraced it. Allowed herself to feel every part of their bond. The joy of their affection, the thrill of their fangs sinking into her flesh, and the warmth that came from knowing she was wanted. Truly wanted. For the person beneath the skin, the nameless thing, that makes a body home.

💛 M - The poor thing opened up a tome one too many times, trying to find some fragment of inspiration. Only to have opened a book that held something far greater. A demon without a home, without a name. Surely, M could grant them that much? But you see, naming a demon isn't just an act of kindness. It's a commitment. To name a demon is to give it purpose, to give it meaning - a reason to stay. A 'bond' if you will.

Pre-Relationship Stage: They're excited, immeasurably so. How could they not be? How often does one get the chance to talk to a demon? M doesn't think anything of it, just a new friend they happened to have come across, who has tales of ancient things that are written about. Even experienced. A hierarchy that no one ever knew. All of it floods M with inspiration, with desire to write and create. To learn more about them, and little by little to care about them. At first it was a small part, a little inkling in the back of their had that they never really paid attention to. You care about friends right? You want what's good for them... you want to spend more time with them and see them when you wake. You want to kiss those lips that are just right there and... oh shit, M... M might very well have fallen for them. And much to their surprise, they fell too.

Relationship Stage: It's all new, exciting, and when the excitement wears off. What they call "newlywed stage', it's even better. For the first time, M understood what it meant to be truly loved, to be wanted. They felt it in small moments: the fleeting kiss pressed to their cheek, they way their energies intertwined late at night during their first time together, the hum of magic and intimacy beneath their skin. M couldn't believe they hadn't noticed it before - how their connection had been building all along, in late - night conversations and shared laughter. That feeling in their chest, so warm and fluttering, wasn’t just inspiration. It was love.

💜 Isaac - They had one target, simple enough. One demon to take out, their essence to be sold to the highest bidder. It was a shit job, dangerous even, but it was a job like any other. There was no way Isaac could predict that the tattoos that were carved into his skin, ancient relics, would have another purpose. They had only ever destroyed demons before... but imagine his surprise when he finds a person, wounded and bloody only covered by a sheet, that his tattoos barely react to. Until the moment his fingertips touch them, and the tattoos come alive, shining like never before. Imagine his surprise when this person informs Isaac that his tattoos, don't only kill demons they bind them. So why didn't they kill MC, like every demon before? Because they weren't just a demon, not entirely.

Pre-Relationship Stage: He's angry, the last things he needs is someone close, demon or not. He doesn't have time for this, or any kind of attachment. He needs to fulfill his goal, a promise he made to himself as he sat in front of his dying mother. No demon would be safe until he found the one responsible. No matter how hard Isaac tries, he can't keep his distance. He can't just sit and watch them die. Albeit reluctantly, Isaac and MC are together. In some unholy way, but it doesn't feel unholy. He spends many nights craving a drink to forget how it feels. The energy under his skin and along his arms, the way he can feel the weight of their gaze on him. And they probably feel his too. Or the way his breath catches when they're close. He's flirty with others, but it's a ruse, a ploy to keep people at arms reach. But the demon or half-demon, he is told over and over again. He would much rather reach his arms out for.

Relationship Stage: Their relationship grew naturally. Over time, MC began to see the pain etched into Isaac’s heart—the wounds left behind by his past, by the loss that shaped him. And he began to see them as more than just some bond - a remnant of something he thought was meant to destroy. But as a person. It was impossible not to since the day he saw them, he just wanted to fight it. There's a depth to him that comes out like vapor. His affection, a promise, of staying by their side and keeping them safe. A promise to not lose them like he did his mother, bond or no bond. Isaac has fallen for them in ways that makes his soul hurt. Because the piece that had been missing he finally found. He’s softer now, more caring. Imagine a demon hunter—someone forged in blood and vengeance—soft A demon hunter who learns that not all demons are evil or need to be killed. MC showed him that some of them, like them, belong.

And now Isaac knows… they belong together.

🖤 Ardent - An innkeeper, simple enough. Or it should be. But, of course, like everything else in his life, it isn't. Imagine his surprise when he goes to tell someone they’ve overstayed their welcome, only to find them bloody, half-naked, and unconscious. He grumbles the entire time, bitching that this isn't his job or his problem. But for some damn reason, he can’t just leave them. He’s seen it before—the aftermath of a vampire attack. The transition. The change. But the look of pain on MC’s face? He can’t bear it.

So, against his better judgment, he offers the one thing he has: blood. Human blood alone can’t bond a vampire—it’s magic that binds. And Ardent's blood, unknown to him, isn’t entirely human. It carries ancient, dormant magic. When MC drinks from him, the magic in Ardent's blood doesn’t just fill their body—it freezes the transition, preventing MC from fully succumbing to their vampiric nature. They remain in limbo: no longer human, not quite vampire. They hover on the precipice.

They still need to feed, but they aren’t consumed by it. They can stand in the sun but need more hours of rest. There is a lingering sensation of that magic in their body and a strange connection—an echo of life in Ardent’s hands.

Pre-Relationship Stage: Ardent is all "fuck me for being empathetic." He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, another person to be responsible for. And yet, somehow, he feels responsible. They aren’t dead, not exactly. They look at him with those warm eyes, as if he’s some kind of savior. No matter how much he hates it, how much he tries to fight it, Ardent just can’t turn them away or toss them out. A part of him actually enjoys their company.

Relationship Stage: His eyes might have lingered, and they might have noticed. When their lips curved into a smile, and the glint of their fangs caught the light, something in his stomach churned. A heat he tried to ignore. He’d gotten used to them being around, hell, he even liked it. He might even admit he would miss them if they left. And that is something he fears—that one day, they’ll wake up and realize they could be anywhere else. But instead, they choose to be with him. And that realization has him melting for them.

No one could get him on his knees willingly, except for MC. At first, he worries that his blood has enraptured them somehow. But the truth is, it’s the other way around. Their very existence has captured him—hook, line, and sinker. And if his heart was ice before, guarded and hidden away for safety, it’s ripe for the taking now.

#love and leases #loveandleases #cam #ardent #g #m #kara #isaac

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